COLLECTION 
 
 OF 
 
 ANCIENT AND MODERN 
 
 BRITISH AUTHORS- 
 
 VOL. C XXXII. 
 
 THE AMERICAN 
 
 IN 
 
 ENGLAND. 
 
I 
 
 PRINTED BY J. SMITH, 16, RUE MONTMORENCY. 
 
THE AMERICAN 
 
 I N 
 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "A YEAR IN SPAIN.'' 
 
 "If we may judge of what has been wrote on these things, by all who have 
 wrote and galloped, or galloped and wrote, from the great Addison, who galloped 
 with a satchel of books hanging at his tail, and galling his beast's crupper at 
 every slroke, there is not a galloper of us all, who might not have gone on ambling 
 quietly over his own ground, in case he had any, and have wrote all he had to 
 write, dry shod as well as not." Sterne. 
 
 PAIUS, 
 
 BAUDRY'S EUROPEAN LIBRARY, 
 
 RU£ dd coq, near the louvre. 
 SOLD ALSO BY AMYOT, RUE DE LA PAIX ; TRUCHY, BOULEVARD DES ITALIENS , 
 TUEOPHILE BARROI8, JUN., RUE RICHELIEU; LIBRAIRIE DES ETH ANGERS, 
 RUE NEUVE SAINT-AUGUSTIN; AND HEIDELQFF AND CAMPE, 
 RUE VIVIENNE. 
 
 1836. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2013 
 
 http://archive.org/details/americaninenglan01mack 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 Departure from New York — Scenes in the Bay — Leaving the 
 Land — Survey of the Ship — Night View in scudding before a 
 Southwester — The Watch on Deck — Hard Life of Merchant 
 Sailors — Review of Ship's Company, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE CHANNEL. 
 
 Strike Soundings — Land — Escape from running down a Brig — St. 
 Alban's Head— The Pilot— Isle of Wight— British Hardihood 
 exemplified by a Pilot — The Needles — Animated Spectacle in 
 entering the Harbour — Anchor near Spithead — The Navarin 
 and Skipper Sam — Fate of the missing Pilot, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 PORTSMOUTH. 
 Sail to Porstmouth in the Navarin — Sensations of Landing — A 
 Stage-coach — Dress and Appearance of the Population — Build- 
 ings and Shops — The invisible Dock-yard — Sailors on Shore — 
 English Steamers — A Family Group, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE KENTISH COAST. 
 Leave Portsmouth — Beachy Head — Dunge Ness — Light-house 
 Sinecures — River Pilot — Shipwrecks— Appearance of the Coast 
 — Hythe — Dover — Cinque Ports — The Downs — Kentish 
 
 Wreckers, 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 THE THAMES. 
 English Coasting Craft— French Fishermen— Ramsgate and Mar- 
 gate—Kentish Watermen— Tales of Shipwreck— The Convict 
 
vi 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Ship-r-Dangers of the Thames — Navigation of the River — The 
 Nore — Approach to Gravesend — Leave the Hannibal, . 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 Row to Gravesend — Dover Coach — Face of Country — Scenes 
 on the Road — Style of Vehicles — Appearance of Population — 
 Management of the Coach — Relays of Horses — Conversation 
 — Approach London — Shops — Street Rabble — Westminster, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE COLONNADE HOTEL. 
 
 Leave the Coach — Arrangement of the Inn — Coffee-room— Tete- 
 a-tete with a Sirloin — Dining Groups — Scene of Dulness— 
 Breakfast and the Times, . 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 Appearance of Shops— Stand of Hackney-coaches — Life of a 
 London Horse — Regent-street — Architecture of Club-houses 
 —Duke of York's Statue— St. James's Park, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 WALKS IN LONDON. 
 Piccadilly — Quadrant— Placard-bearers — Church of All-Souls— 
 Park Crescent — Regent's Park — The Terraces — Improvements 
 in London — Their good Taste — Adaptation to America, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 Circuit of Regent's Park — Southern Terraces — View of the 
 Grounds — Comparison of Regent- Street and Broadway — Equi- 
 pages and Horses — Street Population — Female Walkers — Pre- 
 servation of Order, 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 DRURY-LANE THEATRE. 
 Conversation at Dinner — Entrance to Theatre— Appearance of 
 House — The Audience— The Play— Saloon— Picture of Morals 
 —Midnight Scene in the Streets, 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WALK TO THE CITY. 
 St. Martin's in the Fields— Strand — Waterloo Bridge — Temple 
 Bar — Shops — Ludgate Hill — St. Paul's — Interior — Unsuited 
 for Reformed Worship — Monuments — Whispering Gallery— 
 Dome — View of London, ....... 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE CITY. 
 
 Buildings— Shops — Vehicles — City Population — Bank of England 
 v — Stock Exchange — Royal Exchange — Lloyd's, 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE CITY. 
 
 Change— American Sea Captains — Comparison with English- 
 Rothschild— His Character — Dolly's — Covent Garden — Gus- 
 
 ^ tavus, ' ' + . ••• ", r ,'• 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 EXCURSION TO THE TUNNEL. 
 
 Westminster Hall— Court of King's Bench— Great Brewery- 
 Thames Tunnel — Its Construction — Importance of its Com- 
 pletion, .... ... ... 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 THE RIVER. 
 
 Thames Wherries — Utility of the Tunnel — London from the 
 Thames — Movement on the River — Tower of London — Re- 
 galia, 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 OMNIBUS ADVENTURES. 
 St. Catharine's Dock — Paddington Omnibus — Party of Passengers 
 —A Blockade — Angel Inn — Pentonville — Adelphi Theatre, 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 SUNDAY IN LONDON. 
 Church — Drive to Hyde Park — Apsley House — The Park — Equi- 
 pages — Air of the Groups — Zoological Gardens — A Melancholy 
 Monkey, 
 
VIII 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 NOVEMBER IN LONDON. 
 Rainy Streets — Adventures in the Mud — A Cat's-meat Merchant 
 — Umbrellas — Labour Exchange — Conversation of Workies — 
 
 R. D. Owen, 225 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ISLINGTON. 
 
 Liston— Remove to Islington — Scenes from Window — Suburban 
 Rambles — Habits of Retired Citizens— Life of Seclusion — 
 Subjects for Emigration, 237 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 DRIVE TO BRIGHTON. 
 Dart Coach-^Scene at Starting— Suburbs — Benevolent Insti- 
 tutions — Rural Tastes of Englishmen — Scenes at the Roadside 
 — Fellow-Travellers— Their Conversation — Brighton — Church 
 —Albion Hotel, 252 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 BRIGHTON. 
 
 Pavilion — Palace — Stables — A fine Day — Hurdle Race — High 
 Wind — The Race — The Esplanade— Return to London — Con- 
 versation on the Road, 272 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 LONDON. 
 
 Christmas — Celebration by Populace — Comparison with Catholic 
 Countries — Westminster Abbey— Exterior— Interior— Services 
 — Sermon — Tombs — Den of a great Publisher, . . . 291 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND. 
 Leave London — Spread Eagle Coach — Road to Dover — Steamer — 
 Voyage — Fellow-travellers — Disembarkation — Hotel Quillacq 
 — Comparison of France and England — Conclusion, . . «* 08 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Feeling that irresistible impulse which prompts a man to 
 perpetrate a book, and having no land of his own on which to 
 amble quietly about and write a work of travels dryshod, 
 according to the approved method set forth in the motto, the 
 author, as an only resource, was forced to cross the water, and 
 visit, in his proper person, the country which he proposed to 
 describe. 
 
 Trained almost from infancy to a profession which ren- 
 dered connected study impossible, and having, only by dinl 
 of much perseverance, got what little education has fallen to 
 his share in much the, same discursive and vagabond manner 
 that a chicken gets his breakfast, a kernel of information in 
 one corner and another in the next, he found himself, on 
 mounting to begin his journey, quite unincumbered by any 
 satchel of books such as hung at the crupper of the great 
 Addison. To set out as a teacher of wisdom, with such poor 
 qualifications, was to be destitute indeed. Thus situated, yet 
 still impelled by the necessity of writing, the author felt that 
 all that remained for him was to forget that any books before 
 his own had ever been written, and, despising the erudition 
 which was beyond his reach, endeavour to see each thing as 
 his own eyes might convey its picture to his mind ; and look- 
 ing watchfully about him, from the moment of his arrival in 
 the country which was to be the scene of his travels until he 
 should leave it, take as accurate notice as he might of all his 
 impressions, and seek, in simple language* to convey them to 
 his countrymen. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The author has simply attempted, then, to give, in the fol- 
 lowing pages, a faithful narrative of whatever he saw during 
 a visit to England. Thus setting out with promising little, 
 that little he will yet exert himself conscientiously to per- 
 form. He feels that he has at least a right to lay claim to 
 honesty of intention, and to as little prejudice of opinion as 
 may possibly fall to the share of a writer who attempts the 
 description of a country having so much in common with his 
 own, and in the study of which comparisons must, of neces- 
 sity, suggest themselves at every step. The two countries 
 are, indeed, so much alike, that one is perpetually prompted 
 to enquire wherein consists the difference. This he will en- 
 deavour to do with as little partiality for his own as is con- 
 sistent with that ardent patriotism which is the common atlri" 
 bute of Americans, — a feeling of nationality inherited with the 
 laws, the language, and the manners of the country from which 
 we derive our origin, and which is sanctioned not less by the 
 comparison of the blessings we enjoy with those of other 
 lands, than by the promptings of good feeling and the dictates 
 uf good taste. 
 
 It is, perhaps, but fair to admit, that the author did set out 
 with some feeling of animosity towards England — a feeling 
 engendered in his bosom by the calumnious depreciation of 
 his own country by British writers, actuated by the desire, 
 through the misrepresentation of our institutions and national 
 character, to promote their own personal interests, or react in 
 the interest of conservative principles upon public opinion at 
 home. From the perusal of their works, which he very na- 
 turally assumed to be the prevailing sentiment of England to- 
 wards his country, he had been led^to feel some measure of ill- 
 will towards England in return. This, however, has yielded 
 almost entirely to his own personal observation. If, indeed, a 
 jealousy towards America, growing out of the recollection of 
 that war which resulted in our independence, and which, 
 having been successful on our side, has left us without any 
 feeling of rooted dissatisfaction, be, as it certainly is, a pre- 
 vailing feeling among some classes of Englishmen so remark- 
 
PREFACE x< 
 
 able for their inveterate egotism, it is, on the contrary, pleas- 
 ing to observe that the more elevated and enlightened look to 
 our growth and prosperity with a liberal and kindly interest, 
 the more creditable to those who entertain it, that they have 
 most to dread from the influence of our example. 
 
 The author found, moreover, that there was so much 
 identity between his own country and that which he was visit- 
 ing, that it was not easy to hate the one without also haling 
 the other. Hence, the patriotism which made America dear 
 to him prompted him to love England : for, after all, we are 
 ourselves but Englishmen in another hemisphere. We are 
 only different editions of the same work ; in America, plain, 
 useful, and got up with something more of the spirit of the age ; 
 while in England, though the common type be mean and de- 
 faced, yet is the volume pleasing to peruse, rich as it is every 
 where with antique blazonry and illumination. He has found, 
 indeed, a pleasure, not easy to describe, in the observation of 
 so many objects connected with the early history of our race, 
 and in offering his homage at a thousand sites hallowed by the 
 consecrating associations of genius and heroism. 
 
 He cannot help feeling that there is in the two countries 
 unbounded motive to mutual pride, instead of any incentive 
 to jealousy. America may look with well-founded enthu- 
 siasm to the past history and present greatness of the country 
 from which she sprung ; and if there be any one achievement 
 of which, more than another, England has occasion to be 
 proud, it is the planting of this vast empire, so rapidly spread- 
 ing itself over a noble continent, worthy to be the field of the 
 most magnificent experiments, and destined to perpetuate her 
 religion, her institutions, her literature, and her laws, and to 
 keep alive the memory of her greatness, of which its own ex- 
 istence is the noblest monument, to the remotest ages. 
 
 The writer begs, then, at the outset, to be acquitted of any 
 injurious prejudices. In a professional point of view he has 
 nothing to gain by subserviency to parties ; and his success and 
 advancement, depending wholly on himself, can neither be 
 made nor marred by men in power, while, as for any re- 
 
xii 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 action in his own country to be brought about by the abuse of 
 the institutions of England, he is not aware that there is one 
 native-born American, among the whole thirteen millions of 
 our population, whom it would be necessary to convert from 
 any partiality towards such institutions of the mother country 
 as have been omitted in the construction of our political 
 system. 
 
 There are two ways in which one might write of a country 
 like England : in the first place instructively, by the collection 
 of materials and facts of a statistical and political nature, rea- 
 soning upon the results they present, and indulging in com- 
 parisons ; in the second place amusingly, by describing what- 
 ever characters or events of a private nature passed under the 
 observation of the writer, and by serving up, for the public's 
 money, details of conversations, incidents, and opinions which 
 had been furnished to him without price, through the hospi- 
 tality of his entertainers. For the first method the author 
 found himself unqualified by actual knowledge, and by the 
 taste to acquire it; for the second, which has been so success- 
 fully used by British writers on his own country, and with 
 scarce inferior profit by others on England, he felt that he had 
 no vocation. 
 
 New York, October 1, 1835. 
 
THE AMERICAN 
 IN ENGLAND. 
 
 7p 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 Departure from New York — Scenes in the Bay — Leaving the Land — 
 Survey of the Ship — Night View in scudding before a Southwester — 
 The Watch on Deck — Hard Life of Merchant Sailors — Review of Ship's 
 Company. 
 
 It was a beautiful autumn morning, being the 1st of No- 
 vember, 1833, when I found myself at the hour of ten, 
 punctual to the announcementof the newspapers, on board 
 the steamer Hercules, which was in attendance on the ship 
 in which I had taken passage for London. A number of 
 friends had gathered there to greet me with their parting 
 good wishes and hopes for an agreeable and speedy passage, 
 and the effort which I was obliged in decency to make to 
 listen to their conversation and reciprocate their kindness, 
 checked the indulgence of those regrets with which I was 
 leaving my home. 
 
 The steamer was crowded with the friends of the pas- 
 sengers, cabin and steerage, a motley group, conspicuous 
 among whom stood our captain, who was about to become 
 so important a personage to us. He was taking leave of 
 
 friends, attending deferentially to the last behests of owners 
 
 l 
 
! 
 
 THE VOYAGE 
 
 and consignees,watchingover the due arrangement of certain 
 packages, letter-bags, and more interesting heaps of beef, 
 mutton, and poultry; reserving, however, a more peculiar 
 care to a chronometer, which he carried suspended in a 
 handkerchief. The moment the steamer reached the ship's 
 side, she was there stoutly secured by hawsers. The bars 
 which had been lying against the windlass were shipped, and 
 a dozen or more jolly tars, headed by a stout, boatswain- 
 looking second mate, rose upon them with the energy of 
 strong bodies and stout hearts, making the palls of the 
 windlass rattle as they hove round, and the whole harbour 
 resound with the long-drawn and monotonous, yet not un- 
 pleasing song, with which they accompanied and gave con- 
 cert to their labour. 
 
 Our anchor was soon apeak; the steamer started her 
 engine, and we moved boldly ahead, despite the flood tide 
 which was still running. My native city, with its bay, its 
 islands, and charming environs, had never worn a more 
 attractive aspect than now that I was prepared to leave it, 
 with regret that I had never before experienced. It was 
 the beginning of that delightful season known among us as 
 the Indian summer, and the weather was beautifully still 
 and calm ; the smoke from the city and the countless steamers 
 that were everywhere urging their busy way and/iisturbing 
 the calm waters with their bustling passage, rose in per- 
 pendicular threads towards the sky ; while four other packet- 
 ships werelying over their anchors, their sails set, and ready 
 to weigh with the first of the ebb. The small craft bound 
 in the direction of the tide suffered themselves to be borne 
 lazily along, while those to whom it was unfavourable, with 
 jib down, and peak of the mainsail dropped, were riding at 
 their anchors. Further up the Hudson the sloops were 
 bounding merrily along, under the influence of a western 
 breeze which was beginning to blow. Not a cloud was any 
 
THE VOYAGE. 
 
 8 
 
 where to be seen; yet a light haze, which hung over the 
 shore and water, and which the diminished energy of the 
 wintry sun had not yet dispersed, gave a tempered and 
 melancholy beauty to the picture, which was in harmony 
 with my feelings. 
 
 I took a farewell look at the city, with its encircling forests 
 of masts ; at the Battery, with its trees and promenades, the 
 spires which rose in every direction, and the dark and vene- 
 rable steeple of old Trinity ; at Brooklyn, smirking in tasteless 
 finery, at Hoboken and Weehawken, fringed with their 
 forest-trees and variegated foliage ; at the beautiful bay, 
 whose still waters spread in glassy smoothness on every side, 
 and at the islands with which it was so picturesquely stud- 
 ded. The vigorous efforts of the Hercules — well deserving 
 the name — soon brought us to Staten Island and the 
 Quarantine Ground, with its fleet of ships, and the Narrows 
 quickly closed behind us, shutting the city from our view, 
 as we entered the broad bay into which the Hudson, Passaic, 
 and Raritan, pour the mingled tribute of their waters. A 
 light breeze had now sprung up; we made sail, and when 
 all was well, trimmed sharp, and we found ourselves head- 
 ing up for the Swash Channel, the steamer cast off, and, 
 greeted by three hearty cheers from the friends of the steerage 
 passengers, who had accompanied them thus far, charging 
 them with thousands of parting messages to friends in the 
 old countries, we were at length abandoned to our efforts. 
 
 The tide was now strong under our lee, and the bar at 
 the mouth of the harbour, with lighthouse and beacons, 
 were soon behind us. A vexatious delay of an hour in 
 getting rid of the pilot, whose boat was not at hand, put 
 our captain, who seemed to have more than an American's 
 share of the spirit of despatch, quite in a passion. This 
 was increased by the clumsy way in which the young pilot, 
 
1 
 
 THE VOYAGE 
 
 who was evidently a new band, managed the ship; he got 
 her twice in irons, and going astern at a famous rate, while 
 endeavouring to lay her to. At length, however, the beau- 
 tiful Trimmer was seen emerging from the harbour; she 
 came swooping along like a wild bird, rounded to under our 
 lee, and, taking the pilot off in her little cockle-boat, which 
 skimmed as lightly over the waters as herself, hurried 
 away in another direction. The pilot bore with him our 
 letters and latest adieus, and we had taken a final leave of 
 our country. 
 
 And now the captain, relieved from the temporary sus- 
 pension of his authority in his own ship, joyfully resumed 
 the command, issuing, in a manly, distinct voice, which 
 carried obedience with it, a few necessary orders; the sai- 
 lors, sensible of the propriety of each, and tired of wasting 
 their labour, sprang with alacrity to obey. The ship was 
 soon under complete command, fell off to her course, the 
 yards were trimmed, the studding-sails set, and she bounded 
 joyfully forward. 
 
 Meantime the mate and sailors busied themselves in se- 
 curing every thing for sea. The anchors were got on the 
 bows, the cables unbent and paid below, the fenders hauled 
 in, the ropes coiled clear for running, and every thing that 
 could be moved from its station by the lurching of the ship 
 securely lashed. The breeze blew fresh, and we skimmed 
 rapidly along, and the ship soon began to dance to the 
 unequal and rolling surface of her appropriate element. 
 Those who had been long enough on shore to lose their 
 sea-legs, or who had never been any where else, now began 
 to cling for support to the rails and belaying-pins. The 
 Highlands were soon lost in the distance, and the shores 
 of Long Island also grew dim and mingled with the sea, 
 and the only remaining objects for the attention to fix on 
 
THE VOYAGE. 
 
 without, were the other packets following in our track, a 
 few vessels making for the port, and the vast ocean whose 
 depths we were rushing forth to explore. 
 
 Our ship, thus isolated, began to assume a new conse- 
 quence in our eyes. I measured her extent, to be for some 
 weeks the limits of our little world; scanned her sails and 
 rigging, which were rather in a tattered condition, with a 
 seaman's eye; looked to the physiognomy of each sailor 
 and fellow-passenger; took a glance of observation at sun- 
 dry pigs and sheep, and a nautical cow without horns, 
 which was on her fourth voyage, and which was, with the 
 rest, very comfortably housed in the longboat, with thejol- 
 lyboat inverted over their heads for a shed; and, finally, 
 made some progress in studying the character of a bear, 
 which was to find her home on the main hatch until trans- 
 ferred in England to the menagerie of some noble, weary 
 of herding with his kind, or to form the poetic appendage of 
 some yacht, or perchance to figure as bowman in the gig 
 of a dandy young captain of one of His Majesty's frigates. 
 Bruin was stretched upon her back, scratching herself with 
 a truly feminine grace, and grinning with the pleasure of 
 her sensations. I felt the muscles of my own face gra- 
 dually losing their stern contraction, and relaxing into a 
 sympathetic grin, which seemed a sort of treachery to the 
 friends I was leaving. 
 
 My eye, in glancing round, next caught sight of a pleasing 
 group, consisting of sundry stout sirloins of beef and 
 haunches of mutton, garnished with occasional turkeys, 
 geese, and game, which were hanging from the mizzen 
 stay, and which, when fresh from the comforts of break- 
 fast, and the sorrows of parting, had attracted less of my 
 attention. My stomach, upon which I happened just then 
 to place my hand, felt lean and hollow, and I began to 
 doubt whether part of my malaise did not proceed from the- 
 
6 
 
 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 circumstance, when the appropriate ringing of the dinner- 
 bell, and the joy which it occasioned within me, convinced 
 me that such was the fact. As I directed my steps towards 
 the companion-way, my eye caught a last glimpse of the 
 Highlands, trembling in the horizon; the dark fringe of 
 trees that crested them, seen but occasionally, as the ship 
 mounted on the top of a higher wave, and beautifully illu- 
 mined by the last rays of the autumnal sun, then sinking 
 behind them, and playing in a line of golden light on the 
 broken billows which danced and lifted their white caps 
 between. 
 
 Just then, as I was threatened with a new access of sen- 
 timent, one of the most uncivil of these poetic billows over- 
 taking us, and swashing rudely against the mizzen chan- 
 nels, sent a whole bucketful of spray into my face. Unac- 
 customed as I had been in the larger vessels, in which I had 
 sailed of late, to be thus unceremoniously boarded on the 
 hallowed region of the quarter-deck, this seemed to me 
 quite a superfluous piece of impertinence. The remains 
 of my sentiment were at once washed away ; and, not 
 minding a little honest salt-water, I betook myself forth- 
 with to the substantial comfortings of the repast, which I 
 found smoking on the cabin table. 
 
 Dinner was over; tea and conversation had followed; 
 the evening was already far advanced, and I began to yield 
 to the sleepy sensation which the familiar roll of the sea in- 
 spired. Before turning in, I ascended to the companion- 
 way, to breathe the fresh air, and see what progress we 
 were making, and took my station on the taffrail, near the 
 helmsman. Familiar as I was with the sight of ships in 
 every possible situation, I was much struck with the beauty 
 of the scene. We were tearing along at a fearful rate ; the 
 sails were bellying and straining to the extent of the sheets 
 which held them, under ihe influence of what is called a 
 
THE VOYAGE. 
 
 1 
 
 smoky southwesler, unaccompanied by a single cloud, but 
 with a pervading and heavy haze, by which the horizon 
 was circumscribed to narrow limits, and through which the 
 moon, just then rising beneath the foot of the foresail, and 
 slightly shorn in its orb, was struggling to reveal itself, 
 shining dim and murky. The sea was agitated and brok- 
 en into short but yawning ground-swells, into which the 
 ship plunged and surged violently, trembling with the op- 
 posing action of the two elements by which she was driven 
 and restrained ; now settling her stern into the trough of 
 the sea, now overtaken by a succeeding billow, rising 
 proudly on its crest, and dashing the white and sparkling 
 foam far away on either side. 
 
 At dark our studding-sails had all been hauled in, and 
 made up as the breeze increased ; the mizzen topgallant- 
 sail had been furled, and the mizzen topsail reefed; but the 
 spanker, that worst of all sails in a strong quartering breeze, 
 was still set, acting as a powerful lever to force the bow 
 into the wind. The steersman was standing, with every 
 muscle stiffened, against the wheel, giving the ship the full 
 force of the helm as the quartering seas struck rudely against 
 her counter; then relaxing his hold, and allowing the 
 wheel to spin freely round as she fell off towards her 
 course. 
 
 I readily recognised our helmsman to be a collier, and 
 a North of England man; a smasher, as they are called in 
 the service. He was quite a handsome youth, with light 
 curly hair, but a sooty complexion, stained in the coal trade. 
 He was characteristically clad in a rough pea-jacket, a pair 
 of trousers tightened round his waist with a leathern belt, 
 from which depended a long sheath-knife, while his head 
 was surmounted by a huge canvas hat, having a long apron 
 behind, which was confined by a ropeyarn nettle beneath 
 his arms, so as to exclude all streams of water from the 
 
8 
 
 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 back of his neck, which is much the most sensitive part ol 
 a sailor's person. The whole was thoroughly stiffened 
 with tar and pitch, which, with true nautical forethought, our 
 youth had doubtless daubed on as often as a bucket of either 
 passed through his hands in the duty of the ship. This fa- 
 mous headgear, borrowed from the coalheavers in England, 
 is now in general use among all nautical worthies, who 
 have adopted it under the name of a southwester, which 
 made it peculiarly applicable to the breeze before which we 
 were staggering. 
 
 Just forward of the mizzen rigging stood the mate ; he 
 was holding on to a belaying-pin to steady himself; eyeing 
 the wind keenly ; glancing knowingly at the sails ; and, as 
 their leeches occasionally lifted, giving his orders to the 
 helmsman, which were promptly re-echoed. One other of 
 the watch might be seen sitting on the windlass, and leaning 
 against the bithead. This was the look-out, stationed there 
 to see that we should run nothing down, and to strike the 
 bells. He was beguiling the time with a doleful song, a 
 word of which reached us from time to time above the 
 noise made by the dash of the ship through the water, and 
 the whistling and roar of the wind through the blocks and 
 rigging, and against the sails. The rest, sheltered from 
 the blast under the lee of the hurricane-house, and nestling 
 snugly like a litter of pigs, were singing in a low tone, as 
 became their proximity to the captain and his fellow-nobs 
 of passengers, some rude ditty that told of hapless or happy 
 loves with Sues and Nancys, in which all joined in a sup- 
 pressed and melancholy moan at the burden; or listening 
 to some older worthy as he told of toils at sea; anchors 
 broken, or cables parted in roadsteads; stranding upon rocks 
 and quicksands ; ships run down, and masts gone by the 
 board ; or dwelling upon the more favourite theme of ras- 
 cally usage from mates and captains; and longshore ven- 
 
THE VOYAGE. 
 
 9 
 
 geance wreaked upon that unhappy scapegoat, the second 
 dicky. 
 
 In the inidst of this pastime they were startled and 
 aroused by a loud snorting, as if of some sea monsters im- 
 mediately beside them, proceeding from a noisy school ol 
 porpoises, whose path we had crossed, and which imme- 
 diately gave chase to us. They came bounding joyously 
 over each other ; sometimes leaping from the very crest ol 
 a wave far into the air, and descending into the yawning 
 trough below with a plunge that sent forth a thousand 
 sparkles. After playing about our bows until they found 
 w r e were no match for them, and that there was to be no 
 race, they suddenly wheeled off, pushing their course in the 
 directiori of the wind, and by their lively, joyful gambols, 
 proclaiming, according to nautical superstition, a continu- 
 ation of the noble breeze before which we were driving. 
 
 Our passage commenced under happy auspices; and for 
 three days we drove gaily before the wind, which had 
 hauled to the northwest; the fourth found us in the midst 
 of the Gulf Stream, which we were crossing obliquely. It 
 was idle to dream of passing this barrier without a blow ; 
 so on it came, whistling from the cold north ; and we had 
 nothing to do but to roll our sleeves up to it; that is, get 
 every thing .snug, and face it boldly. The sky lowered, 
 and the clouds flew low, dropping an occasional sprinkling 
 of rain. The current, running in an opposite direction to 
 the wind, produced a heavy, irregular sea, which frequently 
 came on board of our deeply-laden ship, keeping the deck 
 constantly flooded. Between the larger waves innumer- 
 able miniature ones ruffled the intermediate space ; while 
 from their summits, at the eddies of the current, masses of 
 water were torn and driven along in whirlwinds of what 
 the sailors call spoondrift. The scene of elemental strife 
 was indeed sublime, 
 
10 
 
 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 Our ship was soon reduced to close-reefed topsails and 
 foresail. The wind had drawn ahead, and our hitherto rolling 
 motion was exchanged for that fatal one to seasick stomachs, 
 the disturbing pitch of a head sea. Our sailors had a hard 
 time ; and often did the stroke of the handspike, three times 
 repeated over their heads, and the maliciously-pleased cry 
 of the watch on deck — " All hands to shorten sail !" H Hear 
 the news there!" " Heave out!" " Show a leg!" call out 
 the poor fellows of the watch below, perhaps but an hour 
 in their bunks, after four hours of drenching and severe toil. 
 Now it was one of our old sails split to be unbent, and 
 another got up; now another reef in the topsails ; and now 
 mainsail to be furled. The poor fellows would come 
 crawling up, half clad, or in the wet clothes of last watch, 
 heated in the confinement of the forecastle, and sickened 
 by the stench from the cargo and bilgewater, to encounter 
 sudden damps of the cold, wet wind, and remaiu aloft by 
 the hour, tugging at the earings, or contending with the 
 rustling canvass, which, full and bagging with the force of 
 the hurricane, was struggling to keep free. Splicing the 
 main brace— that is, a glass of grog — when the work was 
 done, seemed, however, always to send them away in a 
 good humour and happy. 
 
 If, however, the watch below met with little compassion 
 from the watch on deck, they also met with less from me 
 than, as fellow-sinners, they ought to have done. I never 
 awoke at the striking of the bell and calling of the watch, 
 without finding my regrets for the fellows who had to rouse 
 out swallowed up in my pleasure at discovering that I was 
 not of the number. After nearly four years of watch- 
 keeping, it was delightful to miss the tickled youngster of a 
 midshipman, overjoyed at having reached the end of his 
 own watch, and hardly waiting for the sound to get out of 
 the bell ere he would thrust forward his obtrusive lantern, 
 
THE VOYAGE. 
 
 Is 
 
 with the unwelcome message — "It is eight bells, sir!" 
 " Four o'clock, sir !" or, "All hands, sir!" "All hands to 
 M shorten sail, sir !" 
 
 After a day or two the wind again became fair, and we 
 started gaily forward. Our situation in the cabin was com- 
 fortable and pleasant enough. Among the passengers were 
 two Americans besides myself ; one of whom was an old 
 friend, besides being a great traveller and an agreeable 
 companion. There were two Englishmen : one a half-pay 
 captain in the army, who had served many years in India, 
 whence he had returned in consequence of being severely 
 wounded in the siege of a town in Java, during the war 
 with France and her dependancies. He was gentlemanlike, 
 unaffectedly kind-hearted, and intelligent. His Eastern re- 
 miniscences, which usually came out with the fumes of his 
 cigar after dinner, were quite as amusing as a chapter of "The 
 Younger Son," with the advantage of having more the air of 
 truth. The other Englishman, though intelligent enough, 
 being agraduate of one of the universities, was farfrombeing 
 equally agreeable ; he had a bad tone, and was not so re- 
 markable for gentlemanlike propensities as for the perti- 
 nacity with which he kept up the argument the whole way 
 across the ocean with the captain of the ship upon the 
 banal subject of America and England ; Basil Hall, Mrs. 
 Trollope, and Cyril Thornton — I beg the last-named gen- 
 tleman's pardon for mentioning him in such company. 
 Both these Englishmen seemed to be stanch radicals in their 
 own country, and decriers of the clergy and aristocracy; but 
 the moment that our captain, in the simplicity of his heart, 
 would join their conversation and concur with them in opi- 
 nion, both would turn upon him, like man and wife, against 
 the ill-judging interferer in a domestic quarrel. We had 
 besides a philosophizing, free-inquiring old Frenchman, who 
 was always declaiming against the state of education and 
 
12 
 
 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 society ; and forming the most Utopian pictures of what was 
 to be the condition of the world when the human mind 
 should cease to be bewildered by the false systems and 
 theories that now fetter it. According to him, almost any 
 individual child might, by proper teaching and judicious in- 
 duction, he converted at will into a Scott, a Byron, or a 
 Paganini. My other countryman was a young man just 
 beginning his travels ; a carroty-headed youth, who had 
 nothing to recommend him except his modesty and un- 
 obtrusiveness; though these, as the world goes, are worth 
 taking note of. 
 
 Very few of the steerage passengers were at all visible 
 during the voyage, though, according to the captain's, 
 account, they amounted to near forty. After a few days, 
 indeed, some of them began to muster up from their den 
 of sea-sickness. They came forth haggard and pale, with 
 long beards and unwashed faces; their clothes covered with 
 straw, feathers, and pitch from the deck. The women had 
 a wretched, helpless, squalid appearance, like chickens 
 with the pip. One fellow brought his wife up one fine 
 day, and endeavoured to cure her by trotting her about the 
 deck. Instead of taking her arm in his, he placed himself 
 behind her, with one hand under either arm, and thus 
 steered her along with a certain low-lived Irish grace. 
 She was a tall, long-fingered, lank-haired lassie, in a plaid 
 cloak; and I felt a most painful desire to possess Hogarth's 
 pencil for a moment, that I might sketch her. 
 
 A few of the steerage passengers were Germans, return- 
 ing circuitously home, for the want of a direct conveyance; 
 they had no wives but their long pendant pipes, to which 
 they seemed wedded. The rest were sturdy Englishmen. 
 Some were going home lor the friends who had sent them 
 on a pioneering voyage; others, happy fellows, for their 
 sweethearts, whom they found themselves in a condition 
 
THE VOYAGE. 
 
 to turn into wives; and there was one widow, whose hus- 
 band had fallen a victim to the bilious fever, or the cheap 
 price of whiskey, returning to find relief for her sorrows in 
 the sympathy of friends, or perhaps more solid consolation 
 in the shape of a second husband. Let me not forget to 
 make honourable mention of the white-headed little raga- 
 muffin who was working his passage, and who in this capa- 
 city had the decks to sweep, ropes to haul, chickens and 
 pigs to feed, the cow to milk, and the dishes to wash, as 
 well as all other jobs to do that belonged to no one in par- 
 ticular. As a proof of good-will, he had chopped off the 
 tails of a dandy, velvet-collared blue coat, with the cook's 
 axe, the very first day out. This was performed at the 
 windlass bits, in full conclave of the crew, and I suspected 
 at the suggestion of a roguish man-of-war's- man, a shipmate 
 of mine. The tails were cut just below the pocket-flaps, which 
 gave them a sort of razee look; and, in conjunction with 
 the velvet collar, made the oddest appearance in the world, 
 as he would creep stern first out of the long-boat after 
 milking the cow. Blow high or blow low, the poor boy 
 had no time to be sea-sick: sometimes he would get adrift 
 in the lee scuppers, and roll over in the water, keeping fast 
 hold of the plates he was carrying to the galley. The only 
 day that the poor lad wore a bright face, was that on which 
 we anchored in Portsmouth. 
 
 Such was our ship's company ; and with the little interest 
 that their society afforded, the time wore heavily enough. 
 Like most idle men, we found our most interesting pastime 
 in the pleasures of a well-provided table. The lapse of 
 time with us, was measured entirely by our meals. These 
 were no fewer than four in number, or five, if we may be 
 allowed to count our midnight assemblage around a dish of 
 baked apples, which gave the mercy-stroke to our gastroni- 
 mic capacities ; and all this in a single day, or rather in less : 
 
THE VOYAGE. 
 
 for as we were live hours ahead of the New-York time on 
 our arrival in England, it followed that we daily threw 
 overboard a considerable portion of the twenty-four hours, 
 into which the days of those happy people who can remain 
 quiet are regularly divided. In the evening, a game of 
 whist or chess lent its friendly aid in relieving the load of 
 existence. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE CHANNEL. 
 
 Strike Soundings — Land — Escape from running down a Brig — St. Alban's 
 Head — The Pilot — Isle of Wight— British Hardihood exemplified by a 
 Pilot — The Needles — Animated Spectacle in entering the Harbour — 
 Anchor near Spithead — The Navarin and Skipper Sam — Fate of the 
 missing Pilot. 
 
 On the sixteenth day out we struck soundings on Euro- 
 pean bottom, and in two more a continuation of the same 
 breeze would have placed us in port; but there it left us, 
 and during two days we beat about to no purpose against a 
 light, east wind. On the third the good old southwester 
 came quietly stealing over the water; it was a whole twenty- 
 four hours in acquiring force. During the two days of 
 light weather, the number of vessels pouring into the ' 
 Channel had become considerable. As the breeze fresh- 
 ened in the afternoon, they gradually dropped astern, all 
 except an English gun-brig, a King's packet, which bravely 
 held her way. In the afternoon the English coas* was 
 indistinctly seen, and as the night advanced, the brilliant 
 lights on the Lizard pierced through the gloom and mist. 
 
 As the night advanced, the wind still freshened to a gale. 
 We were going along at a rapid rate, and the chances of 
 
IC 
 
 THE CHANNEL 
 
 our getting in the next day amounted nearly to a certainty. 
 The baked apples had been discussed, and we had all turned 
 in unusually cheerful, wheu we were aroused by a violent 
 commotion on deck. I was just dropping asleep, when the 
 words of " Hard to starboard! Hard to starboard!" quickly 
 repeated in the voice of the mate, and in a simultaneous 
 chorus by the whole watch, with an energy that showed 
 there could be no time to lose, convinced me that we must 
 be in imminent danger of running down some other vessel. 
 I leaped at once upon deck, and ascended the mizzen rig- 
 ging, to see what (he chances were. Our ship had round- 
 ed to a little, bringing the wind on the larboard quarter, 
 and was breaking through the agitated waves at a fearful 
 rate. From the gloom just clear of our starboard bow was 
 emerging a large, heavily-laden brig, under low sail. She 
 had borne away a little, bringing the wind abeam, and in- 
 creasing her headway. We cleared each other perhaps 
 six or eight yards. Had she been discovered a little later; 
 had any hesitation occurred as to the use of the helm; or 
 had our old wheelropes, which had broken no fewer than 
 four times on the passage, failed us at that awful moment, 
 we should have gone through the brig in an instant, scarce- 
 ly having had time to hear the cries for aid sent up by 
 the drowning men ere they were far behind; and whatever 
 might have been our own fate, theirs, at least, would have 
 been inevitable. The danger we had escaped, and the in- 
 creased force of the wind, of which, in rounding to, we 
 were made sensible, imposed the wholesome idea of 
 greater caution. The handspike was heard striking three 
 times on the forecastle ; " All hands ahoy!" was the cry that 
 followed. Our topsails were close reefed, with many a 
 plaintive "Ho, heave ho!" as they tugged at the strug- 
 gling canvass; the mainsail too was furled; and though our 
 rate seemed little diminished, the ship was under more 
 
THE CHANNEL. 
 
 17 
 
 commanding sail to haul by the wind, should other vessels 
 be seen ahead ; as indeed actually oecurred several times 
 during the night. On our arrival we heard that the Ca- 
 nada, the packet preceding us, had run down an English 
 brig in the night, whose captain was knocked overboard 
 and downed. Encounters of this sort are necessarily very 
 common in so frequented a sea, where the weather is so 
 often thick. Our packets, which run in all weathers, and 
 never heave to, are especially liable to accidents of this na- 
 ture; and it is a curious commentary upon the received 
 opinion in England, — by which the people seek to console 
 themselves for that superiority in model, equipment and 
 speed, which it is not easy to deny to us, in insisting, that 
 if our ships are handsomer, theirs are strongest, — that in 
 all these encounters, Brother Jonathan passes on as if no- 
 thing had happened to him, and John Bull goes uniformly 
 to the bottom. 
 
 The next morning saw me up betimes. As it dawned 
 towards eight we discovered land — Saint Alban's Head — 
 indistinctly seen through the drizzling rain, and the clouds 
 which hung low and heavy around us. It rose rather 
 boldly, and was of a white or grayish colour, which contri- 
 buted to render it indistinct. These were the chalk cliffs 
 of Old England, characteristically ushered in amid clouds, 
 rain, a hurricane of wind, and an all-pervading gloom, 
 Ere long we could discover Corfe Castle, Poole, and Chris! 
 Church on our left; and presently -the Isle of Wight was 
 seen breaking through the gloom, the bold, naked point of 
 the Needles standing in strong relief far above the horizon. 
 
 It was blowing so very fresh that the captain feared we 
 might not find a pilot-boat at sea. However, we soon dis- 
 covered one ahead, and a few minutes placed us alongside 
 of him. She was a short, black, clumsy, and misshapen 
 
18 
 
 THE CHANNEL 
 
 craft as it was possible to see; cutter rigged, with an im- 
 mense protruding bowsprit, and huge mainboom. She was 
 under close-reefed sails, yet floundered about at a famous 
 rate, throwing the water up to the head of her mainsail. 
 As we hove to with our head in shore, she came under 
 our lee, with her jib sheet to windward, and launched a 
 light boat overboard, in which two men presently put off 
 for us, leaving only one to take care of the cutter, a vessel of 
 thirty tons or more. They soon reached our side, jumped 
 on board, and hauled their boat up on our deck. We then 
 bore up, and the pilot-boat followed. The chief of the two, 
 who took charge of the ship, was a stout, hale, hearty 
 Englishman, frank in manners, and free of speech : he was 
 neatly as well as comfortably clad, having on his head a 
 broad-brimmed glazed hat, with blue jacket, with the buttons 
 of the Royal Yacht Club, he being master of one of the 
 yachts during the sailing season in summer. Over his blue 
 trousers he had a pair of uncommonly thick hose, which he 
 said he had bought in Sicily some years before, when on 
 board of a nobleman's yacht; and outside of all a pair of 
 formidable fisherman's boots, in which the whole of his 
 legs were swallowed up. His companion was a smaller 
 and much less distinguished looking personage. He too 
 had on a glazed hat and blue jacket, somewhat the worse 
 for wear, with a pair of equally formidable boots, although 
 their dimensions might not be so well estimated, as they 
 disappeared altogether beneath the canopy of an immense 
 overhanging petticoat of tarpaulined canvass, which was 
 secured at his waist with a drawing-string and strap of 
 leather. 
 
 The course being given to steer by, we immediately laid 
 siege to the pilot, to extract such items of news as he might 
 have to communicate. The most interesting by far was 
 
THE CHANNEL. 
 
 19 
 
 ihat of the unexpected return of Captain Koss. The King 
 of Spain was dead ; matters, according to his account, too, 
 were not going on very well in England : there was the old 
 story of hard times, and worse to come. We had already 
 made some progress ; the bleak point of the Needles reared 
 itself boldly before us : its bald precipitous side of white 
 chalk seeming to offer a stout yet ineffectual obstacle to the 
 waves that tore it; and the breakers on the reef which forms 
 the opposite boundary to the entrance of the harbour, shel- 
 tered by the Isle of Wight, were beginning to be seen in a 
 broad expanse of shattered and broken waters. Our pilot 
 just then discovered that the Danish schooner which was 
 following us in had hoisted a signal for a pilot at her fore. 
 He consulted for a moment with his comrade, and then 
 gave orders to put the helm down, and launch the little 
 cockle which had brought him on board ; saying at the same 
 time, there was no reason why a Yankee should have two 
 pilots and the Dane none at all. It was now blowing a 
 hurricane : the sea was running short and quick, with a 
 combing wave and driving spray ; and I could scarcely 
 credit my senses when I saw a single individual stepping 
 quietly and calmly into a boat, about twelve feet long, to 
 put forth alone in such an uproar of the elements. Yet 
 this was actually done by our little pilot in the tarpaulin 
 petticoat. He did not leave the side, however, until he had 
 secured the customary fee of a piece of salt pork from the 
 harness-cask, and a bottle of whiskey, which he uncok- 
 ed, smelt, and from which he took a hearty, heaven-regard- 
 ing quaff. Having carefully recorked and stowed it under 
 the headsheets, he now hauled in his painter, took to his 
 oars, and got the boat's head to wind ; pulling with a long 
 and steady stroke clear of the ship, and catching the stroke 
 quickly to prevent the boat's gathering sternboard. The pilots 
 
20 
 
 THE CHANNEL. 
 
 both looked upon this feat of reckless hardihood as a matter 
 of course, but 1 felt sure that it was attended with great 
 danger. I clambered to the poop, braced myself against 
 the mizzen rigging to prevent my being blown away, and 
 watched for the catastrophe with a painful interest. The little 
 egg-shell, scarce distinguished from the ducks that floated 
 around her, bore herself bravely; head to wind she faced 
 each coming sea; atone moment disappearing in the trough, 
 as if gone for ever; in the next, mounting on the top of the 
 very spray which broke wildly from the crest of each wave. 
 
 The schooner, on discovering the boat, which we feared 
 for a time she might not do, hauled up for her. Presently 
 after, to the horror of all of us, she again bore up and 
 passed to leeward, following us in and depending upon our 
 guidance. The only chance of safety for the poor fellow, 
 who had thus boldly perilled himself from a sense of duty, 
 and for the sake of the honest gain on which he was de- 
 pendant for his support, now rested upon the bare possibi- 
 lity of his being seen by the single individual who remained 
 in the pilot-boat, and who must already be sufficiently 
 occupied by his absorbing and perilous charge. If seen, 
 too, the task of rounding to and picking up the boat was 
 not easy or unattended with danger. The pilot-boat was 
 now very far astern ; we watched the too reckless adven- 
 turer until the eye grew weary, and then abandoned him 
 to his fate with a fervent wish for his deliverance. 
 
 By this we began to open the Needies. They are a col- 
 lection of isolated chalk rocks, which make out in a western 
 direction from the Isle of Wight, and are so called from 
 the circumstance of some of them being sharply pointed, 
 others being connected at the top, the ceaseless wash of i 
 the sea forming an arch below, which the imagination, 
 fruitful in discovering similes between the fantastic shapes 
 
THE CHANNEL. 
 
 21 
 
 of nature and the symmetric forms of artificial objects, and 
 sometimes puzzled for a name, has fancifully likened to the 
 points and eyes of needles. The bold cape from which 
 these isolated rocks make off, and from which they have 
 evidently been gradually broken, is called the Needle's 
 Point. It rises perpendicularly five or six hundred feet 
 from the sea, which, as we passed, was madly dashing 
 against its base, and sending s waters far up the side. It 
 is of a chalky white, and is altogether one of the most re- 
 markable and boldest headlands in the world. To the 
 • ♦ of the narrow passage tn rough w hich we were entering 
 lay the dangerous reef called the Bridge; the sea, agitated 
 by the full blast of an autumnal gale, broke over it in a 
 vast extent of the most terrific breakers I had ever seen. 
 Vast quantities of gulls, gannets. and shearwaters, driven 
 m from sea, yet apparently delighting in the scene of strife 
 and uproar, contended against the gale, wheeled in circling 
 eddies, or allowed themselves to be borne before it with 
 the speed of lightning. As we flew by with almost equal 
 rapidity, the pilot gave, in a few sententious words, the 
 appropriate tale of the loss of his Majesty's schooner the 
 Nightingale, which had grounded some years before on the 
 Bridge. Turning to the right he pointed to the Needle's 
 Point, where, on the brink of the precipice, stood the 
 lonely and isolated light-tower; and in the same breath re- 
 lated how, one foggy morning, the keeper, having swal- 
 lowed his morning dram, walked off the edge. 
 
 We passed quite near Hurst Castle, a venerable ruin 
 that told of feudal times, and which, until the late reform, 
 sent two members to parliament. Its gray and time-worn 
 sides were finely contrasted with the deep red of the two 
 huge light-towers that rose beside it, and the neat appear- 
 ance of the white and well-kept cottages of the lighlmen 
 
to 
 
 THE CHANNEL. 
 
 and coast-guard that clustered around it. Though the? * 
 coast of England lay but a couple of miles beyond, it was 
 but indistincly seen through the lurid and driving clouds, 
 Occasionally the spire of a church or the tower of some 
 ruined castle broke through the gloom ; but the numerous 
 towns that lined the coast were not even momentarily seen. 
 In return, we had a full view of the Isle of Wight, which 
 we passed at the distance of a quarter of a mile; from the 
 Needle's Point, it stretched eastward in an uncultivated 
 down, covered with a short grass, which was still of a 
 dusky green. The ridge itself appeared, against the back- 
 ground of dark cloulds, of a singular regularity, defined 
 as distinctly as a black line upon paper, and broken by no 
 other objects than the lighthouse and beacon to guide ships 
 in crossing the Bridge, and by a single individual in a white 
 shirt, who, as he strode along the summit of the hill, soared 
 into the cloulds in giant-like and preternatural relief. Here 
 the chalk cliff changed its hues to yellow, red, and purple; 
 and gangs of labourers were employed in quarrying for a 
 sand used in the manufacture of glass, and said to be very 
 valuable. 
 
 The succession of objects past which we were now hur- 
 ried at a very short distance and a tremendous rate, fur- 
 nished an uncommonly spirited and gay spectacle. Yar- 
 mouth, Newtown, and Cowes came and went like magic ; 
 these were quickly followed by a continuous fleet of wind- 
 bound ships, which we passed within the toss of a biscuit — 
 by pleasure-yachts moored in the bays — gigs and fishing- 
 boats lining the strand — by Gothic churches rising at fre- 
 quent intervals, the venerable shrines of a pure and heart- 
 felt religion — and by the charming residences of a rich and 
 most tasteful people. There were beautiful cottages sur- 
 rounded bv hay-ricks, hedges, and gardens; French and. 
 
THE CHANNEL 
 
 23 
 
 Eirzabcthan chateaux, with formal walks and alleys; or 
 admirable imitations of antique castles overrun with ivy, 
 yet filled apparently with all imaginable comforts, and 
 graced with the fair form of woman, gazing with rapture 
 from the shelter and security of the veranda, and from 
 amid the plants and flowers that embosomed her, upon the 
 swift flight of our ship, the strife of the elements, and the 
 triumphs of man in commanding them. 
 
 We were to anchor on the ; Mother Bank, off Ryde, as 
 furnishing the most protected part of the admirable road- 
 stead formed by the Isle of Wight. While yet three miles 
 off we commenced shortening sail, and furling every thing, 
 that we might neither part nor drag when the anchor 
 should be let go. W 7 e still continued to run at the rate of 
 eight knots, under bare poles, and were soon off Ryde, 
 where we rounded to and let go the anchor. The chain 
 rattled out at a tremendous rate, to the great dismay of the 
 steerage passengers, all of whom had risen from the dead 
 and come forth, and of my old friend the bear on the main 
 hatch. Presently it was all out, and the ship brought up 
 with a violent surge, and swung round quickly to her an- 
 chor. 
 
 There was an immense fleet of the outward bound an- 
 chored in every direction around us. Two or three crui- 
 sers and troop-ships lay, with housed masts and yards point- 
 ed to the wind, in the roadstead of Spithead, and a mile 
 beyond was the town of Portsmouth : its rusty steeples, and 
 the fortifications which protect its harbour, indistinctly seen 
 through the storm. A number of diminutive steamers were 
 struggling slowly against the wind, in the direction of Ryde, 
 Yarmouth, or Southampton; and a small cutter, having an 
 American ensign stopped in her rigging, was seen standing 
 towards us. This was the vessel belonging to the packet 
 
24 
 
 THE CHANNEL. 
 
 agents, which they were sending off for our passengers 
 and letter- bag. She was called the Navarin, a very trim 
 little craft, of which I had heard a great deal on the pas- 
 sage, as well as of her skipper, the son of one of the agents, 
 a semi-nautical worthy, by the name of Sam. She now 
 passed under our stern, bearing herself gallantly under 
 her close-reefed sails, and, luffing short round, came 
 alongside, and made fast by the ropes which we threw to 
 her. 
 
 The Navarin and her skipper Sam seemed to be less at 
 home in this subordinate association with our overgrown 
 ship, than when moving about independently and on her 
 own account. Her jibs had been hauled down, but the 
 mainsail still fluttered violently in the gale, and the main- 
 boom swung about in a way very formidable to those who 
 stood near it. At every sea, bowsprit and bows went 
 completely under, sousing the sailors who trod the deck, 
 w hilst the intrepid Sam, in danger of having his head knocked 
 off by the restless boom, had taken refuge within the door 
 of his companion-way, and seemed to lose all heart. He 
 was a little urchin of one-and-twenty or more, mounted 
 ambitiously upon a pair of enormously high-heeled boots, 
 which served to make his footing at this time the more in- 
 secure. He had on a dandy blue jacket, covered with but- 
 tons, which were meant to look like those of the Royal Yacht 
 Club, though instead of those initials they bore the hum- 
 bler one of the American Packet Service. An oilcloth cap 
 and cloak of the same, which he in vain struggled to keep 
 round him, completed his dress; whilst a face beaming 
 with good nature towards others and himself, and long locks 
 of sandy hair depending at either side, to please the eyes 
 of the Portsmouth sirens, formed the ensemble of his ap- 
 pearance. 
 
THE CHANNEL. 
 
 25 
 
 And now commenced the scene of disembarking our 
 passengers; as odd a one as could well be witnessed. The 
 only way to get into the cutter was by reaching from the 
 channels of the ship to her rigging, and descending along 
 it. This was a very simple matter to sea-going characters, 
 but not so much so to clumsy labourers and countrymen, 
 who had moreover nearly lost the use of their limbs by sea- 
 sickness, confinement, and inactivity. They would plant 
 themselves in the channels, hold on with both hands to our 
 rigging, and with eyes half shut through fear, stretch forth 
 an exploring and ineffectual foot in search of the rattlings 
 of the Navarin's rigging, which would sometimes rise under 
 them, and nearly turn them over. They never would have 
 got down if the sailors had not come to their assistance, 
 turned them round, guided their feet and hands, and some- 
 times trundled them over. The baggage was now sent 
 down with as little ceremony ; slung in ropes, or tossed 
 from hand to hand ; a more beggarly assortment of clothes 
 and furniture could scarce be met with at an auction in 
 Saint Giles's. One box slipped from the slings upon deck 
 just as the Navarin gave a desperate plunge and set her 
 whole deck afloat. The contents tumbled out, and were 
 scattered far and wide; a dingy shirt or two, the leg of a 
 pair of red flannel drawers, the fragments of a green surtout, 
 a broken jar of brown sugar, which was quickly converted 
 into salt molasses, and sundry nails, and odds and ends of 
 half-smoked cigars, with some small articles of plunder 
 picked up about decks, which the second mate, had he not 
 been better occupied, might have recognised and reclaimed. 
 Part of our cabin passengers landed at the same time, still 
 preserving on board of the Navarin their aristocratic advan- 
 tages over the humbler worthies of the steerage, who were 
 stowed with the baggage in the hold, whilst they were con- 
 
26 
 
 THE CHANNEL. 
 
 ducted to the narrow closet which Sam dignified by the 
 ambitious name of the cabin. Being very desirous of 
 seeing something of the intermediate coast, and the navi- 
 gation of the river, whose pilots are so celebrated for their 
 seamanship and dexterity, I determined to remain with the 
 ship until she should reach London. 
 
 Our business at Portsmouth was soon over, and we were 
 ready to depart ; but such a hurrianceas was then blowing, 
 with constantly increasing violence too, furnished no fit 
 moment to put to sea. The captain determined, therefore, 
 to remain in our present snug anchorage until the weather 
 should moderate. We were indeed very much disposed to 
 thank our good fortune that we were not still in the Channel, 
 and to appreciate the good sense of the pilot's remarks as 
 to the inestimable value to England of the Isle of Wight as 
 a breakwater, and the vast amount of life and property which 
 is annually saved from destruction by its happy position. 
 
 Our interest in the fate of the pilot who had so boldly put 
 forth in the little boat to board the Danish schooner, though 
 it had been checked by our rapid run along the Isle of Wight, 
 and the swiftly-passing diorama of so many picturesque 
 objects, had not been forgotten. No sooner were we safe 
 at anchor than we began to follow the anxious looks of the 
 pilot in quest of his cutter, which was out of time. The indi- 
 vidual who embarked alone in the little boat was his brother- 
 in-law; these two, with another brother, were joined in 
 company, owning the little craft among them. We were 
 pleased soon after to see her heave in sight, coming down 
 from Cowes. As she came on, however, the pilot's anxiety 
 was greatly excited in discovering, as she sheered a little, 
 that the boat which'she towed astern was not the same one 
 in which his brother-in-law had embarked; it was a new 
 one, not yet painted black, as all beats on the coasts of the 
 
THE CHANNEL. 
 
 27 
 
 United Kingdom are required to be, in order to distinguish 
 them from those of the preventive service, which alone arc 
 painted white. He saw at once that the little boat must 
 have been lost, and that the cutter had stopped at Cowes 
 for a spare one kept there in readiness. The painful question 
 now occurred, what had become of the hardy fellow who 
 had ventured forth in her? Had he been passed without 
 being seen by the cutter, and left to exhaust his strength at 
 the oars ki delaying the moment when the wind and tide 
 would inevitably carry him among the breakers ; or had he 
 been run down in the dangerous attempt to pick him up 
 made by the single individual left alone to manage so large 
 a vessel in a gale of wind ? The fears of the pilot, in which 
 we anxiously sympathized, were soon relieved, by finding, 
 as the cutter came nearer, that the man was upon her deck, 
 all life, and in possession of the helm. Passing under our 
 stern he hailed his companion, to say that they had taken 
 the boat in tow, and that she had been swamped in the 
 breakers, as they crossedthe Bridge. This was a loss of 
 four or five pounds to these poor fellows, which would 
 swallow up nearly the whole gains of piloting our ship in. 
 
 The ship being now snug, and the work done, the sailors 
 mustered round their supper on the forecastle, having pre- 
 viously been comforted with each a wine-glassful of rum 
 dispensed to them at the mainmast by the second steward, 
 while we were summoned to discuss a saddle of mutton, 
 with sundry other good things, in the more comfortable, 
 though perhaps not happier, sanctuary of the cabin. The 
 conversation naturally turned upon the lost boat, for which 
 we all agreed that the Dane should, injustice, be made to 
 pay. The pilot said that all that could be got from him, 
 when there was time to look to the matter, was half pilotage 
 for following us in. He seemed to take the matter very 
 
28 
 
 THE CHANNEL. 
 
 philosophically : " There, must be losses as well as gains, 
 my masters, in all trades." He added, that the loss of a 
 boat was a frequent occurrence to them, with now and then 
 a man ; and sometimes a cutler was lost with all on board. 
 They had lost as many as three small boats in one winter. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 PORSTMOUTH. 
 
 Sail to Porstmouth in the Navarin — Sensations of Landing — A Stage- 
 coach — Dress and Appearance of the population — Buildings and Shops 
 — The invisible Dock-yard — Sailors on Shore — English Steamers — A 
 Family Group. 
 
 On the morning after our arrival at Portsmouth the wea- 
 ther had greatly moderated; but as the distance of the 
 Thames was only about one hundred and twenty miles, the 
 captain determined not to sail until the evening, so as to have 
 daylight in passing that part of the coast from Dungeness 
 to Margate, where there are some dangers to be avoided, 
 and where daylight is necessary to procure a pilot. 
 
 As we had the whole day before us, the captain proposed 
 a visit to the shore ; and we straightway embarked in the 
 Navarin, under the guidance of the doughty Sam, whose 
 energies, rising as the gale abated, were now quite equal to 
 the management of his craft. He had shaken out all his 
 reefs, set his largest jib, fidded his topmast, and carried the 
 American ensign with a swagger at the truck, instead of 
 hanging it with a depressed and dish-cloth air in the rigging. 
 
 The old sailor, to whom he had very willingly abandoned 
 
3U 
 
 PORTSMOUTH. 
 
 the honour and responsibility of command the day before, 
 as he escaped from the salt spray and the sallies of the main- 
 boom to the protection of the companion-way, was now 
 again degraded to the condition of a foremast hand, and 
 turned upon the forecastle, while the youthful skipper, 
 perched upon his high -heeled boots, grasped the helm with a 
 knowing cock of the eye, and issued his commands with the 
 authoritative air of a newly-caught midshipman. 
 
 A quick and pleasant sail brought us under the fortified 
 point of land which forms the entrance to the beautiful 
 harbour of Portsmouth. Here a number of convicts were 
 at work; many of them wearing chains, which clanked as 
 they moved along. The entrance to the harbour being 
 quite narrow, offered a very lively scene; small steamers 
 were arriving and departing ; boats were crossing from the 
 town to Gosport with passengers ; square-rigged and smaller 
 vessels were entering or beating out ; while in the harbour 
 above lay several cruisers at their moorings. Among them 
 was a stately three-decker, which wore the flag of the admi- 
 ral. It was Nelson's ship — the ship which so nobly upheld 
 the banner of England at Trafalgar, and bore the worthy 
 and well-won name of the Victory. 
 
 We had scarce reached the neighbourhood of the shingle 
 beach which forms the landing-place, ere we were sur- 
 rounded by watermen anxious to turn an honest penny in 
 carrying us ashore. At the beach, another set of worthies 
 obsequiously aided us to land, and offered their services in 
 transporting our luggage. Neither the captain nor I was in 
 a condition to need their services ; but we delivered up to 
 their lender mercies our young countryman, who had not 
 landed the day before; his luggage was overhauled by the 
 Custom-house officer with somewhat less scruple for having 
 felt the touch of his silver, and passed from one hand to an- 
 
PORTSMOUTH 
 
 31 
 
 other until it reached the top of a stage-coach, which was 
 waiting for him, and where he hastened to place himself 
 also, relieved in a very few minutes of the weight of sundry 
 sixpences and shillings, transferred to the greasy pouches 
 of watermen, dock-rangers, and coach-porters. Being 
 a disinterested witness, and at leisure to observe, I could not 
 help smiling at the respectful courtesy with which each 
 claimant commended himself to the attentionof the sufferer, 
 lifting his hat, and proffering the sententious words, "Wa- 
 terman, sir!" "Porter, sir!" "Coach-porter, sir!" and 
 contrasting it with the air of well-bred indifference with 
 which, when the demand was listened to and the sixpence 
 hidden, each turned away in search of other victims. 
 
 A ship careering proudly under a cloud of bellying can- 
 vass is a noble object; the ocean, with its vastness,its mono- 
 tony, its symmetric boundary, met by the blue dome of the 
 overhanging heavens, its unfathomable depths, and the huge 
 monsters that alone have penetrated their unrevealed mys- 
 teries, is full of sublimity and grandeur. But with what 
 rapture do we not ever exchange the ocean, with all its 
 sublimity, and the winged messengers by whose aid we 
 are able to traverse it, for the firm footing and the more 
 varied spectacles of the land I More than a third of my life 
 has passed upon the water, and for years together I have 
 never slept out of a ship ; yet, after all, the land is the only 
 place for life and for enjoyment; but the zest with which 
 we regain it can only be appreciated by those who have 
 gone forth into the sea in ships ; and they only can under- 
 stand the interest and attraction with which the eye reverts 
 to a thousand familiar objects. The mariner will bear wit- 
 ness with me to the sensation of almost delirious rapture 
 with which, after a long voyage, and a familiarity with no 
 other odours than those of the sea itself, or the staler exha- 
 
POKTSMOUTH. 
 
 lations of the ship in which we traverse it, we first, even 
 while the land is as yet unseen, snuff the perfumes of mea- 
 dows in temperate climes, or the aromatic gales which the 
 land-breeze wafts to us from some fair island within the 
 tropics. 
 
 We had scarcely landed before our attention was taken 
 up by a battalion of foot soldiers, marching down to em- 
 bark in small boats for Gosport. Their well-drilled air, the 
 high order of their accoutrements, and the gaudy, flamingo- 
 like glare of their scarlet coats, with the fluttering of their 
 colours, and the clang of the martial music to which they 
 marched, all formed a spectacle on which I was for a mo- 
 ment arrested to gaze; but, after all, perhaps I was more 
 delighted with the appearance of the stage-coach, in which 
 my fellow-passengers were just starting for London. The 
 neat, graceful, compact form of the pretty toy, the mettled 
 and impatient air of the shining and well-groomed horses, 
 the high polish of the harness, and admirable order and 
 neatness of the whole affair, together with the sately and 
 consequential air of the portly and well-muffled coachman, 
 as he ascended to his box with the mien of a monarch seat- 
 ing himself upon his throne, all delighted me while yet the 
 vehicle was in repose. When, however, the guard mounting 
 behind called forth the characteristic, "All right!" and the 
 stableboys who held the horses had released and abandoned 
 them to their impatience, the whip cracked, the wheels 
 began to spin round, and the pavements to rattle, while 
 the veils of the fair occupants of the top of the coach 
 streamed out from the rapid motion, and the whole presented 
 an array of excited and happy faces, I thought the scene 
 one of the most spirited and striking that it was possible to 
 behold ; and the sensation with which I contemplated it 
 worth all the musings of sublimity with which, for want of 
 
PORTSMOUTH 
 
 Something belter, I had fed imagination on the outward 
 voyage. 
 
 Leaving the seaside, in the hope of escaping altogether 
 for an hour or two from nautical associations, we penetrated 
 into the town. In coming from America, the streets looked 
 narrow and confined ; the houses low, antiquated, con- 
 tracted and ill-built ; and the effects of the sea-coal smoke^ 
 in connexion with an atmosphere in itself covered and 
 overcast, was gloomy and depressing, aiding the influences 
 of a temperature which, though apparently not cold for 
 the season, was raw and chilling. The population did not, 
 however, seem to suffer in their health, or allow themselves 
 to be depressed in spirits by the action of any such causes 
 as these. They were ruddy, hale, and robust, and seemed 
 very well satisfied with their climate and their condition. 
 Many had breeches, stout woollen stockings, and smock- 
 frocks; and the variety of their costume was very pleasing 
 after the monotony so prevalent in America ; where, bating 
 some difference in texture and fashion, — less there owing 
 to the comfortable and independent condition of the labour- 
 ing classes than in any other country, — all dress as nearly 
 as possible in the same way. The women wore cotton 
 gowns, gay coloured handkerchiefs, warm cloaks, gipsy 
 hats of straw, and stout shoes, with clogs of wood or iron. 
 These were country people apparently who had come to 
 town with game, vegetables, worsted stockings, and other 
 articles, which they were selling in the squares and markets. 
 There were, too, a number of French women with eggs, 
 who did not seem to be in any particular favour with the 
 beldames of the land. Among the people of the better 
 orders I fancied that I discovered an air of greater health, 
 larger size, fairer and finer complexions, and a less satur - 
 nine expression of countenance. Instead of the ease, in 
 
 3 
 
34 
 
 PORTSMOUTH. 
 
 dependence, and proud carriage of the republic, however, 
 their demeanour seemed constrained and formal, as if each 
 were acting in imitation of some established model. The 
 women had better complexions and a brighter look than 
 I hose I had seen as I rode down Broadway to embark; but 
 their figures were robust, stalwart, and redundant, with 
 large extremities, and a determined and heavy tread ; their 
 dress, too, was far less elegant and tasteful, and evinced a 
 less happy judgment in the selection and contrast of colours ; 
 still it had the appearance of being both appropriate and 
 comfortable; and the thick shoes, the heavy shawl, and 
 circling boa, seemed much more conformable to right reason 
 and the fitness of things than the silks, the lace, and feathers 
 of our light and tripping countrywomen. Upon the whole, 
 these had a sturdy, wholesome, substantial, enduring, and 
 serviceable look, as contradistinguished from the somewhat 
 too gossamer forms, the graceful carriage, and distinguished 
 air of the American fair. 
 
 As we strolled through the streets, I was struck with the 
 extreme neatness of the shops, and, on entering one or two 
 to purchase a few trifles, with the address, civility, and 
 obligingness of the shopmen; though the conventional elo- 
 quence with which they recommended their wares, and 
 insisted on their being precisely what the purchaser was in 
 need of, however respectful and obsequious, had in it 
 something obtrusive and impertinent. I found in England 
 that it is not the practice to enter shops, inspect goods, 
 ransack shelves, and give much trouble without purchasing, 
 as is not unfrequently done in America : a practice which 
 argues more forbearance in the shopman than considera- 
 tion or sense of good breeding in his lounging and yawning 
 visiter. 
 
 The shops here were nearly all open to the air, which 
 
PORTSMOUTH. 
 
 was an evidence of the mildness of the climate. Another 
 point which particularly distinguished them from those of 
 America was the frequent occurrence of stalls of butchers, 
 fishmongers, and poulterers; which, in America, being all 
 collected in the public markets, are here, as on the Continent, 
 spread about at intervals, with the same view to the ad- 
 vantages of position and the supply of a neighbourhood as 
 the shops of grocers or hosiers. Whole sheep and calves 
 hang up at the front of the butchers' stalls, considerably 
 curtailing the dimensions of side- walks already sufficiently 
 narrow ; and parts of dismembered animals, joints, sirloins, 
 and the inferior offal that announce the food of the poor, 
 were hung about on hooks within doors, or suspended over 
 the street. I never any where saw meat so nicely prepared, 
 though it looked so preposterously fat and bloated that I 
 fancied that the art which is still so extensively practised in 
 France is not yet forgotten here, where it was well known 
 in those days when the redoubted Talgol was tauntingly 
 told that 
 
 u Not all the pride that makes thee swell 
 As big as thou dost blow up veal," 
 
 would avail to save him from the ire of Hudibras. Though 
 the meat looked coarse and puffy, it seemed to possess the 
 rudiments of life and restoration, to judge of its effects upon 
 the dispenser of these wares; in almost every case, a hale, 
 hearty, rotund, and cheerful-looking personage, in well- 
 filled top-boots, neat apparel, and scrupulously clean apron, 
 from whose drawing-string depended a shining knife and 
 steel. There was something in the portly size, the rosy 
 rubicund hue, and the cheerful, whistling, hey-day air of 
 each and all of these worthies, which seemed to illustrate 
 very conclusively the relative advantages of meat and 
 
 3* 
 
PORTSMOUTH. 
 
 vegetable diets, A well-drawn figure of one of these 
 worthies, and of a lean, threadbare, and attenuated peasant 
 of Erin's unhappy isle, would serve as no bad or unfair 
 personification of Mr. John Roastbeef and plain Pat 
 Potato. 
 
 The fishmongers' stalls also made a very attractive ap- 
 pearance. The fish, lobsters, and neatly- washed oysters 
 were displayed on clean stone slabs, inclined to the street, 
 so as to expose the commodity to the customers, and carry 
 off the water with which it was frequently refreshed. The 
 poulterers also suspended their wares most temptingly 
 within and without their shops. They consisted chiefly of 
 hares, partridges, and pheasants with very rich plumage 
 and long tail-feathers ; also of venison, turkeys, geese, and 
 chickens, prepared for the broach, or partially divested of 
 their feathers from the breast and bodies, and left with their 
 wings and heads untouched. Having just landed from a 
 three weeks' voyage, which had been passed in demolishing, 
 and then, to prolong the pleasure, discussing the merits of 
 real wild game from a wild country, and of the best flavoured 
 poultry and provisions, and which in short had been de- 
 voted wholly to gastronomy, 1 did not contemplate the 
 spectacle of these edible appliances with all the rapture that 
 I might have done in other passages of my life, and at the 
 termination of other voyages in far distant seas, where 1 
 had been half starved for months together. I could, 
 however, well sympathize in the yearning and voracious 
 glances with which some young midshipmen, just landed 
 from a newly-arrived cruiser, and whose sunburnt coun- 
 tenances, contrasting with the light locks of England, pro- 
 claimed them wanderers from some torrid clime, eyed these 
 treasures of good cheer. They seemed to have but little 
 admiration to spare for the fresh and blooming] faces of 
 
PORTSMOUTH. 
 
 37 
 
 their passing countrywomen ; though this indifference was 
 not unlikely to give place to more ardent feelings in their 
 subsequent walks, after they should have provided for the 
 comfort and refreshment of their inner man at the George 
 Inn, which they now entered under the guidance of the 
 oldest of the party, round whom the younkers rallied, and 
 who seemed chosen to act as commodore in the land 
 cruise on which they had so heartily and so adventurously 
 set out. 
 
 Strolling along the ramparts of the town, we caught 
 some glimpses of the surrounding country. It was Hat and 
 monotonous for some miles, until bounded by a line of chalk 
 hills of no great height. The whole expanse was divided 
 into small fields, carefully separated by hawthorn hedges, 
 out of which grew at intervals an occasional elm-tree. 
 Some were still green with grass, others elaborately culti- 
 vated, and clothed in every direction with white cottages, 
 surrounded by stacks of hay and corn, or with tasteful 
 villas, of forms as various as individual caprice could 
 suggest. 
 
 Though very anxious to see the dock-yard, 1 did not, of 
 course, attempt to gain admittance. All persons entering 
 it are required to record their names and places of residence 
 at the gate ; and foreigners are only allowed the privilege in 
 virtue of a specific order from the Admiralty. Such is the 
 vigilant yet ineffectual jealousy with which England watches 
 over all that pertains to her waning dominion on the ocean ; 
 and those wooden walls which extend the arm of her power 
 every where to the remotest seas,and display her proud banner 
 llauntingly and disdainfully in the eyes of an overawed world. 
 If there were any thing new in the science of naval war in 
 England, a single month would, in this age of publicity, re 
 veal it to the whole world. The power of the British navy 
 
38 
 
 PORTSMOUTH. 
 
 consists in the vast collection of materials, the number of 
 her ships, in the skill and experience of her officers and the 
 excellence of her seamen, nurtured in a commercial marine 
 which covers every sea . Add to this the vast wealth, the ac- 
 cumulated capital, and untold treasures which are the produc- 
 tion of previous and still-sustained industry, and which give 
 life and energy to her other resources, and we have the real 
 causes of England's naval superiority, which does not 
 consist in any exclusive ingenuity in the construction and 
 equipment of her ships c The foreigner who would steal 
 into the Portsmouth dock-yard with any surreptitious pur- 
 pose, would probably be found studying the models of the 
 President, the Endymion, the Blonde, or some captured 
 Spaniard, and not in carrying off any outlines of those 
 crazy and dancing cock-boats, in which the forms of 
 caiques and polacres, intended to traverse circumscribed 
 and sheltered seas, are extended to the largest ships, turned 
 out to roll and wallow in the full-grown billows of the 
 Atlantic; or attempting to gain a useful idea in construction 
 in the building-sheds of a navy which is abandoned to a 
 wild spirit of innovation, trampling upon established rules 
 and all that experience has consecrated, and which is given 
 up to the ruinous guidance of charlatans and yacht- 
 fanciers. 
 
 Though we did not enter the dock-yard, we took a look 
 at the gate that gives admission to it, and enjoyed a broad- 
 side view from the land of the noble old Victory. The 
 beach and adjacent streets were crowded with jolly sailors; 
 some, just discharged, had yards of ribbon hanging from 
 their neat trucks, and fluttering like the pendants of so many 
 cruisers, and the gilded chains of one or more watches 
 dangling from their tight -set waistbands. These rolled 
 over the ground with a glorious swagger; and, in their 
 
PORTSMOUTH. 
 
 39 
 
 trim gala air, were the very opposites of someolher worthies, 
 who, with tattered shirt, bunged-up eyes, and minus the 
 jacket which they had doubtless swallowed in the shape of 
 rum the day before, were skulking to a house whence de- 
 pended a union-jack, to which was posted a handbill, setting 
 forth that able seamen were required for His Majesty's 
 service. These fellows work hard three years at sea, and 
 recreate a week on shore ; if indeed that can be called 
 recreation which, if it does not kill them outright, often 
 severely injures their health, and leaves them more exhaust- 
 ed than months of toil and privation. The different favour 
 and estimation in which these poor victims seemed to be 
 held by the luring sirens that filled the streets, and ogled or 
 frowned from the windows, furnished a true though low- 
 lived picture of worldly interestedness. Never before did 
 I see such teeming evidences, and so much of the outward 
 and visible 6igns of vice, as in these my rambles through 
 the streets of Portsmouth. I might perhaps have been led 
 to draw conclusions unfavourable to the chastity of England, 
 herself so critical, so prudish, and so unforgiving in her es- 
 timation of her continental neighbours, had I been in any 
 hurry to draw conclusions of any sort ; or, had I not re- 
 membered that, besides being a garrison town, this was the 
 great rendezvous of the greatest navy in the world, and 
 that sailors, somewhat earlier than the days of Horace, were 
 already allowed by universal consent to be a wicked and 
 perverse race, without morals and without religion. Wo 
 is me, brother sailors ! we lead but a dog's life in this world. 
 Is it only that we may be the more certain of roasting in 
 the next ? 
 
 It would have been too much good fortune to have made 
 two passages in one day with Captain Sam in his Navarin. 
 There were, however, steamers running at stated hours 
 
PORTSMOUTH. 
 
 irom ^Portsmouth to Uyde, off which the Hannibal wai? 
 lying, and we got on board one of them at two o'clock. 
 There is no wharf or pier for the accommodation of pas- 
 sengers here. The port is lined with a shingle beach, on 
 which the boats are hauled up. The steamer lay at a short 
 distance from the shore, stemming the tide, and we reached 
 her in a small boat. This steamboat, like all in England, 
 was of very different construction from ours in America ; 
 most of ours being constructed to run on rivers and in smooth 
 water. Here there are no rivers, the harbours are gene- 
 rally more or less open, and all boats are occasionally 
 exposed to a heavy sea. Hence they are constructed fuller 
 and deeper, and have no superstructure of any sort, such 
 as pavilion-decks, and roofs for the shelter and comfort of 
 passengers. None of their machinery is on deck; and were 
 it not for the funnel emitting a black coal-smoke, and the 
 paddle-wheels, there would be nothing in the appearance of 
 their hulls to distinguish them from sailing-vessels, for they 
 are even painted in the same way. The travelling beam 
 and piston, which work up and down in sight in our boats, 
 here move horizontally below. Perhaps this is one reason 
 why the celerity in English steamboats is so inferior to ours ; 
 for, extravagant as the disparity may seem, I do not believe 
 that the average celerity of all the boats in the United 
 Kingdom is more than equal to half that of American 
 steamers. In a noble steam ship-of-war recently built in 
 England, having two engines of each one hundred and ten 
 horses, the length of the stroke is only live feet, while with 
 us it would be just double. The disparity in speed is not 
 wholly, but indeed very partially, owing to the Hat con- 
 struction of our boats, and the different character of the 
 navigation. In shoal water it is more difficult to displace 
 the resisting iluid, and the velocity is checked, We have 
 
PORTSMOUTH. 
 
 •II 
 
 steamers built of deeper draught for the navigation of the 
 Long Island Sound, one of which, the Lexington, has a 
 uniform speed of eighteen statute miles the hour ; and the 
 Charleston packets, which are exposed occasionally, in 
 passing along the Gulf Stream, to as terrific storms and as 
 dangerous seas as any to be encountered on the boisterous 
 coasts of the United Kingdom, go at a velocity of from 
 twelve to thirteen knots. 
 
 But to return to our little steamer now on her way to 
 Hyde, she scuffled along at the rate of six or seven knots. 
 She was evidently doing her best to oblige us, and it 
 would have been cruel to complain. Though there was no 
 gilding, brass, or ornament of any sort about this boat, she 
 was scrupulously neat, and the sailors employed about her 
 were better clad, and evidently a better class of persons 
 than those usually seen in ours. The air being raw and 
 chill, I went below to the cabin, which I found exceedingly 
 small. Instead of the rich and costly woods, the gilding, 
 carving, carpets, and tapestry which are found in most of 
 our boats, all was here plain and simple; the joiner's work 
 being unadorned, and merely painted white, with an oil- 
 cloth, and green cushions of moreen ; here, however, as on 
 deck, the cleanliness and order were admirable. 
 
 The little cabin was occupied, as I entered it, by a very 
 interesting group, consisting of a young gentleman, and a 
 lady of great beauty and elegance, who was evidently his 
 wife. Beside her sat a nurse, whose good looks, though 
 of a more substantial character, were not without claims to 
 admiration, and who was endeavouring to amuse a pretty 
 boy of two or three years, and divert his mind from the 
 effects of the boat's motion ; in which task she had a most 
 useful coadjutor in a little spaniel dog, very prettily spot- 
 ted, and with long silken ears. There was an air of mutual 
 
42 
 
 PORTSMOUTH 
 
 confidence and affection between the happy pair, which 
 evinced itself in none of those sickening epithets and mawk- 
 ish dalliance which married people not unfrequently in- 
 dulge in, for the edification of others whom chance has sent 
 as spectators of their exhibition ; but in every quiet look, 
 word, and action. Nothing delights me more than the 
 spectacle of a happy group thus blessed in the present, and 
 with hope to gild each cloud that hangs about the horizon 
 of the future. Every thing, indeed, seemed in good keeping 
 in this charming living picture, after the manner of Raphael 
 The noble, manly, protecting air of the husband ; the grace, 
 the delicacy, the soft security and confiding repose of the 
 wife; the more solid and substantial charms of the rustic 
 fair one; and the innocence of the child, at the age when 
 children first begin to have any interest, were all aided by 
 the effect of graceful drapery and well-chosen colours. 
 To render the scene complete, they were surrounded by a 
 thousand little appliances of comfort and luxury, which 
 were all called into use in the course of our short voyage 
 A neat portfolio was first produced and opened, exhibiting 
 the combination of compactness and high finish, which 
 luxury and refinement have given rise to among a highly 
 civilized people. There was no table in the cabin, but the 
 obliging husband contrived to make one of his lap; while 
 his wife penned a hasty line to put in the post at Ryde, in 
 order to announce a safe arrival to some near friend from 
 whom they had recently parted. This care disposed of, a 
 basket was produced and unpacked, which was found to 
 contain the very opposites of the intellectual contents of the 
 portfolio, in the shape of sandwiches done up in white pa- 
 per, and an entire roast chicken. Ere they made any inroad 
 upon their store of good things, they very politely and cor - 
 dially invited me to partake. 
 
PORTSMOUTH. 
 
 18 
 
 An act of courtesy like this would have been obvious 
 enough on the Continent ; and in Spain would surely, under 
 like circumstances, have been practised by the humblest 
 peasant or muleteer ; but I certainly was not prepared for 
 such civility by a slight intercourse with various repulsive 
 specimens of English people in my own country and else- 
 where. As I had not, however, come to this country armed, 
 in imitation of the amiable example of its travellers in 
 my own, with a set of opinions to which facts were by some 
 means to be accommodated, I very willingly stored up the 
 circumstance in my memory as a pleasing incident, which 
 I am happy to record. Perhaps the attention may have 
 been unusual, and owing to my removing my hat and bow- 
 ing as 1 entered an apartment, of which, though public 
 for all the passengers, they were the only occupants, having 
 rendered it probable that I was a foreigner. At any rate, 
 I learned on this occasion one lesson of national manners, 
 which was confirmed by all my subsequent experience. 
 This was, the sensible custom of English people, of going 
 always armed with eatables to sustain their energies, and 
 keep alive their enthusiasm. The pleasures and excite- 
 ment of a journey, the rapture which is enkindled by the 
 contemplation of fine scenery, or the ecstasy with which the 
 soul is moved by the triumphs of music at a festival or an 
 oratorio, are never in England allowed to be diminished by 
 the inward discomfort of an empty stomach. There is a 
 sympathy of feeling on this subject throughout the land ; and 
 never shall I forget the loud and enthusiastic burst of loy- 
 alty with which I once saw King William greeted by an 
 overflowing house at Drury-lane, as he accompanied his 
 cup of tea by the customary bread and butter, eating, as one 
 remarked beside me, exactly like a common person. 
 
 But to return to our little steam-boat; she ere long stop- 
 
1 1 
 
 PORTSMOUTH. 
 
 ped under the stei n of the Hannibal. A boat came from 
 the ship to take us alongside; and, soon after, we were 
 seated at dinner, when I endeavoured, as well as I could, 
 to do justice to the good cheer of the captain's table, and 
 imitate the energetic attacks of my late friendly companions 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE KENTISH COAST. 
 
 Leave Portsmouth — Beacby Head — Dunge Ness — Light-house Sinecures 
 — River Pilot — Shipwrecks — Appearance of the Coast — Hythe — Dover 
 — Cinque Ports — The Downs — Kentish Wreckers. 
 
 Towards sundown we weighed anchor and stood to sea, 
 going out from behind the Isle of Wight by the opposite 
 entrance from which we had arrived, in coming from the 
 west. We had come in by the Needles, and now passed 
 out by St. Helen's. The gale had ceased, and though the 
 sky was still gloomy and overcast, the pilot, and those who 
 could judge in an English sense and speak advisedly, pro- 
 nounced the weather beautiful. The wind blew gently from 
 the south, and we swept quietly along the coast. As the 
 day declined, and the darkness spread around, the beau- 
 tiful beacon-lights of this admirably marked coast grew 
 into distinctness and brilliancy. The salutary care of a go- 
 vernment, watchful of the lives and property of its subjects, 
 has provided lights at every headland and place of danger. 
 These are visible from twenty to thirty miles in fine wea- 
 ther, are distinguished by their cofcur, phases, and periods 
 of revolution, and have sufficient pcAver to pierce the gloom 
 which ordinarily envelops the coast to a distance sufficient 
 
46 
 
 THE KENTISH COAST. 
 
 to secure the safety of the watchful mariner. Other in- 
 termediate points of inferior note, having piers or natural 
 ► harbours, have beacons of less brilliancy, which are placed 
 on the extremity of the moles, and called tidelights ; be- 
 cause they are only lit towards high water, when alone it 
 is possible to enter. In this way we passed the Owens, 
 which mark the existence of a danger ; a brilliant collection 
 of gas-lit streets, sloping down a hill side, marked the site 
 of Brighton, a city exclusively of the rich, then the resi- 
 dence of the court, and the scene of festive revelry ; at 
 length the brilliant, meteor-like light of Beachy Head 
 blazed up in the direction of our course, to remind me of 
 one of the commonest of sea similes, applied equally, in 
 narrative, to ships and women — " She loomed like Beachy 
 Head in a fog." 
 
 Having walked the deck until a late hour, excited by 
 the balminess of the gentle south breeze, the steady and 
 quiet motion of the ship, and the bright array of lighthouses, 
 beacons, and illuminated cities of Sussex, past which we 
 nearly and leisurely glided, I retired at length below, with 
 the determination of being out again betimes. The day 
 was dawning as I rose, and we were off that southern point 
 of the coast of Kent, which, stretching out into a low sandy 
 headland, is known by the name of Dunge Ness. Here is 
 a very fine light, whose power and brilliancy we could 
 still appreciate, though the gathering day had already an- 
 nounced the coming of nature's luminary. If, however, it 
 were nearly as brilliant as the sun, it was not by any 
 means so cheap. I forget, now, how much the Hannibal 
 had to pay each voyage for this Dunge Ness light ; but 1 
 well remember that she and other ships make up for Mr. 
 Coke, of Norfolk, the pfetty purse of four or five thousand 
 pounds over and above' the annual expenses of maintaining 
 this light. I was told, moreover, that Mr. Coke, whose 
 
THE KENTISH COAST 
 
 47 
 
 name was familiar to me among the distinguished English- 
 men of the day, was an individual of enormous patrimonial 
 wealth, and of elevated character, and honourable estima- 
 tion in the land. He had repeatedly declined being called 
 to the peerage. He was a very great patriot; indeed, he 
 owed to his patriotism, that is, if patriotism and whig prin- 
 ciples be admitted to be synonymous, the late renewal of 
 the charter from Trinity House, or from whencesoever it 
 came, securing to him this rich sinecure, chargeable to the 
 commerce of the country, for other ten years. I think, in 
 declining to be called My Lord, Mr. Coke might very con- 
 sistently have put back this dishonourable subsidy, the want 
 of which to him would have involved the abridgment of no 
 luxury, but which is felt oppressively as added to the bur- 
 dens of merchants, ship-owners, and masters, toiling, eco- 
 nomizing, and exposing themselves to become owners 
 also. 
 
 Daniel O'Connell — by whom, however, I am by no 
 means disposed to swear — being without fortune, has de- 
 voted those rare talents and acquirements, and that brilliant 
 eloquence, which might have conducted to the highest 
 honours and unbounded wealth, to the restless and un- 
 wearying advocacy of Ireland's«wrongs. For these services 
 he receives, as a voluntary offering from his countrymen, 
 such sums as his professional labours would make his own 
 with less vexation at the bar, or the tithe of what he might 
 throw away in patronage upon his family, had his vocation 
 been for office. For the receipt of this voluntary tribute 
 he is each day proclaimed infamous to the world, branded 
 as a selfish and sordid spirit, and the most wretched of 
 beggarmen. Mr. Coke, of Holkham, being the hereditary 
 possessor of unmeasured acres, extorts compulsorily four 
 thousand pounds from ship-owners, shippers, and smack 
 masters, which the legislative obliquities of the land permit 
 
4S 
 
 THE KENTISH COAST. 
 
 him to levy, and for which he renders no service in return. 
 Yet the world's estimation, denouncing O'Connell as in- 
 famous, proclaims him just, generous, and a patriot. 
 
 It so chanced that the first English newspaper which 
 came in my way contained some evidence, given by a dis- 
 tinguished merchant before a committee of the House of 
 Commons, on the depressed condition of the shipping 
 interest. To enforce his opinion, he stated, that if any 
 person would place at his disposal a thoroughly equipped 
 ship, without the payment of any consideration, and simply 
 upon the condition of his keeping her in repair, he would 
 not consent to sail her in times like the present. The 
 individual was upon oath; perhaps he had been broken in 
 by swearingto manifests At any rate I did not believe him, 
 for I read his evidence soon after it was given, in working 
 up the Thames, and surrounded by fleets of ships and 
 teeming indications of a not motiveless or unprofitable 
 activity. Though I did not believe the case to be so extreme 
 a one, yet I placed the circumstance beside the other of 
 the Dunge Ness light, and could not help wondering that 
 a country, which has become great by freedom and by 
 commerce, should permit the sources of its power to be 
 thus obstructed and preyed 5 upon. — The day now grew 
 apace. The chalky hills of the interior grew into distinct- 
 ness, and many towns scattered along the coast testified to 
 the populousness of this maritime county. There were 
 fleets of outward-bound vessels anchored under the land, 
 waiting a wind to get to the westward. The sky, though 
 overcast, did not indicate rain or inclement weather; the 
 water, being free from swell and of a very bright green, 
 was stirred into miniature billows by the growing breeze. 
 Here the Thames pilots cruise for the inward-bound from 
 the Atlantic. We soon saw one, having her signal up and 
 standing towards us. She was a small cutter of thirty or 
 
THE KENTISH COAST. 
 
 49 
 
 forty tons, under reefed sails. We found that she had 
 been out a week, and of course had encountered the tre- 
 mendous gale we had rode out under the Isle of Wight. 
 Though clumsy, awkward, and apparently unmanageable, 
 these cutters must certainly be excellent sea-boats to live in 
 such weather. The boat's crew of four which pulled the 
 boat alongside were a very hardy weather-beaten set ; 
 their mode of life exposes them to frequent storms and rain, 
 and the perpetual drenching of the salt spray; they were, 
 however, most comfortably clad in suits of tarpaulin coal- 
 heavers' hats, huge boots, and canvass petticoats. The pilot 
 was a pursy little man, with a braggadocio air and a nautical 
 swagger. He had a copper nose and a red eye, that showed 
 that he knew how to empty a bottle. He fully proved this 
 ere we reached Gravesend, as well as that, both as a pilot 
 and a seaman, he was very competent to the discharge of 
 his duty. The boat's crew, except one, followed him up, 
 besieged the cook for raw pork, levied a bottle of rum, and 
 contrived to exact an extra glass each before their departure. 
 
 During breakfast the pilot regaled us with an account of 
 some of the wrecks, attended with loss of life, which had 
 occurred since the last voyage of the Hannibal. Quite re- 
 cently, a Quebec ship had been cast ashore near Calais, and 
 lost nearly the whole of her crew. The pilot expatiated 
 on the inhumanity of the French in not making greater ef- 
 forts to save them. By his own admission, however, those 
 who reached the land had been nursed with the greatest 
 kindness; and I not long after saw an account of a most 
 singular act of hardihood and courage of some French 
 fishermen, in saving the crew of an English vessel, at the 
 great risk of their own lives, and under the impulse of hu- 
 mane feelings alone. Their heroism was commended in 
 all the English papers, and the bounty of the sovereign was 
 most becomingly bestowed upon them. The vituperation 
 
. 
 
 THE KENTISH COAST. 
 
 of the pilot was only the effect of the national antipathy, still 
 existing in all its force among the amphibious inhabitants 
 of the opposite coasts. 
 
 Our course lay very close to the coast. It blew fresh 
 immediately along it, and we drove rapidly before the wind 
 with square yards. After breakfast we were opposite to 
 Hythe. This was the native place and the chosen retire- 
 ment of our worthy fellow- passenger, the half-pay captain. 
 He had expressed the hope the day before, that some boat 
 would be off as we passed the town, and that he should 
 be able to get on shore in time to go to church with his wife 
 and little ones. I found the captain anxiously looking with 
 the glass, in the hope of seeing some one of the objects of 
 his affection. He pointed out to me his abode; a stone 
 house, pleasingly situated on a terrace of the sloping cliff 
 One of the gables was overrun with an evergreen creeper, 
 and it had an inviting, habitable look, as of a place to which 
 one might become attached, and be satisfied to live in for 
 ever. At no great distance stood the village church; a ve- 
 nerable and time-honoured pile, of various architecture, 
 the patchwork combinations of remote ages. Its clear and 
 clarion-like bell was sending over down and cliff the 
 preliminary notes of invitation to the faithful to bestir 
 themselves, put on their gayest holy day suits, and 
 repair to take part in the religious offices of the day. On the 
 naked downs surrounding the town, flocks and herds were 
 placidly grazing on the still partially-verdant herbage. 
 Occasionally a cow, standing on the top of the ridge, was 
 brought out through the half-misty sky in strong relief, so 
 as to seem of preternatural dimensions. A gentleman on 
 horseback, and followed by his dog, was picking his way 
 across the fields in the direction of the village. 
 
 The captain seemed very full of the antiquities of his little 
 town, a place indeed not unknown to fame; and which, 
 
THE KENTISH COAST- 
 
 5 1 
 
 being one of the Cinque Ports, makes no inconsiderable 
 figure in the early naval history of England. He gave me a 
 full account, pointing too to the localities, of a very dreadful 
 battle fought here against an army of invading Danes; who, 
 having effected a landing, were defeated after terrible efforts, 
 and put to the sword. A huge vault beneath the chancel 
 of the church, he said, was filled with the bones of the slain 
 in this day of peril. 
 
 It blew fresh, and no boat came off to us. I really sym- 
 pathized in the disappointment of the veteran captain, when 
 he found himself carried past his house at the distance of 
 not more than a quarter of an hour's sharp walking, such 
 as, in his vexation and impatience, he was wasting on the 
 deck of the Hannibal. Each familiar object was plain in 
 view; he descanted upon the healthfulness of the situation: 
 the commanding nature of the view; the agreeable walks: 
 and the array of comforts within which he had intrenched 
 himself in his smiling habitation. To me the place appeared 
 full of attraction, though unhallowed by the consecrating 
 power of past association. And yet he was preparing to 
 leave this abode, so endeared to him, for a new and distant 
 home in a wild country. He had bought land in Canada, 
 and had come out for his family. His reasons for emi- 
 gration were that his children were growing up; though 
 he had the means of living comfortably, yet he had no 
 money to buy his sons commissions in the army, or titled 
 relations to gain them preferment in the church; his por- 
 tionless daughters, too, must remain unmarried. I could 
 not help agitating the question in my mind whether, after 
 balancing the pleasures and perplexities of his condition, 
 he had really augmented by marriage the aggregate of his 
 happiness. Had he lived single, he might have ended his 
 days in tranquillity amid the scenes which had met his ear- 
 liest gaze. He might have had forever beside him some trusty 
 
52 
 
 THE KENTISH COAST. 
 
 domestic, disabled, like himself, in the service of old England, 
 and who might now share his pleasures as he had shared 
 his whilome toils. In short, instead of the unprofitable em- 
 ployment of bringing children into the world without know 
 ing how they were to fight their way through it, he might 
 have enacted again the old but true story of my Uncle Toby 
 and the Corporal, fighting battles and taking towns to the 
 end of life's chapter. There was, however, an essential 
 difference between the two parallel cases, consisting chiefly 
 in the nature of the wounds. 
 
 Folkstone, with its steep-gabled houses of red or gray 
 sandstone, and its shining slate roofs, soon came and went 
 like Hythe. Ere long we were in sight of Shakspeare's 
 Cliff, so called because the poet has made them his own 
 in those undying lines with which the world is familiar. 
 They seemed to me to be not less than five hundred 
 feet in height, and nearly perpendicular, having been un- 
 dermined and crumbled by the attacks of the sea. The 
 chalky soil was naked and revealed, being of a dingy white, 
 save in partial spots where it was streaked with clay. 
 Farther to the north frowned another precipitous range ol 
 equal boldness, the two being separated by a deep ravine. 
 On this last cliff stood toppling the antique towers of the 
 famous old castle of Dover, whose earliest foundation is 
 ascribed to Julius Caesar, and which is familiar to childish 
 recollection as the depository of that famous gun, known as 
 Queen Elizabeth's pocket-pistol, which, as nursery-maids 
 do say, will carry a ball across twenty miles of channel, to 
 the land of frogs and Frenchmen. Beneath the embattled 
 walls, the face of the cliff is seen to be singularly perforated 
 with casemates and lodgments for the garrison, being lit 
 from the side of the precipice. Far below, partly situated 
 on the beach at the foot of these cliffs, which semicircularly 
 surround it, partly straggling up the valley that divides them, 
 
Tilt KENTISH COAST 
 
 lies the town of Dover, so important as being the nearest 
 port to France ; and the point whence, in winter, all the in- 
 tercourse between the two great countries is carried on. It 
 is built of dark stone, with slate roofs, and has the same 
 lugubrious air with the other towns that I had seen. There 
 is an unsafe natural roadstead here ; but the harbour itself 
 is wholly artificial, being excavated from the soil, and having 
 massive stone piers running out into the sea, with a beacon- 
 light at the extremity. Here vessels of an easy draught of 
 water may enter when the tide is in, the receding tide leav- 
 ing them again, with the whole harbour, to the dominion 
 of the land. The masts of many vessels, and the chimneys 
 of steamers, mingled with the dark buildings. It was now 
 eleven o'clock, the church-bells were pealing merrily, groups 
 of gaily-dressed inhabitants were steering in a continuous 
 current to the church, while the more ungodly strolled 
 towards the pier. The streamers were fluttering gaily from 
 all the vessels in the harbour ; and high over cliff and 
 battlement hung out the flag of England, in salutation of the 
 Sabbath. 
 
 Presently we rounded the South Foreland, losing sight 
 of Dover, and bore away along the coast due north for the 
 bold point of the North Foreland, which forms the south- 
 eastern boundary of the estuary of the Thames. The 
 Downs were crowded with ships; and various towns were 
 indistinctly seen along the shore through the misty veil, 
 which, notwithstanding the beauty of the day, circumscribed 
 the view in all directions, and which I afterward found was 
 a perpetual attribute of the climate. Among the chief of 
 these towns were Deal, Sandwich, and Ramsgate. Walmer 
 Castle was also pointed out to me at no great distance from 
 Deal. It is, and has been, from time immemorial, the 
 residence of the Lord-warden of the Cinque Ports, a 
 singular association, which had its origin in the early ages 
 
THE KENTISH COAST. 
 
 of the monarchy, and which was the embryo from which 
 has grown the British navy. It was very useful to England 
 at the time of its creation, and is now kept alive because it 
 is useful to one individual, who receives a salary of some 
 thousand pounds, levied, like Mr. Coke's sinecure, on the 
 commerce of the country. At the present moment, however, 
 the outrage against justice is not so crying as it might be. 
 the incumbent having served and honoured his country 
 beyond any other living Englishman, he being no other 
 than the Duke of Wellington. 
 
 The well-known Downs, which make so frequent and so 
 conspicuous a figure in the naval annals of England, and 
 are associated with the names of all her heroes from Raleigh 
 to Nelson, are a continuous bank, which extend some eight 
 miles along the coast, and nearly as far outwards, from 
 Deal to the Goodwin Sands. The holding-ground is good, 
 but the situation is wholly exposed to all winds, except 
 those from the west. Here vessels bound to the Atlantic 
 ride at anchor, in preparation for a wind which may enable 
 them to get to sea. When the wind comes in strong from 
 the south, they sometimes weigh, and run behind the North 
 Foreland for a lee, and anchor off Margate. At other 
 times they get adrift, losing their anchors and cables, and 
 have to run for the North Sea; or, to avoid the danger of 
 approaching the coast again without ground-tackle, they 
 push for the pier of Ramsgate, and dash in among the 
 shipping at a venture. This, however, can only be attempted 
 when the tide is in. 
 
 I looked with no little interest to the lightboat, which was 
 the gloomy monitor to warn the mariner from Goodwin 
 Sands ; a name which awakened in my mind a thousand 
 disastrous recollections. The first stroke on these shoals 
 often suffices to rend the stoutest keel; the quicksands enter 
 instantly, and, ere long, all is swallowed to the truck. The 
 
THE KENTISH COAST. 
 
 pilot related the fate of the Houglie Castle Indiaman, as a 
 warning to all refractory captains, and as a sea-moral never 
 to be forgotten. She was running for the Downs or Mar- 
 gate, I forget which, when a pilot hailed her captain, and 
 offered to bring him td anchor for twenty guineas. The 
 charge was exorbitant, and the captain commended him to 
 the devil; the pilot sheered off, bidding him carry his own 
 errand. She was under close-reefed topsails, for it blew a 
 gale. Lord Liverpool, who was on a visit to Walmer 
 Castle, happened to be watching her with a telescope when 
 she struck. She gave three sallies from side to side, and 
 disappeared entirely, ship, crew, passengers, all to her very 
 mastheads. 
 
 There was a very large fleet riding in the Downs ; their 
 cables were straining, and they were plunging rather 
 uneasily, though there was little swell, and dashing the 
 water far from their bows. They had been collecting here 
 for several weeks and were likely to remain as much 
 longer; indeed, they actually did remain several months. 
 One of the New-York packets, which, by superior sailing 
 and great exertion, had got to sea shortly previous to this 
 time, actually made her passage home and returned again, 
 finding still in the Downs an Indiaman, and several other 
 ships that had sailed in company with her from London. 
 We exchanged the salute of colours with one unhappy 
 American, whose patience was likely to be well tried. Our 
 passage through this fleet was most exhilarating. The 
 wind and tide were strongly with us, and we fairly flew 
 before them. No pity for the wind-bound qualified our 
 delight; for nothing can equal the selfish gratification with 
 which a sailor glories in the monopoly of a staggering 
 breeze. His own happiness were incomplete without the 
 contrasting misery of others; besides, he is unwilling that 
 the wind should blow the other way, lest it should exhaust 
 
56 
 
 THE KENTISH COAST. 
 
 itself before he is ready to have the benefit of it on the 
 homeward voyage. 
 
 There was a vast deal of passing to and fro in boats, to 
 alleviate the condition of the windbound, and, for a con 
 sideration, to carry to these the consolations of the land ; 
 newspapers, vegetables, beef and mutton, bottles of rum, 
 and now and then, a tearful, tender Susan, to ask if her 
 sweet William sailed among the crew. The supply of the 
 ships in the Downs is the great support of Deal. Their 
 boats are famous for their speed, lightness, and safeness ; 
 and their oarsmen are no doubt the most skilful and hardy 
 in the world. They think nothing of their own lives or ot 
 the pockets of other people. The habit of risking every 
 thing to gain every thing makes them insatiably greedy. 
 Their extortion for the slightest services is incredible. They 
 are in league with the ship-chandlers on shore, and aid in 
 extracting enormous prices from vessels requiring cables 
 and anchors. The most delightful weather for them is a 
 gale of wind, and a hurricane they deem the very smile of 
 nature. A distressed vessel is the most pleasing object 
 that their eye can rest on, and a wreck is a thing altogether 
 lovely. Brave, active, skilful, they must ever furnish ex- 
 cellent recruits for the navy; reckless, turbulent, indo- 
 mitable, if a new Jack Cade were to rise up, he would do 
 well to follow the example of his predecessor, and unfurl 
 his banner among the men of Kent. 
 
 * 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE THAMES. 
 
 F,nglisii Coasting Craft — French Fishermen— Ramsgate and Margate — 
 Kentish Watermen — Tales of Shipwreck — The Convict Ship — Dangers 
 of the Thames — Navigation of the River — The Nore — Approach to 
 Gravesend — Leave the Hannibal. 
 
 One of the most obvious comparisons which rises in the 
 mind of an American in approaching the coasts of Europe, 
 is suggested by the wide difference between the coasting 
 vessels he now sees around him and those he left on his 
 own. He looks with wonder and derision at the shapeless 
 and lumbering forms of cutters, ketches, and galiots, with 
 their sails often tanned and painted; and contrasts their 
 heavy, sluggish movements with the bounding, sprightly 
 air of the small craft of his own country. He recals to his 
 recollection the proud majestic sloop, with her towering 
 mainsail of white canvass, as large as that of a first-rate; 
 the rakish fishing-smack, rising over the curling waves with 
 the grace of a bonila; the brigantine and the pettiauger; 
 but, most of all, his imagination reverts to the pilot-boat 
 which bore back his last adieus, haply, as in our own case, 
 the fleet and sylphlike Trimmer; her low hull, her graceful 
 
58 
 
 THE THAMES. 
 
 curve, which might be adopted as the true standard of inc- 
 line of beauty; her raking masts, her sails, white, tapering, 
 and cut with admirable precision ; her matchless speed and 
 lightness, and the docility, ease, and grace of every flexible 
 movement, all proclaim her the Venus of the seas. She is, 
 to the same class of vessels in England, what the dolphin 
 is to the shapeless skate and the bloated toad-fish ; what 
 one of our airy flutterers in Broadway is to tli£ emigrant 
 peasant-woman beside her, with uncompassed waist, pro- 
 jecting elbows, high quarter-deck, straddling steps, and 
 iron-shod hoofs ; light, easy, and Corinthian — a thing of 
 life; she is among ships precisely what Taglioni is among 
 women. 
 
 Among the small craft by which we were now sur- 
 rounded, 1 was particularly struck by a French fishing- 
 boat, which came very near me. It was short, broad, and 
 very deep, and entirely open to the sea; one large mast 
 rose in the bows, to which a lug-sail was hoisted ; there 
 was a small jigger-mast abaft, and a gallows beside it on 
 which to lower the mainmast in pulling to windward, 
 or to purdell the sail over ii in port, to make a roof for the 
 shelter of the crew. She was rendered more uncouth by 
 being daubed outside with pitcL, save where Boulogne, with 
 her number, was written ; and by her jib and jigger, being 
 tanned of a deep red colour. The crew were variously 
 clad in tarpaulin jackets and trousers, or petticoats and 
 fishermen's boots : and had on red woollen caps or coal- 
 heavers' hats. At the helm, which was the rib of some 
 wrecked boat about the size of his own, sat a veteran fisher- 
 man, heedlessly grasping the ominous relic. Me strongly 
 reminded me of an old sea lion, which I once saw on a 
 desert rock, giving the law to a family of seals, of which he 
 was the patriarch. As I gazed on the uncouth boat and 
 her equally uncouth inmates, I half fancied her some 
 
THE THAMES. 
 
 59 
 
 strange sea- opossum, with its young ones in its belly. Like 
 them, doubtless, were those Norsemen and sea-kings of old, 
 their actual ancestors, who put forth in open cockles such 
 as these to overrun the shores of Europe and subjugate 
 kingdoms. 
 
 Notwithstanding the rude and lumbering appearance of 
 this boat, she sailed well. The pilot told me that when at 
 anchor on the coast, they make a tent of the sail and sleep 
 under it; and at all other times they are completely exposed 
 to spray and rain by day and night. Hardly as these poor 
 fellows earn their existence, they are yet the objects of much 
 envy. I gathered from the pilot, who did not seem to like 
 them, that the English fishermen complain much of their 
 fishing on the English coast. They find fault with the number 
 of men which they carry, which deters them from falling on 
 board, beating them, and plundering their fish. They have 
 recently petitioned Parliament to protect their invaded in- 
 terests. If, however, a gale drives the Frenchmen on shore, 
 they take the law into their own hands, and plunder and 
 maltreat them without mercy. The poor Frenchmen steal 
 like culprits along the coast, but rarely venturing to land to 
 buy a few loaves of bread, which, with dry herrings and 
 cheese, compose their food. Upon the whole, their life 
 offers only one extended scene of danger and privation ; 
 passed as it is in contending in open boats with the almost 
 perpetual rains, and the frightful squalls and hurricanes of 
 this inclement coast, with the additional danger of being 
 each night exposed to be run down in the Channel by the 
 thousand keels that plough it unceasingly. I remember 
 reading the next year, soon after the commencement of the 
 herring season, that in Boulogne alone three hundred child- 
 ren of fishermen were already fatherless. 
 
 As we passed Ramsgate I was attracted by the noble ap- 
 pearance of its pier, which is one of the most celebrated of 
 
f»() 
 
 THE THAMES. 
 
 the great works of this description in England. It con- 
 stitutes a harbour here, where one is much needed, into 
 which vessels may run, if the tide be in, after partinga cable 
 in the Downs. In a late gale, the pilot had seen a Deal 
 boat board a Dutch West Indiaman, sugar-laden, which had 
 thus broken adrift from the Downs. They undertook to 
 run her into Ramsgate; but, dropping to leeward, came full 
 against the pier, stove her bows in, and made switchel of 
 the whole harbour. Ramsgate is a famous watering-place ; 
 and, being at so convenient a distance from London, is 
 much frequented by its citizens during the bathing season. 
 
 Having doubled the bold promontory of the North Fore- 
 land, we hauled our wind up the river, and soon after 
 clewed up and anchored off Margate to wait for the morn- 
 ing's tide. Here also was a jetty running far into the sea, 
 with a basin for small vessels, and a beaconlight. Though 
 Margate was quite deserted now, the pilot told us that in 
 summer it was thronged with cockneys ; being in the river, 
 they can reach it quicker than Ramsgate, and with less 
 danger of getting sick in rounding the Foreland. They 
 came here, he said, to eat fresher fish than Rillingsgate 
 affords, and take the sea " hair" into their coal-smoked and 
 leathern lungs. 
 
 We had scarcely anchored ere one of those neat four- 
 oared boats, like those of Deal, shot out from the pier of 
 Margate, and sped quickly for us under her lug-sail. As 
 the half-pay captain was very anxious to get quickly on 
 shore, in the hope of reaching his home that night, for we 
 were only five-and-twenty miles from Hythe, he was de- 
 lighted to see this boat come to us. I was very much amused, 
 however, at the air of indifference he assumed as the boatman 
 came over the side, lest they should discover his wish. They 
 began by offering the captain a paper; and asking in suffi- 
 ciently bad English, if they could be of any use; and whether 
 
THE THAMES 
 
 Gl 
 
 he had any passengers to land, lie answered, that his 
 passengers all liked the ship so well, that they were lot- 
 finishing the vogage with him ; and, besides, there was every 
 prospect of a fine wind the next day. The boatmen were 
 all unanimous in prognosticating a wild night, and advised 
 the passengers by all means to get their land tacks on board. 
 They would land as many of us as chose to go at ten 
 shillings a head. The captain, who seemed to understand 
 these amphibious worthies perfectly, then hinted, that pos- 
 sibly one of his passengers might be disposed to go, if he 
 could be taken on shore quickly and in a dry stale; and the 
 veteran, delighted to agree to terms so very moderate, com- 
 pared to what would have been extracted from him had his 
 eagerness been known, hastened to collect his luggage and 
 take leave of us. The captain then bargained with the 
 boatmen to bring us the papers in the morning, and come 
 off to aid us in getting under weigh. 
 
 After dinner our pilot, who had become warm and elo- 
 quent from the effect of his potations, launched forth into 
 the relation of the wild adventures of his life of peril and 
 hardihood. I, for one, was an attentive listener to all these 
 tales of danger, narrated with the life and spirit of one 
 who was telling what he had not only seen, but been part 
 of. He recounted how, when the Juliana was lost on the 
 Kentish Knock, two men only escaped, on a raft, hastily 
 prepared, of oars ; he had been running past the Galloper 
 the next morning, looking to see if there were any thing to 
 be picked up, and discovered these two sailors ; one of them 
 was already dead, the other in the last state of exhaustion. 
 When last seen, the captain of the lost ship was looking 
 mournfully from the quarter-gallery window, as she lay 
 over on her side. 
 
 It was only on the first day of the previous September 
 that he had himself drifted from Margate roads, in a Quebec 
 
THE THAMES. 
 
 ship, and, after loss of sails, got on shore near Calais, 
 where the greater part of the crew were drowned in the 
 effort to reach the shore in the boat, and himself and few 
 others only were saved, after undergoing incredible hard- 
 ships. It was also in that same gale and on the same day 
 that the Amphitrite was wrecked. She was bound to Botany 
 Bay, laden with convicts, and was stranded near Boulogne. 
 A fisherman and pilot most courageously swam off and got 
 a rope from her, and returned with it to the land. The boat 
 too was got out, and the convicts were about to be unironed 
 and released from their cells under deck, by order of the 
 surgeon having charge of them, when the surgeon's wife 
 prevented it, and threw difficulty in the way of the arrange- 
 ment, by positively refusing to go in the same boat with 
 them. Meantime the favourable moment for escape went 
 by. The tide rose ; the waves dashed against the ship, and 
 entered her riven sides; the shrieks and curses of the con- 
 victs a while rose high above the storm ; ere long they were 
 hushed in death. The ship was overpowered and driven 
 in pieces by the waves. Of that fated crew, the boatswain 
 and two seamen alone escaped to relate how horrible had 
 been the scene. The pilot and the fisherman were re- 
 warded by the generous liberality of the English, ever ready 
 to kindle at the relation of a deed of heroism and humanity. 
 Subscriptions were raised for them in London. The English 
 king made them pensioners of the state, and the French one 
 bestowed upon them the more characteristic and more 
 economical reward of the ribbon of the Legion of Honour. 
 The whole of these unhappy individuals, to the number of 
 a hundred or more — I do not remember how many — lost 
 their lives through the absurd scruples of a single female; 
 a disaster which could only have been occasioned by that 
 peculiar sort of personage, an Englishwoman of what is 
 called the middling class. 
 
THE THAMES. 
 
 63 
 
 1 dreamt that night of storms, of wrecks, and the struggles 
 of drowning men. But the morning, notwithstanding the 
 prognostics of the watermen, dawned auspiciously. The 
 wind was still at west, ; 'owing nearly down the river; but 
 the weather was fine, and the breeze just suited to work 
 briskly. We got our anchor, and, running seaward to 
 enter the channel, commenced beating up, having the first 
 of the flood tide. The estuary of the Thames is a vast bay, 
 about forty miles across, and having an open, fine appear- 
 ance, in an ordinal y map. But when seen in the nicer 
 delineation of the mariner's chart, it presents a frightful col- 
 lection of banks, shoals, and dangers, which the tide reveals 
 and makes bare at low w?!cr, and which at other times are 
 only distinguished by the position of buoys of various co- 
 lours; for the shore on either hand is low, remote, destitute 
 of objects suitable for landmarks, and is in most cases 
 rendered indistinct, or totally hidden from view, by the 
 prevailing obscurity of the atmosphere. The names of 
 these shoals are not unfrequently but too well suited to recall 
 the tales of shipwreck and dire disaster with which each is 
 associated. Among these occur the euphonous and encou- 
 raging sounds of the Nob, Brake, Barrow, Kentish Knock, 
 Galloper, Black Deeps, Spit, Sunk, and Shipwash. Through 
 these the mariner has to make his way, the channel leading 
 him not unfrequently over places which are naked, and 
 become land at ebb. Such almost every where is the coast 
 of England; and the weekly lists of wrecks and tales of 
 perished crews during the season of storms, testify to the 
 reality of the dangers which beset her seamen. I am par- 
 ticularly anxious to impress these facts forcibly upon my 
 countrymen, in order that they may appreciate that feeling of 
 admiration, not unaccompanied with wonder and with awe, 
 with which I was approaching the metropolis of a country, 
 which, though inconsiderable in extent, with a climate 
 
r>4 
 
 THE THAMES 
 
 healthful indeed, yet unsuited to rich productions, and on 
 the whole, unpropitious; its coasts, destitute of natural 
 harbours, exposed to the inconvenience of excessive tides, 
 and devastated by frequent and frightful storms, has yet 
 risen by commerce to an eminence of wealth, power and 
 consideration, of which the world had hitherto known no 
 example. 
 
 The Hannibal, though a dull packet, easily distanced 
 every thing we met. A large West Indiaman had started 
 an hour before us from Margate ; yet we left her so far 
 behind that we were able to save our tide across certain 
 flats and get into the main channel, where we would he 
 able to avail ourselves of the night's tide. The Indiaman, 
 finding that the tide had left her, was obliged to pnt her 
 helm up and j run back in search of an anchorage, where 
 she would have water enough to float at low tide. While 
 she was rapidly disappearing with wind and tide, we came 
 to anchor and clewed our sails up, holding all that we had 
 made, and in readiness tor the next flood. We had thus 
 gained certainly one day on her in the arrival at London, 
 possibly several, and perhaps it might make the difference 
 to her of a gale of wind and a shipwreck. As it was, the 
 ship was in danger. Had we too been suddenly becalmed 
 in crossing the flats, we should have remained dry at the 
 ebb, and possibly have bilged. The pilots, however, un- 
 derstand their situation, and take care not to cross the flats 
 unless they are sure of a wind. 
 
 With the evening's tide we were again under weigh. 
 Though at a distance from any lights to guide us, and sur- 
 rounded by shoals and dangers; not being able, moreover, 
 to make a straight course, but being compelled to beat, the 
 pilot yet contrived, by his accurate knowledge of the posi- 
 tion of the shoals and the depth of the soundings, as well 
 as by his exact allowance lor the strength of the tide, so 
 
TMF. THAMES. 
 
 6! 
 
 nicely to direct the course of the ship, and calculate at all 
 times her precise situation, that he actually made two buoys 
 which it was all important for us to see, and passed within 
 a few feet of them. Yet at this time he was more than 
 half drunk. As often as we went about, so often did he 
 4t freshen the nip." But it did not seem to stupify, but rather 
 to excite him. He was as loquacious as possible, and kept 
 perpetually boasting that no other pilot but himself could 
 have handled the ship as he had done that night. The 
 captain said that there was some truth in what he said; and, 
 indeed, there were none but smacks and colliers in sight. 
 
 As we approach the Nore, which, like Spithead, is another 
 great roadstead for the fleets of England, and bearing the 
 same relation to the neighouring dock-yards of Chatham 
 and Sheerness that the latter does to Portsmouth, the chan- 
 nel narrowed, and we made our way in the midst of an 
 immense fleet of vessels beating up the river like ourselves; 
 for here the various channels unite, and vessels, whether 
 from the North Sea or the Atlantic, join into one common 
 current, and move forward in a vast procession, bearing 
 the tribute of every clime to the commercial capital of the 
 world. 
 
 The moon was up, and her yellow light gleamed in 
 every direction on the white canvass of so many vessels. 
 It was beautiful to behold the rapid interlacing of such a 
 throng, which seemed at each instant to the eye to be run- 
 ning into each other at every intersection, until they were 
 again seen to emerge in pride and safety. There is an 
 order of the Trinity House, a chartered company to whose 
 guardianship the pilotage, buoys, beacons, lights, and va- 
 rious other interests of commerce are intrusted, which re- 
 quires all vessels, in approaching the river, to get their 
 studding-sail booms down, the irons off the yards, and to 
 remove every object which could hook or entangle the rig- 
 
00 
 
 THE THAMES. 
 
 ging of another vessel, in the event of two approaching eacl* 
 other so closely. We were often near enough to throw a 
 biscuit on board of another vessel during the night ; but we 
 avoided any contact, and anchored at midnight off Southgate. 
 
 The pilot now descended to the cabin, and commenced 
 an attack on a round of corned beef, w ith plentiful potations 
 of brandy. Having the second mate for a listener, he fought 
 all the battles of the night over again, and went into the 
 particulars of each separate tack, accompanying each, as 
 before, with its corresponding libation. I went to sleep 
 while they were yet carousing. More than once during the 
 night I was awoke by the unquiet pilot, snoring and snort- 
 ing like a startled horse. He was called the next morning 
 three separate times ere he arose. The scene around us 
 at daylight was one of unbounded activity; a hundred or 
 more vessels, anchored about us, were hoisting their sails 
 with the jovial glee which becomes so lively as the sailor 
 nears his port; and the palls of as many windlasses were 
 clanging merrily as the anchors tripped. In consequence 
 of the delay of the pilot in getting up, the flood tide had made 
 strongly ere we got our anchor. The wind, blowing di- 
 rectly down the river, drove the ship over her anchor, and 
 we lost an hour, besides exhausting the crew, before we 
 also were under weigh. Our consorts of the night before 
 all left us far behind ; but we were not without company, 
 for a new set had come up and gathered round us; for up- 
 ward and downward, as far as the eye could penetrate the 
 haze, nothing but sheets of canvass were to be seen; the 
 fluttering pinions of those winged messengers that minister 
 to the greatness of England. 
 
 The day was bright apparently, and the air mild, genial, 
 and balmy. No cloud obscured the sky : yet there was a 
 pervading and murky haze, which circumscribed the ho- 
 rizon in every direction within narrow limits, and through 
 
THE THAMES. 
 
 07 
 
 which the sun loomed forth portentously. On either hand 
 were the low, marshy banks of the river, extending far back 
 in monotonous alluvial plains, not unlike the banks of the 
 Delaware, or those of the Guadalquivir, below Seville; while 
 beyond, a range of somewhat higher land was indistinctly 
 seen looming. The haze which overhung the scene was dif- 
 ferent from any condition of the atmosphere with which my 
 various rambles had brought me acquainted. The captain 
 and pilot both said that it was occasioned by the smokes 
 of London. We were yet thirty miles off; but the wind 
 blew directly from it, and, as I had seen nothing similar, I 
 was willing to believe the thing possible. There was little 
 encouragement, however, in the thought, that I was about 
 to fix my abode, for an indefinite period, in a metropolis 
 which was able, at the distance of half a degree, already 
 to overshadow every thing with such an aspect of despair. 
 
 We had now left behind us the mouth of the Medwav 
 and the vast estuary by which the Thames empties itself 
 into the sea. We had entered the river proper, having 
 both shores in sight, separated from each other at a dis- 
 tance varying from one to two or three miles. Here the 
 navigation, though circumscribed, becomes less intricate ; 
 the Channel extends*nearly every where from bank to bank, 
 and we were able to stretch completely across. The mass 
 of vessels became here, of course, more condensed. The 
 whole expanse of the river was covered with vessels; ships, 
 brigs, schooners, smacks, and cutters; crossing rapidly 
 from side to side, and intersecting each other in all direc- 
 tions, until the canvass darkened in the distance and blend- 
 ed with the mists. I fancied that there might be something 
 accidental in so vast a concourse ; but the pilot and captain 
 both told me that it is ever the same. By day and by night, 
 the ceaseless throngs of arriving and departing vessels still 
 pour on. 
 
 5 
 
THE THAMES 
 
 The wind was too light to enable the outwardbound to 
 stem the tide. They lay, with their sails clewed down, at 
 their anchors. As we glided by them, some were recog- 
 nised as Indiamen, others as limber ships, others as emi- 
 grant vessels, transporting to the remote countries of the 
 East colonies of Englishmen, destined to adapt to more 
 auspicious climes the laws, liberties, and arts of the mother 
 country, and haply to keep alive her literature and her 
 language, together with the memento of her greatness. 
 One large black ship, whose open ports displayed grat- 
 ings of stout iron bars, was bound with convicts to Bo- 
 tany Bay. She was filled with criminals, of a die of guilt 
 and depth of depravity such as England only can pro- 
 duce. They were the victims of a system of legislation, 
 for centuries in the hands of the rich, and used by them for 
 the maintenance of their vantage ground, for the enslave- 
 ment of the poor, to secure to them and to their descen- 
 dants for ever, whatever profit is evolved by the efforts of 
 labour, conceding only to labour the food that sustains it. 
 They might be looked on as prisoners of war, captured in 
 the battles of that perpetual contest which is kept up be- 
 tween property and poverty. They were going into exile to 
 the fertile fields of a distant colony, which, however it 
 may, and indeed must, become one day great, can never 
 wholly escape from the stigma of its origin. 
 
 The steamers alone ascended or descended the river 
 without reference to the tide. Some of them, which I was 
 told were Scotch and Irish packets, were very large. They 
 had light masts and yards, to use in case of accident to their 
 machinery at sea, or with a fair wind. Some of them moved 
 with considerable velocity. Several smaller ones were em- 
 ployed in towing fishing-smacks to town, in order to get 
 their fish to market in a fresher condition. We floated by 
 the anchored vessels, and by the banks of the river in our 
 
THF THAMES. 
 
 00 
 
 sidelong course, coming repeatedly near enough to other 
 vessels to have jumped on board. One Newcastle brig came 
 so close to us in tacking under our lee, that she was obliged 
 to let her jib-boom come in, brushing us within a foot. The 
 colliers begged for some tobacco. Our sailors immediately 
 emptied their hats and shirt bosoms, throwing all they had 
 on the brig's forecastle, where there was a lively scramble 
 for possession. In consequence of the delay and neglect of 
 the pilot in rising, we did not reach Gravesend before the 
 tide failed us; had we done so, a steamer would instantly 
 have taken us in tow, and we should have reached London 
 by the river at an early hour. We should have passed 
 Woolwich, which conveys so formidable an idea of Eng- 
 land's power; and Greenwich, which is so magnificent a 
 monument of her greatness and her generosity. Thus I 
 should gradually have approached the metropolis until the 
 dome of St. Paul's was discovered, under the canopy of 
 eternal smoke by which it is overhung ; and arriving in the 
 midst of all the vast movement and activity of the Thames 
 and docks adjoining, thence to traverse its whole extent 
 westward, have realized that full impression of its wealth 
 and magnitude which I was so anxious to receive. As it 
 was, the captain and all the passengers were about to leave 
 the ship. Though there was no motive of impatience to 
 impel me, and I rather clung than otherwise to the ship 
 which bore the flag of my country, and where my condi- 
 tion had at least been tolerable, yet I did not like to be left 
 alone : so I packed up, and bundled my baggage and my- 
 self into the boat with the rest. I bade good-by to the mate 
 and the pilot, though I did not thank him for disappointing 
 me. The captain had promised him a guinea from his 
 own pocket, provided we reached Gravesend before the 
 tide failed us. He gave it to him, though he had failed 
 through his own neglect when the thing had become easy, 
 
70 
 
 THE THAMES. 
 
 because he had displayed so much skill the night before. 
 As 1 went down the side, I did not fail to shake hands with 
 an old shipmate of mine, who assisted me over : for his 
 lace called to mind happy days passed in a stout frigate in 
 more poetic seas, and gay companions with whom I had 
 there been associated. 
 
 • 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 Row to Gravesend — Dover Coach — Face of Country — Scenes on the 
 Road — Style of Vehicles — Appearance of Population — Management of 
 the Coach — Relays of Horses — Conversation — Approach London — 
 Shops — Street Rahhle — Westminster. 
 
 We had a long and weary pull from the Hannibal to 
 Gravesend. The distance, to be sure, was only four or 
 five miles; but the tide was against us, and our boat was 
 heavily laden. We kept close to the shore, passing one or 
 more black-looking hulks, the corpses of departed cruisers, 
 anchored here as coastguard stations, receiving- vessels for 
 seamen, or connected with the police of the river. The 
 banks were naked, marshy, and very unsightly. One rag- 
 ged hungry-looking ruffian, prowling along the shore, stop- 
 ped to gaze at us as we passed. There was something lu- 
 dicrous in his appearance, and some of our party could not 
 suppress a smile. He was very near having the laugh on 
 us, however. A case containing a chapeau, which had 
 been rather insecurely perched on the top of the luggage 
 at the stern of the boat, had got overboard and had quietly 
 embarked to make a little voyage of discovery on its own 
 
JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 account. Had it been Napoleon's little cocked hat, it could 
 not have set out on his travels more ambitiously. The fel- 
 low was watching it with the eager spirit of a wrecker, 
 when we fortunately discovered it, and saved him the trou- 
 ble of putting in his claim for salvage. 
 
 Landing at the custom-house quay, we were conducted 
 to the inspector's office, where a very rigorous search took 
 place for contraband articles. As the superior himself was 
 present, the watermen, his subordinates, prosecuted their 
 search with so much fidelity, that we were relieved from 
 the necessity of bestowing on them the gratification which, 
 in England as in Spain or Italy, is the customary retainer 
 for unfaithful services. In France, as in our own country, 
 this sort of tampering with government officers is unknown. 
 One very happy exemption here, however, is from the 
 vexation of passports. It is true that aliens are by law re- 
 quired to produce them ; but none were demanded of us. 
 We were therefore now free to remove our luggage, and 
 go unmolested and unquestioned to whatsoever corner of 
 His Majesty's dominions either fancy or fate might lead us. 
 We blessed the benignity of the laws, accepted the boon, 
 and made the best of our way to the Brunswick Arms. 
 
 I may be mistaken in the name of the inn, but am sure, 
 at least , that it stood at the corner of the main street, being 
 the highroad from Dover to London. It was a low, anti- 
 quated brick building, having the exterior almost hidden 
 under the placards of coaches. Within was a bar, with a 
 formidable array of decanters and kegs of strong waters, 
 duly labelled : and a safe, filled with cold joints of meat ad- 
 joining. The presiding deity here was a neat and tidy 
 handmaid; plump, buxom, and rosy, just then engaged in 
 pumping, with one of a variety of brass handles, a foaming 
 tankard of " heavy wet" for a well-known coachman, whose 
 arrival a bugle was merrily announcing. Beyond was 
 
JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 73 
 
 seen a little parlour, plain though neat, to which a seacoal 
 fire imparted an air of cheerfulness; illuminating, as it 
 flickered on an engraving, the huge protuding fish-eye, and 
 heavy animal-like countenance of the third George of glori- 
 ous memory. 
 
 And now the rattling, wheels, the cracking whip, and 
 tramping hoof of the Dover coach, called forth inn-keeper, 
 bar-maid, stable-boys, mischievous urchins, and all the 
 idlers of the neighbourhood. The horses were pulled back 
 upon their haunches, and stopped as if shot; the reins were 
 thrown down on either side ; the whip given unceremoni- 
 ously to the envied occupant of the box-seat ; and the 
 cOachman descended, with a princely air of condescension, 
 to the dirty level of the earth. A ladder was placed at the 
 back of the coach for the accommodation of some pretty 
 and neatly-dressed young women, and the guard, with de- 
 cent and pious care, preserved their clothes from discom- 
 posure as they descended backwards. 
 
 While the captain inquired for places, I read with 
 curiosity on the coach the ostentatiously displayed words, 
 Plough, Ship, Elephant and Castle, Bull and Mouth, the 
 names, as I afterward had occasion to learn, of well-known 
 inns with which the coach was In connexion. There were 
 just five seats, corresponding exactly with our number; two 
 insides and three outs, as the guard hastened to assure us. 
 Within the coach was a grave, distinguished-looking gentle- 
 man, with a young man, whom I supposed from his atten- 
 tion to be his son. Without were a number of young 
 bloods, who seemed to have been slightly Frenchified by a 
 visit to Paris. Those who had come on were much an- 
 noyed at the detention occasioned in waiting for and load- 
 ing our luggage. However, five passengers were not to 
 be despised ; and there was no use, as the coachman said , 
 to leave a couple of pounds on the road for the Nimrod to 
 
71 
 
 JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 pick up. The vexation of the passengers was not, however, 
 offensively expressed, and they endeavoured to beguile it 
 by walking onward in advance, after the coachman, mind- 
 ful doubtless of his incoming shillings, had courteously 
 apologized to them for the detention. 
 
 I should greatly have preferred occupying the vacant seat 
 which fell to our share in front, in order to see something 
 of the road, and catch a lively impression of my first 
 entry into London; but my English fellow-passenger, the 
 graduate of Cambridge, more mindful of his own con- 
 venience than of what was due to the rules of good com- 
 panionship, or the curiosity of a stranger, hastened to 
 possess himself of it without prelude or apology. It only 
 remained for me to mount to the less commodious station 
 behind, having my back to the horses, and my vision, more- 
 over, obscured in that direction by the toppling mass of 
 luggage that overhung me. There was something, how- 
 ever, redeeming in my situation. Instead of the five bloods 
 disfigured by the superadded dandyism ,of London and 
 Paris, here were five ladies' maids, not wholly unsophisti- 
 cated, as I discovered in the course of the ride, yet far more 
 attractive than the dandies. They formed part of the esta- 
 blishment of some people of distinction or of wealth, who 
 changed horses at an adjoining posthouse, and passed us at 
 a gallop while we were taking our seats. All except one 
 had beauty of some sort ; and not one of them had that 
 curse of scragginess,whicha writer, not less prejudiced than 
 clever, ascribes, with what truth I will not pretend to say, 
 as an attribute to my country-women. 
 
 It was natural enough that, even in this unhappy predi- 
 cament, I should endeavour to reap all the pleasure I 
 could from such share of good things as the gods had sent 
 me. Accordingly, after carefully reconnoitring the pre- 
 mises, I proceeded to plant myself opposite a very pretty 
 
JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 75 
 
 fair-haired English girl, with cheeks of carnation, a fresh 
 mouth exhibiting an array of strong white teeth, and over- 
 hung by a full, pouting lip; while beside me was another 
 damsel, not less pretty, though in a different style*, a 
 Parisian grisette apparently full of grace and minauderies, 
 whose coquettishly-arranged attire, with its well -selected 
 colours, evinced her qualifications, as a dame d'atours, to 
 preside at the toilet of an English elegante, and correct the 
 defective taste of the land. I was preparing, in the spirit 
 of bonhommie, to make the best of my situation, when the 
 guard desired me, with little ceremony, to shift over, as 
 that was his post. I expostulated a moment with him ; but 
 he assured me that he must be there to attend the drag, and 
 it only remained for me to obey. I had to cross the corres- 
 ponding station, at the other side, having for my opponent 
 the only ugly female of the five, to whom, I am grieved to 
 say, I made no apology for increasing her discomfort, as I 
 had before done in the case of her fairer companion. 
 
 My situation here was uncomfortable enough ; if I were 
 softly cushioned on one side, this only tended, by the contrast, 
 to increase the obduracy of a small iron rod, which served 
 as a parapet to protect me from falling off the precipice, 
 over which I hung toppling, and against which I was forced 
 with a pressure proportioned to the circumstance of my 
 being compressed into a space somewhat narrower than 
 myself ; the seat having doubtless been contrived to accom- 
 modate five men, and there being no greater anatomical 
 mistake than to suppose there would be more room because 
 four of them were women. As for my back, it was invaded 
 by the sharp corner of an iron-bound box ; while, to com- 
 plete the catalogue of my discomforts, a row of superin- 
 cumbent trunks, whose elevation corresponded with my 
 head, were from time to time vigorously pushed against by 
 my identical fellow-passenger, who took, unconsciously, 
 
JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 this mode of reviving in my mind the sense of his previous 
 politeness. 
 
 I was of course in no condition to make observations on 
 the picturesque : and I think the reader would be cruel 
 indeed were he disposed to exact from me any account of 
 this disastrous outset of my English travels. Nevertheless, 
 I will tell him how, when all was ready, six spirited horses. ' 
 well groomed and richly harnessed, the two leaders being 
 conducted by a trim postillion, in tight jacket, breeches, and 
 top-boots, whirled us into rapid motion ; how Gravesend 
 did not affect me with any particular impression of grandeur 
 and beauty. Yet it was not wholly wanting in that air of 
 neatness and cleanliness, which I was already disposed to 
 consider an attribute of the land. Every thing was on a 
 sufficiently small scale, to be sure ; but there were many 
 little snuggeries, with their green doors, their highly-polish- 
 ed knockers, their well-trained vines and creepers, and rows of 
 flower-pots arranged within, that haply indicated the abode of 
 retired shipmasters or decent burghers, who, placing the little 
 competency which the industry of their early life had secured 
 to them beyond the reach of accident, had settled here to 
 end their days in comfort and peacefulness. It was not, in- 
 deed, to be expected, that Gravesend should furnish any 
 great claims to the admiration of a stranger. It is an 
 outport of London, the rendezvous of outward and home- 
 ward-bound merchantmen, a species of nautical colony, 
 redolent of tar, cordage, gin, and tobacco, and all that 
 pertains to the unscrupulous tastes and inelegant uses of 
 the sea ; it was, moreover, the opposite extreme to that 
 West End whose fame has travelled beyond the seas, and 
 might well, therefore, be accounted the antipodes of all 
 that is elegant. 
 
 Had my bodily discomforts been a little abated, there 
 were, however, scenes by the wayside which might have 
 
JOURNEY TO LONDON 77 
 
 pleased my eye, and imparled to my musings an agreeable 
 colouring. The country had not, by nature, a very pic- 
 turesque conformation, and was but slightly wooded. 
 Neither were there, as yet, any of those vast parks and 
 venerable mansions which constitute the marked attribute 
 of the scenery of England, and attest the magnificent tastes 
 and unbounded wealth of her gentry. Still there were 
 lesser undulations of the soil, over which the road wound 
 gently, commanding, ever and anon, from the summits, 
 views of the busy and crowded river and the country 
 around it. The scenes, though of still the same character, 
 were yet perpetually varying, as the road, defying the 
 straight lines of France, of Spain, and of my own country, 
 gently and capriciously meandered through valleys and 
 hamlets, and over little antiquated bridges that spanned the 
 modest streamlets. On either side were hedges of haw- 
 thorn, elder, or holly, in the place of our less picturesque 
 enclosures; while the precincts of the estates were yet 
 further marked by rows of bending elms. 
 
 There was occasionally a villa of a more modest cha- 
 racter, quaint, yet not ungraceful in its architecture, witb a 
 paddock stretching towards the road, whose short smooth 
 sward a pony would be cropping, teased at his meal by the 
 caresses of a group of healthful children, under the guidance 
 of a nursery-maid. A cow might be seen submissively 
 yielding to the dairy-maid the healthful nutriment which 
 was to accompany the evening meal. At the sheltered 
 side of the house, which was usually overrun w ith ivy and 
 eglantine, a small enclosure, bounded by a neat railing of 
 iron, formed the little flower-garden, which still displayed 
 the gaudy colouring of dahlias and roses, while gold-trees 
 and laurels prolonged the season of verdure, and kept the 
 idea of winter aloof. If there were nothing of luxury in all 
 this, there was yet all that was required to impart comfort 
 
78 JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 and joy to a contented mind. I saw many modest habi- 
 tations like this, which, placed in my own country on any 
 one of the thousand unnoticed and unimproved sites of my 
 native Hudson, would have bounded the circle of my 
 unambitious hopes. 
 
 Even the cottages of the peasantry were not only com- 
 fortable and scrupulously neat, but were overgrown with 
 creepers, whose deep verdure added to the brightness of 
 the freshly whitewashed walls ; while here, too, flowers 
 tastefully arranged in the windows, and a few evergreen 
 plants covering the narrow space which usually separated 
 them from the high road, gave evidence of a pervading 
 good taste, not the exclusive attribute of the rich ; and 
 that embellishment was not wholly shutout by the mandates 
 of uncompromising utility. 
 
 But the groups that covered the high road, or lined the . 
 neatly-gravelled walks reserved for pedestrians at one side, 
 furnished a yet more exciting theme for contemplation. The 
 concourse was already great, and conveyed the idea of vast 
 population ; for the rush of stage-coaches, even at this dis- 
 tance from the capital, was immense. The travelling-car- 
 riages and post-coaches were passing in all directions, and 
 the variety of vehicles was infinite. The waggons and carts 
 were of a far more ponderous description than with us; the 
 horses being of a large, coarse breed, particularly adapted 
 to farm labour and draught ; with drivers heavy and boorish, 
 like their cattle. The pedestrians were either dressed in 
 the common costume of the day, such as universally pre- 
 vails with us, or else, when of the lowest classes, in frocks 
 of blue cotton or of coarse linen, with corded breeches, 
 leggings, and heavy shoes. They were, for the most part, 
 sturdy and athletic. They had more fulness of outline, 
 freshness of complexion, and freedom from wrinkles, than 
 the same classes in America ; but the advantage in physical 
 
JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 79 
 
 conformation ceased in studying their countenance, where 
 the animal qualities seemed to predominate; giving a dolt- 
 ish, stupid, and hrutal air, that conveyed the idea of a de- 
 graded class, envious of their superiors, discontented with 
 their lot, and strangers, through many generations, to moral 
 and intellectual development. 
 
 Many bore the marks of intemperance ; at each instant we 
 passed little porter-houses and dram-shops, at which most 
 of the pedestrians halted, and which were filled with cla- 
 morous drinkers. We saw several people reeling from 
 drunkenness ; one of them, being a soldier in his full ac- 
 coutrements, and who was accompanied by two countrymen, 
 carrying his musket and supporting him. They were pro- 
 bably old acquaintances, who, out of pure kindness, had 
 made him drunk, and were now reconducting him to the 
 barracks, and the consequences of his misconduct. 
 
 We sped onward at a tearing rate over hill and valley ; 
 the road was as smooth as if laid with rails, and nothing 
 impeded the rocket-like rapidity of our course. Why should 
 it ? Indeed, if my memory does not mislead me, the Rocket 
 was the ambitious, yet not ill-worn name of our conveyance. 
 As we were very heavily laden, a third pair of horses, with 
 a postillion, was added wherever the ground rose to the 
 dignity of a hill. This occasioned no delay; each horse had 
 its attendant hostler, alike characteristic in figure and in 
 dress ; the descendant, no doubt, of a long line of horse rub- 
 bing ancestors; and the business of changing was managed 
 with admirable system and despatch. 
 
 A wooden block, having a handle to it, was thrust under 
 the hind wheel the instant we drew up, by a gray-headed 
 retainer, worn out by hard working and harder drink, or 
 prematurely superannuated by a kick, that left him to limp 
 and go sideways through the world for the rest of his life; 
 the coachman would nobly toss off the foaming tankard 
 
So .JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 presented to him, and have time to offer some little con- 
 ventional gallantry to the attendant and not unwilling tap- 
 maid; and, ere a minute had flown by, the guard would 
 say " All right!" as he ascended the back of the coach, the 
 block be withdrawn, and the horses, leaving their blankets 
 behind them in the hands of the hostlers, would dart away 
 at a gallop. 
 
 Our coach being greatly overladen, would have been 
 dangerously top-heavy on any roads but these. As it was, 
 it required much care in the descents. The guard was 
 watchful on all proper occasions to get the drag under the 
 wheel, an operation which occasioned little loss of time from 
 his dexterous activity. Hardly would we stop before the 
 word " Right I" sharply repeated, would serve in itself to 
 set the horses in motion. He was a cheery, gay Lothario, 
 this guard of ours, who had already, in the journey from 
 Dover, made immense advances in the good graces of the 
 fair waiting-maids, and had especially found favour in the 
 sight of the cherry-lipped, languishing damsel opposite him. 
 
 The intelligence which had grown up between them in so 
 short a time was astonishing. It would have been cruel 
 had my obstinacy in the outset interrupted the mutual 
 yearning. " Don't go L" she would say to him, with a tender 
 unction, when it was necessary for him to fix the drag. 
 "You can't tell what a difference it makes when you're 
 gone; it's so cold!" Just before, when one of the others 
 had complained of the growing cold, a feeling which I shi- 
 veringly responded to my very bones, she replied, with a 
 charming inconsequence, "La, me, Susan! how can you 
 say so ? I'm so ot! I'm burning this very minute !" 
 
 It was singular to compare the lively and consecutive 
 conversation of the French girl, in her broken English, with 
 the silly, random, flagging discourse of her companions, 
 which was often interrupted by long pauses. They produced 
 
JOURNEY TO LONDON. HI 
 
 provisions of various sorts from their work-bags, and ate 
 frequently. One of them, moreover, drew forth a little 
 flask, being a better description of pocket-pistol, charged 
 with wine. They seemed, indeed, armed at all points ; 
 were most comfortably clad, and many articles of their dress 
 were of a rich quality, which indicated the rejected finery 
 of their ladies. "Are you warm, Susan?" — "No, Maria, 
 I'm ungry ; where are the sandwiches?" — " We are so for- 
 tunate to have such fine weather. What would we have 
 done had it only rained ?" — " Sunday was a very fine day. 
 It was so lively on the pier." — " The wind was very igh," said 
 Maria. "It rained very ard," rejoined Susan; who, just 
 before, had lauded the beauty of the weather. After pauses 
 of silence, followed each time by a meal, their ideas would 
 start forward, and the conversation be resumed. We were 
 slowly ascending a hill, when one who seemed sleepy roused 
 to ask if we were going down. "No," said the guard, 
 chuckling at the idea of the good thing he was about to 
 utter, "we be going up, as we often has to do in this world!" 
 This, I afterwards found, might be considered a rare and 
 splendid ebullition of popular wit. Countrymen of San- 
 choPanza! What, in this land of popular dulness, shall 
 console me for thy shrewd and ingenious cleverness and 
 thy sententious humour ? 
 
 " Is this Black Heath ? " I thought of the olden time, 
 and looked round for mounted robbers with blackened faces 
 and in masks. Susan and the guard were talking matri- 
 mony. The poor fellow was querulously complaining, with 
 an air of affected sentiment, that nobody would have him. 
 He did not stay long enough in one place; he was here to 
 day and there to-morrow; one night sleeping in Dover, 
 the next in London; there was no time for love-making. 
 Then pray what are you about now? thought I to myself, 
 for I had not the heart to interrupt him. Susan encou- 
 
 o 
 
S2 JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 ragingly protested, that if she were not married within the 
 year, it would be somebody else's fault besides hers. 
 
 Presently they all talked fashion; they asked if anybody 
 was in town ; it was decided that there was nobody there, 
 and that it was cruel to have to go there. In the month 
 of May or June, then, indeed, the town would be so de- 
 lightful, and the country so odious. I had expected to find 
 near two millions of people in London, and was now 
 shocked to hear that there would be nobody there; or the 
 next thing to it, nobody but nobodies. These fair ladies' 
 maids seemed to have the same sort of contempt for masses 
 and for the ignoble vulgar, that the negroes of rich planters 
 in Virginia have for those unfortunate people who fall un- 
 der the denomination of "poor white folks." 
 
 Various were the towns we passed through, and count- 
 less were the objects that caught my eye, and presented 
 themselves as curious to my imagination. The sky was 
 unobscured by a single cloud, yet the stars in vain strug- 
 gled to reveal themselves through the thick and murky 
 medium which man had interposed. The moon, though 
 at the full, shone not through the lurid smoke, but seemed 
 hung over head like a gas-light of greater magnitude, or an 
 ill-illuminated balloon. At length we traversed Deptford, 
 and the chain of houses became nearly continuous on either 
 hand until we entered the borough of Southwark, and, • 
 surrounded by a perpetually increasing concourse, reached 
 a great fork, where many of the principal avenues for 
 Surry, Sussex, and Kent unite, and which, from the name 
 of an ancient inn, is called the Elephant and Castle. 
 
 Who can realize the uproar, the deafening din, the rush 
 the vast movement in various and conflicting directions ; the 
 confusion, which yet seemed strangely enough to result in 
 order; and the pervading bustle of that scene, so teeming 
 with activity and life ? I was stunned, confused, over- 
 
JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 powered, heart-sick, at the sight of so immense an assem- 
 blage of my fellow-creatures with whom I had no feeling 
 of sympathy. There was a dazzling blaze of light from 
 shops and lamp-posts to aid the obstructed efforts of the 
 moon, and unbounded animation in the scene, yet there 
 was nothing that was cheering. 
 
 The dark masses of dwelling-houses had a confined, 
 narrow, gloomy, and lugubrious aspect. They were of 
 brick, without window-sills of marble or other coloured 
 stone; unpainted, and unenlivened by blinds. They were 
 closely shut, and the glimpses of cheerfulness and domestic 
 comfort exhibited in our streets were here unseen. All the 
 shops were open to the weather ; many of them having the 
 whole front removed, and gas-lights blazing and streaming 
 like great torches, rather than with the puny and flickering 
 illumination seen in ours. The articles were completely 
 exposed to view at the side of the street: clothing, provi- 
 sions, crockery, hardware; whatever is necessary to the 
 wants of man. The druggists, with their variegated vases, 
 as with us, cast the iris hues of their nauseous mixtures into 
 the street. Sellers of cheap goods exposed them in the 
 windows, with their prices labelled. The butchers hung 
 out beef, pork, sausages, and enormous coarse sheep, in a 
 nearly whole state, with sometimes the price affixed to the 
 inferior portions, in order that the poor might judge whether 
 the price they had received for their day's labour might 
 compass a meal of meat ; or whether they should seek a 
 a diet more suited to their means, of a neighbouring potato- 
 merchant ; or whether to turn in despair, as many of the 
 most wretched seemed to do, to accept the flattering invita- 
 tion of the magnificent gin-palace at the corner. 
 
 It was the most splendid building of the neighbourhood ; 
 built with some little architectural elegance, whose effect 
 
 6 » 
 
S4 
 
 .JOURNEY TO LONDON 
 
 was magnified by the unadorned character and gloomy air 
 of the surrounding edifices. A beautiful gas-light, in a 
 richly ornamented lamp, stood as an inviting beacon, vi- 
 sible in many diverging directions. The windows were 
 glazed with costly plate-glass, bearing inscribed, in illu- 
 minated letters, the words — " Gin at threepence — generous 
 wines — hot spiced ;" and the door surrounded by stained 
 panes of rich dye, having rosettes, bunches of grapes, and 
 gay devices. The art which once was reserved for the 
 ornament of temples, and was made to idealize on Gothic 
 windows the lives of saints and martyrs, is here no longer 
 the attribute of religion alone, but serves to lure the poor and 
 the vicious of England to greater poverty and more abject 
 vice. There was a singular moral in the contrast between the 
 magnificence of this temple of misery, and the wan and tat- 
 tered aspect of its votaries. It was an obvious example of 
 the connexion of cause and effect, and seemed intended as 
 a ludicrous illustration and mockery of their fate. And yet 
 they entered; men and women; the last, moreover, in num- 
 bers not inferior to the men; sometimes, too, with children 
 by the hand; sometimes pressed, in the helpless stage of 
 infancy, to their polluted bosoms. 
 
 I know nothing more exhilarating than to be suddenly 
 ushered in the night into a populous quarter of a great 
 city. My recollection readily conjures up the impressions 
 made upon me under similar circumstances in entering 
 Paris, Madrid, Brussels, Milan, or gay and lively Naples. 
 The lower classes, with their good-humour, their quaint 
 drollery and sprightliness, there offer the most agreeable 
 objects of contemplation. Here, however, there was in 
 the corresponding classes nothing pleasing, or even pic- 
 turesque. All seemed in search of food, of the means of 
 intemperance, and of gratifying low and brutal passions. 
 
JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 85 
 
 The idea of amusement had evidently no place. The streets 
 swarmed with abandoned women, filthy in their dress, 
 open, brutal, and indecent in their advances. 
 
 In the place of the guitar, the serenade, the musical cries 
 of chestnut-women, lemonade- sellers, and watermen, the 
 sounds here were harsh and grating; uttered in words ill 
 pronounced and nasally prolonged, or in an unintelligible and 
 discordant slang, which I no longer recognised as belonging 
 to my own language. In the place of skilful musicians, 
 performing the favourite airs of Mozart or Rossini, or the 
 witty colloquies of the sententious Punchinello, the poor 
 were invited, in the nasal twang of clamorous mountebanks, 
 to amuse themselves by a sight ofthelatest cases of seduction, 
 murder, suicide, and hanging, represented in the shadows 
 of the camera-obscura. I dare say many an unprejudiced 
 Englishman has made the same observations, and noticed 
 the same contrasts, in the manners of the lower classes, in 
 returning from foreign countries to his own. 
 
 At the Elephant and Castle we discharged a number of 
 our passengers, who took omnibuses or hackney-coaches to 
 convey them to the City, or to some of the suburban districts. 
 There was quite a rush of hackney-coachmen, porters, and 
 omnibus-drivers, to secure the employment thus thrown 
 into the market, and cries of " Paddington — Angel — Bank" 
 were loudly and nasally vociferated. This done, we set 
 forward again at a rapid rate. Not seeing before me, I 
 was astonished that, whirling onward in this way, we 
 should escape contact with the countless vehicles which 
 were rushing in every direction. The space necessary to 
 pass seemed calculated to the inch, and though each instant 
 a crash seemed inevitable, the next saw us in safety. I had 
 never before seen such accurate driving. 
 
 The omnibuses were of similar form to ours; but the 
 hackney-coaches were filthy, lumbering, and tattered, and 
 
JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 the drivers and their horses were equally sorry and jaded. 
 The hackney-cabriolets struck me as being very peculiar : 
 they had a body having seats for two, while the driver was 
 perched apart, on a little seat which formed an excrescence 
 to the body, and overhung the wheel, so as to enable him 
 to calculate the space in passing another carriage with the 
 nicest accuracy. These drove at a furious rate. The ve- 
 hicles differed from ours, in general, by being lower hung, 
 and having much smaller wheels, the roads here being so 
 much smoother and more free from ruts. They were, as 
 a general rule, heavier and stronger, though they did not 
 strike me as being of better form or higher finish. They 
 were, however, infinitely more various in character. There 
 were heavy carriages, and chariots driven by neat postil- 
 lions; gigs drawn by active cobs, reconducting weary citizens 
 to the comforts of a suburban residence; and, not to mention 
 dog-carts and donkey-chaises, there were frequently very 
 low, diminutive vehicles, drawn by ponies, and driven by 
 old women. 
 
 In traversing Westminster Bridge we took leave at once 
 of the inelegant suburb, with its coarse and brutal popula- 
 tion. For a moment, as we turned the centre arch, I caught 
 sight of the upward and downward course of the stream, 
 spanned by so many illuminated bridges, traversed by 
 wherries with twinkling lights, and skirted on either side by 
 irregular habitations, whose squalidity the darkness partially 
 concealed, as it did all but the vast proportions of that Hall 
 and Abbey which are connected with all the great events of 
 England's history. I looked with a feeling of intense inte- 
 rest to the walls which have echoed with the eloquence of 
 her greatest men, and to the lofty roof and towers of that 
 venerable shrine where repose the ashes of her patriots, 
 poets, and sages. 
 
 Leaving Westminster Hall and Abbey behind us, we 
 
JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 81 
 
 sped through Parliament-street and White-hall. The way 
 was broad and stately, suited to the avenue by which the 
 constitutional monarch of a great people was wont to ap- 
 proach the scene of their deliberations. On either hand 
 were palaces of the nobility, or edifices connected with the 
 machinery of state. Here were the Horse Guards, the 
 Treasury, the Admiralty, and the entrance to Downing- 
 street. Here the greatest affairs are agitated ; and hence, 
 more than from any place else, are the destinies of the 
 world controlled. 
 
 As in the buildings, so also in the equipages and all exter- 
 nal objects, was there a marked difference in passing from 
 Southwark to the more elegant precincts of St. James's. 
 At Charing Cross we passed the bronze statue of the ami- 
 able and interesting prince, the site of whose execution we 
 had the moment before traversed. Turning from this to 
 the left we entered Pall Mall, among magnificent club- 
 houses having the air of palaces. On all sides were statues, 
 columns, and all the attributes of wealth, splendour, and 
 magnificence. And thus did I make my triumphant entry 
 into the capital of England and the glories of the West End, 
 upon the back of a stage-coach, weighed down and perse- 
 cuted by boxes and luggage, and jammed up and inserted 
 among five chambermaids. 4 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE COLONNADE HOTEL. 
 
 Leave the Coach— Arrangement of the Inn — Coffee-room — Tete-a-tetf 
 with a Sirloin — Dining Groups — Scene of Dulness — Breakfast and the 
 Times. 
 
 Had Monsieur Feuillade not been a Frenchman, I Lave 
 my doubts whether I should have been received with any 
 particular courtesy at the Colonnade Hotel. An English 
 innkeeper of the West End would probably have kept aloof 
 altogether from an unfortunate " outside," stowed away, 
 moreover, upon that part of the coach which is the farthest 
 possible removed from aristocracy, and intheunworshipful 
 company of bouncing ladies' maids. At best he would have left 
 him to scramble down as he might, by the aid of an inferior 
 "boots," and find his way to the top of the house under 
 the guidance of one of the chambermaid's subordinates. 
 
 As it was, I had no reason to complain of any un- 
 gracious reception. Perhaps the natural courtesy of Mon- 
 sieur Feuillade's country was aided, at that conjuncture, by 
 the reflection that the town was very empty, and his house 
 also ; and that even an humble guest without suit or equi- 
 page was better than no one. But where is the use of dig- 
 
TUB COLONNADE HOTEL. 89 
 
 ging deep for a sordid motive, when a kind and creditable 
 one stands staring upon you at the surface? The waiters 
 held their arms and aided me to descend. I was in need 
 alike of assistance and sympathy. My feet were numb witli 
 ooW ; my unfortunate leg, which had so long dangled in 
 unsustained dependence over the side of the coach, abso- 
 lutely refused duty. I hobbled through the colonnade, and 
 entered the vestibule. It was paved with black and white 
 marble, in lozenges; at the side of the door was a com- 
 modious chair, having a hood at the top. It was covered 
 with green morocco, and padded, and evidently intended 
 for the convenience of the porter who should watch dur- 
 ing the night for the admission of the guests, without oc- 
 casioning delay to them, disturbance to the house, or any 
 very positive discomfort to himself. Against the wall, on 
 either hand, hung a clock, a thermometer, and a w eather 
 glass, that every guest, as he went out, might here obtain, 
 without the trouble of asking questions, such information 
 as concerned him. 
 
 At the extremity of the vestibule was a low counter, 
 behind which sat a pretty and neatly-dressed young 
 woman, with a pen in her hand, and a book of accounts 
 before her. She was taking down an order for dinner, 
 given through a small window from the adjoining coffee- 
 room, in order that No. 10 might not only be sure of get- 
 ting what he called for, but likewise, as was indeed just 
 and reasonable, of duly paying for it. Beyond her, in the 
 distance, might be discovered a glimpse of a dresser and 
 furnaces, over which presided an artist, whose white apron, 
 jacket, and cotton nightcap, announced a member of one 
 of the most respectable and estimable classes of French- 
 men. To the left, a double door, opening either way, from 
 which came the sound of knives and forks, showed the en- 
 trance to the coffee-room ; to the right was the stairway 
 
90 THE COLONNADE HOTEL. 
 
 leading to the apartments above, up which the chamber- 
 maid hastened to conduct me. 
 
 My room was not very high up. It was carpeted and 
 curtained; the bed had a heavy tester; there were de- 
 canters, large and small pitchers, china foot-tubs, a stand 
 with an array of clean napkins, and various continental 
 luxuries scattered about the room; among which I was 
 delighted to notice a spacious fauteuil. Indeed, when the 
 fuel which was prepared in readiness, had been kindled, 
 and the chambermaid, who was tidy, officious, and oblig- 
 ing, had pulled down the window-screens, the place had an 
 air of decided comfort, and seemed very habitable. 
 
 Having inquired if there were baths in the house, I was 
 happy in being answered in the affirmative; and, presently 
 after, was shown into one, at no great distance from my own 
 room, which equalled in comfort, spaciousness, and luxurious 
 appliances, almost any that I remembered to have seen. 
 Glowing delightfully as I left the bath-room, improved in 
 my dress and feelings, I felt reconciled to myself and to the 
 land. And now for dinner. I could not discover, indeed, 
 that 1 was hungry ; but it was only eight o'clock, and there 
 were some hours of time to be gotten rid of. 
 
 The coffee-room, into which I now entered, was a spa- 
 cious apartment of oblong form, having two chimneys with 
 coal fires. The walls were of a dusky orange ; the win- 
 dows at either extremity were hung with red curtains, and 
 the whole sufficiently well illuminated by means of several 
 gas chandeliers. I hastened to appropriate to myself a va- 
 cant table by the side of the chimney, in order that I might 
 have some company besides my own musing, and be able, 
 for want of better, to commune with the fire. The waiter 
 brought me the carle, the list of which did not present any 
 very attractive variety. It struck me as very insulting to 
 the pride of the Frenchman, whom I had caught a glimpse 
 
THE COLONNADE HOTEL. M 
 
 of on entering, not to say extremely cruel, to tear him from 
 the joys and pastimes of his helle France, and conduct him 
 to this land of fogs, of rain, and gloomy Sundays, only to 
 roast sirloins and boil legs of mutton. 
 
 The waiter, who stood beside me in attendance, very 
 respectfully suggested that the gravy-soup was exceedingly 
 good ; that there was some fresh sole, and a particularly 
 nice piece of roastbeef. Being very indifferent as to what 
 1 ate, or whether I ate any thing, and moreover quite will- 
 ing to be relieved from the embarrassment of selecting from 
 such an unattractive bill of fare, I laid aside the carte, not 
 however before I had read, with some curiosity, the follow- 
 ing singular though very sensible admonition; " Gentlemen 
 are particularly requested not to miscarve the joints." 
 
 I amused myself with the soup, sipped a little wine, and 
 trifled with the fish. At length I found myself face to face 
 with the enormous sirloin. There was something at least 
 in the rencounter which conveyed the idea of society; and 
 society of any sort is better than absolute solitude. 
 
 I was notlongin discovering that the different personages 
 scattered about the room in such an unsocial and misan- 
 thropic manner, instead of being collected about the same 
 board, as in France or my own country, and in the spirit of 
 good fellowship and of boon companions, relieving each 
 other of their mutual ennuis, though they did not speak a 
 word to each other, by which they might hereafter be com- 
 promised and socially ruined, by discovering that they had 
 made the acquaintance of an individual several grades be- 
 low them in the scale of rank, or haply as disagreeably un- 
 deceived by the abstraction of a pocket-book, still kept up 
 a certain interchange of sentiment, by occasional glances 
 and mutual observation. Man, after all, is by nature gre- 
 garious and social ; and though the extreme limit to which 
 civilization has attained in this highly artificial country may 
 
92 
 
 THE COLONNADE HOTEL. 
 
 have instructed people how to meet together in public 
 places of this description, without intermixture of classes or 
 mutual contamination, yet they cannot, for the life of them, 
 be wholly indifferent to each other. Though there was no 
 interchange of sentiments by words, then, yet there was no 
 want of mutual observation, sedulously concealed indeed, 
 but still revealing itself in a range of the eye, as if to ask a 
 question of the clock, and in furtive glances over a book or 
 a newspaper. 
 
 In the new predicament in which I was now placed, the 
 sirloin was then exceedingly useful. It formed a most ex- 
 cellent line of defence, an unassailable breastwork, behind 
 which I lay most completely intrenched, and defended at 
 all points from the sharp-shooting of the surrounding ob- 
 servers. The moment I found myself thus intrenched, I 
 began to recover my equanimity, and presently took cou- 
 rage; bearing in mind always the injunction of the bill of 
 fare, not to miscarve the joints; to open an embrasure 
 through the tender loin. Through this I sent my eyes sharp- 
 shooting towards the guests at the other end of the room, 
 and will, if the reader pleases, now furnish him with the 
 result of my observations. 
 
 In the remote corner of the coffee-room sat a party of 
 three. They had finished their dinner, and w r ere sipping 
 their wine. Their conversation was carrried on in a loud 
 tone, and ran upon lords and ladies, suits inChancery, crim. 
 con. cases, and marriage settlements. 1 did not hear the 
 world dollar once; but the grander and nobler expression 
 of thousand pounds occurred perpetually. Moreover, they 
 interlarded their discourse abundantly with foreign remi- 
 niscence and French words, coarsely pronounced, and 
 awfully anglicised. I drew the conclusion from this, as well 
 as from certain cant phrases and vulgarisms of expression 
 in the use of their own tongue, such as "regularly done" — 
 
THE COLONNADE HOTEL 
 
 "completely floored" — "split the difference," that they 
 were not the distinguished people of which they laboured 
 to convey the impression. 
 
 In the corner opposite this party of three, who were at 
 the cost of all the conversation of the coffee-room, sat a 
 long-faced, straight-featured individual, with thin hair and 
 whiskers, and a bald head. There was a bluish tinge about 
 his cheek-bones and nose, and he had, on the whole, a 
 somewhat used look. He appeared to be reading a book 
 which he held before him, and which he occasionally put 
 aside to glance at a newspaper that lay on his lap, casting, 
 from time to time, furtive glances over book or newspaper 
 at the colloquial party before him, whose conversation, 
 though he endeavoured to conceal it, evidently occupied 
 him more than his book. 
 
 Half-way down the room, on the same side, sat a very 
 tall, rosy young man, of six-and-twenty or more; he was 
 sleek, fair-faced, with auburn hair, and, on the whole, de- 
 cidedly handsome, though his appearance could not be 
 qualified as distinguished. He sat quietly and contentedly, 
 with an air of the most thoroughly vacant bonhommie, 
 never moving limb or muscle, except when, from time to 
 time, he lifted to his mouth a fragment of thin biscuit, or 
 replenished his glass from the decanter of black-looking 
 wine beside him. I fancied, from his air of excellent 
 health, that he must be a country gentleman, whose luxu- 
 riant growth had been nurtured at a distance from the 
 gloom and condensation of cities. I could not determine 
 whether his perfect air of quiescence and repose were the 
 effect of consummate breeding, or simply a negative qua- 
 lity, and that he was not fidgety only because troubled by 
 no thoughts, no ideas, and no sensations. 
 
 There was only one table between his and mine. It was 
 occupied by a tall, thin, dignified-looking man, with a very 
 
M THE COLONNADE HOTEL 
 
 grave and noble cast of countenance. I was more pleased 
 with him than with any other in the room, from the quiet, 
 musing, self-forgetfulness of his air, and the mild and civil 
 manner in which he addressed the servants. These were 
 only two in number, though a dozen or more tables were 
 spread around, each capable of sealing four persons. They 
 were well-dressed, decent-looking men, who came and went 
 quickly, yet quietly and without confusion, at each call for 
 George or Thomas. The patience of the guests seemed un- 
 bounded, and the object of each to destroy as much lime as 
 possible. The scene, dull as it was, furnished a most favour- 
 able contrast to that which is exhibited at the ordinaries of 
 our greatinns,or in the saloons of our magnificent steamers. 
 
 Having completed my observations under cover of the 
 sirloin, I deposed my knife and fork, and the watchful wai- 
 ter hastened to bear away the formidable bulwark by whose 
 aid I had been enabled to reconnoitre the inmates of the 
 coffee-room. A tart and some cheese followed, and then 
 some dried fruits and thin wine-biscuits completed my re- 
 past. Having endeavoured ineffectually to rouse myself 
 from the stupefaction into which I was falling, by a cup of 
 indifferent coffee, I wheeled my capacious arm-chair round, 
 and took refuge from surrounding objects by gazing in the 
 fire. 
 
 The loquacious party had disappeared on their way to 
 Drury Lane, having decided, after some discussion, that the 
 hour for half-price had arrived. The saving of money is an 
 excellent thing ; without economy, indeed, there can scarce- 
 ly be any honesty. But, as a question of good taste, dis- 
 cussions about money matters should be carried on in a 
 quiet and under tone in the presence of strangers. When 
 they had departed, a death-like stillness pervaded the scene. 
 Occasionally, the newspaper of the thin gentleman might 
 be heard to rumple as he laid it aside or resumed it; or the 
 
THE COLONNADE HOTEL. 95 
 
 rosy gentleman from the country awoke the awful stillness 
 by snapping a fragment of biscuit, or depositing his wine- 
 glass upon the table. Then all was again silent, save when 
 the crust of the seacoal fire fell in as it consumed, and the 
 sleepy simmering note in which the teakettle, placed by 
 the grate in readiness either for tea or toddy, sang on 
 perpetually. 
 
 I sank into a lethargy, from which it was impossible to 
 arouse myself; despondency took possession of me ; I aban- 
 doned myself to the most melancholy musings. The dingy 
 walls, the sober illumination, the dim glare of the fires 
 struggling to reveal themselves through the dense smoke, 
 the awful and unbroken stillness and quiescence of a scene 
 in which restless man was yet the principal actor, all bore 
 upon me with a nightmare and overpowering pressure. 
 The spirit of dullness and stupefaction seemed to hover over 
 us with leaden wings. I cast my eyes round in despair, in 
 search of something that might arouse me. The first object 
 that presented itself was my own face, reflected back from 
 the mirror with an expression more than usually sullen; 
 looking next along the dark yellow walls, I caught sight of 
 the various cloaks of the guests, suspended from hooks, 
 and each surmounted by its corresponding hat. I thought 
 of the" spectral box-coats" of my inimitable friend, Geoffrey 
 Crayon ; and would have given the world, in that moment 
 of despondency, for one of his quiet unwritten jokes, or one 
 friendly pressure of his hand. 
 
 My thoughts had taken a most gloomy turn; there was 
 only one object which, by awakening my curiosity, seemed 
 a little to excite me. On either mantel stood a singular 
 and curious pair of little scales, such as I had never before 
 seen. From one end of the beam was suspended a small 
 weight, which rested in a socket at the bottom; from the 
 other hung a fiat hook, whose use I could not conceive, 
 
THE COLONNADE HOTEL. 
 
 unless it were to receive papers, or a letter. The scales 
 were evidently calculated only to poise articles of one given 
 weight. What could be their uses ? My curiosity was 
 greatly excited, and I lived in the hope of learning on the 
 morrow. 
 
 At nine the next morning, the tidy chambermaid, after a 
 modest knock at the door, entered my room with a pitcher 
 of hot water, and quickly kindled the fire. When I rose, 
 I found traces of Boots having been in my room, in the nice 
 polish which he had left on his leathern namesakes, and in 
 the neat arrangement of my well-brushed clothes. An hour 
 after I made my entry into the coffee-room, which I found 
 almost entirely unoccupied, few of the guests having yet 
 risen. Breakfast was soon brought to me, and I found the 
 butter, the cream, and the muffins excellent. Each person 
 made his own tea, being furnished with canisters of two 
 kinds, and the water brought by the waiter in a boiling state 
 from the adjoining fireplace. On a table in the centre of 
 the room were set out joints of cold meat, to which the guests 
 carried their plates to supply themselves. 
 
 I asked for the Times. The oracle was placed in my 
 hand, full of news not an hour old. There was one un- 
 doubted advantage of being in London, that of feeling that 
 you were at the head-quarters of the world for intelligence 
 of every kind. I read the leading articles, which were full 
 of ability, and then went regularly through the paper, my 
 curiosity being perpetually excited at the strange things that 
 were there recounted : how, for instance, one Captain James 
 Sargeant sued for a divorce from Harriet, his wife, on the 
 ground of adultery; and how the said Harriet set up, as 
 allegation in bar to the suit, the plea of recrimination, charg- 
 ing her husband with adultery in return ; secondly, with 
 collusion and connivance on his part in the adultery of his 
 wife : how Tom M'Gill was indicted at the Middlesex Ses- 
 
THE COLONNADE HOTEL. 
 
 91 
 
 sions for feloniously assaulting his wife, and breaking the 
 collar-bone of his child, the dispute having arisen about the 
 expenditure of money given her to buy mourning for her 
 child, then lying dead in the house. 
 
 The said M'Gill had charged his wife with spending the 
 money in liquor ; she, denying the same, was then and there 
 knocked down, jumped upon, and, while apparently dead, 
 her finger was by the said Thomas nearly bitten through, 
 to ascertain if life were extinct; upon which she revived, 
 crawled into the street, w 7 here, fainting, she was found 
 drenched with blood by a policeman, and remained labour- 
 ing under an affection of the brain : how John Barnes had 
 wantonly and feloniously maimed, by cutting his hamstrings, 
 a pony gelding, the property of Thomas Cheshire the younger : 
 how a gentleman of elegant appearance, by the name of 
 Coyle, had swindled the unfortunate Mr. Daltonof a superb 
 dressing-case : how the paupers of St. George's parish had 
 struck in the workhouse and stood out for labouring diet : 
 howDr. Blick, in driving quietly in his cabriolet, was stopped 
 by the mutes attendant upon a funeral, and severely beaten 
 by their maces: how Mr. Bofhschild had been discomposed, 
 and the financial operations of the world interrupted, by 
 some impertinent individual, who had taken possession of 
 his peculiar pillar in the Exchange. Finally, how 7 Henry 
 Mason was charged with extorting from Samuel Singer, 
 coal-merchant, the value of six shillings and sixpence, under 
 a threat of accusing him of an indecency. 
 
 When I put all these evidences of an advanced civilization 
 together, occurring in a single day's history of a single me- 
 tropolis, and contrasted it with the simple rusticity of my 
 own country, I felt quite overwhelmed at the idea of how 
 much we have to learn before we can even enler into a 
 comparison. 
 
 The venerable and benevolent looking man was seated 
 
 7 
 
OH 
 
 THE COLONNADE HOTEL 
 
 near me at the same table as the previous night. He had 
 already finished his breakfast, glanced at one or two papers, 
 and, the waiter having furnished him with a small leathern 
 portfolio, went on to write a number of letters. He then 
 proceeded to direct them; and when he had done this, the 
 waiter approached with a letter which I had noticed one of 
 the young men of the talking-party the night before in the 
 act of placing in his hand, with some particular injunction, 
 in a low tone of voice, as he was going away to the theatre. 
 The waiter addressed the benevolent gentleman in a very 
 respectful manner, and begged, if he had a spare frank, he 
 would oblige him with it for that letter. The benevolent 
 gentleman immediately complied, after counting the letters 
 which he had himself written, and others which he took from 
 his pocket; and finding that he had not completed the 
 number which he was entitled to frank daily for any one 
 given post-office, which I afterwards found to be ten. He 
 proceeded to copy the address, which was pencilled on the 
 reverse, in his own hand, writing out the date and his own 
 name, as 1 presently discovered ; for, having some doubts 
 whether the letter were not over the legal weight for a 
 frank, he sent the waiter to test it in the little scales on the 
 mantelpiece before me. It was placed upright, with the 
 direction towards me, and proved to be within the rule. 
 This singular effort to save a few shillings by seeking a 
 favour, through a waiter, of an unknown person, struck me 
 as being very strange at the time, and corroborated the un- 
 favourable opinion I was already willing to form of the 
 whole of the blustering party whose conduct I had observed 
 under cover of the sirloin. 
 
 I found, in time, that this was a very prevailing trait of 
 national manners in England ; and that there is nothing that 
 people have such a horror of there as paying postage, which 
 is, indeed, sufficiently high to be disagreeable. On visits at 
 
THE COLONNADE HOTEL. 
 
 »g 
 
 the mansions of individuals possessing this privilege, I was 
 frequently afterwards a witness of the shifts that people 
 resort to in procuring franks. Indeed, the franking pri- 
 vilege is often the source of much annoyance to those who 
 possess it. Thanks to it, however, I was now, without any 
 necessity of betraying my ignorance by asking the waiter 
 what would have seemed to him as absurd a question as 
 one concerning the uses of a poker, let into the whole secret 
 of the mysterious scales, about which, the night before, my 
 soul had been so disquieted within me. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 Appearance of Shops— Stand of Hackney-coaches— Life of a London 
 Horse — Regent-street — Architecture of Club-houses — Duke of York's 
 Statue — St. James's Park. 
 
 Leaving my hotel with the intention of taking my first 
 walk in the streets of the metropolis, I found myself in the 
 colonnade which forms a covered w^y, round the quadran- 
 gle of which the house formed part, and set myself quiet- 
 ly in motion to make the circuit of it. This building, 
 which is enclosed by a series of cast-iron columns, painted to 
 correspond with the plaster of the walls, had its origin in 
 the construction of a theatre for the representation of the 
 Italian opera and ballets, which was intended to rival the 
 great edifices of the Continent, and do no discredit to its 
 royal appellation of the King's Theatre. It is very magni- 
 ficent, as 1 afterward had occasion to see. The great part 
 of this vast edifice not embraced by the theatre is let out 
 to various uses, the Colonnade Hotel being the most consi- 
 derable establishment of it. There are a collection of the 
 most brilliant shops, filled with costly articles, attesting at 
 once the wealth, the luxury, and refinement of the land, 
 
WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 101 
 
 and the pitch of excellence to which the arts have been im- 
 4 pelled by them. I loitered round to that side of the qua- 
 drangle which contained the entrance to the opera. The 
 season does not commence until near May, and there were 
 no entertainments. I stopped, however, to read the pro- 
 grammes of the other theatres, and fix upon some amuse- 
 ment for the night. Ere long I was interrupted by a sensa- 
 tion about my pocket, something approaching a nibble in 
 piscatory language, but discovered no one near me except a 
 highly fashionable personage, engaged, like myself, in de- 
 ciding what theatre to honour. There were, besides, a 
 number of gay and elegant young women, conspicuous for 
 the frank and joyous freedom of their manners. 
 
 The street on this side was the Hay market : directly in 
 front stood the theatre of that name, while the centre of the 
 broad street was used as a stand for hackney-coaches and 
 cabs. Nothing could be more wretched than the appear- 
 ance of these carriages ; filthy, covered with mud, the lin- 
 ing and curtains soiled, the hair-stuffing hanging out, the 
 glasses broken, and the panels smashed. The cabs had 
 little advantage of the coaches, and the horses were not out 
 of keeping with the vehicles to which they were attached. 
 Their sides were hollow, and each rib stood forth in sepa- 
 rate and distinct relief; their knees were bent forward, head 
 hanging by the check-rein, and mouths stretched open, with 
 the tongue hanging between the teeth. Some were dozing 
 and nodding, like an elderly gentlewoman under the influ- 
 ence of a dull sermon. Some of them, indeed most, in the 
 midst of their present wretchedness, had a blooded look, 
 and an air of having seen better days. I was in that mood 
 in which gloomy thoughts find a ready admittance into the 
 soul ; and I fell into melancholy musings upon the vicissi- 
 tudes in the life of this noble animal. Let us say nothing 
 about the deadly injuries that are done to him in the days 
 
102 
 
 WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 of his youth ; though, at the thought, my mind naturally 
 recurs to the more feeling usages of generous Spain," and to 
 the idea of the respectable Rosinante. I happened to be at 
 Burgos, the city of the Cid and his Babieca, at the time when 
 the furniture and equipages of Mr. Villiers, the elegant and 
 accomplished young minister of the British king, were pass- 
 ing on their way to Madrid, under a heavy escort, to pro- 
 tect them from the Carlists. In the train marched seven 
 noble horses of the best blood. The landlord, who was 
 likewise postmaster, was a young man whose whole soul 
 was devoted to horse-flesh, being himself the possessor of 
 many arrogant mules, and some noble Andalusian horses, 
 reared in the meadows of Guadalquivir. How did his anger 
 rise, and his whole soul glow with honest indignation, as he 
 contemplated their severed tails and their cruel mutilation. 
 He grated his teeth, and grasping his knife, exclaimed, 
 with Spanish brevity and sententiousness, and in the spirit 
 of retributive justice, the remnant of that law of talion which 
 has been remembered and not unfrequently practised in 
 Spain since the days of the Moors, — "al hombreque capa- 
 ba a un caballo — te capaba a el /" 
 
 We talk about our love for a favourite horse; but there 
 is no such feeling; it is only a reflection of our love for our- 
 selves. The horse carries his rider nobly and proudly, 
 helps him to appear well, and is for the moment part of 
 himself. Let him fall lame, or lose his beauty, and he is 
 sold at once without regret, and another succeeds the next 
 day to all the affection which was but yesterday his owu, 
 From a broken-down hunter he passes at once to the car- 
 riage, the stagecoach, or the plough, until at length he is 
 driven furiously over the London pavements, and worn out 
 by labour, increasing ever as his forces diminish, by blows, 
 and by ill usage, he dies miserably under the hands of a cab 
 ruffian. Verily, it may well be said, that the last stage of 
 
WALKS IN LONDON 103 
 
 that horse is worse than the first. The most noble, the 
 most elegant, the most useful of all the auxiliaries which 
 nature has provided for man, his life is at the same time 
 the fullest of misery, and his death the most long-drawn 
 and disastrous. A pig is a king to him. A pig gorges, 
 and wallows, and revels in a thousand luxuries dear to his 
 swinish heart, increasing ever in health and happiness, until, 
 reaching the climax of all the bliss of which his nature is 
 capable, the merciful knife reaches the seat of vitality in a 
 twinkling, and suddenly, without suffering, his soul is re- 
 quired of him, and with a single squeal he yields it up. 
 
 As were the cab-horses, so also were the drivers. All 
 were filthy, squalid, and tattered ; some were drunk, others 
 dozing. I afterward found, from the police reports, that 
 many of them are also thieves. They are banded with what 
 is called the "swell mob," an institution which, like the name, 
 is peculiar to this country, and aid in carrying off plate and 
 other plunder taken from the houses of the rich. One of 
 the party learns the secret of the premises through the con- 
 nivance of a servant ; and, not unfrequently, they take the 
 agreeable mode of making love to a maid. A plan is thus 
 matured for weeks before-hand, and rarely fails in its exe- 
 cution. 
 
 The miserable plight of these vehicles, intended for the 
 accommodation of the public at large, contrasted singularly 
 with the same class of conveyances in our own country, and 
 bore strong testimony of the distinction of classes and dis- 
 parity of fortunes here, and the humble condition of the 
 third estate. With us, the hackney-coaches are almost 
 universally neat and elegant vehicles, drawn by fine horses 
 not easily distinguishable from the modest equipages of the 
 rich. There are a vast number of people with us, who, 
 while they may not be able to set up an equipage, have yet 
 abundant means to compass the gratification of an occa- 
 
104 
 
 ' \NALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 sional drive. Here those who keep no carriage must be con- 
 tent to take the air in miserable, filthy vehicles, inferior in 
 all respect to the worst of those that may be seen in New- 
 York or Philadelphia, figuring in a funeral cortege of ne- 
 groes. Going forth in search of country air and the aro- 
 matic gales of gardens and meadows, they carry with them 
 a nucleus of ill odours, and taint the atmosphere wherever 
 they proceed. I never put my foot into one of them without 
 noticing this offensiveness, and being prepared to appreciate 
 the ingenious squeamishness of our eccentric countryman, 
 John Randolph, of Roanoke, who was rooted in the idea 
 that the hackney-coaches were habitually used by the Lon- 
 don resurrectionists, and who would never enter any but 
 chariots, because there was no room in them for the com- 
 fortable accommodation of a dead man. 
 
 As I yet stood gazing and musing upon cabs and jarvies, 
 there rolled by the elegant equipage of a rich man, to carry 
 out the contrast between the aristocratic and the lowly. The 
 heavy carriage was suspended on double springs, and rolled 
 forward without a jar, or the least clatter or noise ; within 
 were seen the teints of rich silk, and luxurious cushions. 
 Two proud and prancing horses bore hard ugon the reins, 
 which were held by a stout, rosy, powdered, and richly-clad 
 coachman, who was seated high aloft as on a throne. They 
 arched their necks and pricked their ears disdainfully at the 
 villain horses they were passing, little dreaming that a few 
 short years were to reduce them to that same abject con- 
 dition. Rehind were two footmen, in costly liveries, with 
 aiguillettes and long canes to clear the way, if necessary, 
 for their masters. Their looks were disdainful and impe- 
 rious, and they stood up on their stout supporters, cased 
 in plush breeches and neat white stockings, as proud and 
 perpendicular as princes. 
 
 Ry this time my attention to the cabmen had attracted 
 
WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 105 
 
 tbeirs to me. Three or four broke the line at once, and 
 beating their reluctant animals, drove against each other in 
 eagerness to approach me, crying, as they held up their 
 whips or a dirty finger, in a quick, nasal, cockney tone, 
 M Cab, sir! cab, sir! Drive you quick, sir!" I had too 
 much compassion for their horses, and too much con- 
 sideration for myself, to accept the offer. Therefore, 
 turning away, I continued my circuit until I had traversed 
 the Colonnade to the point from which I had set out; 
 thence I struck off' to the left, and found myself in the wide 
 and noble avenue of Regent-street. Here I paused to gaze 
 with admiration upon the magnificent club-houses and 
 other princely edifices which stood isolated on either hand. 
 Many of them are in a noble and chaste style of architecture. 
 They are built of Portland stone, and, being in a neigh- 
 bourhood not dense comparatively, and where there are 
 no manufactories with steam-engines, furnaces, and belching 
 chimneys, they are not blackened like the buildings in other 
 quarters of the town, especially the east, towards which the 
 wind habitually blows. They have, consequently, a light and 
 gay colour, which the contrast renders particularly pleasing. 
 
 Regent-street terminates at this extremity in a flight of 
 steps, descending into St. James's Park, whose naked trees 
 here intercepted the prospect; while from among them 
 might be seen, nobly rising in the distance, the lofty roof of 
 Westminster Abbey, flanked by its Gothic towers. In this 
 fine situation, at the extremity of the street, overlooking the 
 Park, the Abbey, and the surrounding palaces, stands a 
 lofty column of stone, which I learned with wonder was 
 intended to receive the statue of Frederick, late Duke of 
 York. I could not help asking myself what the Duke of 
 York had done for England, that she should thus comme- 
 morate him. Will not posterity be disposed to ask the same 
 question, and to wonder to what achievement of his inglo- 
 
WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 rious career, conspicuous only for ignominious failure as a 
 general, for base and infamous collusion as a commander- 
 in-chief — to what act of a life passed in dishonourable 
 neglect of the common honesty which enjoins the scrupulous 
 payment of one's debts, and in low debauchery as a man, 
 he is indebted for this honour, hitherto reserved as the 
 noblest meed of heroes and patriots? Will it not at least 
 be admitted that he has won his column at a cheaper rate 
 than Trajan in ancient times, or Napoleon in our own ? 
 
 The indignation which I felt in contemplating this pros- 
 titution was not the effect of any anti-English feeling, 
 Were I an Englishman I should but have felt more strongly. 
 Had I beheld this noble column surmounted by the statue 
 of a Wellington or a Nelson, I should have freely added the 
 full tide of my sympathies to those of a grateful and admiring 
 nation. May not the day arrive when this people will begin 
 to think, that to have been the base brother of a king is a 
 less title to gratitude and consideration than to have borne 
 the name of Horatio Nelson? When the statue of him who 
 sacrificed a noble army ignominiously in the swamps of Wal- 
 cheren, and abandoned a whole service to the avaricious prac- 
 tices of an otherwise unpaid prostitute, will be indignantly 
 dragged down, to make room for the effigy of that hero 
 who unfurled the flag of England so gloriously at the Nile 
 and at Trafalgar? 
 
 Being so near St. James's Park, and tempted moreover 
 by the pleasing glimpse I had caught of it from the base of 
 the Duke of York's column, I could not forego the pleasure 
 of seeing it a little nearer. Descending, therefore, the flight 
 of steps conducting to it, I presently found myself in the 
 midst of an extensive plantation of trees, disposed according 
 to the rules of taste, which are here so well understood. 
 In the centre of the park is an oblong sheet of water, arti- 
 ficially produced, and being nearly stagnant. Under our 
 
WALKS IN LONDON 
 
 107 
 
 torrid sun, such a creation would prove the fruitful source 
 of fever and pestilence, and we would as soon think of in- 
 troducing the plague among us, as forming such a sheet of 
 standing water within the boundaries of our cities. Here, 
 however, it is attended with no bad result, and inspires no 
 dread, while it tends greatly to the embellishment of the 
 place, being prettily diversified, indented with little bays, with 
 jutting promontories, and islands tufted with evergreens. 
 
 From the Park, St. James's Palace assumes a much nobler 
 appearance than on the side of the town, though still out- 
 shone by the superior beauty of many mansions of the no- 
 bility that overlook the same scene, especially Buckingham 
 House, and the town residence of the Duke of Sutherland. 
 Westminster Hall and the Abbey are among the fine objects 
 which the eye takes in from this charming promenade, 
 where every thing contrasted most pleasingly with the 
 crowded and bustling thoroughfare which I had the moment 
 before abandoned. 
 
 Rural, however, and retired as I found the Park, it was 
 not a solitude; though the groups who thronged it were of 
 a less bustling character, and bent, for the most part, on 
 pleasure instead of toil. There were groups of children at 
 their sports, of a healthy and beautiful appearance, such as 
 I had scarcely ever seen before. These were guarded by 
 comely nursery-maids, who seemed to have time not only 
 to watch over their charge, but to exchange words of kind- 
 ness with tall and well-dressed footmen, Whom a happy ac- 
 cident had led there, and sometimes with others, whose 
 costume and air announced a higher station. There were 
 abundant of red coats too, glancing among the trees and 
 shrubbery; and a whole regiment of them, in admirable 
 equipment, and moving with consummate steadiness, were 
 marshalled along the main avenue, enlivening the groves 
 with the inspiring strains of their military music. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 Piccadilly — Quadrant — Placard-bearers — Church of All-Souls — Park 
 Crescent — Regent's Park — The Terraces — Improvements in London — 
 Their good Taste — Adaption to America. 
 
 Leaving St. James's Park, and turning my back on the 
 duke and his column, I took my way up Regent-street, and 
 presently reached the point where it opens out into a circus 
 at the intersection of Piccadilly. This is one of the greatest 
 thoroughfares of London or the world. It is the principal 
 connecting avenue between the City and the West End, and 
 one of the great routes of the southern and western coun- 
 ties of England. The rush of vehicles was really fearful; 
 there were many four-horse coaches arriving and depart- 
 ing, cumbered with luggage and passengers ; and innu- 
 merable omnibuses, whose elegant cads were standing on 
 one foot, leaning far to either side and holding up a finger 
 which they twitched coaxingly, crying the while through 
 their noses, — 14 Kensington! Chelsea! Hammersmith! Hyde 
 Park Corner ! Bank! Bank ! Bank!" Here, too, I stopped 
 fo gaze with wonder at a golden bull and an overgrown 
 mouth opening to swallow him, the distinguishing sign of 
 
WALKS IN LONDON 
 
 a noted coach-office, whose name I had noticed on the 
 coach which brought me to London. This is one of the 
 few instances which I saw in London of the old signs, 
 belonging to the quaint and simple tastes of ancient times, 
 being retained, together with the names of celebrated 
 inns. 
 
 Making my escape, with some address and no little self- 
 gratulation, across the mighty thoroughfare, I entered the 
 Quadrant, and went on my way, rejoicing in my sense of 
 safety ; for here I was defended by a range of massive cast- 
 iron columns, and there was no danger of being invaded 
 in this sanctuary and run down, whether by cab or omni- 
 bus. The buildings here bend gracefully on either hand 
 from that part of Regent-street which takes its rise in St. 
 James's Park, so as to join a second street, bearing the same 
 name, which runs northward, to connect it with Portland 
 Place and Regent's Park. This Quadrant is flanked on 
 either hand by fluted columns of cast-iron, having the 
 massive appearance of stone, and being coloured to cor- 
 respond with the stucco of the adjoining edifices. Above 
 is a continuous skylight, connecting the colonnade with the 
 buildings ; the upper stories of which are appropriated to 
 millinery establishments and various uses, while the ground- 
 floors are occupied as shops, and are filled with every 
 species of costly wares, to attest the superiority of the 
 useful and elegant arts in England. The effect of this 
 Quadrant bending thus gradually, is, on the whole, de- 
 cidedly elegant and pleasing, while the noble street open- 
 ing beyond, and flanked on either hand by rows of symme- 
 trical and ornamented edifices, breaks upon the eye with 
 an air of great magnificence. 
 
 There was much, however, in the groups that filled 
 these elegant precincts, which was disgusting and hum- 
 bling to the pride of any one who is capable of being 
 
no 
 
 WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 wounded by the degradation of his species. Able-bodied 
 men, many of them, moreover, quite well-dressed, were 
 importuning every one to buy leathern straps to put under 
 their boots, or a puppy-dog which they carried in their 
 arms ; half-naked wretches were sweeping the streets at the 
 crossing-places, and begging the price of a loaf of bread, with 
 the assurance that they were famished with cold and hunger. 
 I was struck with the appearance of one man, more wretch- 
 ed than the rest. He was tall, graceful, and distinguished 
 in his appearance. His clothes fitted closely to his person, 
 and were of an elegant make, but they were greasy, thread- 
 bare, and, being broken in various places, showed that his 
 back rejoiced not in a shirt. His boots were sadly run 
 down at heel, and escaping from his feet ; while his un- 
 shaven beard, and his emaciated countenance, completed a 
 picture of consummate misery and woe. Yet his air was 
 as proud and elevated as that of any around him, and he 
 strode onward, looking neither to the right nor to the left. 
 What was that man to do ? His habits unfitted him for 
 toil, yet he was doubtless ashamed to beg, though evidently 
 starving. I could not fancy any thing but the example of 
 Werter, and the relief of that friendly river in whose 
 direction he was walking. Willingly would I have learned 
 his story, though doubtless a common and oft-told tale, of 
 wasted opportunities and ruined character. 
 
 Leaving the Quadrant, I was immediately shocked at 
 other spectacles yet more degrading. Here was a man, 
 dressed in a red coat and epaulets, and having on his head 
 a cocked hat, surmounted by the panache of a field -marshal. 
 At his back and before him were suspended, so as to balance 
 each other, a couple of boards, with printed placards to the 
 following effect : " Gentlemen should instruct their servants 
 to use Brown's blacking!" Farther on were two more, 
 dressed from head to foot in one huge garment of green 
 
WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 Ill 
 
 moreen. It had streaming pendent sleeves, and was ter- 
 minated at the top in a tall steeple-crown, like a paper 
 fool's-cap, such as is used by bullying pedagogues to degrade 
 and break the spirit of a child. There was a single aper- 
 ture left for the face of these consenting and polluted 
 wretches, who looked out, shameless of the degradation of 
 their species and of their own, as they bore high in the air 
 placards of some ignoble advertisement — a new cure for the 
 itch, or simply the street and number of Dr. Eady, the in- 
 famous curer of an infamous disease. 
 
 But the chapter of ignominy was not complete. A little 
 farther on I saw a noble-looking man, with a sash bound 
 about his waist, having a slight halt in his gait, a decidedly 
 military air, and the port of a veteran. I fancied that I 
 saw in him a worthy companion of Wellington in the field 
 of Waterloo. He was the bearer of a placard which 
 notified where might be seen the statue of Lord Dudley's 
 favourite Newfoundland dog Bashaw. Here was a man, a 
 noble specimen of humanity too, doomed in his old days to 
 carry about a placard touching the statue of a nobleman's 
 dog ! This is an outrage not merely against the dignity of 
 man, it is a violation of the intentions of his Maker ; and I 
 felt within me, at the contemplation of such a spectacle, not 
 merely a loathing disgust at the baseness of the wretches 
 who, rather than starve, should be found thus acquiescing 
 in their own degradation, but a glow of honest indignation 
 against ( the whole structure and condition of society in a 
 country where, throughout a long series of years, the 
 privilege of legislation for the good of all has been reserved 
 in the hands of a few ; and where, systematically exercised in 
 the interest of that few and for the enslavement of the 
 many, it has eventuated in such a preposterous and un- 
 equalled elevation of the one, attended by the necessary 
 and corresponding abasement of the other. 1 
 
112 
 
 WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 Presently I came to a cross street in which was assembled 
 a great collection of people of the lowest class. This was 
 the first specimen I had seen of a London mob, and a more 
 squalid set of wretches could not well be imagined. From 
 the number of policemen collected at the place, armed with 
 their short clubs, there had probably been some disorder 
 which was not unlikely to be renewed. The cause of it 
 was soon obvious. A man was standing before the door of 
 a dirty and suspicious-looking habitation, having on his 
 shoulder a placard, on which was printed, in large letters, 
 " Beware of a house of ill-fame," having doubtless been 
 hired to do so by some decent burgher living next door, 
 who had been scandalised by the character of his neigh- 
 bours. This placard had brought together the mob, who, 
 whatever might have been their own morals, were not 
 sorry to have their fury authorized, and their taste for de- 
 struction directed to some legitimate object. Its effects were 
 already sufficiently obvious on the exterior of the building. 
 The terrified inmates had closed the inside shutters, but 
 the glasses were all broken, and the sashes smashed, while 
 the whole front was plentifully daubed with mud, which 
 had been thrown by the handful. The by-standers seemed 
 only to wait for leave to set about the demolition of the 
 whole establishment. 
 
 Looking round me as I went, and musing upon what I 
 saw, I presently reached the intersection of Oxford-street, 
 where Regent-street again opens out to form a circus. 
 Here is another thoroughfare between the East and West 
 Ends, well nigh as great as that of Piccadilly; and here too 
 the pedestrian is obliged to halt, and watch, and escape 
 quickly for his life. The shops here assume a still more 
 elegant and fashionable character ; among them were drug- 
 gists' shops, the names of whose proprietors I had seen 
 on their preparations in almost every corner of the world ; 
 
WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 113 
 
 their extent, neatness, and elegance of arrangement were 
 admirable. Others were occupied by French milliners, ad- 
 dressing themselves in their signs to those only who could 
 read French; Parisian and Swiss confectioners, and one or 
 two very elegantly fitted up as cafes and restaurants. 
 
 The vista before me terminated at an angle where Re- 
 gent-street turns into Portland Place. This is a most fa- 
 vourable point for the exhibition of a noble edifice. The 
 objects on either hand prepare the eye for no measured 
 degree of gratification. And here in fact the artist who 
 conceived and so nobly executed in the last reign the mag- 
 nificent idea of all these improvements, which give such 
 an air of grandeur to this quarter of the metropolis, has 
 accordingly placed an edifice, the church of All Souls, 
 which seems meant as a masterpiece, and which at any 
 rate may claim the merit of being able both to astonish and 
 surprise. It stands forward far in advance of the adjoining 
 buildings, face to face with you as you advance to enter 
 Portland Place, and seems to say to you — Here ! look at 
 me! And I did look at it, and with not a little astonish- 
 ment and some embarrassment. For having never before 
 seen an edifice like this, I could not judge it by any effort 
 at comparison, and remained bewildered in the attempt to 
 analyze my impressions. I was not long in determining 
 that the character of the structure was at least costly, and 
 its mechanical execution very elegant. In some of the de- 
 tails, moreover, there was much subject of unqualified 
 admiration. It formed, however, the oddest whole imagin- 
 able. The church itself was of nearly square form, and 
 stood back with a half modest and retiring air, well nigh 
 concealed by the mansions adjoining. The roof was tall 
 and angular, and sloped back from the more pretending 
 portico and spire like a vulgar wife, half-shrinking from the 
 fellowship of the more genteel husband who is ashamed of 
 
 8 
 
WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 her. It was a striking instance of architectural misalliance. 
 Had it stood by itself, without pretension and in all humility, 
 it would have attracted neither notice nor animadversion. 
 But the pride of a lofty alliance had dragged it into notice, 
 and subjected it to contumely. The portico and spire, 
 which touched rather than united with it in front, was full 
 of pretension, and not wholly destitute of taste. It was of 
 circular form, surrounded by a row of Ionic columns, sur- 
 mounted by an elegant balustrade. Out of this arose a 
 fluted stone spire, run up to a needle's point with great 
 lightness and grace. Above the portico a large ring, sus- 
 tained by a lesser row of columns, surrounded the spire. One 
 is puzzled, in looking at it, to tell how or why it came 
 there. It looks for all the world like a ring, and has the 
 air of a trophy carried off in some jousting match on a 
 great scale, with giant knights, and steeples for lances. 
 
 Portland Place is still wider and more vast than Regent- 
 street. It is of more ancient construction. The houses are of 
 unpainted brick, and are all private dwellings. No omnibus 
 is permitted to pollute with its presence these precincts, 
 though now guiltless of nobility, and abandoned to the 
 abodes of aspiring merchants and bankers. Compared 
 with Regent-street, it had a certain air of staid respect- 
 ability, not a little augmented by the occasional display of 
 funeral hatchments, on which family arms were embla- 
 zoned, with angels, hour-glasses, and various mournful 
 emblems of the tomb, to announce that death had been 
 busy within. I do not know that any thing ever affected 
 me more unpleasantly than this obtrusion upon the world 
 of that sorrow which, where it is sincere, is apt to shun the 
 sympathy of the unheeding crowd; and this heartless effort 
 to make the dead, by giving occasion to this heraldic dis- 
 play, thus minister to the vanity of the living. 
 
 At the extremity of Portland Place the buildings again 
 
WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 become modern, and sweeping back on either hand in a cir- 
 cular form, with colonnades, terraces, and architectural 
 embellishments, leave a vacant place between called the 
 Park Crescent. This is enclosed with a massive iron rail- 
 ing. It is planted with trees, and tastefully laid out as an 
 ornamental garden, accessible to the tenants of the neigh- 
 bouring mansions, who there enjoy the recreation of a daily 
 walk, which the habits of the country render necessary; 
 and where their children, when the weather will at all per- 
 mit, pass a considerable portion of each day in healthful 
 exercise. I subsequently found that, notwithstanding the 
 denseness of London, there is scarcely any portion of it 
 which has not in its neighbourhood some planted square 
 or pleasure-ground, reserved for the health and recreation 
 of its inhabitants. 
 
 Beyond the Park Crescent lay the New Road, another 
 vast thoroughfare, connecting the City with the extensive 
 suburb of Paddington. Here was the same rush of vehi- 
 cles, and the same abundance of hackney-coaches, cabs, 
 and omnibuses, mingled with costlier equipages of the rich. 
 Beyond the New Road lay the Regent's Park. Though 
 my map had shown me in the morning that its extent was 
 considerable, I determined to make the circuit. Its entrance 
 was defended by railings and gates of iron, which may be 
 closed atpleasure, to shut out intruding stage-coaches, om- 
 nibuses, loaded carts, or aught that is unseemly or inele- 
 gant. On my left-hand lay the Park, whose recent plan- 
 tations of trees and shrubbery w ere in a very thriving state, 
 indicating that, in the season of foliage, they were already 
 in a condition to furnish shade, and an agreeable verdure. 
 On the right, my eye took in a succession of stately edifices 
 grouped together so as to produce the effect of a series of 
 magnificent palaces, each forming by itself an elegant and 
 harmonious whole. The first of these was Cambridge Ter- 
 
 8 * 
 
110 
 
 WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 race, which was in a pretty taste, and embellished with 
 porticoes and architectural ornaments of simple Doric. 
 Here, too, I paused to admire the swelling dome of the Co- 
 liseum, a magnificient structure, fit for the exhibition of so 
 vast a panorama as that of London. 
 
 Chester Terrace, which was next to Cambridge, struck 
 me as being extremely beautiful. Like the rest, it is thrown 
 back from the main road along the side of the Park. It is 
 of the Corinthian order, has a colonnade in the centre, and 
 at either extremity an elegant entrance, in the form of a 
 triumphal arch, which gives admittance to the private road 
 leading only to the residences which compose it. The 
 Terrace is raised above the level of the main road, securing 
 the dwellings from humidity, and furnishing, from their 
 windows, a commanding view of the road, which is not 
 sufficiently near to annoy with its dust or noise, while it 
 presents an ever animating scene of gayety and life, — of 
 the tastefully-planted Park beyond, with its pretty villas, 
 serpentine walks, sheets of water, and of the noble terraces 
 which close the view beyond. Here, as at the other ter- 
 races, the intervening space between the private avenue 
 and the public thoroughfare is enclosed with balustrades of 
 Portland stone, and flanked with evergreens and flowers. 
 
 A little farther on I was met by one of the fairest proces- 
 sions that ever blessed my delighted eyes. It consisted of 
 some twenty or thirty young ladies, of various interesting 
 ages between fourteen and twenty. They were dressed 
 with great neatness and simplicity; and, as they passed 
 along, each seemed prettier than the one who had preceded 
 her, though my respect for what was due to their modesty, 
 and some little prompting from my own, prevented me 
 from scanning them with the attention which they merited. 
 This was certainly a very charming spectacle in itself, and 
 I contemplated it very frequently after with intense interest 
 
WALKS IN LONDON 
 
 1 1 7 
 
 when 1 came to learn that these young ladies were the or- 
 phans of poor clergymen, for whose education an institution 
 has been endowed in the Regent's Park, by the generosity 
 of some rich person, who added good laste to kindness of 
 heart and a discriminating benevolence. They are care- 
 fully educated, and qualified to fill the station of gover- 
 nesses in rich families ; and, to judge from their amiable 
 appearance, would also make excellent wives, though taken 
 at a venture. 
 
 Cumberland Terrace, which next attracted my observa- 
 tion, pleased me less, though the mansions which composed 
 it were of far greater dimensions, and the style of archi- 
 tecture more highly ornamented and of greater pretension. 
 It consists of a grand centre and wings, connected by 
 arches, under which are carriage-ways leading to the mews 
 in the rear. From a rusticated basement rises a range of 
 Doric columns, which is crowned by a balustrade, serving, 
 at various points, as a pedestal for statues, standing singly 
 or in groups. In the centre the colonnade is heavier and 
 more imposing, being surmounted by a pediment with a 
 group of statuary, representing the triumphs of Britannia. 
 With such evidences of the grandeur of the Island Queen, 
 exhibited in the residences of her merchants, traders, and 
 modest citizens, I felt no disposition to deny to her the meed 
 of my humble homage and admiration. 
 
 St. Catharine's Hospital, which next succeeds, contrasts 
 charmingly with the regular and classical architecture of 
 the terraces and the Coliseum. It is a very pretty speci- 
 men of Gothic architecture, evincing — a fact which I 
 found afterward confirmed by still more favourable speci- 
 mens in my rambles over England — that this noble style 
 has been revived, in its simpler and more modest forms in- 
 deed, with far greater success here then elsewhere. It con- 
 sists of a beautiful little chapel, with a single nave, flanked 
 
118 
 
 WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 by towers on the front, while on either hand are charming 
 groups of cottages, with pointed gables in the Elizabethan 
 taste. This institution was not long since removed to this 
 healthier and more picturesque situation, from the present 
 site of St. Catherine's Dock in the city. It is an hospital, 
 founded in past times for the relief of the families of seafar- 
 ing persons, or others of the humbler dependants of that 
 commerce which has here achieved her greatest triumphs. 
 It was a worthy monument — and I was afterward called 
 upon to admire many such — of the princely benevolence of 
 Englishmen. 
 
 Gloucester Gate is another grand entrance to the Park. 
 It is a species of triumphal arch, in Doric taste. I looked 
 out of it, and walking a few steps, came to a bridge over 
 the Regent's Canal, on the banks of which stands a charm- 
 ing collection of little ornamented cottages of the Eliza- 
 bethan, Gothic, or Saxon architecture. Many of these have 
 a grotesque and quaint appearance, yet the effect of the 
 whole is pleasing and agreeable. Small, but beautifully- 
 arranged gardens and mimic conservatories swept down 
 to the borders of the stream. I had occasion afterward to 
 enter some of these, and found them filled with all ima- 
 ginable comforts. 
 
 I could not but regret the unfavourable character of the 
 comparison between these charming cottages, and the 
 tasteless masses of brick and mortar in which people of the 
 same class and of greater means are contented to live in my 
 own country. The greater mansions overlooking the Park, 
 though they pay oppressive taxes of various sorts, well nigh 
 equal to the rent, are not more expensive to the tenant than 
 the graceless edifices of equal size from which our city mag- 
 nates look out rejoicingly into the dust, tumult, and deaf- 
 ening clatter of Broadway ; while these modest and charm- 
 ing cottages offer to the individual of humble means, each 
 
WALKS IN LONDON 
 
 II* 
 
 such a little castle of comfort, such an epitome of all that 
 the heart of man longs for in the habitation of his body, as 
 could not be procured with us at any price, except only at 
 the trouble of creating it. One principal reason, indeed, of 
 the advantage possessed over us by this country, is found 
 in the vast superabundance of capital, ever seeking for 
 means of investing itself within sight of its possessor, and 
 easily satisfied with any interest, however low. Here, 
 however, a knowledge of comfort and good taste preside, 
 and lend their aid in every creation. These we do not pos- 
 sess in any commensurate degree. Let us hope, however, 
 that it may not always be thus. The genius and character 
 of our people are the same, and we are rising to greatness 
 by the same means, with far more rapid strides, and, from 
 the unbounded and exhaustless nature of our resources, 
 without any assignable line of limitation. It is to be hoped 
 that, as our means multiply, good taste will grow up to em- 
 ploy them in whatever tends to the embellishment of life. 
 
 There is one circumstance, however, connected with the 
 creation of Regent's Park and the palace-like mansions 
 which surround it, which could not well apply to any thing in 
 my own country. It was originally a royal demesne, and once 
 formed the site of a palace inhabited by Elizabeth. Part of 
 it was afterward leased for a term of years. During the 
 last reign it reverted to the crown, when the plan was 
 formed, under the direction of the commissioners of Woods 
 and Forests, aided by their architect, Mr. Nash, of those 
 magnificent improvements, which were to me a source of 
 increasing delight, the longer I had an opportunity of ob- 
 serving them. The Park, consisting of five hundred acres, 
 was laid out in the happiest taste of an art which is essen- 
 tially English ; and the surrounding grounds were leased to 
 enterprising speculators, with the condition of building upon 
 
120 WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 a stipulated plan. After all, it was individual wealth, and 
 capital originating from the same sources which are so ra- 
 pidly developing it in our own country, which led to all 
 these splendid creations. Nor am I quite sure that the cor- 
 poration of my native city have not a control over large 
 tracts of land which a few years will bring within its in- 
 habited precincts. No situation offers greater capabilities 
 for ornamental improvemeut than the island of Manhattan, 
 on which New- York is situated. On one hand lies one of 
 the noblest rivers of a world in which every thing is on a 
 grand scale; on the other, and at a distance of two or three 
 miles, a beautiful arm of the sea. Nature has thrown its 
 surface into a pleasing variety of hill and hollow, of rock 
 and glen, and picturesque ravine. What has art hitherto 
 done to heighten these beauties? Why, she has approach- 
 ed her task under the guidance of a blind and mistaken 
 utility, taking no counsel of good taste. Hills have been 
 cut away and cast down into the adjoining hollows; rocks 
 blown asunder and prostrated ; coves filled up, to be on 
 an equality with the headlands that enclosed them ; the 
 whole surface of the country revolutionized; that which 
 nature placed at the top cast to the bottom; the sources of 
 maladies prepared by the efforts to promote health ; beau- 
 tiful groves cut down to make room, at best, for rows of 
 Lombardy poplars; compact masses of brick edifices run 
 up, without any reservation of promenades for the recre- 
 ation and health of those who are to inhabit them; a thou- 
 sand things begun, and scarce one finished; and the whole 
 scene brought, under the pretext of improvement, to pre- 
 sent one desolating spectacle of chaotic confusion ; while in 
 this quarter of London, which is as modern as many parts 
 of New- York, the effect of newness is already banished. 
 Whatever has been done, has been done permanently ; 
 
WALK& JN LONDON. 
 
 1*21 
 
 hedges, gardens, and plantations have been quickly created 
 to gloss over and smooth away the rugged aspect of inno- 
 vation. 
 
 Our large, wealthy, and growing metropolis should have 
 in its perpetual employ an architect of ability and cultivated 
 tastes. He should visit the capitals of Europe, and imbue 
 his mind with whatever ideas of convenience, elegance, or 
 grandeur they may present; and he should especially study 
 the liberal and enlightened improvements, and the domes- 
 tic architure, in its more modest forms, of the people from 
 whom we sprang, and whose tastes are destined to become 
 our own. Nowhere in England could he find more happy 
 sources of inspiration than in Regent's Park and its orna- 
 mented precincts. This is a digression from our subject ; but 
 the author is unwilling to permit himself to be deterred by 
 this consideration, while attempting to describe what has 
 excited his admiration in another country, from suggesting 
 whatever may be advantageous to his own. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 Circuit of Regent's Park — Southern Terraces — View of the Grounds — 
 Comparison of Regent-Street and Broadway — Equipages and Horses — 
 Street Population — Female Walkers — Preservation of Order. 
 
 The reflections which closed our last chapter were pre- 
 sently put to flight by the very pleasing spectacle of a youth- 
 ful matron emerging from one of these tasteful cottages, 
 attended by her little family. It consisted of two fine healthy 
 children, very neatly dressed, who were armed with various 
 toys for their amusement, under the guidance of a li- 
 veried servant, who carried a couple of umbrellas as 
 a precaution against rain, and seemed to have the ad- 
 ditional charge of protector to the whole party; behind 
 followed a child of a year or more, who, bundled in shawls, 
 was trundled along in a waggon of wicker-work, which the 
 nursery-maid drew after her. As they also seemed bound 
 on the same voyage of circumnavigation with myself, I was 
 very willing to sail in their wake, and beguile the way by 
 interesting myself in their gambols. At the entrance of the 
 Zoological Garden, however, they turned in to take a look 
 at the wild beasts, and I was compelled to continue on with- 
 
WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 123 
 
 out any other companion than my thoughts, and the interest 
 which I derived from the observation of surrounding objects. 
 
 Leaving the wild beasts to roar, the monkeys to chatter, 
 and the parrots to prate on, for their own amusement and 
 that of my youthful friends who had just entered the garden, 
 I continued my walk, which now began to bend to the west, 
 in forming the circuit towards the place from which I had 
 set out. From Macclesfield Bridge, which is a beautiful 
 construction of cast-iron, I took in a pleasing view of the 
 banks of the Canal, of Primrose Hill, the holyday resort 
 of the jaded artisans of either sex, and the curious scene 
 of practical jokes, and sturdy and somewhat unscrupu- 
 lous gambols, — of the ornamented villa of the Marquis 
 of Hertford, and of others half hidden beyond within 
 the deepening thickets of the Park, together with the 
 grand panorama of the palaces which enclosed it. Hanover 
 Terrace, with the charming lodges near it, next awakened 
 my admiration, and presently I stood bewildered, yet not 
 displeased, before the fantastic structures of Sussex Place. 
 This is a curious group of buildings, in a Chinese taste, hav- 
 ing a singular collection of octogonal towers, surmounted 
 by cupolas and minarets. The effect of it is very odd ; and 
 though I felt no disposition to envy those who lived there, 
 and whose ideas, as it struck me, were like to receive an 
 eccentric and fantastic bent from the obliquity of their ha- 
 bitations, it served to give an air of variety to the whole 
 scene, and greatly to enhance, by the effect of contrast, 
 the more regular and undeniable beauties of the surround- 
 ing terraces. 
 
 From this point the grounds of the Park are seen with 
 all their beauty. They present a great variety of agreeable 
 objects, groves, gardens, sheets of water, the indentation of 
 whose shores imitate the graceful caprice of nature, inter- 
 spersed with villas , lodges, and airy bridges, and the view 
 
124 
 
 WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 being closed in the distance by the nave and towers of St. 
 Catharine's, the dome of the Coliseum, and the colonnades 
 of the adjoining terraces. The inhabitants of these mansions 
 enjoy, in the heart of a great city, the sight of whatever is 
 pleasing in the aspect ofthe most highly-ornamented scenes 
 of rural life — for even sheep and cattle were not wanting 
 to complete the picture of pleasing rusticity. Nor is it 
 only in the sight of these objects that they found gratifi- 
 cation. While many rolled over the smooth avenues in 
 luxurious equipages, others of either sex ambled on beau- 
 tiful and highly mettled horses, followed by neatly-dressed 
 and equally well-mounted grooms ; while others, with an 
 air of not inferior enjoyment, rambled on foot over the 
 gravelled walks of the enclosures, or, seated on rustic benches 
 at the sunny side of a grove, or by the margin of the water, 
 pored over the pages of some attractive author ; — haply a 
 Thomson, a Cowper, orsome oneof those descriptive poets 
 of the land, who have sung so sweetly of rural scenes to 
 a people formed by their tastes to appreciate their descrip- 
 tions and to sympathize in their ecstasies. The laugh and 
 lively prattle of children, too, gave to the scene its most 
 pleasing character of animation. Some were ferried over 
 the water in pretty wherries, while others, hanging over the 
 airy bridges which spanned the stream, seemed delighted 
 to divide their luncheon with the majestic swans which 
 sailed proudly below, and which for a moment forgot their 
 stateliness and dignity in their eager efforts to catch the 
 descending morsels. 
 
 Clarence and Cornwall Terraces, which struck me as 
 being yet more beautiful than any I had seen, brought me 
 to York Terrace, which, having all its entrances at the 
 back, and the gardens in front, without any divisions, con- 
 veys more irresistibly than the rest the idea of one magni- 
 ficent palace. I had now got back to the New Road, 
 
WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 lib 
 
 whence I had set out. There were two or three churches 
 in sight, that of St. Mary-le-bone and Trinity; but as they 
 were without attraction, and characterized by a bad taste, 
 which my rambles round the Park had unfitted me to bear 
 patiently with, I did not waste my time in a second look at 
 them. So, escaping through the press at the New Road, I re- 
 entered Portland Place by the Park Crescent, and bent my 
 steps homeward. 
 
 As I passed along this noble avenue, from its origin in 
 the Regent's to its close in St. James's Park, I had leisure 
 again to admire its magnificence, and to appreciate the ab- 
 surdity of comparing Rroadway, or any other street in 
 America, to it. In the brilliancy derived from our trans- 
 parent atmosphere, and unclouded deep blue skies, and 
 the dazzling splendour with which the sun shines through, 
 revealing, gladdening, and vivifying every thing with the 
 magnificence of an unimpeded and tropical illumination, we 
 possess, indeed, an advantage to which London and Eng- 
 land are equally and for ever strangers. In the single 
 particular of unbounded movement and life, Rroadway is 
 moreover equal, from the simple circumstance of its im- 
 mense length, and its being almost the only outlet to a great 
 city, to Regent-street, or any other that I am acquainted 
 with. Rut in all else, its attractions are not such as to en- 
 title it to enter into the comparison. 
 
 In the first place, it is greatly inferior in spaciousness and 
 width. In Rroadway there is a perpetual and most dis- 
 pleasing variety in the height and fashion of the houses : 
 each is a complete republican, that has grown up indepen- 
 dently and in its own way. A giant of four stories, with a 
 flat roof, looks down upon its next neighbour, a big-headed 
 dwarf of one story, with a most ambitious attic. Here is 
 a dwelling-house, there a shop. The windows and doors 
 are scattered up and down, in defiance of symmetry, and in 
 
120 
 
 WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 contempt of right lines, and the variety of colours is infi- 
 nite. In Regent-street, on the contrary, there are conti- 
 nuous ranges of edifices, erected on a series of uniform 
 plans, decorated with architectural ornaments, and coated 
 with plaster of one uniform complexion. Perhaps the 
 churches and public buildings that one passes in a walk in 
 Broadway are in a better style than those of Regent-street, 
 though this, after all, is not saying much. With us there 
 is a disposition to keep to classic taste and approved mo- 
 dels, while here the taste is to mingle beauties, however 
 discordant, producing what is original and eccentric; 
 something which has had no precedent, and is likely to be 
 followed by no imitation. In both places there is the same 
 nuisance of omnibuses, and the same sufficiency of dust, 
 though we excel wonderfully in noise, owing to the circum- 
 stance of our pavement being made of round pebblestones. 
 
 Here the private equipages, which were heavy, costly, 
 and luxurious, were intermingled with squalid cabs and 
 hackney-coaches. With us the vehicles generally are of a 
 lighter and more tasteful make, and the hackney-coaches 
 are often so elegant as scarcely to be distinguished from the 
 private carriages, except by the inferior grooming and 
 showiness of the horses. I could not determine whether 
 there were more fine horses in Regent-street or Broadway. 
 At this season the town was empty of fashionable people, 
 and perhaps our own city had the advantage. The En- 
 glish horses were, however, much better groomed and 
 broken. Here were no long-tailed nags, driven by proud, 
 shabby, genteel people, and no sulkeys with trotting horses, 
 dashing along at the rate of a mile in three minutes. The 
 taxes on vehicles and horses seemed to check the aspira- 
 tions of poor and humble lovers of horse-flesh, and confine 
 the 1 uxury exclusively to the rich. All kept scrupulously 
 to their proper side, on the left, and the respect for custom 
 
WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 127 
 
 and the law in this respect seemed to be uppermost in the 
 heart of every man who held a whip. Here were no acci- 
 dents and no restifness. In fact, in more than a year that I 
 subsequently passed in England, I do not remember to have 
 witnessed a single accident, except on a race-course, where- 
 as one of the commonest spectacles I had been accustomed to 
 see in Broadway was that of a horse prancing along with- 
 out a rider, followed by the full hue and cry of boys, ne- 
 groes, and Irishmen, or a light waggon, spinning along on 
 three wheels, overturning orange-sellers, and demolishing 
 old women. 
 
 I think the comparison between the street population of 
 the two places, in point of appearance, was, so far as I 
 could judge as yet, in favour of London. Here was an air 
 of greater health, and more fulness of muscle, and fresh- 
 ness of complexion. To be sure I had been traversing the 
 rich quarter of Westminster, in a part but casually and 
 slightly infested by the poorer and more squalid classes of 
 the metropolis. One remark was most obvious to me; 
 with us, the agitation which is constantly going on through- 
 out the whole mass of society, is perpetually throwing to 
 the surface that which was but a little before removed 
 from it. Merit, industry, assiduous exertion of any sort, — 
 opposed by no insuperable barriers of pride or prejudice, 
 and fettered by no system of laws conceived in the interest 
 of the few and the idle, and in enmity to the industrious 
 million, — secure of their reward, are perpetually raising to 
 competency and distinction those who, in the outset of life, 
 were humble and unhonoured; while the idle and the pro- 
 fligate, degraded by the contrast rather than sustained by 
 the consideration which their ancestors had won for them- 
 selves by their good works, are seen, on the contrary, to 
 sink in a descending counter-current, to mingle ultimately 
 with the dregs. This agitation, then, of the state of society, 
 
128 
 
 WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 has the effect, in the large and rapidly-increasing commu- 
 nities of the Republic, so to mingle the races as to break 
 down in some measure the physical distinctions which cha- 
 racterize other countries, where the classes are stationary, 
 and the castes immutable. 
 
 < In London, the races are most distinctly marked. It was 
 not necessary to observe the cut of a coat, or the fashion 
 of the nether garment, to tell in an instant who was the 
 bramin and who the pariah. The gentleman was easily 
 distinguishable by his superior height, his air of generous 
 feeling, his pride of step, and a certain erect, elevated, con- 
 fident, contented, and — if I may add a qualification which 
 applies to most of our native-born population in America 
 — independent and republican freedom and nobleness of 
 carriage. The trader had a very different air, though he 
 struggled to make it the same ; for it was the effect of imi- 
 tation. There was a blending of haughtiness and humi- 
 liation, a versatility held in preparation for contact with in- 
 feriors or the great; a look which could catch the expres- 
 sion of contempt and scorn, or soften at once into a com- 
 placent simper and cringing obsequiousness. 
 
 Among the humbler classes, the physical conformation 
 seemed to announce the peculiar and separate calling of 
 each distinct individual. The same trade, descending per- 
 petually from father to son through long succeeding gene- 
 rations, had occasioned a development of particular limbs 
 and muscles. The absence of intellectual and moral cul- 
 ture, in occupations which rendered it unnecessary for those 
 who worked only to administer food to themselves, and 
 profit or luxury to the class of masters, could only account 
 for the absence of forehead, of the ornamental parts of that 
 face which was moulded after a divine model; and which, 
 among the untutored and unoppressed savages, who roam 
 without distinction of classes over nature's wilds, is ever 
 
« \I,KS IN LONDON! 
 
 180 
 
 found to bear the impress of its original. The mouth and 
 jaws announced bull-dog capacity to tear and masticate 
 their hard-earned food. There was often a preposterous 
 development of the neck, the shoulders, the arms, and 
 hands. In many, the effect of unhealthy occupations was 
 visible in a peculiar conformation of their care-worn coun- 
 tenances, and in a general physical deterioration. 31any 
 generations of a sedentary life, a perpetuity of confinement 
 at a workbench, evinced itself in some by a ludicrous short- 
 ness and diminutiveness of the legs. It was cruel to laugh 
 at a deformity thus artificially produced, less the fault than 
 the misfortune of their ancestors, and yet it was not easy to 
 contemplate it with composure. 
 
 I could not help speculating upon the effects of pushing 
 such a system to its extremest limits. Might not nature tire 
 at length of making legs, to exhaust unnecessarily, by their 
 demand for vital supply, the bodies of those who were never 
 destined to use them? Just as she has long since given over 
 the bootless effort to supply tails to Spanish poodles, to be 
 cut off by their comical masters ; or affixing such a useless en - 
 cumbrance to serve as a drag and a drawback through the 
 weary journey of life to monkeys, which, no longer serving 
 to aid the purpose of locomotion, or give life to their 
 gambols, are found gradually to dwindle and disappear in 
 countries that have no trees ? 
 
 T*he women whom I saw were nearly all plump and 
 comely, and their complexions were universally good, even 
 in this dingy atmosphere. To be sure, their faces were 
 nearly all dirty, at which I was the less disposed to wonder 
 when I found, on getting to my lodgings, that my own was 
 in the same condition. I had several times used my hand- 
 kerchief in removing objects which had fastened on my 
 face ; these proved to be sooty particles, detached from the 
 
 9 
 
ISO 
 
 WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 chimneys and furnaces of the mighty Babylon; and I found, 
 on consulting my mirror, that 1 was, and had probably 
 been so for some time, the proud possessor of an ex- 
 ceedingly well-defined, coal-black whisker on the left cheek, 
 together with a very promising mustache on the opposite 
 side. 
 
 But to return from my own face to the more pleasing study 
 of those of the women : I have to remark that they were 
 almost all expressive, and many of them very beautiful. 
 Moreover, they generally surmounted well-formed and 
 often swan-like necks, reposing on nobly-expanding bosoms. 
 In descending, the analysis became less satisfactory, for their 
 forms were, almost universally, bad ; the upper part of the 
 bodies was too large for the lower ; the foundation seemed 
 crushed by the weight of the superstructure. There was of 
 course a limit to the observations one might make in the 
 street ; but to a man of any observation, or at all knowing 
 in matters of this nature, used to induction, or capable, from 
 the habit of ratiocination, of remounting from things seen 
 and real to things hidden and unseen, there was little risk 
 of injustice, in noticing the awkward bending of the ankle, 
 to infer malformation above. The feet were, for the most 
 part, ponderous and flat, indicating both an inherent ugliness 
 and defective shoeing. They were often crooked and full of 
 excrescences ; nor did they always correspond exactly, and 
 seem to be mates. Sometimes both had a leaning one way ; 
 the right foot out and the left in, for instance. I was more 
 than once reminded of a stout double-decker, with high 
 poop and heavy counter, lying down in strong breezes under 
 double-reefed topsails. 
 
 The gait, of course, of women thus formed was shuf- 
 fling, heavy, and lumbering, destitute alike of harmony and 
 ease. Perhaps I cannot better convey an idea of the effect 
 
W \LKS IN LONDON 
 
 of this peculiar conformation upon the movements, than 
 by citing the opposite conformation and equally opposite 
 movements ofTaglioni. I think thatany one who has looked 
 at this goddess of the graceful art with any view to analyze 
 the elements of her success, must have been struck with the 
 great length and development of her legs, compared with 
 the light superstructure which reposes on them. This 
 seemed ever to me to furnish one means of accounting for 
 her rare and matchless agility and grace. There is, indeed, 
 a gossamer lightness in all her movements, that sometimes 
 makes one think that her excellence depended less on pe- 
 culiar conformation and great muscular power, than on a 
 total absence of all specific gravity. One is tempted to 
 believe that she is indeed the sylph, whose wings and wand 
 she wears; an ethereal being; a child of the skies, over 
 whom the laws of attraction, which drag all common 
 mortals down to their mother earth, have no dominion. 
 The French, the Italian, but especially the Spanish women, 
 have, more or less, this peculiar conformation. Hence do 
 they glide forward with so rare a grace, and hence that 
 poetry of motion which is found in a Sevilian or a Gaditana. 
 The absence of this among English women may account 
 for their want of grace. Were you to divide the figure for 
 the sake of analysis, you would be struck with the fact that 
 the lower portion is completely sacrificed to the upper, 
 which is almost alwavs noble. 
 
 In general, the women were not well dressed ; there was 
 abundant evidence of defective taste, and an ignorance of 
 the effect of colours. Indeed, it seemed that there were 
 few ladies in the street; and that it was not the fashion for 
 them to appear there, still less to look out of the window. 
 The characterof most of these females seemed to account 
 for this restriction; it was only occasionally I saw a modest 
 
 9* 
 
132 
 
 WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 woman, followed closely by a servant in livery. I was 
 particularly struck with an immense variety in the size of 
 the females; the extreme height of some, and the equally 
 wonderful smallness of others; when, occasionally, they 
 came beside each other, the contrast was most preposte- 
 rous. I could only account for this decrepance by suppos- 
 ing that the big ones were fresh from the country ; and I 
 found, on inquiry, that they were probably from Yorkshire, 
 while the " little uns" were unquestionably the dwindlings 
 and depreciations of the race, through long successive ge- 
 nerations of a London existence; condensed, constrained, 
 pinched up, and breathing and feeding unwholesomely. 
 
 On the whole, the street population, excepting the want 
 of elegance in the women, compared favourably with ours. 
 It was more picturesque and more varied in the costume ; 
 there were more good looks, and a more abounding air of 
 health and vitality. Here one escaped entirely from the 
 saffron hue of people from the south, and from the marshy 
 new lands of our western rivers ; as well as from all the in- 
 termediate shades between black and white, the effect of 
 the various crossings with the race of Ham. Here were no 
 negroes, black, green, or blue; no mulattoes, with aspect 
 of mingled milk and molasses, brushing you away with 
 their tattered plaid cloaks. Here the poor made way for 
 the well-dressed, with a cringing air. They seemed to have 
 been taught their place in succeeding ages from father to 
 son. Rural justice, with its stocks and whipping-post, had 
 inculcated a lesson of experience which they were not likely 
 to forget. The boys, like the men, had less spirit and 
 mischief in them than with us. There were none to drive 
 hoops against one's shins, or serenade you with tin kettles, 
 or condemned watering-pots dragged over the pavements. 
 The police were seen every where, to keep order and 
 
WALKS IN LONDON. 
 
 133 
 
 prevent nuisances. Such as carried burdens abandoned 
 the side-walk, and kept to the middle of the street. Hence 
 there was no danger whatever of being buried under a bale, 
 of being struck in the head by the corner of a box or ladder, 
 at the risk of having one's bumps displaced, and character 
 revolutionized for life. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 DRURY-LANE THEATRE. 
 
 Conversation at Dinner — Entrance to Theatre — Appearance of House— 
 The Audience — The Play — Saloon — Picture of Morals — Midnight Seem 
 in the Streets. 
 
 I was not destined to eat my second dinner in London 
 alone, nor to pass the night in the coffee-room of the Colon- 
 nade, in solitude and despair. My worthy shipmate and 
 countryman came most happily to my rescue, and we ate 
 our dinner quietly together in a corner. It was not luxu- 
 rious; it was not after the fashion of Paris, Bourdeaux, or 
 Milan; of many places whose names recall a thousand de- 
 parted joys to my palate; still it was served with so much 
 order, and such scrupulous neatness and propriety, that I 
 felt no disposition to regret the more varied, the more 
 abundant, and better-cooked repasts of our own crowded 
 ordinaries. It was, moreover, seasoned with some tole- 
 rable sherry, temperately taken, and a flow of agreeable 
 conversation. 
 
 3Iy friend had been much in England, and it was not a 
 little in favour of the country that, being a man of quick 
 
DRURY-LANE THEATRE. 
 
 135 
 
 perception, sound understanding, and honest heart, who 
 had, moreover, enjoyed in his rambles in many lands, indeed 
 in almost all, opportunities of extensive and liberal obser- 
 vation, he was disposed to award to this country, which he 
 knew intimately, the tribute of his respect and admiration. 
 In his journey from Portsmouth to London on the previous 
 Saturday, he had found many towns, and particularly 
 Guildford, in all the bustle and animation of the weekly 
 market. The surrounding county of Surrey had poured 
 in its throngs of sturdy cultivators. He fell into ecstasies 
 as he described their good looks, their air of health and con 
 tentment, and the scrupulous cleanliness of their attire. He 
 concluded by pronouncing them physically the finest race 
 in the world. 
 
 My worthy friend had well-nigh passed that age when 
 amorous vagaries find open access to the breast, and the 
 soul is captivated and carried away by the sight of a happy 
 combination of features, a glorious bust, or the twinkling of 
 a well-turned and taking ankle. He was, moreover, an in- 
 veterate votary of tobacco; that luring, love-killing, weed, 
 which makes a man oblivious and regardless of all else ; 
 whose dreamy fumes and curling vapour dismiss the idea 
 of creature comforts of another kind, and substitute them- 
 selves for the joys of wife and bairns. But the reader must 
 hot do my friend the injustice to fancy that he chewed the 
 hated weed. He only smoked, and then none but the most 
 fragrant Havannas. I was going to say, that though past the 
 period when woman has the greatest power to stir the heart, 
 and, moreover, an inveterate smoker, yet he contrived to 
 work himself into no inconsiderable ecstasy as he went on, 
 not only to praise the fine-looking men that he had seen, 
 but to eulogize and proclaim the rustic and sturdy charms of 
 die women of Sussex and Surrey. 
 
 Our dinner over, and our discussion dismissed, we drove 
 
136 
 
 DKURY-LANE THEATRE. 
 
 to the Drury Lane Theatre. Long ere we approached it, 
 we were assailed by needy wretches of either sex, running 
 by the side of the coach, holding up the programme, and 
 striking against the v/indows, their object being to sell us the 
 bill and get two-pence, which, of course, was not all profit. 
 Fearing that they might be crushed in the press, we fur- 
 nished ourselves with a bill each, to hold to the windows 
 when others came to off er them. Another seeker of pennies 
 opened the door for us as we reached the portico, which 
 seemed in a noble style of architecture, but much blackened 
 by the smoke of the neighbourhood. The street was very 
 filthy, and ill odours met the nostrils in every direction ; 
 groups of squalid wretches, easily recognised as thieves and 
 courtesans, were prowling about in search of prey. 
 
 The entrance to the theatre is spacious and noble, with 
 a very fine stairway, appropriately surmounted by a statue 
 of the bard of Avon. I do not now remember whether it 
 were with this or the Covent Garden Theatre that I was 
 particularly struck, and most favourably impressed with its 
 grandeur and beauty. My recollections of the audience are 
 more distinct. It did not seem composed of fashionable 
 people, and a distinguished air was scarce any where to be 
 seen. Yet the women were in general well-dressed in the 
 French taste, except the hair, which hung about according 
 to individual caprice, but generally in a very neglected con- 
 dition ; the neglect being of course a studied one. There 
 was, however, no want of personal beauty; indeed, I thought 
 I had never seen such a collection of good looks, and came 
 then to a conclusion, which was confirmed by all my sub- 
 sequent experience, that no women that I had ever seen 
 make so good an appearance in a theatre as the English. 
 I was struck with the gracefulness of the busts, the fine 
 shape of the necks, the richness and freshness of the com- 
 plexions, the redundant luxuriance and fine teints of the 
 
DRURY-LANE THEATRE. 
 
 137 
 
 hair, united to a cast of head and an arrangement of features 
 which, when they were not elegantly and finely turned, had 
 at least great beauty of expression. 
 
 The piece for the night was " Our Neighbour's Wife 
 a succession of scenes of low intrigue, laid in the class of 
 tradespeople of the metropolis, such as probably composed 
 the chief part of the audience, and who, under the cover of 
 the incognito afforded by the vast extent of London, were 
 enabled to laugh at their own caricature without the risk of 
 detection. The actors were very much the same as with 
 us ; that is, very coarse and vulgar, and very deficient in 
 the grace, good-breeding, and truth to nature which cha- 
 racterize the stage of France and Italy. The Italian stage, 
 and particularly the opera — for the Italians have also their 
 pure drama, though every body may not be aware of it, 
 — witness the charming theatre of the Fiorentini at Naples 
 — has often been reproached for its absurdity. But I never 
 had seen any thing so calculated to destroy all illusion, as 
 the manner in which the actors supposed to be concealed 
 in this piece, thrust themselves before the eyes of those they 
 were desirous to avoid, or the loud tone in which they 
 uttered that which one was required to fancy said apart. 
 The loudest talker, indeed, was a favourite buffoon, who 
 was supposed to be visible only to the audience. 
 
 From first to last the play was most plentifully inter- 
 spersed with low, coarse, traditional stage-jokes, execrable, 
 atrocious puns and playing upon words, and vulgar and 
 indecent equivoques; while ever and anon a stout and strong 
 backed actor would grasp one of the lusty wenches, who, 
 after a feigned struggle to escape, would give over her 
 coyness, and yield to his embrace, meeting him mouth to 
 mouth, and firing off between them a volley of kisses that 
 would ring round the theatre like the report of a pistol. 
 These amorous feats were ever received with the most rap- 
 
DUL RY-LANE THEATRE. 
 
 turous applause, and the whole house would echo with de- 
 light from pit to gallery. The lewd jokes seemed only less 
 acceptable. They drew an invariable burst of applause from 
 the men, a half-suppressed titter from the matrons, and over- 
 whelmed the young women with an interesting, disturbed, 
 downcast look of niaiserie and confusion, which seemed 
 to be enjoyed by the cavaliers who accompanied them. It 
 was evident they understood and were sufficiently knowing 
 to be in a condition to relish the joke, were it not improper 
 to do so. I thought of other women that I had seen, and 
 what would have been their manner in a situation thus em- 
 barrassing. I pictured to myself their absent air of uncon- 
 sciousness, their haughty indifference, their proud compo- 
 sure, having its origin alike in a true sense of modesty, and 
 in the dictates of good taste. 
 
 Between the acts we loitered into the magnificent saloons 
 They were vast, lofty, having busts, statues, and columns, 
 and being most elegantly furnished. Though immediately 
 adjoining the boxes, these were not frequented by ladies, 
 who were occasionally abandoned to themselves, while the 
 gentlemen walked there. This magnificent retreat is set 
 apart as the recognised resort of abandoned women, who, 
 in consideration of their being so, are admitted at an inferior 
 charge with season tickets. They were large, fine-looking, 
 richly, though often indecently dressed, from their bodies 
 being half exposed. They were lounging on benches, lean- 
 ing against the columns, or reclining upon luxurious otto- 
 mans. Nor was it only here that they exhibited themselves. 
 Many of them were in the second row of boxes, intermin- 
 gled with ladies and young persons of a very tender age, 
 and often engaged in no very measured or ambiguous 
 dalliance with the persons near them. This spectacle ar- 
 gued extreme coldness of temperament, as well in those 
 who dallied as in those who looked on. It struck me as 
 
DRUm LANE THEATRE. 
 
 being, indeed, the most extraordinary scene I had ever 
 beheld. How edifying to the young boarding-school misses 
 who might be present ! It was not necessary that they 
 should go into the saloon, or look in as they passed, or ob- 
 serve what was going forward on the stairway and surround- 
 ing galleries; every thing was visible, and necessarily vis- 
 ible too, from their seats. What with the kisses on the 
 stage and the kisses off it, the evidences on all sides of un- 
 bridled licentiousness, the scene was such a one as in all 
 my wanderings I had never beheld, and which could only 
 be equalled by the traditionary revels of Cythera in ancient 
 times, or the real and well-attested cones of the Marquesas 
 in our own. 
 
 The after-piece was Black-eyed Susan, in which the part 
 of William was most admirably played. I never have seen 
 such a sailor on the stage ; and the evident favour with 
 which he was received by the audience, partly on account 
 of the accurate performance, partly for the sake of the cha- 
 racter, gave me but a fair foretaste of the feeling of partia- 
 lity towards sailors and the sea, which I found pervading all 
 classes in England. This actor, whose name I believe was 
 Cooper, possessed a most intimate knowledge of that pecu- 
 liar personage the British tar. He must either have been 
 a sailor himself, or else made many a tour of observation to 
 Wapping and the Docks. I heard, indeed, that he had once 
 been a midshipman. It was certainly better to be a player 
 of some note, than a midshipman without friends. A young 
 midshipman is a reasonable thing enough ; but a midship- 
 man of fifty, with children or grand-children, such as there 
 are a few in the Royal Navy, is somewhat too absurd. 
 
 On leaving the theatre, the gloomy and miry streets pre- 
 sented a scene of unbounded licentiousness. Rogues, cour- 
 tesans, and beggars thronged on every side, obstructed the 
 way, and shocked the ear with words of disgusting inde- 
 
I 10 
 
 DRURY-LANE THEATRE. 
 
 cency. Not satisfied with words, they assailed those who 
 passed with gallantry of a more practical kind. Verily, 
 there was some truth in that Frenchman, who, in explaining 
 the difference between Paris and London, decided that it 
 consisted chiefly in the fact that there were enjoyments 
 which could be procured in Paris if you desired them; but 
 that in London you must submit to them, whether you would 
 or not. Many of these women limited their assaults to 
 supplications for the price of a drink ; and on being gratified, 
 hastened at once to a neighbouring finish or a gin-shop, 
 already filled with crowds of both sexes, and resounding 
 with drunken clamour and debauchery. 
 
 * 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WALK TO THE CITY. 
 
 St. Martin's in the Fields — Strand — Waterloo Bridge — Temple Bar — 
 Shops — Ludgate Hill — St. Paul's — Interior — Unsnited for Reformed 
 Worship— Monuments— Whispering Gallery —Dome — View of London. 
 
 After breakfast the next day, I was joined by my friend 
 for a ramble to a very different quarter of London from 
 that which I had as yet seen, being to the City, so called ; 
 the scene of trade and money-making on a great scale. 
 Leaving the hotel, we made our way among various club- 
 houses and noble edifices to Charing-Ooss. Here we paused 
 a moment to admire the beautiful church of St. Martin's 
 in the Fields. It is an imposing structure, with a colonnade 
 pediment, and spire, reminding me much of the better de- 
 scription of churches in my own country, except that it was 
 on a somewhat larger scale, and the execution far more 
 costly and massive. The effect of its beauty was, however, 
 greatly marred by the coal smoke, which had blackened it 
 completely, except in a few places where the courses of the 
 rain had kept the stone clean, leaving an occasional streak, 
 which rendered the effect of the rest more strikingly dis- 
 agreeable. We cannot sufficiently appreciate the advantage 
 
142 
 
 W ALK TO THE CITY. 
 
 we enjoy in this respect from the absence of smoke in our 
 cities, owing to the different character of the fuel, and the 
 elasticity of the atmosphere. Nothing, indeed, can be more 
 striking and conducive to the complete effect of fine ar- 
 chitecture, than the brilliant appearance of our marble 
 structures when shone on by a bright sun, and relieved 
 against the deep blue of the unclouded sky; or when seen 
 at night by the sadder and more poetic illumination of the 
 moon. 
 
 At Charing Cross a great many principal streets unite to 
 pour the full Hood of their ever-moving currents into the 
 broad avenue of the Strand. As we were about to enter 
 this last, we glanced for a moment at the front of North- 
 umberland House, surmounted by the proud lion which 
 guards the arms of that lordly family. The Strand is a very 
 line, wide street, with spacious, convenient side-walks, and 
 flanked by well-built modern edifices on either hand. The 
 lower lloors are occupied as shops, and the display of goods 
 is costly and brilliant. Among the signs I recognised that 
 of Deville, who unites the two dissimilar occupations oi 
 lamp-seller and phrenologist. I had the greatest possible 
 curiosity to consult this celebrated oracle, and put my head 
 under his skilful fingers. If he had given me a good ac- 
 count of my bumps, I should have been proud and glorious, 
 and might possibly have been encouraged to turn them to 
 some account. But I greatly feared his furnishing me with 
 cause to magnify the ill opinion which I already entertained 
 of myself. 
 
 The Strand runs parallel to the river, which is at no 
 great distance. We walked down one of the short streets 
 leading to it, and found that instead of a quay or thorough- 
 fare along it, it was Hanked by squalid and unsightly build- 
 ings. Formerly this part of the town was the favourite 
 abode of the nobility. Their mansions looked towards the 
 
WALK TO THE CITY 
 
 14:'. 
 
 Strand, while the space between them and the river was 
 formed into gardens. Terraces and steps conducted to the 
 level of the stream, which then formed the great highway, 
 and was covered by barges, rowed by watermen wearing 
 the liveries of their masters, who used this as their con- 
 veyance in going to the court at Whitehall. 
 
 Ere long we reached a spacious and beautiful street, in- 
 tersecting the Strand, and leading to a bridge over the river. 
 This was Wellington-street and the famous Waterloo-bridge, 
 both improvements of our own times, as their names indi- 
 cate. The bridge is anoble and beautiful object ; the arches 
 being all of the same height, and the road above quite level, 
 which produces a line effect. It is built of granite; and 
 strength, beauty, and elegance, are all blended in its ap- 
 pearance. Flights of steps of neat construction lead to the 
 level of the river beside the abutments ; line side-walks are 
 raised above the carriage- road on either hand, furnishing 
 a delightful promenade, overlooking the river and its banks; 
 over each abutment of the arches are gas lamps of a clas- 
 sical form, and at the extremities are two neat Doric lodges 
 for the convenience of the keepers, which complete the sym- 
 metric effect of the whole. The foot-passengers, on enter- 
 ing the bridge, pass through a neat iron turnstile, which 
 is connected with the machinery of a recording-clock, locked 
 up in the lodge, and not accessible to the keepers. This, 
 by keeping an accurate account of all who enter, protects 
 the company against the fraud of the keepers in delivering 
 in the amount of their receipts. This is certainly a most 
 ingenious contrivance. It is a monument at once of human 
 ingenuity and human baseness, and furnishes food for reflec- 
 tion on the degradation of the humbler classes in England. 
 Why is it that the man who keeps the key of the clock can 
 be trusted, and the humbler dependants cannot ? Because, 
 being sufficiently paid, probably, he can afford to be just, and 
 
I 14 
 
 W ALK TO THE C1TV 
 
 can be honest without starving; whereas the other finds in 
 his poverty a perpetual temptation. Poverty, the inadequacy 
 of a man's means to the comfortable support of his body, 
 and the disproportion between labour and its just reward of 
 wages, are the causes of the dishonesty with which this land 
 teems; and tend to extend it by custom, example, and the 
 freedom from shame which a wide diffusion begets, until it 
 has become a system. There is no country where mecha- 
 nical ingenuity is more abounding and has achieved greater 
 triumphs than with us; yet such a contrivance as this is the 
 very last that would have been invented there. And I do 
 not believe that a native-born American, however humble, 
 could be found to submit to the insult of being penny-col- 
 lector to such an accountant as this, and thus to acquiesce 
 in his own dishonesty. 
 
 Just below the Waterloo Bridge stands the magnificent 
 palace of Somerset House, a noble and imposing quadrangle, 
 having one side on the river and the other on the Strand, 
 and a spacious court in the centre. Once the abode of roy- 
 alty, it is now appropriated to the meetings of the Royal 
 Society, and the exhibitions of the Academy of painters. 
 As we traversed the broad avenue of the Strand, it narrowed 
 down to an inconsiderable street in approaching Temple 
 Bar, which forms the boundary of the city of London, and 
 the limit, in this direction, of the formidable jurisdiction of 
 its Corporation. Here the heads of persons executed for 
 high treason were formerly exposed to view ; and here 
 still, the Corporation of London is wont to receive the King 
 on his visits to the City; the Lord Mayor delivering to him 
 his sword of state as a symbol of authority in the city. 
 This gateway is very elegant in its form, but is blackened 
 by the coal-smoke in the same way with Somerset House 
 and other buildings I had already seen, except that a more 
 Jawny hue indicated a nearer approach to the heart of this 
 
WALK TO THE CITY. 
 
 145 
 
 great metropolis. In niches on either hand, surmounting 
 the posterns, are statues of the two Charleses. Besides the 
 arches on the side-walk for foot-passengers, there are 
 larger gateways for the vehicles, which here, concentrated 
 and crowded together, pour through in two continuous 
 files. There is a vast deal of time lost here; and if there 
 be not a great thoroughfare opened ere long to the city in 
 this direction to take off part of the crowd, Temple Bar will 
 be very apt to yield to the impatience of the age, and, not- 
 withstanding its venerable associations, to come lumbering 
 to the ground. 
 
 Beyond Temple Bar the road assumed the name of Fleet- 
 street. It was of more ancient date and less well built than 
 the Strand ; but not less abounding in population, activity, 
 and the multiplied emblems of wealth. I was much struck 
 with the brilliancy of the shops the whole way to the heart 
 of the City. Many of them, instead of the ordinary panes 
 of glass, had, for the better exhibition of their goods, large 
 plates, of the most costly description, such as are used for 
 mirrors, each of them being worth some pounds sterling. 
 The goods were opened out, and tastefully and temptingly 
 exposed to view. There was a much greater subdivision 
 of business and classification of pursuits than with us. A 
 splendidly fitted building would be devoted exclusively to 
 the exposition and sale of the single article of shawls, and 
 the same with every thing else. My friend told me that so 
 great is the extent of business here, and so enormous the 
 transactions, that though dealers are satisfied with much 
 less profit than with us, they yet realize the most colossal 
 fortunes. They do not change their mode of living, and 
 begin to incur extravagant expense so soon as with us ; 
 but live on in a quiet and comfortable way, training up 
 their children, though often inheritors of a princely fortune, 
 to the same occupation with themselves, and keeping up 
 
 10 
 
i4b 
 
 WALK TO THE CITV. 
 
 well-known establishments in the same family from father 
 
 to son. 
 
 In the course of our walk, he pointed out the establish- 
 ment of a man who had become a millionaire by the sale 
 of linen ; told me of another who was a hosier, and at the 
 same time the possessor of the finest stud of horses in the 
 world, and who thought nothing of giving five or six thou- 
 sand guineas for a great winner at Epsom or Doncaster, in 
 order to improve his breeding stock. He had sold stock- 
 ings by the pair all the days of his life, and was bringing up 
 his son to sell stockings when he should be no more. A 
 gloomy-looking shop, without show or external ornament 
 of any sort, was pointed out to me as the establishment of 
 the jewellers and silversmiths to the King. Here are per- 
 petually deposited enormous quantities of plate, either their 
 own, or on which they have advanced money, or else for 
 safe-keeping during the absence of the owners from their 
 mansions. It was through some advance of money or 
 mortgage that this house came in possession of extensive 
 and valuable coal-mines in New-Brunswick, of which the 
 mere agencies are making people rich in some of our At- 
 lantic cities. 
 
 The crowd thickened as we advanced; embarrassments 
 were perpetually occurring, and the scene of bustle and 
 confusion was sickening and overpowering, connected with 
 the blackness of all surrounding objects, and the deep gloom 
 which, though the day was not in itself unpleasant, the 
 canopy of overhanging smoke cast over the whole scene. 
 The people had a grave and serious air ; every body ex- 
 cept myself seemed to know exactly what he was in search 
 of, and to have no doubt where and on what errand he 
 was going. Among the groups I here saw a beggarly bat- 
 talion of poor exiles of Erin, grotesquely dressed, and sal- 
 lying out of a newly-established shop with enormous pla- 
 
WALK TO THE CITY. 
 
 147 
 
 ♦ •aids on their shoulders, written over with extravagant 
 puffs of the establishment that employed them to take their 
 stands in various parts of the tow n. 
 
 In Ludgate Hill the shops were still more elegant and 
 costly; but ere long my attention was withdrawn from 
 them by a huge dark object which broke through the smoke, 
 closing the view at the termination of the hill; presently it 
 assumed the shape of a dome, and its collossal proportions 
 told me that it could be only St. Paul's. Though the beauty 
 of this object was impaired by the partial manner in which 
 it was seen at the termination of a street not sufficiently 
 wide to take in more than half of it, yet its size and grandeur 
 were singularly relieved by the comparison with the lofty 
 houses on either hand, which sunk into insignificance in 
 the comparison. 
 
 This first view of the mighty temple affected me not only 
 with an impression of great grandeur, but also of extreme 
 beauty. The facade consists of a pediment sustained by 
 a double colonnade, and flanked by two towers, which, 
 though not particularly beautiful in themselves, harmonize 
 well with the rest of the edifice, and give effect to the gran- 
 deur of the vast dome, which, rising from the centre of 
 the cross, for in this form the temple is constructed, is seen 
 emerging between these two inferior towers, and swelling 
 nobly and grandly high into mid heaven. All the orna- 
 ments disposed about the edifice struck me as appropriate 
 and in good taste. The conversion of St. Paul is sculp- 
 tured in relief upon the pediment; statues of the Evangelists 
 look down from the angles, while high over roof, and 
 dome, and lantern, is seen the simple emblem of our faith, 
 displayed in solitary and unapproached elevation against 
 the sky. 
 
 In front of the Cathedral formerly stood that famous 
 Paul's Cross whence sermons were preached to the people 
 
 10 * 
 
148 
 
 WALK TO THE CITV 
 
 in the open air, and where politics and religion were mixed 
 up in a manner to which the present time is a stranger. 
 These sermons were not only attended by the Corporation 
 of London, but often by the King in person. The site is 
 now occupied by a fine statue of Queen Ann. This, though 
 of marble, was in a sadly dirty condition. The queen's 
 cheeks indeed were clean, and some parts of her robe most 
 exposed to the rain, but her nose would have been the 
 better for the handkerchief. The opposite effects of the 
 smoke and rain upon the whole edifice, which is of Port- 
 land stone, were very disfiguring ; but on the statues it was 
 singularly grotesque. It produced the effect of colouring 
 and shading, which imparted a certain reality to them, 
 which, with their half-dirty, shabby-genteel look, was very 
 ludicrous. 
 
 As the day was finer, according to my companion, than we 
 were likely to have again for months to come, I determined 
 to make use of so good an occasion to see the Cathedral, 
 and enjoy the prospect from the lantern. My friend having 
 already achieved this feat, and having no desire to repeat 
 it, arranged to meet me at a certain hour at the Exchange 
 Within the door I was encountered, face to face, by a fat 
 porter, whose whole appearance indicated that religion was 
 as good a trade here as in other countries where it is sup- 
 posed to be better. He had the softest, though not the most 
 expressive face in the world; a mere ball of flesh indeed, 
 perforated at the eyes and mouth, and projecting slightly 
 at the point where the nose is usually placed. He offered 
 me tickets for various parts of the buildings, and other at- 
 tendants, men or women, proffered tickets in like manner 
 for the rest; that for the dome being half-a-crown, and the 
 whole together about five shillings; each particular object 
 having its particular price set on it ; the whispering-gallery, 
 the library, the great bell, down to the remains of the hero 
 
WALK TO THE CITY. 
 
 Nelson, which are exhibited to Englishmen at a shilling the 
 head. 
 
 On stepping into the centre of the cathedral to observe it, 
 as well as the impertinence of a fellow who began explain- 
 ing every thing in a set speech delivered through his nose, 
 and in which the letter h was only used before such vowels 
 as could justly lay no claim to it, would permit me, I dis- 
 covered that the building was in the form of a cross, having, 
 in its greater length, a principal nave, divided from two side 
 aisles by rows of massive pillars. Over the intersection of 
 the nave and transept, swells the noble dome which I had 
 admired from without. It is painted in fresco, with subjects 
 taken from the life of the patron saint, while from the gal- 
 lery, which runs round the base, are hung out various 
 trophies, the tattered banners which Nelson and his com- 
 peers had captured from the enemies of England. 
 
 The eastern portion of the nave, forming the head of the 
 cross, is divided entirely from the rest of the temple by a 
 heavy screen, surmounted by an organ. This forms a church 
 by itself; for it is within this that the customary service is 
 alone performed. The part of the edifice without has no 
 connexion whatever with the religious uses and devotional 
 exercises for which it was erected. The effect and unity of 
 the whole building are entirely destroyed by this subdivision, 
 which could have formed no part ofthe design of the architect. 
 I saw reason to think, in contemplating this building, that a 
 grand and imposing style of architecture is not adapted to our 
 colloquial religion, which requires for its exercise a small 
 snug place, not remote from the clergyman, who is apt to 
 accede to no inconsiderable share of the homage and ado- 
 ration, soft backs to lean against, and well-stuffed kneeling- 
 cushions, so that devotion may go on without personal in- 
 convenience or discomfort. The interior arrangement of 
 this choir suggested comparisons between some of the ex- 
 
J 50 
 
 WALK TO THE CITY. 
 
 ternal appendages of the Catholic and Reformed religions?, 
 not by any means advantageous to the latter. 
 
 The altar, if indeed there might be said to be any, was 
 totally hidden by the pulpit; while on either hand were 
 magnificent thrones for the reception of the Bishop of Lon- 
 don and the Lord Mayor, with rich stalls for the City Alder- 
 men. There was every thing to impress the spectator with 
 the w orldly grandeur of our fellow-worms, and nothing to 
 call to mind the recollection of Him for whose worship 
 this proud temple had arisen. Every thing tended to keep 
 alive the idea of worldly distinction, instead of inculcating a 
 lesson of common and universal humility in the presence 
 of the Eternal. Though so ill adapted for the exercise of 
 the reformed worship, St. Paul's would serve nobly to give 
 effect to the splendid ceremonial of the Roman Church. 
 Were the screen removed, the organ placed at one side, 
 the heavy pulpit, standing in the centre and obtruding the 
 view of the altar, replaced by one of lighter construction, 
 standing against a column at one side, and the whole view 
 left unbroken from the door, what unnumbered thousands 
 of the faithful might then fill the vast area, contemplating the 
 ceremony which commemorates the sacrifice which has 
 saved them, as the noble anthem fills the nave and rever- 
 berates in the hollow of the dome, their souls melting with 
 devotion, and all offering to Heaven the incense of a com- 
 mon adoration! 
 
 Loitering about the aisles and angles of the vast pile, 1 
 paused to look at various monuments here erected to the 
 memory of the illustrious dead. Among other honoured 
 names, I read those of Dr. Johnson, and Howard the phi- 
 lanthropist; but the greater number were those of naval and 
 military heroes. That of Johnson and a few others were 
 well executed; but, for the most part, they were execrably 
 bad in design and of worse execution. Almost all of them 
 
WALK TO THE CITY. 
 
 151 
 
 represented land or sea officers in the act of dying in battle. 
 Some had their uniforms and epaulets ; some were naked ; 
 all, however, were encouraged by Britannia, or some other 
 female genius, who stood over them in the act of crowning 
 them with a wreath of laurel, but having more the air of 
 , being bent on the merciful errand of taking them out of pain 
 by knocking their brains out with a powerful fist, armed 
 with a great stone. 
 
 Jf, however, the sculpture were for the most part bad, the 
 inscriptions struck me as being in most instances beautiful; 
 those of Johnson and of Nelson pleased me greatly; and, as 
 I stood in the centre of this mighty temple, with the dome 
 overhead, and whatever is grand and imposing around me, 
 I first fully appreciated the noble simplicity and beauty of 
 that inscription in honour of the architect, which I had be- 
 fore so often thought of and so greatly admired. My coun- 
 trymen are doubtless aware that there is no monument, 
 either here or elsewhere, to the architect who designed, 
 began, and finished this stupendous edific#. Over the en- 
 trance to the choir is a brief inscription to the following ef- 
 fect: — "Here beneath lies Christopher Wren, builder of 
 this Church and City, who lived more than ninety years, not 
 for his own, but the public good. Reader ! if you seek his 
 monument, — look around you !" 
 
 Having partially satisfied my curiosity below, I was very 
 glad to escape the pestering and intrusive horde of show- 
 men, and make my way up to the whispering-gallery which 
 encircles the dome. A neat iron railing runs round the cir- 
 cuit of the cornice and forms a secure promenade, whence 
 you contemplate the dome and its storied frescoes above, 
 or look down with dizzy wonder on the pavement and the 
 loitering visitors beneath your feet. Having reached the 
 point immediately opposite the entrance to the gallery, I was 
 invited, with several others who happened to be there, to 
 
152 
 
 WALK TO THE CITY . 
 
 sit down and put my head to the wall. We obeyed ; and 
 presently we heard the whisperer say very audibly, " This 
 church was built by Sir Christopher Wren. It was finish- 
 ed in thirty-five years, having only one architect, one master- 
 masOn p.nd during the lifetime of one bishop of London. It 
 cost one million five hundred thousand pounds. The sound 
 of this little door" — here he illustrated what he was going to 
 say by bringing it to, with a tremendous jar — " is as loud as 
 the report of the heaviest cannon." This done, he went 
 on to describe the skylight, the frescoes, and all else. I 
 thought him particularly civil, and he spoke moreover very 
 tolerable English. Nothing indeed could equal the grace 
 and courtesy with which, when I was going out, he inclined 
 his head, saying, with a winning unction, "If you please to 
 leave any thing for the whisperer, sir, that is at your 
 pleasure." 
 
 Having seen the library, the great bell, the trophies and 
 tinsel ornaments used in the funeral of Nelson, and the 
 model which irrftodies Wren's original and favourite idea 
 for the plan of this church, and which, however I had 
 heard it praised, struck me as less simple and less beautiful 
 than that which was eventually adopted, I continued the 
 ascent upwards, in search of the view from the summit. 
 As I advanced laboriously, I had time to study and to ad-, 
 mire the construction of the dome, which is very extraor- 
 dinary. 
 
 It consists of three separate shells springing from a com- 
 mon base, but separatingand becomingdistinct and detached 
 at the top. The inner one, which forms the dome as seen 
 from within, is of hemispheric form. It is built of brick. 
 A short distance from its base, a second dome, likewise of 
 brick, springs from the first, and ascending with a curve of 
 a much greater circle, goes far above the inner shell, ter- 
 minating in the key-stone and lantern which supports. 
 
WALK TO Tllfc CITY 
 
 the ball. Still encompassing this second shell is a third, 
 which constitutes the dome as seem fron without, and 
 whose curve is thought to be singularly beautiful. It is 
 formed of wood and iron, most ingeniously combined, and 
 protected from the weather by a sheathing of lead. It is 
 ribbed and subdivided, not unlike an orange after the outer 
 peel is removed. Making my way upwards between the 
 two interior shells of this singular construction, I did not 
 pause until I found myself at the very summit in the ball 
 itself, into which I dragged myself with somewhat more 
 difficulty than in going through the lubber's hole, by per- 
 pendicular steps. This ball, which is constructed of copper, 
 is very ingenious, and, no doubt, very strong also, though, 
 as the wind rushed through it and around it with a noise 
 not unlike that of split canvass, or when whistling through 
 the blocks and rigging, and the whole swayed, and yielded, 
 and vibrated sensibly, I indulged in speculations concern- 
 ing the probable result of an aerial voyage in this copper 
 balloon should it detach itself, and how one would feel 
 while on the journey to the churchyard at the bottom, and 
 the particular shape that the balloon would be likely to 
 assume, as well as that of my own wool-gathering head, 
 when they should come to examine us. To these specula- 
 tions, the din of the world below, the vibrating and percep- 
 tible twitching of the ball, and the mournful sighing of the 
 wind as I seemed to sail madly through it, gave a nervous 
 and exciting, yet, strange to say, by no means displeasing 
 reality. 
 
 Descending from the ball, I presently entered upon a 
 light gallery which circles the top of the dome at the base 
 of the lantern. This is the station from which the most ex- 
 tensive and complete view of London is commanded. The 
 elevation of the eye enables it to overlook an extent of the 
 
154 
 
 WALK TO THE CITY 
 
 surrounding country, bounded only by the limits of the 
 horizon. There are, however, sufficient obstructions in the 
 way of an extensive view ; one of which is the prevailing 
 haziness of the atmosphere even in the finest weather, and 
 the other the gloom imparted to the peculiar atmosphere 
 of this vast metropolis by the use of coal as the sole article 
 of fuel. In line weather, however, in midsummer, when 
 the days are the longest, and fires are only necessary for 
 culinary purposes, and at the rising of the sun, when they 
 are not yet lit, it is possible to obtain a view of some extent 
 from the dome of St. Paul's. 
 
 It was in this way that the laborious and talented artist 
 who has so nobly executed the panorama of London, which 
 strangers should first visit for the purpose of learning some- 
 thing of the metropolis, was able to make the drawings 
 which he has since expanded into the master-piece exhi- 
 bited in the Coliseum. In order to accomplish his object 
 he is said to have lived for a year or more in the dome of 
 St. Paul's, for the purpose of being at his post at the early 
 hour at which alone any thing is distinctly visible. 
 
 My attention was first attracted to the noble object upon 
 which I stood pinnacled, the dome and the church below. 
 The roof was flat, leaded, and having canals and conduits 
 ingeniously contrived to carry off the water ; the towers on 
 the front, though in any other situation they would be com- 
 manding objects, were dwindled into insignificance from 
 this elevation of near three hundred and fifty feet ; and the 
 statue of St. Paul seemed the merest pigmy, though com- 
 posed of enormous masses of stone strongly clamped toge- 
 ther with iron. Extending my view beyond the Cathedral, 
 I fancied that I could trace out the situation of London in a 
 species of basin enclosing the Thames, and surrounded by 
 in amphitheatre of hills, so low as scarcely to merit the 
 
WALK TO TllL ( IT\ 
 
 155 
 
 name. The whole of this immense space was covered with 
 the habitations of man. In general they were roofed with 
 red tile or black slate ; and from every chimney arose a 
 thread of fleecy smoke, w r hich, incorporating itself with the 
 black canopy which overspread the metropolis, overhung the 
 whole scene with a species of secondary and artificial night, 
 which seemed to give the lie to the noonday sun, whose 
 rays, struggling through at various points, were strangely 
 reflected from the slate roofs on which they shone. 
 
 The mass of habitations was every where interspersed 
 with the steeples of churches j one which was pointed out 
 to me as being St. Dunstan's, alone struck me as being cu- 
 rious, and there was not one which conveyed the impres- 
 sion of any beauty ; indeed, throughout my whole morning's 
 walk, I had only seen one church which was not absolutely 
 ill-looking. Intermingled with the steeples, chimneys of 
 enormous height rose solitary and unsustained. They were 
 connected with steam-engines and manufactories, and were 
 perpetually vomiting forth, as if in rivalry, a smoke as dense 
 and infernal as that of Vesuvius when on the eve of an ir- 
 ruption. 
 
 On all sides, as far as the eye could reach, the solid mass 
 was seen to extend itself, except only in the direction of the 
 wind, where the smoke being less, it was possible to deter- 
 mine its limits. Even there the compact masses of build- 
 ing continued along the great avenues, occasionally expand- 
 ing into vast suburbs. The frequent occurrence of reserved 
 squares, pjanted with trees, and set apart as promenades 
 for the recreation of the neighbouring inhabitants, was the 
 most pleasing feature in the character of a scene which had 
 little in it that was attractive. To be sure, they were ai 
 that season stripped of their foliage, and without verdure 
 to delight the eye ; but they conveyed to the mind assurance 
 
]5o 
 
 WALK TO THE CITY. 
 
 that the idea of health, comfort, and embellishment, found 
 a place in the thoughts of this busy throng, and that amid 
 all the triumphs of utility, something had been conceded to 
 the dictates of good taste. 
 
 By far the most conspicuous object in the scene was the 
 river. It wound its way through the vast metropolis like a 
 huge artery, serving to entertain health and cleanliness, and 
 to furnish a ready and convenient communication. Many 
 bridges, some of them beautiful, and all of them pictur- 
 esque, spanned the stream, and opened a passage for throng- 
 ing multitudes from bank to bank, while trim wherries, 
 borne quickly by the tide, and the efforts of the glancing oar, 
 were seen shooting the bridges and darting at right angles 
 to the rapid vehicles above; coal-boats and river-craft might 
 be seen moving more sluggishly, and lowering their masts 
 with their darkly-tanned sails as they approached the 
 arches. 
 
 Below the last bridge the scene was of a different cha- 
 racter, for there the port of London might be said to com- 
 mence, and commerce displayed herself in her most active 
 imposing forms. Far in the distance, a forest of masts and 
 yards mingling with habitations, showed where stood those 
 immense artificial basins, the docks of London, which the 
 enterprise of her citizens has hollowed out to give security 
 to commerce. Opposite to the entrances of these, large 
 ships might be seen preparing to descend the river and put 
 to sea; or, having just arrived, making ready to haul into 
 dock and deliver up the freighted luxuries ^hich they 
 were bringing as a tribute from the remotest corners of the 
 world. Between these and the London bridge were masses 
 of inferior vessels, lying in solid tiers and moored head and 
 stern. There were colliers and coasting-vessels, which 
 were discharging their cargoes in lighters, to be carried 
 
WALK TO THE CITT. 157 
 
 I 
 
 to the various eoal-yards along the river, to supply, with 
 one of its most urgent and universal wants, so vast a popu- 
 lation. 
 
 Unnumbered steamers were rapidly glancing over the 
 crowded thoroughfare, and the muddy, unsightly stream, as 
 it swept away the pollutions of such an overgrown metro- 
 polis, and wound its way between banks lined with the 
 most ill-built, ruinous, and squalid edifices, if not an object 
 of pleasing contemplation, yet offered a scene of unbound- 
 ed animation and activity. 
 
 In this respect it was nowise inferior to the movement, 
 in another sense, which was going on in the streets below, 
 especially inthat great thoroughfare which, connecting Lud- 
 gate Hill with Cheapside, half encircled St. Paul's. Here 
 were equipages of every possible kind, and all sorts of ve- 
 hicles, whether luxurious or useful. The noises were un- 
 bounded and deafening ; for this was the most busy and 
 populous part of the busiest and most populous city in the 
 world. The bells rang; the wheels clattered; the hoofs of 
 the struggling horses resounded on the pavement, and the 
 elegant cads offered their services in carrying the by-standers 
 to Kensington or the Bank ; while the horn-blowiug noses 
 of Jew pedlers resounded perpetually and unvaryingly with 
 " Clas ! Clas! Gas!" I was deafened by the clamour, dis- 
 heartened, and overcome. The noise, the atmosphere, the 
 combination of odours, the smoke and sooty particles which 
 floated in the air, and which had reduced my face and 
 linen to the sooty condition of almost every thing I saw, all 
 combined to overpower me with languor and exhaustion. 
 
 Descending in all haste, I at length reached the pavement 
 of the church, where the ticket-sellers and showmen were 
 importuning two strangers who had just entered, while 
 two old women were quarrelling about some spoil, in the 
 division of which one of them seemed to have been guilty 
 
lf)H 
 
 WALK TO THE CITY. 
 
 of treachery, and seemed on the point of coming to blows. 
 Having waited in vain with the hope of witnessing a dis- 
 tribution of caps and hair, I went forth from that noble 
 temple with feelings strangely mingled of admiration at its 
 grandeur, of veneration for the genius which had con- 
 ceived, and the power which had executed it; with awe for 
 that divine religion which could inspire the hearts of men 
 to so stupendous an undertaking, and with no unmeasured 
 disgust for those faithless stewards of its divine mysteries 
 who, already provided with the superabundant means of a 
 luxury, such as was unknown to their divine Master, have 
 converted this noble temple, which devotion has raised to 
 honour God, into a den of thieves and money-changers. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE CITY. 
 
 Buildings— Shops — Vehicles — City Population — Bank of England — Stock 
 Exchange — Royal Exchange — Lloyd's. 
 
 Having seen St. Paul's Church with the attention that it 
 merited, I set forward to complete my unfinished ramble 
 city-ward. Making the half circuit of the cathedral, I en- 
 tered Cheapside, which continues the throughfare from 
 Holborn and Fleet-street to the Bank. On the right, at no 
 great distance, stands the celebrated church of St. Mary- 
 le-Bow. Though built by Sir Christopher Wren, it has no 
 beauty; and is not a little disfigured by a huge clock, pro- 
 jecting from the tower forward into the street, like a sign 
 from a village inn. It exhibits the hour up and down the 
 street as far as the atmosphere will permit the eye to dis- 
 tinguish, and no doubt tends, by its friendly admonition, to 
 stimulate the impatience of the busy throng who urge for- 
 ward in either direction. Bow Church is esteemed the 
 very focus of the City. The man who is born within the 
 sound of its bells may claim to be a genuine citizen ; and if 
 he have never been beyond the reach of the same radius, 
 he is a cockney indeed, in whom there is no guile. 
 
160 
 
 THE CITY. 
 
 Many of the buildings here seemed more ancient than 
 any I had yet seen in London; and in looking down some 
 of the courts and passages, there were others in which this 
 appearance of antiquity was still more striking. Every 
 thing spoke of trade and its triumphs. Each house was a 
 shop of some sort. Here, as in all other parts of the town, 
 the stalls of the butchers, and the sellers of whatever is 
 connected with the sustenance of the teeming population, 
 were intermingled with the other shops. I was struck, — 
 as I had repeatedly been in my walk through the Strand, — 
 with the extreme neatness of the fishmongers' stands : they 
 were often beautifully fitted, having large, white, cool- 
 looking marble slabs to expose the fish on. This is a great 
 business in London ; for these fishmongers not only sup- 
 port the capital, but also most of the provincial towns, to 
 the distance of a hundred miles or more, and sometimes 
 even those that are situated on the coast. I was afterward 
 assured at Brighton, that most of the fish consumed there 
 is drawn from London. It is the great market towards 
 which every thing directs itself, secure of an instant pur- 
 chase and a regular price. Besides, many of the fishermen 
 have standing contracts to supply all that they take to par- 
 ticular fishmongers; many of whom have, indeed, large 
 fortunes, the fruits of a life of assiduous industry. 
 
 The press in Cheapside was far greater than in the 
 Strand, for Holborn had also poured in its tribute of vehi- 
 cles and pedestrians. Enormous carts and waggons, drawn 
 by horses of corresponding bulk, piled high with merchan- 
 dize, and covered with the black and dismal-looking pall of 
 a huge tarpaulin, were intermingled with ponderous brew- 
 ers' carts, with elephant-like horses, whose size, already 
 preposterous, was rendered more so by the contrast of 
 donkey or dog carts immediately beside them. There were 
 also abundance of stage-coaches, cabs, and omnibuses, and 
 
THE CITY. 
 
 101 
 
 throngs of the private equipages of the more rich. Many 
 of these were elegant; but, in general, they were inferior in 
 appearance to those I had seen in Westminster. Some- 
 times the coachman and horses had equally a fat, coarse, 
 and ill-bred look, and the clumsy and ponderous carriages 
 were often ornamented in a preposterous taste, having coats 
 of arms of portentous dimensions, covering a whole panel. 
 Some horsemen were followed by their grooms, who not 
 unfrequently were loutish-looking fellows, bedizened with 
 glaring livery, and with a want of completeness in their 
 costume, as if they had been taken suddenly from house- 
 hold or other duties, and were unequipped for equestrian 
 operations, and not at home in the saddle. 
 
 Many citizens rode in tilburies, with their servants beside 
 them ; others got over the ground more modestly in gigs, 
 drawn by pony horses, and often having very low wheels, to 
 accommodate them to the stature of a donkey. This seemed 
 to me the next step to not riding at all. I noticed that, 
 notwithstanding the moist and rainy character of the climate 
 few of the gigs had heads ; whereas with us where it seldom 
 rains, and, when it does, not suddenly, and without warn- 
 ing or note of preparation, almost all the vehicles of luxury 
 are provided with this protection from the weather. I found 
 afterward, that English people delight to be in the open air, 
 and have a horror of being shut up. Perhaps this is a taste 
 which they imbibe in infancy and childhood, from being 
 accustomed, in all weathers, to take exercise out of doors 
 and to brave the elements. These worthy citizens had a 
 bluff, sturdy, and wholesome look : they were well buttoned 
 and shawled, and sat up in their gigs with an independent 
 air, though I will not answer that they would still have re- 
 tained it in the aristocratic, and, to them, humbling atmo- 
 sphere of the West End. 
 
 Cheapside brought me to the Poultry, and the Poultry 
 
 u 
 
THE CITY. 
 
 to Threadneedle-street. Nothing can be more dark, 
 gloomy, and overpowering to the soul that delights in bright 
 colours, and is alive to the skyey influences, than this region 
 of banks, Jews, and money-changers, where merchants 
 congregate for the transaction of the weightiest affairs. A 
 perpetual twilight reigns over this region, and all the sur- 
 rounding objects are of a murky hue; the streets and side- 
 walks, which are cumbered with mud, scarce suffice to give 
 place to the vast multitude who throng thither to offer sa- 
 crifices to mammon. I fancied that I could discover much 
 difference between the money-hunters of this region and 
 those of similar places in my own country. These were 
 fuller, fatter, more rosy, more deliberate, and more staid. 
 They seemed very intent, indeed, in the pursuit of gain, but 
 by no means so impatient; willing enough to arrive at the 
 result, but not disposed to run the risk of breaking the neck 
 in the pursuit on the starting up of some unseen stumbling- 
 block. In Wall-street the same sort of men would look 
 lean, hungry, unquiet; their hands — grasping bonds, stock 
 certificates, and promissory notes — would tremble like a 
 gambler with his last decisive card, as they might be seen 
 crossing the street in a hop and a jump, darting like lightning 
 up the steps of a bank or insurance-office, or plunging, like 
 an escaping felon, into the low dark den of a broker. 
 
 When I rejoined my friend, he had prepared for me the 
 gratification of seeing the Bank. It stood hard by, — a 
 gloomy, prison-like building, of simple architecture, without 
 external windows, and blackened by the coal smoke. The 
 Bank is of quadrangular form, nearly, for its figure is not 
 quite regular, nor the angles all right angles ; it contains 
 eight open courts. The rotunda is a spacious circular room, 
 with a dome and lantern, where all the stock transactions 
 were made previous to the erection of the Slock Exchange. 
 The prison-like air of the exterior was well sustained by the 
 
THE CITY 
 
 1<>3 
 
 darkness that reigned within, making lights necessary al- 
 most everywhere, by the massive construction of the walls 
 and arches, the impregnable character of the doors and 
 fastenings, and the air of stillness, quietness, and mysterious 
 solemnity which marked the appearance and manner of the 
 liveried officials. The wan clerks, whose faces were shone 
 upon by the conflicting light from without and from within, 
 as they pored over huge tomes, had the air of familiars of 
 the Inquisition studying the bloody records of its triumphs. 
 
 Through the politeness of one of the higher functionaries 
 we had an opportunity of seeing some of the more secret re- 
 cesses of the sanctuary. Thus we were shown into an enor- 
 mous vault, piled high with bullion, and where they were 
 bringing in on hand-carts some pigs of silver, which had just 
 arrived in a cruiser from Mexico, and which was handled 
 with as little ceremony as lead, or some other baser though 
 more useful metal, to which the consent of the world had 
 not given a factitious value. I saw, also, the room in which 
 are preserved, and arranged conveniently for reference, all 
 the notes that have ever been issued by the Bank; for when- 
 ever a note above a certain value — which I believe to be 
 ten pounds— is brought to the Bank, it is never re-issued, 
 but cancelled, and put on file. 
 
 In another room are kept the more interesting scraps of 
 paper which are yet in all the glory of their power. Here 
 I was not permitted to enter, not being a Bank director ; 
 but the guardian of this precious deposit, thinking to gra- 
 tify me, brought me a small bundle, and placing it in my 
 hand, told me I held five millions of pounds sterling. As 
 I poised the feathery burden, I revolved in my mind the idea 
 of all the comforts of various kinds that these bits of paper 
 would enable a man to surround himself with. Though I 
 could not quite convince myself that contentment would 
 surely be of the number, yet I felt for the moment a little 
 
 n * 
 
164 
 
 THE CITY. 
 
 avaricious. I think it would be a very good idea for a father, 
 who was anxious to cherish a money-getting disposition in 
 liis son, to conduct him, at the outset of life, to a place like 
 this, giving him to poise the paper treasure, while he pic- 
 tured to himself its exchangeable value in houses, lands, 
 possessions, and equipages, and permitting him to gloat 
 over the heaped-up masses of gold and silver that cumber 
 the vaults with all the profuse abundance of any common 
 commodity. 
 
 In coming out of the Bank by a different door from that 
 by which we had gone in, I was struck by the appearance 
 of a woman standing beside it, whose dress and countenance 
 too surely told of insanity. Her face was thin, wan, and 
 corpselike, while the ghastliness of its expression was much 
 enhanced by its being most preposterously rouged. This 
 effect was further augmented by the contrasting character 
 of her dress, which was a deep mourning suit, much faded, 
 draggled, and weather-worn. She stood tall and erect be- 
 side the door, though poor evidently, yet not with the air 
 of a suppliant, but rather like the mistress of some lordly 
 mansion, receiving ever and anon, with a nod of welcome 
 and of condescension, the guests whom her hospitality had 
 summoned. 
 
 I was not at all surprised to hear that she believed the 
 Bank, and all in it, to be hers ; indeed, her air and manner had 
 already carried me to that conclusion. I was, however, quite 
 at fault in my conjectures as to the exciting cause which had 
 brought on so great a calamity. I fancied it some oft-told 
 tale of sudden reverse of fortune; of possessions swept away 
 in a single mad speculation ; an empoverished family, with 
 prospects blighted, and hopes irreparably crushed. But 1 
 found a melancholy pleasure in discovering that it had its 
 origin in something more honourable to her woman's heart. 
 It was occasioned by a sudden revulsion of grief and horror 
 
THE CITY. 
 
 163 
 
 at her brother s being hung for forgery. Her harmless de- 
 lusion about the possession of the Bank, which is the only 
 remaining comfort of her maniac existence, is nourished and 
 kept alive by the benevolence of the officers of the institu- 
 tion, who from time to time minister from its funds such little 
 sums as are necessary for her maintenance. 
 
 I do not believe in banks ; I think — perhaps it is only a 
 prejudice, for I know little about it, — that they give facili- 
 ties to individuals and to nations for their own destruction, 
 and that of others. My predilections are in favour of hard 
 money, and I am an entire convert to the doctrines of Cob- 
 bet, that clever and sagacious rogue ; but I think that if be- 
 nevolence, exercised with good feeling, and taking counsel 
 of good taste, can bring a blessing on one of these institu- 
 tions, the Bank of England is surely entitled to one, for fa- 
 vouring the delusion, while it ministers to the wants, of this 
 poor heart-broken woman. 
 
 The Stock Exchange is at no great distance from the 
 Bank. It is a building erected at the expense of the stock 
 brokers, where they meet for the purchase and sale of 
 stocks, and who form an association, into which no indivi- 
 dual is admitted except by ballot, and from which any one 
 not meeting his engagements, or paying his losses in the 
 gambling and illegal operations which form no inconsi- 
 derable portion of what is done here, is liable to disgrace- 
 ful exclusion; for here also, as in other similar places, there 
 is a sort of sense of honour. 
 
 A distinguished merchant who accompanied us, inquired 
 for a broker to whom he was known, in order to place us 
 under his convoy, not being desirous to be seen there him- 
 self, or wishing to expose us to the very rough treatment 
 to which intruders and sight-gazers are liable ; for the 
 younger members of the fraternity, charging themselves witU 
 
106 
 
 THE CITY. 
 
 keeping the ring, are wont to fix their eyes upon strangers 
 and interlopers, and discourage their return by running 
 against them, treading on their toes, and, if they become 
 refractory, hustling them out. Not being accustomed to 
 this peculiar discipline, we had no desire to run the risk of 
 encountering it. The porter, to whom the name of the 
 broker we expected to see had been given, thrust his head 
 through an aperture opening on the Exchange room, and 
 called it repeatedly, when, not being answered, he pro- 
 nounced the individual absent. 
 
 There was a most rapid circulation, a perpetual opening 
 and shutting of doors, and a hungry, eager, impatient look 
 about the frequenters of this place, which not a little re- 
 minded me of Wall-street. All seemed talking together, 
 and in a rapid tone ; many were crying out, so many con- 
 sols, or so many Cortes bonds, at such a price, naming it ; 
 while the lower conversation of those who gossiped instead 
 of bargained was carried on in the unintelligible jargon of 
 the alley, in which often occurred such words as "bears," 
 "bulls," and something about "lame ducks," which last I 
 took for granted were at all events no subjects for envy. 
 
 The far-famed Royal Exchange is a building of rather 
 pleasing form and architecture, completely marred, how- 
 ever, in its appearance, like all the others edifices in this part 
 of London, by the contradictory action of the smoke and 
 rains. The dome, which surmounts the front, terminates 
 in a golden weathercock im the form of a grasshopper, out 
 of compliment to Sir Thomas Gresham, the original founder 
 of the Exchange, that being his crest. Some idea of the 
 rush, the throng, and the hum which prevail in this busy 
 neighbourhood, maybe formed from the fact that near three 
 hundred thousand people are daily computed to pass in 
 front of this edifice along Cornhill, and perhaps an equal 
 
THE CITY. 
 
 16? 
 
 number by the back, in Threadneedle-street. The front 
 is adorned with columns and statues, and the entrance to 
 Change is under a massive arcade and portico. 
 
 Before going to Change we went into Lloyd's. This is 
 an association of capitalists who meet in an apartment of 
 the Exchange, for the purpose of insuring vessels and 
 their cargoes. The risks are divided among a number of 
 individuals, each putting his name down to pay a certain 
 sum in the event of loss, whence their name of under- 
 writers. By having a great number of small risks, their 
 premiums enable them to pay an occasional loss, and leave 
 them in possession of a handsome income to compensate 
 them for their time. Most of them are people who have 
 grown rich by trade, and having retired with capital 
 qualifying them for the responsibility of underwriting, 
 resort to this as an occupation and means of excitement, 
 unattended, in ordinary and peaceful times, with any ex- 
 treme risk. 
 
 The underwriters were seated about at various small 
 tables, having pen and paper before them ; some gossiping 
 about disasters at sea and reports of shipwreck, others 
 transacting business and taking risks. I was presented to 
 one of these gentlemen, and, after a moment's conversation 
 about the mode of transacting business here, and one or 
 two questions, he rather abruptly asked me the nature of 
 the risk, little dreaming how odd the question would sound 
 in the ears of one whose worldly goods consisted in little 
 else beside what he carried with him. Refreshments were 
 served to those who had access to this establishment, which 
 seemed to be much affected by merchants and skippers. 
 Hence its name of Coffee-house, and that of Lloyd's 
 doubtless came from the individual publican at whose 
 house capitalists first assembled to insure. There are 
 likewise Stock Companies for insurance in London as with 
 
1GB 
 
 THE CITV 
 
 us; but most of the commercial insurance is still done by 
 private underwriters. 
 
 Leaving Lloyd's, we descended to the interior court of 
 the building, where the exchange is held. This is a very 
 beautiful quadrangle, having an open space uncovered in 
 the centre, which is enclosed by ranges of piazzas, for the 
 purpose of furnishing shelter to those who attend the 
 Exchange in very bad weather. That the Change should 
 be held throughout the year thus in the open air, or simply 
 under cover from the rain, without exclusion of the external 
 air, is a fact attesting the mildness of the climate, though 
 still, with all allowance for this, the practice must be 
 attended with great inconvenience, exposure, and sacrifice 
 of comfort. The covered piazza is flanked within by a 
 range of arches and pilasters, and, besides being tastefully 
 ornamented, is enlivened by a collection of statues arranged 
 around the quadrangle. These are of various British kings. 
 In the centre stands a statue of Charles II., with troops of 
 attendant Cupids. I suppose the circumstance of this king's 
 being selected to fill the post of honour is owing to the 
 reconstruction of the Exchange during his reign ; for there 
 could have been little congeniality between his tastes and 
 those of the frugal, industrious, and honest traders for 
 whose uses it was erected. His talents were for prodigality 
 and waste, theirs for production and reproduction, economy 
 and thrift. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE CITY. 
 
 Change — American Sea Captains — Comparison with English — Rothschild 
 — His Character — Dolly's — Covent Garden — Gustavus. 
 
 It was four o'clock, and the Exchange was in all its 
 glory as we entered it. The vast open area was well-nigh 
 full, and many groups loitered behind the columns in the 
 obscurity of the piazzas. The different quarters of the 
 world were each represented by a particular division; at 
 the part affected by Americans I felt quite at home, the 
 more so that I had an opportunity of shaking hands with 
 our worthy captain. The sight of so many Americans did 
 not a little contribute to stimulate my pride of country. It 
 was impossible to avoid comparing the American captains 
 who were there, with the coarser skippers of the land. 
 They were well-dressed, respectablelooking men, in 
 nowise distinguishable in their air and manners from the 
 best people around them ; while the British captains were 
 coarse, rugged, rough of speech, not unfrequently dressed 
 in round jackets, and almost always with a red and blistered 
 nose and a fiery eye. To look at them, one might be dis- 
 posed to say, however, these last are the best sailors, the 
 
170 
 
 THE CITY. 
 
 true rough knots; the others are too much of gentlemen. 
 Not at all ; there never was a greater mistake. Pick out 
 the most gentlemanlike of the Americans, and the most 
 nautical- looking Briton, and start them off together on any 
 given service, or to any remote corner of the world, and 
 the American will beat him twenty per cent, at least in his 
 passages; perhaps he will get back — and there is no 
 absurdity in the supposition, for it happens constantly — 
 before the other arrives at his destination. What is the 
 reason of this difference? Why, the American has a 
 reputation to sustain or to form; he has something to lose or 
 to gain. He is probably part or whole owner of the noble 
 ship he stands upon, and his time is valuable to him. He 
 is not toiling for a pittance ; he is labouring to secure him- 
 self an independence, and a comfortable home for the 
 evening of life. 
 
 The contrast in the appearance and characters of this 
 class of men in the two countries is the best illustration of 
 the two very different systems of society existing in England 
 and America. In England, owing to the peculiar character 
 of the government, the vast accumulations of wealth, and its 
 concentration in a few hands, in which the legislation has 
 for centuries been placed, and naturally and necessarily 
 exercised in their own interest, a state of things has been 
 brought about, the inevitable consequence of which is, that 
 one man sows and another reaps ; the poor labour, and toil, 
 and sweat ; and the rich luxuriate and enjoy. Hence 
 recklessness, indifference, servility, and the absence of 
 pride among the inferior classes. In America, on the con- 
 trary, where the labourer is in truth worthy of his hire, 
 there is nothing to check or limit the ardour of individual 
 exertion. 
 
 These American captains have entered upon life with no 
 superior advantages over the others. For the most part 
 
THE CITY. 
 
 171 
 
 from New England, they have left their homes at an early 
 age, with nothing beyond the plain good education, the re- 
 ligious principles, and the sound morality, nowise in- 
 consistent with the love of thrift, which that model of a 
 commonwealth furnishes to the humblest of her children. 
 They go to sea first as common sailors, and remaining for 
 years in the same employ, by perseverance in good conduct, 
 sobriety, and assiduous attention to the interests intrusted 
 to them, they gradually win their way to the confidence ot 
 captains and owners, form a character for themselves, and 
 at the age of five-and-twenty, or thirty years, find them- 
 selves in command, with an interest in the vessel which they 
 sail. Meantime, their minds, furnished at the outset with 
 the foundation of a substantial education, have become im- 
 proved and liberalized by reading, and extensive intercourse 
 with various parts of the world. Their manners, too, are 
 gradually formed ; and not being oppressed or kept down 
 by any humbling sense of inferiority, they acquire a digni- 
 fied, manly, and republican demeanour. From the moment 
 these young men become shipmasters, they are admitted at 
 once to such a share in the profits of the trade as blends 
 their interests completely with that of their owners. Their 
 fortune may be said to be already made. In a few years they 
 usually retire as proprietors, to Jive in comfort and content- 
 ment in the country in which they were born, in some 
 peaceful village in the land of steady habits, and in sight of 
 the sea. But to return from this digression, — which the very 
 different appearance of these nautical worthies seemed na- 
 turally to suggest, and for which I have endeavoured to 
 furnish a sufficient reason, — let us continue our rambles 
 round this scene of bustle and animation. On reaching the 
 eastern side, I was struck with the regal air of a man who 
 was leaning against one of the columns, with his face towards 
 the courtyard, giving audience to a crowd of suppliants. 
 
172 
 
 THE CITY 
 
 1 la was a very common-looking person, with heavy features, 
 flabby, pendent lips, and a projecting fish-eye. His figure, 
 which was stout, awkward, and ungainly, was enveloped in 
 the loose folds of an ample surtout. Yet there was some- 
 thing commanding in his air and manner ; and the deferential 
 respect which seemed voluntarily rendered to him by those 
 who approached him, showed that it was no ordinary person. 
 " Who is that?" was the natural question. " The king of 
 the Jews." 
 
 The persons crowding round were presenting bills of 
 exchange. He would glance for a moment at a paper, 
 return it with an affirmatory nod, and turn to the next 
 individual pressing forward for an audience. Two well- 
 looking young men, with somewhat of an air of dandyism, 
 stood beside him, making memoranda to assist in the 
 recollection of bargains, regulating the whole continental 
 exchange of the day. Even without this assistance he is 
 said to be able to call to mind every bargain that he has 
 made. The most singular stories are told of the business 
 habits of this extraordinary individual, who manoeuvres 
 stocks and loans with as much skill, and not always without 
 the same important effect, as Napoleon did armies and 
 artillery. His favourite study is said to be looking over his 
 bills of exchange ; these are his literary pets — they are 
 both poetry and prose to him ; with these he communes 
 by the hour. It is said, that he can, on any day, tell 
 without reference every bill that is to fall due. We were 
 delighted to find that he had recovered possession of his 
 favourite column, against which he was standing, and that 
 the intrusive Mr. Rose, on whose conduct there had been 
 much speculation in the newspapers, was nowhere to be 
 seen. 
 
 This astonishing man was formerly the mere agent, at 
 Manchester, of a Jew house in Frankfort, for the purchase 
 
THE CITY. 
 
 173 
 
 ol cotton goods. Subsequently he removed to London, 
 and commenced the traffic in exchanges. He was first 
 brought into notice during the war, by transmitting to the 
 Austrian government at Vienna the subsidy furnished by 
 England for carrying on the w 7 ar. He executed this in a 
 bold manner, at a time when the older bankers declined 
 the task, on account of the agitated condition of continental 
 affairs. After this, he was regularly employed by the 
 government in remitting funds to the British troops in the 
 Peninsula and elsewhere ; this he was always able to do 
 promptly, by rallying around him all his Jew brethren 
 throughout the Continent. Of these he may now be es- 
 teemed the king ; unless, indeed, his title to royal honours 
 should be disputed by our clever and facetious high-priest, 
 who not long since conceived the project of uniting the 
 scattered tribes on the new Ararat of Lake Eirie, and, 
 robed like Melchisedek of old, enacted such a delectable 
 farce within hearing of the roar of Niagara, 
 
 The chief origin of the present enormous fortune of this 
 individual was his purchasing largely in the funds of all the 
 old-established powers, towards the close of the French war 
 and Napoleon's career. He went into these stocks as deep 
 as he was able, buying extensively, then raising money on 
 what he had bought, and still going on to buy more. By 
 the skilful combination of his plans, and the rapidity of his 
 communications and means of receiving intelligence, he 
 contrived to learn the result of the battle of Waterloo ten 
 hours before it was known even at the Horse-Guards. The 
 possession of such exclusive information, of course, was 
 turned to account by extensive purchases. As he antici- 
 pated, and no doubt owing, in some measure, to his own 
 speculations, the funds went up astonishingly at the peace, 
 and he found himself enormously enriched. The traffic 
 m slocks and exchanges, in which he can always make good 
 
174 
 
 THE CITY . 
 
 bargains, being able to raise or depress prices slightly at his 
 pleasure, and the contract for loans, have tended, and still 
 daily tend, to augment this colossal fortune. He can 
 always take loans on more favourable terms than any one 
 else. Having received orders for certain portions of any 
 given stock from various bankers, he takes a loan and 
 divides it, reserving a portion for himself, and clearing the 
 premium, which he receives as a bonus for making the 
 contract. By this means he obviates any unfavourable 
 reaction on the stocks of which he is already a holder, and 
 which would have been depressed by a loan being taken at 
 a low rate. 
 
 This individual may be looked on as in a peculiar manner 
 the banker of established governments and of the Holy 
 Alliance. War in any shape, and liberal crusades espe- 
 cially, embarrassing national finances, and possibly attack- 
 ing the inviolability of debts contracted for the support, of 
 prescriptive right and the subjugation of the people, are not 
 what he desires. He has never had anything to do with 
 the South American republics, nor with the mining specu- 
 lations within their territory, for which he is, of course, all 
 the richer. Latterly, he has learned to distinguish between 
 republics, and to believe that there may be such a thing as 
 a stable one. He has turned his eyes to the only one of the 
 great nations of the world whose government has undergone 
 no change whatever, in the letter or in the spirit, during the 
 last half century of struggles and bloodshed. He has seen 
 a people including no antagonist classes, no aristocracy 
 holding in the same hand the wealth with the power of the 
 country, no child of labour chained for ever hopelessly to 
 the oar, and denied all beyond the bare pittance necessary 
 to perpetuate that existence whose energies are to be de- 
 voted to the service of his task-master. There labour 
 cherishes no hostility, no deadly purpose of revenge ; there 
 
THE CITY. 
 
 175 
 
 it loses no time in repining at its lot, pauses not to complain, 
 but, armed with courage, and secure of its reward, puts 
 forth its energies and grasps wealth. In that country the 
 government has already quietly assumed the form and 
 fashion to which all others tend inevitably through struggles, 
 convulsions, and blood, being already in the hands of a 
 democracy, from whom none have the means of withdraw- 
 ing it. It reposes upon the broad foundation of a whole people, 
 unhappily, though through no fault of ours, disfigured in 
 some portions of our vast territory by the existence of 
 slavery, and the presence of a distinct race unsusceptible 
 of amalgamation; elsewhere polluted by an inundating 
 emigration, bringing us the degraded materials of the worn- 
 out monarchies of Europe; yet, in the aggregate, intelligent, 
 moral, cognizant at once of their powers, their privileges, 
 and the means necessary to preserve them. 
 
 This man has had the discernment to discover that our 
 securities are the soundest in the world ; reposing upon the 
 existence of governments which alone present no immediate 
 prospect of change, and the guarantee of gigantic and un- 
 exhausted resources, — upon British enterprise and British 
 probity, transplanted to more fertile shores, — and on Bri- 
 tish liberty, intrusted not alone to the guardianship of pro- 
 perty and a privileged few, but made the birthright of all. 
 He has recently taken a loan of one of the most flourishing 
 states; has an agent in America, and is likely soon to have 
 a member of his family there. Moreover, he and our great 
 sachem have recently taken each other by the hand, and he 
 is now our financial agent. It is said that these distinc- 
 tions are very delightful to him. He glories in being the 
 financial representative of all the great powers at this the 
 capital of the moneyed world. He has declined the offer 
 of a title from a sovereign prince, having the good sense to 
 see that, as a noble, he would be contemptible ; while, as a 
 
no 
 
 THE CITY. 
 
 banker and a capitalist, be stands alone and unapproached, 
 respected and honoured alike by kings and presidents. 
 
 1 looked at this individual with no little interest. Men 
 without talents sometimes grow rich by economy, and by 
 hoarding whatever they lay their hands on, — by keeping 
 close pent within their pockets every sixpence which finds 
 its way there. But a man who, rising from obscurity, is 
 able, by force of mind and character, boldly and success- 
 fully to carve out for himself a great career, and make 
 himself of importance to states and sovereigns, must be one 
 of no ordinary character. Greatness is not confined to any 
 particular sphere; it is various and multiform in its mode of 
 exhibiting itself; and Rothschild may well lay claim to be 
 as great among money-bags, as Napoleon was at the head 
 of armies. 
 
 I had never witnessed a scene of greater bustle and ani- 
 mation than when the Exchange approached its close. 
 Thousands and tens of thousands of pounds mingled per- 
 petually in the speech of the by-standers. Masters were 
 bargaining for the sale of vessels, or drove a trade for 
 freights and charters. Everything seemed as unsettled as 
 ever when the bell rang preliminary to the close. This 
 seemed to communicate a new impulse to every one. Dif- 
 ferences suddenly disappeared before the necessity of a 
 speedy conclusion, and people separated with a shake of the 
 hand in faith of agreement. At half-past four, the bell again 
 sounded to give notice to depart. The vast crowd at once 
 poured out by the various outlets, talking as they went of 
 ships, cargoes, exchanges, insurance, speculations, and 
 bankruptcies, and all the olher.terms that pertain to trade, 
 and which, though jargon to the ears of those who do not 
 understand them, are solid sense, and solid money too, to 
 such as are in the secret. 
 
 Leaving the Exchange, we traced our way, by the aid of 
 
THE CITY. 
 
 177 
 
 gas and the faint glimmerings of day that yet remained, 
 down Cheapside to St. Paul's Church-yard, where we 
 struck off to the right, in search of Dolly's Chop-house, so 
 famous now as in past centuries for its excellent beefsteaks. 
 The coffee-room had an air of antiquity; for though the 
 building had been renewed from time to time, yet parts of 
 the old structure had been retained ; among others, the 
 chimneys, which are antique, projecting, and have a quaint 
 air. The beefsteaks were very sensibly served in detach- 
 ments brought in hot on pewter dishes, with heated plates 
 of the same to eat from. They were cut very thin, and 
 were not particularly good. There was one reflection, 
 however, that seasoned the meal ; and that was, that Addi- 
 son, Steele, Goldsmith, and Johnson, not to mention infe- 
 rior names, had often feasted similarly in the very same 
 place. Perhaps on the very spot where I was then sitting, 
 the stomachs of those departed worthies had been strength- 
 ened to the conception of a "Cato," a "Deserted Village," 
 or a " Rasselas." After all, unromantic as it may seem, 
 food is the element from which all else is derived ; and a 
 beefsteak may be looked upon alike as the convertible re- 
 presentative of a sweetly-soothing, and seductive poem, an 
 exquisite tale, and a sublime tragedy, as of a piece of ca- 
 lico. Invigorated by it, the blacksmith hammers, the bard 
 muses, the sage loses himself in contemplation, and the 
 tragic poet soliloquizes. 
 
 The idea is very amusing, and very odd, yet, perhaps, 
 very possible, that these beautiful lines of Thomson — 
 
 " How meek, how patient, the mild creature lies ! 
 What softness in its melancholy face; 
 What dull complaining innocence appears ! 
 Fear not, ye gentle tribes, 'tis not the knife 
 Of horrid slaughter that is o'er you waved ; 
 No, 'tis the tender swain's well-guided shears, 
 Which, having now, to pay his annual care, 
 
 12 
 
17b 
 
 THE CITY. 
 
 Borrow d your fleece, to you a cumbrous load, 
 Will send you bounding to your hills again" — 
 
 might, if chymically analyzed, and resolved back into their 
 first elements, be found to settle down quietly into a mut- 
 ton-chop devoured at Dolly's. Verily, if sentiment be not 
 mere humbug, at any rate poetry is, without disparage- 
 ment, nothing more than beef and mutton transformed. 
 
 We closed the day at the Covent Garden. The en- 
 trance to this theatre is not so grand as to Drury Lane, nor 
 are the arrangements in any respect so elegant and com- 
 modious. Yet there is no want of space, large foyers fill- 
 ed with the same description of occupants, and sufficient 
 outlets and vomitories. The entertainment began with the 
 opera of Gustavus, from the French. The exhibition of 
 scenery and dresses was so splendid as to leave one, apt to 
 be carried away by present impressions, little disposition 
 to regret the Royal Academy or San Carlo. The scene in 
 the masquerade was indeed most brilliant. The acting in 
 this piece was very good; the singing somewhat less so; 
 and the music, though beautiful in itself, was sadly angli- 
 cised in the delivery. The figurantes, of which there were 
 an immense number, formed the prettiest collection of wo- 
 men I had ever seen on the stage, so far, at least, as the 
 head and bust were concerned. They had charming coun- 
 tenances; and, instead of paint and brickdust, were beauti- 
 fully teinted with the hues of health and with nature's ver- 
 milion. Unfortunately their figures were squat, with a 
 superabundance of body in the bottle form, sustained upon 
 bad legs and feet. At the Scala, at San Carlo, or the Aca- 
 demy, I had often admired the effect of the full corps en- 
 tering in time to a graceful music, and moving their limbs 
 and bodies in a delightful and most seductive harmony. I 
 never saw anything more burlesque than the same thing on 
 this occasion. The troupe came tripping in, clothed with 
 
THE CITY. 
 
 170 
 
 meretricious smiles, and an air of forced unction, as they 
 bowed out of time, as if lame first in one leg and then in the 
 other. Their movement was what a sailor would call of 
 the "step and fetch it order," or a species of "heaving and 
 setting, like a goat tied to a gate-post." In order to make 
 their demerits the more glaringly enormous, the corps was 
 interpersed with several foreign dancers, headed by Ce- 
 leste, and the discrepance in their movements was too pal- 
 pable. There was, however, one brilliant exception, 
 among the English part of the company, to the application 
 of this sweeping denunciation of the figures and movement. 
 
 This, too, was in the case of the best singer and actress 
 of the evening, and among the most pleasing that I saw in 
 England. Let me, for a moment, pause to do justice to the 
 legs of Miss ShirefF. She appeared as a page, and a more 
 interesting one could scarce be seen. Many of my readers 
 may have seen lithographs of her, presenting the invitation 
 to the ball, on the frontispiece of the music of Gustavus. 
 Her singing was admirable, but it was her leg that con- 
 vulsed the house with applause; and well might it, for it 
 was one from which Shakspeare might have caught a new 
 charm to embellish his description of Rosaline's, or Robert 
 Burns have dreamed of in his vision, when he exclaims, at 
 the recollection — 
 
 " And such a leg ! my bonnie Jean 
 Could only peer it ; 
 Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, 
 Nane else came near it." 
 
 I afterward found that the enthusiastic admiration of a 
 fine female leg was a prevailing taste in England. A means 
 of accounting for it may perhaps be found in its extreme 
 rarity. Each theatre is obliged to provide for this taste, by 
 having, if possible, a pair of fine legs in the troupe : Ma- 
 
 12 * 
 
180 
 
 THE CITY. 
 
 dame Vestris's have long been peerless in England. I have 
 known persons, deliberating about the selection of a theatre 
 for the amusement of the evening, decide for the Olympic, 
 on discovering that Vestris's character would involve the 
 exhibition of her legs. In this way the mere exhibition of 
 her legs is worth some hundred pounds to her annually. 
 
 During the opera I was exceedingly amused by a piece 
 of dry English humour practised by some one at the top of 
 the house. The principal male singer was spinning out 
 his voice to the most delicate thread possible in one of the 
 fine passages, and had reached the very climax of his ca- 
 pabilities, when this wag uttered audibly a deep and plain- 
 tive groan. The effect was irresistibly ludicrous. I had 
 been doubting, for some time, whether to be carried away 
 by admiration or not, when the fellow's groan convinced 
 me that all was not exactly right. Soulless brute as he 
 doubtless was, it would have been impossible for him thus 
 to have accompanied the exertion of a Rubini's power. I 
 never knew a dog to interrupt a burst of really fine music, 
 though I have often heard them accompany a beginner on 
 the flute, or howl in concert to an unwearying hand- 
 organ. The sublime and the ridiculous are, after all, very 
 nearly allied in this sort of music : one always knows indeed 
 when it is admirably done ; but there is a species of mean 
 excellence that is very embarrassing, and often puzzles 
 those who admire without critical skill, and only by the 
 effect of their impressions. 
 
 The opera was succeeded by a most amusing farce, full 
 of well-managed perplexities and ingenious dilemmas. 
 Kissing and caressing were carried on through every scene, 
 and the whole piece abounded with equivoques, play upon 
 words, and not a few indecent allusions, which, being more 
 direct and intelligible to the obtuse, were received with 
 greater acclamation. The pictures of middle life in Eng- 
 
THE CITY. 
 
 181 
 
 land seemed at once national and true, for they were acted 
 with great life and spirit, and received with unmeasured 
 commendation. The audience broke up grinning glo- 
 riously, and well pleased with their money's worth of en- 
 tertainment. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 EXCURSION TO THE TUNNEL. 
 
 Westminster Hall — Court of King's Bench— Great Brewery — Thame? 
 Tunnel — Its Construction— Importance of its Completion. 
 
 At an early hour the succeeding day my friend called for 
 me in his cabriolet, to take me to Westminster Hall, to 
 witness a most interesting trial, in a case which was to 
 come on in the Court of King's Bench. The prisoners were 
 a member of Parliament and a soldier of the Coldstream 
 Guards ; their conviction involved capital punishment, and 
 public attention had been much awakened, through the 
 newspapers, to the coming trial. 
 
 As we drew up in front of the venerable pile, associated, 
 during so many centuries, with almost every event in the 
 history of this great nation, my attention was attracted to 
 it with no little interest. I found the external appearance 
 of this celebrated edifice far less noble and imposing than I 
 had anticipated. Originally a very pure specimen of Gothic 
 architecture, its simplicity has been greatly marred by ad- 
 ditions in a very mixed taste, which do not harmonize with 
 it. Thus, there are two square towers, battlemented at the 
 top, which Hank the front, and which, while they conceal 
 
EXCURSION TO THE TUNNEL. 
 
 183 
 
 the pile, yet convey in themselves no impression of gran- 
 deur or beauty, for their height is very inconsiderable. 
 Other constructions of recent date, connected with the courts 
 of law or the House of Parliament, which join the Hall, 
 tend, by their want of harmony, still further to disfigure it 
 and destroy its character of simplicity. 
 
 Nothing, however, can be simpler or grander than the 
 effect of the Hall when seen from within. You find your- 
 self in a vast edifice, near three hundred feet in length, 
 having on every side nothing but the plain walls of stone, 
 and no column or obstruction of any sort to intercept the 
 view and break the character of simplicity and vastness. 
 High over head rises a bold and hardy roof, supported by 
 no column, but propped with inconceivable lightness and 
 grace on a series of wooden groinings, springing from stone 
 mullions on the side walls. This roof is built entirely of 
 chestnut wood, put together with the greatest ingenuity, 
 and is richly ornamented with the heraldic emblems of 
 Richard II., by whom it was built, carved everywhere in 
 the wood. It is almost entirely the same as it was con- 
 structed towards the commencement of the fifteenth cen- 
 tury, and yet bears no impress of decay. In the various 
 specimens of Gothic architecture which I have seen through- 
 out the Continent, there was nothing which bore any re- 
 semblance whatever to this, or at all prepared me for the 
 impression which its eccentricity, lightness, and beauty pro- 
 duced upon me. 
 
 Westminster Hall was originally erected for a banquet- 
 ing-room. In the eleventh century it was already used for 
 that purpose, and several hundred years later Richard II. 
 kept his Christmas feast here, which was partaken of by no 
 fewer than ten thousand guests. It was reasonable enough 
 therefore, that there should have been, as we are told, no 
 fewer than twenty-eight roasted oxen, and other animals 
 
J 84 
 
 EXCURSION TO THE TUNNEL. 
 
 without number, devoured on this occasion. It is still de- 
 voted occasionally to the same use; for here George IV., at 
 no distant day, held his coronation banquet, with a con- 
 sumption of food, moreover, which clearly shows that 
 change of times brings no innovation in the carnivorous 
 appetites of man. Here, too, in times past, the High Court 
 of Parliament was often held; and here it was, subsequently 
 to my visit, question of temporarily holding it during the 
 reconstruction of the houses after their unfortunate de- 
 struction by fire. At present it is only used as one of the 
 thoroughfares leading to the House of Commons, and to 
 the various courts of Chancery, Exchequer, King's Bench, 
 and Common Pleas, which hold their sittings in apartments 
 adjoining it. 
 
 When I had recovered a little from the deep impression 
 of astonishment and admiration which the contemplation 
 of this magnificent pile awakened, I followed my compa- 
 nion to the Court of King's Bench, which is situated at the 
 right. To our great regret, we found it completely full. 
 The room was of a square figure, and lit from a skylight 
 above; the judges seemed to be seated opposite, under a 
 canopy displaying the arms of England ; the lawyers were 
 arranged on grades of benches ascending from the bar; 
 while the spectators stood on cither hand, and in small 
 galleries above. The avenues were likewise choked with 
 persons standing and stretching forward to hear; so that 1 
 was unable to force my way into the dense mass. I could 
 see nothing of the judges, the counsel, or the prisoners, 
 whose situation, whether guilty or innocent, was so awful, 
 and whose countenances I was anxious to study. I was 
 barely able to catch sight of one or two neatly-curled bar- 
 risters' wigs, terminating in double queues or pig- tails. 
 
 1 was exceedingly vexed at not getting in. The details, 
 to be sure, were likely to be very disgusting, and the news- 
 
EXCURSION TO THE TUNNEL. 
 
 185 
 
 papers, which penetrate every domestic circle in the land, 
 and which about this time seemed to look upon informa- 
 tion of this character as a necessary part of the intelligence 
 and intellectual nutriment of the day, exhibited them the 
 next morning in all their enormity. Yet my curiosity was 
 much excited; for the first legal talents in the country were 
 enlisted in the defence, and the Duke of Wellington, backed 
 by peers and poets, the aristocracy of rank and the aristocracy 
 of genius, were there present to testify to the character of the 
 accused, and react in favour of an individual, who, by birth, 
 and by talents, belonged to both, and save their mutual 
 castes from the foul stain resulting from a conviction. 
 
 Crowded, squeezed, in momentary danger of parting with 
 my coat-tails, yet without seeing anything, or the prospect 
 of being able to do so, I was certainly in a very bad humour, 
 and felt very unamiable, — for there is nothing so irritating 
 and exhausting as the surrounding pressure of a crowd. 
 As I forced myself out, with as much of my coat as I could 
 carry with me, I had no eye to admire anew the magnifi- 
 cence of that noble Hall of Westminster, into which I 
 had again emerged ; but abandoned myself to the most 
 illiberal reflections on the vices that spring from idleness 
 and an exhausted refinement, and drawing arguments against 
 the existence of standing armies. 
 
 Having looked into some of the other courts, and found 
 nothing of particular interest there, it was proposed that we 
 should continue our ride, and visit the Tunnel, stopping in 
 our way at the great brewery of Barclay and Perkins, whose 
 fame had already been announced to me at the corner of 
 almost every street in London, — the ordinary sign of a 
 porter-house, or gin-shop, being, in almost every case, 
 coupled with the conspicuously-displayed notification of — 
 " Barclay and Perkins's entire." I was told, indeed, that 
 the great London brewers are the proprietors of most of the 
 
186 
 
 EXCURSION TO THE TUNNEL. 
 
 favourite tavern-stands, by which means they are able to 
 make terms with the lessee favourable to the consumption 
 of their commodity. Having crossed the Westminster 
 Bridge, walking over to enjoy the view, while our vehicle 
 drove on before us, we struck into a very busy and popu- 
 lous, though utilitarian and inelegant quarter of the town, 
 and at length came to this vast establishment, which is almost 
 a suburb of London, having whole streets and ranges of 
 edifices; and which, standing by itself, would make a very 
 tolerable town. 
 
 Here was a whole population devoted to the production 
 of beer. They seemed also to be consumers to a very con- 
 siderable extent, for they were rosy, hale, and portly. Horses 
 of enormous size were circulating in various directions, 
 either harnessed in numbers to ponderous carts, laden with 
 the drowsy fluid, to transport to customers in every quarter 
 of the metropolis, or else singly drawing a barrel about on 
 a wooden drag, similar to a sled. These sleds are seen 
 in all parts of London, and they struck me as offering a 
 solitary exception to the rigorous exclusion from the streets 
 of whatever can in any way interfere with the public con- 
 venience and safety. They are certainly dangerous; and 
 I once saw one of them, at the turning of a corner, run 
 directly under the legs of a pair of horses, before they could 
 be pulled up by the postillion. 
 
 Having exhibited the letter of introduction of which we 
 were bearers, we were admitted to the establishment, and 
 put in charge of a person to conduct us. We were first 
 shown the vast repositories in which the malt is stored. 
 The malt used in making beer is simply barley parched, or 
 submitted to the same process with coffee, preparatory to 
 making the decoction. The malt store was so arranged, 
 that it could be let at once through a trap, in any given 
 quantity, into the large boilers below. The beer is made 
 
EXCURSION TO Tilli TUNNEL. 
 
 187 
 
 in three large coppers, each capable of containing three 
 hundred and forty barrels. The malt and boiled hops are 
 added together, and boiling water is perpetually forced up 
 from below. This process goes on twelve hours. In order 
 to mix the whole intimately, a machine, called a rouser, 
 which is worked by steam, revolves perpetually within the 
 coppers, disturbing the hops and malt, and preventing them 
 from settling. When the liquor is sufficiently boiled, it is 
 carried off to the fermenting vats, where it gradually cools, 
 and goes through the process of fermentation. I was struck 
 here by the singular effect which the sun produced in shin- 
 ing through the blinds, and casting its light obliquely over 
 the purple vapour evaporating from the vats. When the 
 fermentation is complete, and the beer drawn off into the 
 vats inwhich itispreserved, the various vessels are cleansed, 
 and the process is renewed the next day. 
 
 Every thing in this establishment is on a vast and magni- 
 ficent scale, and the buildings and works are executed with 
 neatness, elegance, and solidity. There are, among other 
 things, eight vast hop-lofts, each seventy yards long by forty 
 wide ; curiously-contrived purchases for lifting and cleansing 
 parts of the machinery ; railways to bring the coal from its 
 depository to the furnaces; and even a very beautiful sus- 
 pension bridge, spanning a street, to connect the upper 
 stories of opposite edifices. I never saw engines in more 
 complete order than the two which move the various 
 machinery of this establishment. Both of them were of 
 Watts's construction ; and it seemed to me not a little credi- 
 table to the genius of that distinguished machinist, that he 
 should himself have brought to such perfection, for manu- 
 facturing purposes atleast, a complicated contrivance, which 
 the ingenuity of so many persons who have devoted them- 
 selves to its study has not been able essentially to improve. 
 There is much about the air of this establishment to convey 
 
188 
 
 EXCURSION TO THE TUNNEL. 
 
 the idea, not of something connected with individual enter- 
 prise, but of those vast public works, such as magazines, 
 arsenals, and dock-yards, in which the greatness of a pow- 
 erful nation exhibits itself. There was a massive stone in- 
 scription let into one of the walls of a new building, setting 
 forth, for the benefit of posterity, that its construction had 
 been commenced in May of the previous year, and finished 
 in November. This was a dispatch that would have excited 
 wonder even in our own land of impatience. 
 
 In one of the court-yards is a beautiful iron tank, sup- 
 ported on columns, at a sufficient elevation to carry water 
 to any part of the works ; this is capable of containing fifteen 
 hundred barrels of water. Neatness, order, and arrange- 
 ment prevail throughout every department of this vast es- 
 tablishment. The stables would remind one of the military 
 precision of a cavalry barrack, though the animals them- 
 selves were not such as would have figured well in a charge, 
 being strangers to every other gait than a walk : they were 
 enormous animals, indeed, and of great price, many of them 
 having cost as high as sixty or seventy guineas. A number 
 of them were distinguished from their comrades by having 
 a wisp of straw woven into their tails. On asking what 
 they had done to be thus honoured above their compeers, 
 I was told, that they were either lame or requiring to be 
 shod. At a distance from the stable, a very neat edifice was 
 pointed out as the horse-infirmary, where those which were 
 in delicate health were delivered over to kinder care and 
 treatment. The stable-men and drivers were as colossal 
 as their horses ; indeed, the appearance of all the people 
 .about this establishment went to prove that beer-drinking, 
 after all, is not sucfr a bad thing in its physical effects; for 
 these people are, many of them, allowed a half-gallon a- 
 day, which some extend, from their own means, to twice 
 that quantity. Its tendency, however, did not seem to be to 
 
EXCURSION TO THE TUNNEL. 
 
 189 
 
 quicken the intellect; for most of them had a dull, drowsy, 
 and immoveable look. It was impossible to detect any in- 
 tellectuality in their countenances, or speculation in their 
 eyes. 
 
 It is in the cellars, however, where the beer is preserved, 
 that one is most struck with the extent, and, if I may use 
 the word, the grandeur of this establishment. A system of 
 cast-iron columns props beams of the same material ; while, 
 on all sides, are ranged huge vats, containing beer in a 
 condition lor use. There were no fewer than one hun- 
 dred and sixteen of these, which average two thousand bar- 
 rels of thirty-six gallons each, and the largest of which 
 contains three thousand four hundred barrels, so that there 
 are actually always two hundred and thirty-two thousand 
 barrels of beer on hand here. One may imagine what 
 would be the effect of an accident which should burst these 
 vats simultaneously. The beer deluge would become as 
 fixed a part of the traditions of Southwark, as that of the 
 olden time is of all mankind. 
 
 We left this vast establishment without any disposition 
 to sneer with the conceited and the silly at brewers and 
 breweries : perhaps there is no more direct road in this 
 country to great wealth, and all the consequences which it 
 carries with it, than the diligent and successful prosecution 
 of this business. Barclay and Perkins were the clerks, and 
 became the successors ofMr.Thrale,who was able, through 
 his wealth, aided by his own good taste and that of his wife, 
 to surround himself, at his villa of Streatham, with a dis- 
 tinguished circle of the literary men of his time. When Mr. 
 Thrale died, the brewery only occupied one fourth of its 
 present space, and was every way inconsiderable in pro- 
 portion; yet Johnson was at that time so impressed with its 
 grandeur, that he is said, by the gossiping jackal who has 
 commemorated his slightest doings, to have exclaimed at the 
 
l'JU 
 
 EXCURSION TO THE TUNNEL. 
 
 sale — he being one of the trustees — with a peculiar display 
 of that " weight of words" which Dr. Parr, in the inscription 
 I had seen the day before in St. Paul's, so felicitously as- 
 cribes to him, " We are not here, gentlemen, to sell a mere 
 collection of empty vats and beer-barrels, but the potentiality 
 of growing rich beyond the wildest dreams of avarice." 
 
 From the brewery we drove to a neighbouring printing 
 establishment, where that admirable publication, the Penny 
 Magazine, is struck off by a most ingenious process, and 
 sent, at an inconsiderable expense, to the remotest corners 
 of the kingdom, carrying within the humblest roofs health- 
 ful and invigorating nourishment for the intellect, substitut- 
 ing a pleasing and almost gratuitous relaxation for the costly 
 and debasing dissipation of gin-shops and taverns, and in 
 imparting to the mind a little information, implanting at 
 the same time the desire to obtain more. 
 
 As the Thames tunnel was at no great distance, my com- 
 panion proposed that we should drive there. I asked 
 nothing better; and we were soon set down at its entrance. 
 We entered the enclosure leading to the shaft by a record- 
 ing turnstile, similar to that on W T aterloo Bridge, intended 
 as a check on the possible dishonesty of the clerk, by taking 
 note of each shilling's worth of humanity that passes it. 
 The present descent to the tunnel is by a spiral stairway of 
 wood, constructed in the shaft pierced for the commencement 
 of the work and the removal of the rubbish. Should the 
 work ever be completed, it will be approached by carriages 
 by means of circular and spiral descents at either end, after 
 the manner of the Tower of Giralda. In the shaft, beside 
 the wooden stairway, were seen the conduits of the pump, 
 worked by a powerhd, steam engine, by means of which the 
 leakage is carried off, and the excavation kept free from 
 water. 
 
 Having descended about sixty feet from the surface of the 
 
EXCURSION TO THE TUNNEL. 
 
 191 
 
 bank of the river, the tunnel broke suddenly upon our view. 
 It consists of two separate roads ; the left alone was visible, 
 being lighted with gas. They are of horseshoe form, 
 leaning towards each other, their sides being nearly straight 
 on the inside, though quite oval without. They are arched 
 on the bottom as well as the top, in order to be tight, and 
 defended in all directions Being plastered over, and well 
 lighted, the effect of this subterranean passage was singu- 
 larly striking and grand, even without superadding the con- 
 ception of its position beneath the bed of a river, and the 
 wonderful novelty and hardihood of the undertaking. This 
 idea is, however, constantly forced upon your attention by 
 the dripping of the water, the sense of dampness and chil- 
 liness, and the hoarse panting of the steam engine and the 
 valves of the huge pumps, the only sounds which disturb 
 this solitude, and remind you of the peculiarity of your si- 
 tuation. You look irresistibly over head, bewildered at the 
 thought that a mighty estuary flows there, cut by thousands 
 of flitting wherries, and groaning under the burdens of 
 huge ships laden to their very gunwales, and that it is for 
 ever struggling, with subtle and resistless power, to make a 
 breach and rush in. When you recollect, as you stand 
 beneath the very centre of the stream, that barely five yards 
 intervene between the crown of the tunnel and the bed of 
 the river, you more than half expect to see some great an- 
 chor, dropped from the bows of an Indiaman, come crash- 
 ing through the top, letting in the river itself, and every- 
 thing in'it — a deluge, with all its consequences of desolation 
 and death. 
 
 When I learned the very little interval between the tun- 
 nel and the river, it struck me that th^ingenious engineer 
 would have more surely tested the practicability of his plan, 
 and placed it still further beyond the possibility of failure, 
 by going ten or more feet deeper. The only inconvenience 
 
192 
 
 EXCURSION TO THE TUNNEL. 
 
 that could have grown out of this, would have been the 
 adding, in a very trifling degree, to the descent to reach the 
 level on either side. It struck me, also, that there was 
 another mistake in not making the two passages separate 
 altogether. They are now connected by arches, which 
 form openings in the dividing wall between them; so that 
 any accident or sudden leak in the one, involves equal ex- 
 posure to the other. 
 
 My countrymen are doubtless aware of the mode in which 
 this stupendous work was carried on, for the interest which it 
 excited in America at the time of its construction was un- 
 bounded; and the newspapers kept us perpetually acquainted 
 with the details, which were read with an interest nowise 
 inferior to what a bulletin of Napoleon might have com- 
 manded some years earlier. The mirror placed at the ex- 
 tremity of the work prevented my seeing the iron machine 
 in which the excavators worked, and which was pushed 
 forward as they made room for it, and as the arching became 
 complete behind. This mirror, by reflecting the portion of 
 the tunnel already finished, gave to the whole the air of 
 completeness and perfection, and presented it to the view 
 precisely as it would have appeared ere this, had no accident 
 occurred to exhaust the funds of the Company and arrest its 
 prosecution. 
 
 The beauty and symmetry of the prospect, the effect of 
 the series of lights, extending in endless vista, and the 
 dwindling perspective as the eye lost itself in search of the 
 extremity, all, by conjuring up a complete picture of what 
 the thing might have been, tended to increase the regrets it 
 was impossible not to feel in the recollection of what it is. 
 The practicability of the undertaking is indeed already fully 
 tested ; for more than half the distance across is complete, 
 and the deepest part of the river, where its bottom and the 
 lop of the tunnel most nearly approach each other, is already 
 
EXCURSION TO THE TUNNEL. 
 
 passed in triumph, and the greatest danger is now behind. 
 Money alone is wanting to complete this labour of surpass- 
 ing magnificence and unquestioned utility. 
 
 Begun as a speculation, with a view to the profitable 
 investment of capital, in a country where capital overflows, 
 the patience of the stockholders, called upon perpetually for 
 new investments instead of stretching forth their hands to 
 receive the forthcoming interest, has long since exhausted 
 itself. It can only now be ever completed by a grant of 
 money from Parliament, and as a national undertaking. 
 This question has already been adverted to in the House of 
 Commons, and no doubt something will ere long be done. 
 When twenty millions are freely voted for a speculative 
 good to be conferred at a distance from home, and from 
 which the possibility of the most disastrous consequences is 
 not wholly excluded, one million might well be granted to 
 complete an undertaking so intimately connected with the 
 convenience and prosperity of this vast metropolis, and 
 which, in grandeur, in hardihood, as a proof of human in- 
 genuity and human power, will yield to nothing within the 
 whole circle of whatever man has yet achieved. 
 
 The present generation of Englishmen can convey to 
 their descendants, in all future times, no higher idea of their 
 prosperity and greatness than by bequeathing to them such 
 a legacy. The fame of Waterloo may fade when blended 
 in the memory with the brighter glories of Cressy and 
 Poictiers ; even the Nile and its Nelson may be eclipsed by 
 the fresher triumphs of heroes that are to come ; but no 
 lapse of time can diminish the impression of such a work as 
 this, whose utility will always preserve it from decay, which 
 is not likely to be elsewhere repeated, and which, at any 
 rate, can never be surpassed. 
 
 13 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE RIVER. 
 
 Thames Wherries — Utility of the Tunnel — London from the Thames — 
 Movement on the River- — Tower of London — Regalia. 
 
 Having dismissed our vehicle to return home, intending 
 to take the water from the Tunnel to the Tower, we had 
 scarce emerged into the open air before we were assailed 
 by watermen, crying, " Sculls, sir? sculls?" assuring us of 
 a good tide, although they had not the slightest idea in which 
 direction we were going, and offering their services most 
 eloquently in the language of the river. When we were 
 seated in one of the light wherries, and found ourselves 
 skimming fleetly under the influence of a single pair of sculls, 
 I felt in a mood to do full justice to the attractions of this 
 most agreeable conveyance. The Thames wherries are 
 indeed among the most beautiful boats I have seen. Their 
 form is somewhat between our Whitehall skiffs and a Greek 
 caique, and they have much of the beauty and grace of both 
 united. 
 
 As we were receding from the Tunnel, my friend men- 
 tioned it to me as a curious fact, that Brunei, the constructor 
 of this Tunnel, and of many other works in England that 
 
THE lllYER. 
 
 195 
 
 are full of inventive genius and originality, on leaving his 
 native country of France, had first gone to America, and 
 had resided some time in New York. He there built the 
 Park Theatre, an ungraceful pile, which was certainly 
 preluding very hopelessly to the construction of the Tunnel. 
 It was now that we could best appreciate the vast utility of 
 this noble enterprise. An extent of three or four miles of 
 the upward and downward course of the river was seen to 
 be covered on either hand with habitations, manufactories, 
 warehouses, and docks crowded with shipping, evidently 
 constituting the most busy portion of this overgrown metro- 
 polis; yet here was no means of passing except by wherries, 
 and the nearest point at which the river could be traversed 
 by a vehicle was at London Bridge, which lay some miles 
 above. Ail this stretch of the river constituted the port of 
 London, and no bridge, though provided with a draw 7 , could 
 exist here w ithout materially impeding the navigation, and 
 causing, to arriving and departing vessels, inconvenience, 
 possible injury, and the frequent loss of a tide. Hence the 
 impossibility of having a bridge at a point where yet one is 
 the most needed. 
 
 Flying bridges, moved by steam, if I may so denominate 
 the conveyances by which our rivers are so conveniently 
 traversed, are not applicable to the Thames, where the great 
 rise and fall of the tide would render getting on board of 
 them with carriages a difficult matter ; and where, more- 
 over, the navigation might occasionally be interrupted by 
 want of water. Hence the immense advantage of the sub- 
 marine connexion by means of the Tunnel, connecting the 
 populous and busy districts of Rotherhiihe and Wapping, 
 and the vast suburbs adjoining, without at all impeding the 
 navigation of the river. Let us hope, for the honour of the 
 age in which we live, and the nation from which we are 
 sprung, that this noble work will ere long be completed. 
 
 13 * 
 
l!)fi THE RIVER. 
 
 Would it not be rigbt, moreover, that they who first had 
 the faith and greatness of soul to believe in such a grand 
 idea, should not be abandoned to the simple consolation 
 which that reflection may afford them ? They should not 
 be permitted to lose their money because they had faith 
 beyond their generation. The state should come to their 
 succour, and take care, when the work is complete, that 
 they be first reimbursed from its profits. 
 
 The individual who expects to be struck with the beauty 
 of London, as he sees it from the river, will be greatly disap- 
 pointed. It offered to the eye, as we shot out into the stream, 
 a flat shore on either side, lined with irregular and wretched 
 houses, of squalid and most ruinous appearance. Some of 
 these were warehouses, at which goods were received from, 
 or discharged into, canal boats and lighters. Others were 
 the dwellings of such as lived by the inelegant occupations 
 of the river and the sea, to which it was the outlet. They 
 had a filthy and sluttish look; yet even here were evidences 
 of the prevalence of that rural taste which is a striking and 
 most pleasing attribute of the land, through it evinced itself 
 only in tubs of grass and shrubbery exposed at a window, 
 to the peril of the watermen below, and occasionally a cracked 
 flower-pot tenanted by a monthly rose. 
 
 The towers and steeples overlooking this unsightly boun- 
 dary of the river's course, were chiefly awkward in their 
 forms, and spoke little for the magnificence of the city beyond. 
 The dome of St. Paul's alone rose with boldness and grandeur, 
 looming hugely through the smoke. Now and then a dense 
 forest of masts and yards marked the situation of some one 
 of the vast docks, in which the tide, with its bu rden of freighted 
 ships, is shut up, and showed where was concentrated the 
 more valuable trade of the commercial metropolis of the 
 world. 
 
 Though the scene was deficient in beauty, it was not 
 
THE RIVER. 1M 
 
 wanting in activity and life. In the river the vessels were 
 in many parts so crowded as to be moored side by side. 
 This was especially the case where the colliers from New- 
 castle and Sunderland lay. The river seemed to form a 
 sort of floating community in itself, a district of London, 
 with its population, its floating chapels, its police stations, 
 its refectories. Bells tinkled on all sides, inviting the lovers 
 of gin and rum to drink and be merry. The movement of 
 barges, canal-boats, wherries, and steamers, with ships, 
 brigs, and schooners, beating up with the tide under their 
 lee, or sailing less fleetly before the wind, added to the 
 noise of the steamers, and the cries of the sailors and water- 
 men, formed altogether a scene of bustle and animation 
 comparable only to that which was exhibited in another 
 way by Piccadilly or Cheapside. 
 
 Here, too, it was very easy to be run over, if one had the 
 least taste for such a catastrophe. It required no little care 
 to navigate amid so many difficulties. The waterman, as 
 he at the same time guided and propelled the light wherry? 
 looked warily over either shoulder. And reason good; for 
 not a day passes by without its record of drowning or dis- 
 aster. As we stepped into the boat, we had been confronted 
 by the conspicuously-displayed and comforting notification 
 where might be found the apparatus of the Humane Society, 
 for the recovery of drowned persons; while beside it a man 
 was just then posting the following placard : — "One pound 
 reward for the body of William Jones, who was drowned 
 yesterday, near Southwark Bridge. Had on a bluejacket 
 and check shirt. To be kept afloat." To be kept afloat ! 
 Poor fellow ! If he could have kept himself so, his old 
 mother, for Elizabeth Jones, who signed the paper, was 
 doubtless she, might have saved her pound, and rejoiced in 
 a live son instead of mourning over a dead one. 
 
 The tide and the sculls of our waterman soon brought us 
 
 * 
 
108 
 
 THE RIVER. 
 
 to St. Catharine's Dock. This is the newest of these vast 
 artificial harbours. It was crowded with ships, and sur- 
 rounded with massive and substantial warehouses. Here 
 was a great rendezvous of steamers, engaged in towing 
 vessels on the river, or in the transportation of passengers. 
 Others, of a larger description, only inferior in size and 
 elegance to those I had been accustomed to see in my own 
 country, lay moored in the stream, and served to connect 
 London by a rapid communication with the remote ports of 
 the kingdom, as Dublin, Edinburgh, Aberdeen, and Inver- 
 ness, or with the continental cities of Rotterdam and Ham- 
 burgh. Farther up the river was seen the fine front of the 
 Custom-House, upon which the eye dwelt with complacency 
 after the unsightly edifices that had hitherto skirted the 
 shore ; while beyond opened, in symmetrical series, the 
 arches of London Bridge. Between St. Catharine's Dock 
 and the Custom-House, rose, in quaint and jagged outline, 
 the walls, bastions, and pinnacled turrets of the Tower of 
 London, — the Bastile of England in remote days, ere liberty 
 had yet strengthened herself in the land. 
 
 Erected by William the Conqueror, to secure the sub- 
 jection of the capital of the fair kingdom which he had won, 
 the Tower of London connects itself with every succeeding 
 event in the history of our race. In more barbarous times 
 than those in which w e live, it has been the prison-house 
 and the place of execution of illustrious victims of tyranny, 
 whose sufferings the historian has recorded, and the poet 
 hallowed in undying verse. Here an arched passage under 
 the wall once gave admittance to the real criminals who 
 had meditated treason against the state, or those whom 
 royal tyranny had marked for its victims. They were con- 
 ducted by the river, with something of the secresy which 
 marked the proceedings of the Inquisition in other countries ; 
 and the name of the Traitor's Gate, that distinguished the 
 
» 
 
 THE RIVER. 199 
 
 dark passage through which they entered, like the Bridge 
 of Sighs in Venice, intimated to the victim the nature of 
 his fate. 
 
 Having landed at the Tower steps, we were received by 
 the Yeomen of the Guard, who permitted us to enter, and 
 one of whom, cheered on and rendered courteous by the 
 recollection of his fees, charged himself with conducting 
 us. These yeomen, better known as beef-eaters, were 
 dressed in doublet and bonnet, the picturesque dress of the 
 days of Elizabeth. They should have had slashed breeches, 
 red hose, and rosettes in their shoes, as is the case with 
 those on duty in the palace at levees and festivals; but they 
 were now in a species of undress, and their plain blue 
 trousers marked their connexion with the age of utility. 
 They were armed with heavy halberts, and had the post of 
 honour at the gate, though the presence of the plainer- 
 dressed infantry-soldier showed that there was here a gar- 
 rison of another kind, and that the defence of this important 
 arsenal and armory from popular insurrection, and of the 
 state regalia from the hardihood of the swell mob, is not 
 wholly intrusted to these burly and well-fed veterans. 
 
 Within the courtyard, a number of objects were pointed 
 out to us, that were rich in historical interest of the most 
 romantic and mournful character. There stood the Bloody 
 Tower in which the unfortunate young princes, Edward V. 
 and his brother, are said to have been smothered by that 
 Richard whom Shakspeare has consigned to an immor- 
 tality of detestation. Within the walls of the adjoining 
 church of St. Peter repose the headless trunks of count- 
 less victims of their own misdeeds, or others' cruelty : 
 bishops, nobles, queens of England, — a Somerset, a Dudley, 
 a Monmouth, a Catharine Howard, and the ill-fated Anna 
 Boleyn. The Beauchamp Tower is shown as the prison 
 in which this last was confined, and whence she penned her 
 
200 THE RIVER. 
 
 well-known epistle to her brutal lord. Here too was con- 
 fined one whose fame was still purer, and her fate yet 
 more deplorable, — the Lady Jane Grey. 
 
 The Tower of London having long ceased to be formi- 
 dable as a fortress, is now best known as the depository of 
 the regalia of England, and as one of the most extensive 
 armories in the world. There is one immense room con- 
 taining, as we were told, no fewer than two hundred thou- 
 sand muskets. They were most tastefully and conveniently 
 arranged, and in perfect order. There was much here to 
 convey an idea of the power of England, — of the strength 
 which she could put forth. If there was something to indi- 
 cate what she could do, there were also not a few objects 
 to call to mind that which she had done. On all sides were 
 seen trophies of her victories by land and sea; and in a 
 noble gallery, called the Horse Armory, were arrayed in 
 complete panoply, mounted, and lance in hand, the effigies 
 of many of her greatest warriors, clad in the very armour 
 which they had worn. If the sight of these vivid images 
 of the heroes of other times, and the memory of their deeds 
 which they recalled, awakened an admiration for the age 
 in which they lived, there were not wanting other objects 
 to qualify it, and turn the comparison in favour of our own. 
 Among the various weapons possessing historical interest, 
 which are here preserved, is the axe which severed the 
 head of Anna Boleyn. In that age, a queen of England 
 suspected of infidelity, or whose person had ceased to give 
 pleasure to her lord, was decapitated with as little cere- 
 mony as a barn-yard fowl in ours. All that is changed; 
 and if an unfaithful or unpalatable queen is to be despatch- 
 ed now, it is only by the mortification of a public trial, and 
 the contemptuous exclusion from the pageant of a corona- 
 tion. 
 
 The regalia of England is preserved in a very massive, 
 
THE RIVEK 
 
 201 
 
 strong tower, without windows, and quite dark from 
 without, being lit by a powerful lamp, which exhibits the 
 brilliancy and value of the precious stones. Every thing 
 is admirably arranged for exhibition ; the imperial crown, 
 and other of the most precious articles, are turned round, 
 so as to be seen on all sides, by means of an ingenious 
 machinery, touched by the ancient dame who exhibits them. 
 Comfortable seats, with stuffed cushions, are arranged for 
 the spectators, whence they may sit and listen to the studied 
 oration of the exhibiter, and gloat at their ease over the 
 priceless treasure. After the mournful associations of the 
 tower, there was something wonderfully ludicrous in tbe 
 discourse of the old show-woman. It was the farce fol- 
 lowing upon the heels of the tragedy. She has held the 
 same station, and sung the same song, from daylight to 
 dark during a score of years ; it was chanted in a sort of 
 whining recitative, and some parts of it ran as follows: — 
 " This is the golden font what baptises hall the princes and 
 princesses of the royal family ; the hampuler or golden 
 heagle as olds the oly hoil what hanoints the king hat the 
 coronation, the golden fountain what plays the wine at the 
 coronation ; the golden salt-cellar of state in the form of the 
 White Tower, what stands at the king's table at the corona- 
 tion ; Harmilla, hor bracelets ; Curtana, the sword of Jus- 
 tice and hof Mercy ; the Golden spoon." After an awful pause 
 to prepare for the climax, in a tone of increased earnestness 
 and importance she went on — " This is the Himperial 
 Crown ; the pearl upon the top was pawned by Cromwell 
 in Olland for eighteen thousand pounds ; the red stone 
 which you see is an uncut ruby of hinesteemable valhew ; 
 without the ruby the crown is valued at one million of 
 pounds." Here ended the oration. It was recited in a 
 studied strain, and, by the aid of the euphonious word 
 
THE RIVER. 
 
 M coronation 1 ' so frequently recurring, had a most dancing 
 poetical sound. 
 
 I was so greatly amused that, as there happened to be 
 plenty of room, I remained to hear the same song sung over 
 again to the next party. When they were gone, I suggested 
 to my friend the very American idea of selling " the uncut 
 ruby of inestimable value" for the purpose of completing 
 the tunnel. As I expected, the old woman was struck with 
 horror, opening her eyes and lifting her hands with a lack-a- 
 daisical expression which was irresistibly ludicrous: yet she 
 spoke not — her ideas seemed to follow only one track — 
 her daily meditations and nightly musings, with the muttered 
 words that reveal the tenour of her dreams, all, doubtless, 
 tell only of the coronation and its regalia. 
 
 This, however, like all extreme cases, I found a little 
 beyond the truth, and that there was another idea that vi- 
 brated in her mind, and one other song thatshew r as capable 
 of singing to the tune of half-a-crown. Having a particular 
 fondness for putting people in a good humour with their 
 condition, I could not help saying to her, "How happy you 
 are to be able to see all these fine things for nothing every 
 day!" To which she replied, with unexpected sprightli- 
 ness, " An hi honly got that for my pains hi should be 
 badly hoff!" 
 
 Though somewhat shocked at my extraordinary propo- 
 sition, after all she was a woman ; and when I told her that I 
 was dying for a glass of water, though quite out of her line, 
 she kindly undertook to procure me some, and sent the 
 yeoman who accompanied us to her quarters in quest of it. 
 When I told her, as I took leave, that she had probably 
 saved my life, she quite forgave the previous atrocity of my 
 proposition, although, no doubt, she still looked upon me 
 aB a strange, unintelligible fellow, all of which would cer- 
 
THE K1VEK. 
 
 «0K 
 
 taiuly have seemed obvious and natural enough to her had 
 she but known th*at I came from a country which, so far 
 from possessing an imperial crown, a golden orb, a sceptre 
 and dove, had not even a curtana, an armilla, or ampulla, 
 or golden eagle, and undertook to transact the gravest 
 affairs without so much as a golden salt-cellar of state. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 OMNIBUS ADVENTURES. 
 
 St. Catharine's Dock — Paddington Omnibus — Party of Passengers— A 
 Blockade — Angel Inn — Pentonville — Adelphi Theatre. 
 
 As we were in the neighbourhood of St. Catharine's 
 Dock, the occasion seemed favourable for going to see it, 
 and, at the same time, to take a look at the Hannibal. The 
 St. Catharine's Dock is the most recently-constructed of 
 all the docks of London, having only been opened in 1828, 
 in less than two years from the time of its commencement. 
 It covers a space of twenty-four acres in extent, about half 
 of which forms the artificial harbour in which the vessels 
 float, and the rest is covered by the sheds and warehouses 
 that surround it. Every thing was massive and grand in 
 the construction of this vast establishment. The walls of 
 the dock were formed of hewn stones of vast size, while 
 the lofty edifices surrounding it were supported upon cast- 
 iron columns of enormous bulk. The open space below 
 formed a covered shed, under which the cargoes discharg- 
 ed from the vessels adjoining are at once placed under 
 cover from the weather. Here were vessels from all parts 
 of the world ; and the cotton, potashes, and turpentine of 
 
oMMBUS ADVENTURES. 
 
 America, mingled their odours with hides from South 
 America, or the more savoury teas and spices of the East. 
 The buildings that enclose the dock, not only contain 
 extensive warehouses for goods, but the offices connected 
 with the docks themselves, as well as a branch of the 
 custom-house : so that all the business connected with the 
 lading or discharging of a ship may be despatched upon the 
 spot. It struck me as furnishing a striking instance of 
 the liberal way in which establishments are conducted here, 
 to be told that the secretary of this institution, which is a 
 joint-stock company, established with a view to profit and 
 the beneficial investment of money, was himself a man of 
 fortune, and, moreover, a city knight, who has, in the 
 buildings of the dock, a magnificent suite of rooms, where 
 he entertains the directors in a costly style at the expense 
 of the company, from which he receives, besides, a most 
 liberal salary. These docks are rendered necessary in 
 London by the great rise and fall of the tide, which make 
 it impossible for vessels to float beside the banks of the river, 
 and as an only alternative to discharging and lading with 
 much expense, difficulty, and risk, in the crowded anchor- 
 age in the middle of the stream. Some idea may be formed 
 of the extent and magnificence of these works, from the 
 circumstance of St. Catharine's Dock having cost, in the 
 purchase of the ground, the excavation, and constructions, 
 no less a sum than two millions sterling. 
 
 Finding our way through a variety of antique thoroughfares 
 to Eastcheap, Lombard-street, and Cornhill, we circum- 
 navigated the Exchange, and deposited ourselves safely in 
 an omnibus, to drive to the neighbourhood of Regent's 
 Park. The cad, who stood, like a parrot on his perch, at 
 the side of the door, was chattering away a collection of set 
 phrases in a nasal style of cockney eloquence. He seemed 
 to know our object ere we were quite sure of it ourselves; 
 
OMNIBUS ADVENTURES.' 
 
 and, beckoning in a coaxing and most winning way with 
 his forefinger, very politely invited us to get in. I had 
 frequent occasion afterward to be amused with the very 
 different measure of courtesy which is meted out to the 
 coming and departing passenger, as well as the iofty and 
 independent air which the cads about the Exchange assume 
 in wet weather, when each man, as he enters, is informed 
 that lie cannot pass for less than a shilling, instead of the 
 customary sixpence, which is the common fare from the 
 Bank to Paddington. 
 
 The omnibus into which we entered was nearly full. 
 Near the door sat — motionless, and intrenched behind an 
 unapproachable dignity, apparently calculated to neutralize 
 the condescension which had induced her to enter so 
 common a conveyance — a thin, starved, prim old maid, 
 who had very much the air of a retired housekeeper, whom 
 business connected with the investment of her spoils of 
 office might have led to the inelegant precincts of Change- 
 alley. There she sat, perpendicularly upright, her sharp 
 knees thrust out at right angles, and pressed together with 
 the fixed resolvedness of a confirmed and uncompromising 
 celibataire. She was evidently determined to move or 
 make room for nobody, and getting by her was very much 
 like what one might fancy a journey among chevaux-de- 
 frise. Presently after came another woman of a certain 
 age, whose wasted face was excessively rouged. She was 
 most flauntingly dressed, having a long pelerine cape de- 
 pending on either side from her red silk cloak ; her head 
 was covered with a bonnet of not inferior pretension to 
 Jeanie's famed Lunardi, which Burns's verse shows us to 
 have been so awfully desecrated. It was lined with lace, 
 decked with many-coloured and fluttering ribands, and had, 
 on the very summit, instead of the " ugly, creepin', blastit 
 wonner" which the poet apostrophizes, a single ambitious 
 
oMNTRls ADVENTURES. *>7 
 
 Utile leather, that stood proudly on end, like a cock when 
 it is about to crow. The elegant lady, whose garments 
 were redolent of musk and mille fleurs, stopped at the 
 threshold, exclaiming, " Where am I to sit? 1 don't see 
 how I'm to get by." The stiff* lady would not budge an 
 inch. The guard, having his number of fourteen complete, 
 closed the door, leaving the difficulty to settle itself, and 
 for answer only crying to the driver, "All right!" The 
 horses started, and the elegant lady came with violence 
 upon the stiff one, clawing her bonnet in the effort to save 
 herself. I felt sure that there was to be a fight, and was 
 grieved to the heart to find that there was to be no scat- 
 tering of false hair and ribands. A benevolent and fat 
 citizen endeavoured to make himself thin for her sake, and 
 contrived to squeeze her in beside him. And so we set 
 forward. 
 
 We were not, however, doomed to proceed far on our 
 way thus happily. As we turned into Coleman-street, 
 there was already the beginning of one of those blockades or 
 embarrassments of which I had already seen many in my 
 short rambles through the city. Our driver, instead of 
 waiting where he was, pressed forward, blocked the pass, 
 and rendered the entanglement complete. It was a con- 
 fused mass of ponderous carts and w r aggons, of immense 
 ambulatory advertisers, huge skeleton houses covered with 
 handbills, mimic steam-boats with funnels mounted upon 
 wheels, and pasted with placards of packets from Dover 
 and Southampton ; there were hackney-coaches and cabs, 
 donkey -chaises, and the cart of an unfortunate cats'-meat 
 merchant, whose unhappy coadjutors, a couple of greasv 
 dogs, terrified, and with their tails between their legs, 
 sought refuge from the crash and confusion by crawling 
 stealthily with their vehicle uuder the ambulatory adver- 
 tiser, in the hope of finding protection under its shadow. 
 
OMNIBUS ADVENTURES. 
 
 Loud and angry voices began to be heard in curses and 
 recrimination on every side ; there was likely to be a ge- 
 neral crash, succeeded by a fight. The stiff lady continued 
 to look dignified; the dashing lady, terrified by the noise, 
 the uproar, and the possibility of a catastrophe, began to 
 sicken with apprehension, and partly, perhaps, with her 
 own perfumes. She made known her condition to the be- 
 nevolent citizen beside her, and begged to be permitted to 
 approach the door. The scene approached its climax of 
 confusion and absurdity, and I was delighted. Just then a 
 policeman stepped up and looked into the matter. There 
 was a stout gentleman immediately before us, whose hearty 
 condition did not protect him from impatience; he sat bolt 
 upright in a little gig, grasping his whip with energy, and 
 grating his teeth, as if he had courage sufficient to drive 
 the little pony that drew him over every obstacle that op- 
 posed his progress to his suburban box, where, at a given 
 hour and minute, awaited his expecting rib, and the custo- 
 mary joint of mutton. The policeman, without asking 
 leave of the choleric citizen, very quietly took the pony by 
 the head, and drew pony, gig, and gentleman high and dry 
 upon the side-walk. He then caused our omnibus to ad- 
 vance to the left, and made room for a clamorous drayman 
 to pass us. This was a stout fellow, in blue frock, 
 breeches, and hobnailed shoes, with a well-fed, florid, beer- 
 drinking physiognomy. He was not satisfied with simply 
 getting by, but paused a moment to vent his abuse against 
 the omnibuses. He addressed the policeman in a some- 
 what threatening tone — " Why ar'n't you made that hom- 
 nibus keep back ? Theys want smashing ;" and, seeing me 
 smile with delight at the comic oddity of the scene, he 
 shook his head angrily, and whip at the same time, as he 
 presently added, "and them as rides in um as well!" As 
 he passed across our stern, he gave a practical illustration 
 
OMNIBUS ADVENTURES. 
 
 209 
 
 of his idea, by causing his heavy hind wheel to come in con- 
 tact with our projecting step, so as to carry off a part of it, 
 and give the whole vehicle a fearful twitch, which brought 
 the elegant lady's heart into her mouth, and her luncheon 
 with it, and even sent a tremour over the rigid frame of 
 her stiff antagonist. 
 
 The press now began to diminish, and the possibility of 
 ultimate escape to dawn upon us. The opposite lines of 
 vehicles got slowly into motion; the citizen, placed upon 
 the shelf so unceremoniously, came down from his digni- 
 fied station, and cracked his whip with renewed impatience. 
 The dogs of the cats'-meat merchant stole out from their 
 retreat under the ambulatory advertiser, and gradually 
 raised their tails with an air of recovered importance ; and 
 we, following in our turn, released ourselves at length 
 dexterously from the press, and went on our way rejoicing. 
 
 Soon we came to Finsbury Square, — the scene of urban 
 grandeur in past times, where merchants first conceived the 
 idea of living apart from their counting-houses; now, with 
 the growth of more fashionably ambitious views, aban- 
 doned to inferior traders and dependants of commerce, for 
 the fresher glories of the West End. Presently we entered 
 the City Road, passing the turnpike gate, one of a complete 
 series that surrounds the capital, occasioning a delay and 
 inconvenience to travellers, which the stranger is apt to 
 think might be advantageously obviated without detriment 
 to the excellent condition of the roads, — at all events 
 within the immediate precincts of the metropolis, by some 
 other species of taxation of less inconvenient collection. 
 
 Passing the vast warehouses in which goods are depo- 
 sited for transportation by the canal for the interior, which 
 reaches the place by means of a tunnel excavated under the 
 surface, and without loss of valuable ground, we came at 
 length to the Angel Inn, situated at the fork of several 
 
 14 
 
OMNIBUS ADVENTURES. 
 
 roads leading to the north of England, and well-nigh as 
 great a thoroughfare and halting-place as the Elephant and 
 Castle, at the opposite extremity, by which I had, a few 
 days before, entered London. Here the passing was pro- 
 digious, and the movement and activity unbounded. 
 
 We halted here a few minutes to set down and take up 
 pasengers ; and so again on the New Road at King's Cross, 
 and Tottenham Corner. The time of stopping at each place 
 was three minutes ; and persons were stationed on the spot 
 to take note of the time, and compel each driver to go on 
 the moment another had arrived to replace him. It was 
 the object of each to remain at the station as long as pos- 
 sible, so as to leave as much space as might be between 
 his predecessor and himself, and increase the chances of 
 finding passengers to pick up. Hence the motive for driving 
 through quick, to dislodge the antecedent, which they ac- 
 cordingly do at a most furious pace, to the infinite terror 
 of whatever lies in the way. Hence, also, frequent con- 
 tentions with each other, and quarrels with the police. The 
 papers were daily filled with accounts of outrages com- 
 mitted by omnibus ruffians, as they were familiarly and 
 habitually called. With a view to abate this nuisance, an 
 act of Parliament had been passed, authorizing the police 
 to take into custody, without lodging a complaint, the 
 drivers of any public vehicles which might be found ob- 
 structing the king's highway. Soon after, I saw an account 
 of two drivers of omnibuses having been taken into custody 
 at the King's Cross, and fined forty shillings each under 
 this act. The next day there was a most amusing notice 
 of the manner in which the same two individuals contrived 
 to break the law, interfere with the public convenience, and 
 yet to avoid the infliction of the penalty. To do this, they 
 actually came upon the ground chained fast to their boxes, 
 and secured with padlocks ; and when the police atttempted 
 
OMNIBUS ADVENTURES. 
 
 •ill 
 
 to arrest them, they laughed them to scorn, and shook their 
 chains at them. 
 
 "Set me down at Maiden Lane!" said the stiff lady, with 
 an air of authority. " This is the very place," said the driver, 
 stopping his horses. She stumbled to the door, trampling 
 upon those in the way, and commenced expostulating with 
 the cad. " I can't get out in this here mud." The omni- 
 bus remained quiet, and the worthy resident of Maiden Lane, 
 having fumbled and hunted her pocket, at length drew forth 
 a reluctant sixpence, and went off grumbling and muttering, 
 casting scornful and vindictive glances at the departing 
 vehicle, as she surveyed her soiled shoes and draggled finery. 
 
 As we drove through this part of London, which is called 
 Pentonville, it began to improve greatly in appearance. 
 The smoke was much less dense, and the atmosphere of a 
 less artificial character. The houses were of more recent 
 construction, and were frequently built in terraces, on a 
 uniform plan, standing back from the road, and having an 
 enclosed and planted space of ground in front, for the re- 
 creation of the neighbouring inmates. Here, too, were a 
 number of public buildings, though none of them possessed 
 any particuliar beauty. There was one, however, of gjreat 
 pretension, which particularly attracted my attention. This 
 was the church of St. Pancras. It was in a classical taste, 
 finely executed in Portland stone. In its details it was 
 very beautiful. The body of the church was simple, well- 
 proportioned, and elegant; the portico, sustained upon six 
 Ionic columns, was strikingly beautiful; the projecting wings 
 at the extremity, containing the vestry-room and registry, 
 were pleasing objects in themselves; and the steeple was, 
 singly considered, graceful and very elegant. I was not 
 astonished to hear that the church itself was imitated from 
 an Athenian temple, as also the steeple, which is copied 
 from the Temple of the Winds, in the same city. This 
 
 n ■ 
 
212 
 
 A MELODRAME 
 
 church was a singular instance, how in architecture a (It- 
 pleasing and monstrous whole may be produced, by the 
 blending of discordant and inharmonious beauties. Each 
 part of this edifice, when separately considered, was beau- 
 tiful, yet the whole was offensive to the eye. 
 
 That night I went to the Adelphi Theatre, to see a num - 
 ber of small pieces in the style of the French vaudevilles. 
 They were no fewer than four in number. One of them 
 was the Rake and his Pupil, which was full of triumphant 
 vice, and the Butterfly's Ball, which was a tissue of folly and 
 absurdity of the most consummate kind. There was also a 
 melodrame, entitled Grace Huntley, which I beheld with 
 great interest, because it was true to nature, and evidently 
 a faithful picture of manners ; possibly the mere dramatizing 
 of something which had actually occurred within the know- 
 ledge of the author of the piece. The story is as follows : — 
 
 Grace Huntley is a sweet, interesting, sensitive girl, who 
 becomes attached to a vicious village hero, who has 
 already' made some progress in the career of vice. Her 
 father, knowing the character of Joseph Huntley, for such 
 is his name, and being devoted to his daughter, whose hap- 
 piness is the sole care of his heart, forbids her to think of 
 him, or ever to see him again. She promises to obey her 
 father's injunctions; but having previously granted a ren- 
 dezvous to Joseph in her own house at midnight, which is 
 a very customary moral of the English stage, she cannot 
 forego her desire to see and embrace him for the last time. 
 She opens the door, as had been concerted, andJoseph enters, 
 introducing at the same time one Sandy Smith, a notorious 
 ruffian, with whom he had planned the robbery of the fa- 
 ther's property, consisting chiefly in a casket of gold. Af- 
 ter a very tender interview in the dark, and the customary 
 quantity of kissing and dalliance for the benefit of the au- 
 dience, Huntley takes his leave. She closes the door and 
 
A MELODRAMK. 
 
 2l.{ 
 
 retires. The ruffian Smith now comes forth, a specimen 
 of the cold-blooded, heartless English thief, with appro- 
 priate slang about lush, blunt, and the like. Huntley had 
 given him information where the treasure was to be found, 
 a secret which he had previously extracted from his confid- 
 ing mistress. He forces the drawer, possesses himself of 
 the casket, aud is about retiring, when the aged man, hear- 
 ing a noise, comes forth and seizes the thief as he is about 
 escaping through the window. They struggle a moment 
 together, and Grace's father falls, stabbed to the heart by 
 the ruffian. Grace enters to see the consequences of her 
 disobedience in admitting her lover, and of course the scene 
 is sufficiently deplorable. 
 
 There is now an interval of some years, and Grace, who 
 is represented as a model of female delicacy and virtue, 
 and in whose favour the sympathies are enlisted without 
 any qualification, appears as the wife of Huntley, the man 
 who had caused the murder of her doting father. They 
 are the parents of a lad who is now eight years old. Her 
 property had been wasted ; she is in a wretched state of 
 want; a neglected, care-worn, heart-broken, yet still fond 
 and affectionate woman. Her husband leaves her for 
 days together to go forth marauding ; he rejects the prof- 
 fered kindness with which she greets his return, and, not 
 content with thus requiting her affection to himself, he robs 
 her of the attachment and allegiance of her child, and 
 seduces him away to assist him in his career of crime. 
 
 Sandy Smith, the associate villain, now appears again 
 upon the scene. They have a plot for the robbery of a 
 neighbouring squire. The child is necessary to its execu- 
 tion, he being able, from his size, to pass through a grated 
 window, and open the door within for their admission. 
 The mother, who suspects the nature of the project, ex- 
 postulates with her husband about the vicious inclinations 
 
K MKLODKAM B. 
 
 and waning affections of her son, who is now more than 
 half seduced from his duty to her. He pushes her from 
 him In disdain, swearing that she shall yet have the satisfac- 
 tion of seeing her son end his days on the gallows. The 
 rogues elude the mother's watchfulness; the child himself 
 deceives her, hy appearing to be asleep ; and presently she 
 finds that he is gone. She is now half distracted with 
 apprehension and horror. She rushes forth in the midst 
 of a violent storm. Directing her steps to a solitary hut, 
 which is the lair of Smith, she discovers, through a cleft in 
 the door, Smith and Huntley concealing some plate and 
 other spoil, assisted hy her child. The sight overpowers 
 her, and she rushes madly away. 
 
 There is now a violent struggle between her still fondly 
 lingering love for her husband, and her affection for her 
 child. The threat that she should see him hanging still 
 rings in her ears, and she already fancies it realized. The 
 maternal feeling prevails over all else. She goes to a 
 justice of the peace, and denounces her husband and his 
 associate, claiming only forgiveness for her child. Here 
 is atrial, and a succession of deplorable scenes. Huntley 
 is found guilty on the testimony of his wife, and the child 
 liberated. She falls at the feet of her husband, pleads her 
 interest in her boy, and begs for his forgiveness. He 
 curses and spurns her. At length, however, to relieve the 
 strained sensibilities of the audience, he is made to relent. 
 There is a reconciliation. She tells him how she wiU 
 nurture and train to virtue the child of their affection ; and 
 in the midst of a most pathetic parting, ventures to put 
 forth the hope that they may yet meet and be happy in 
 that distant land to which he was exiled. It would not 
 have been poetical to name that land — which was, of course, 
 no other than Botany Bay. 
 
 Such briefly was this piece, to which a perfectly natural 
 
A MELODRAME. 
 
 21* 
 
 performance gave a striking character of reality, winding 
 (he feelings up to a painful pitch of excitement. My readers 
 can judge for themselves both of the good taste and the 
 moral tendency of exhibitions such as these. Let us hope, 
 that in imitating a stage from which we borrow alike the 
 pieces and those who are to perform them, some pains 
 may be taken to exclude from our theatres such dramas as 
 Grace Huntley, which have no reference to any state of 
 manners existing among us; which tend to familiarize the 
 mind with crime, and exhibit life in its most atrocious forms; 
 and which select vice for their theme, instead of seeking 
 inspirations in the beauty and loveliness of virtue. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 SUNDAY IN LONDON. 
 
 Church — Drive to Hyde Park — Apsley House — The Park — Equipages — 
 Air of the Groups — Zoological Gardens — A Melancholy Monkey. 
 
 The next day, being Sunday, I went to church, directing 
 my steps towards the venerable temple of St. Martin's-in- 
 the-Fields. Once a suburban parish church, it is now in 
 one of the densest quarters of London,' with the town ex- 
 tending for miles in every direction. The door was defended 
 by fat beadles, with laced hats and cloaks, and heavy maces, 
 who had the same occupation of keeping order among 
 mischief-making urchins as is assigned to the less richly- 
 dressed and portly heroes of the rattan, who perform the 
 same office in our country. A female pew-opener con- 
 ducted me with great civility to an unoccupied seat, having 
 in mind the customary sixpenny worth of gratification which 
 was to be the reward of her courtesy. 
 
 There was very little difference in the services here from 
 what I had been accustomed to in the Episcopal churches 
 of my own country. I noticed a little more variety in the 
 costume, occasioned by the caps and badges, which gave 
 evidence of university rank and honours. There was simply 
 the prayer for the weal of the state, in which "Our so- 
 
SUNDAY IN LONDON. 
 
 vereign lord the King" occurred instead of 44 the President," 
 which the change in our government has rendered ne- 
 cessary for us to substitute. The worship was performed 
 with solemnity, and the responses were perhaps more ge- 
 nerally made by the congregation than with us. I noticed 
 that every one, in entering the pew, hid his head in his hat 
 for a moment, and was, or seemed to be, absorbed in a 
 short preparatory prayer. Perhaps there was somewhat 
 more of a professional air in the clergymen, as if what they 
 were doing was in the way of business, for which they were 
 sufficiently paid, rather than a work of predilection. The 
 females were not so well dressed, and the men perhaps 
 better, than they would have been with us. There was less 
 intelligence in the genera! cast of countenance than wouid 
 have been found probably in an American congregation of 
 the same number; but there was a decidedly greater pre- 
 vailing air of health, an appearance of less thought and 
 care, and altogether a more happy and cheerful aspect. 
 
 In the afternoon, one of my countrymen, residing in 
 London, came to drive me to Hyde Park. Passing down 
 Pall Mall, we came to St. James's Palace, which I had not 
 yet seen. It is of dingy brick, with Elizabethan windows 
 irregularly scattered about the front, and having a Gothic 
 portal, flanked by octagonal towers. It is alike destitute of 
 grace, elegance, and grandeur ; and perhaps it is impossible 
 anywhere to see a palace having less the air of one. In 
 turning up St. James's-street, there were many club-rooms, 
 whose external appearance was far more imposing. There 
 were a few stray fashionables lingering about the doors ; 
 and some tall, fine-looking officers of the Guards, whose 
 companies were doubtless on duty at the Palace. 
 
 Turning down Piccadilly, we found ourselves iti the 
 full whirl of one of the greatest of the London thorough- 
 fares. An army of coaches and omnibuses were drawn 
 
218 
 
 SUNDAY IN LONDON. 
 
 up about a famous booking office, which was pointed out 
 to me as the noted White Horse Cellar. Beyond, were 
 some fine mansions of the rich and great, which looked 
 out on as disagreeable a scene of noise, confusion, and 
 dust, as ever Broadway could lay claim to. In front, 
 however, the Green Park was in view, extending itself in 
 a succession of groves and lawns, and tending, in some 
 degree, to qualify what was disagreeable in the situation. 
 
 Presently we reached the entrance to Hyde Park. Here, 
 at the corner, stands Apsley House, the town mansion of 
 the Duke of Wellington. It has a pediment and colonnade 
 in front, which, with other architectural ornaments, tend 
 rather to disfigure than embellish it, — as it is wanting 
 in just proportions, has a very stilted look, and is shaped 
 very much like a common dwelling. It is well placed, 
 however, for the residence of a distinguished individual, 
 who has been so conspicuously before the public as the 
 noble inmate. It overlooks both the Green and Hyde Park, 
 which are here entered by imposing triumphal arches, and 
 commands a view in the latter of the colossal statue of 
 Achilles, cast from cannon captured in the Peninsula, and 
 dedicated to the duke and his companions in arms by 
 their countrywomen. 
 
 There is, however, an imperious obstacle to the illustrious 
 soldier's contemplating this tribute of national gratitude, in 
 the shape of bullet-proof blinds, which were affixed to 
 all the windows of Apsley House, for the protection of the 
 immates from popular violence, at the time when the 
 public mind was agitated by the question of Paliamentary 
 reform, of which the iron duke was the strenuous opposer. 
 The very residence which the gratitude of his countrymen 
 had either bestowed on him or enabled him to purchase, 
 then required to be fortified to protect his life against 
 I heir fury. It was a singular instance of the durability 
 
SUNDAY IN LONDON, 
 
 and value of popular applause, that the individual who 
 had shed (he first glory on the British arms that they had 
 known on land since the days of Marlborough, after having 
 been raised, by the universal acclamation of a whole 
 admiring nation, to the first place, as a subject, in rank, 
 honour, and public estimation, should, without the com- 
 mission of any crime, without any stretch of authority, and 
 for the simple maintenance of that right of opinion which 
 the constitution permitted to him, find himself, after an 
 interval of a few years, so much the object of public 
 rage and detestation as to need such a protection for his 
 life in the sanctuary of his fireside. 
 
 Hyde Park is not a very attractive place in itself, con- 
 sidered as a public promenade. It is a naked plain, 
 almost entirely destitute of undulation and variety, and 
 having few trees. There are some fine mansions adjoining 
 it, and the Serpentine, with its bridges, produces a pleas- 
 ing effect ; but, on the whole, it is greatly inferior both to 
 St, James's and Regent's Park, though a much more 
 fashionable resort than either. 
 
 It was not the gay season in London, and I remembered 
 well the decision of the ladies' maids on the coach from 
 Gravesend, that there was absolutely nobody in town. 
 Yet here was an immense crowd of well-dressed people 
 filling every avenue, and thousands of fine equipages pass- 
 ing each other in parallel files. Here, too, were well- 
 mounted horsemen, followed by not less well-mounted 
 grooms, and quantities of city worthies, clerks and ap- 
 prentices doubtless, scuffling and labouring hard with 
 unfortunate hackneys, which, if they were superior to 
 those " old hair trunks" which it was the doom of the 
 gay and sprightly Fanny to honour with her gentle pres- 
 sure on our transatlantic shores, were yet not so much 
 
210 
 
 SUNDAY IN LONDON . 
 
 so as lo conceal their connexion with the same ill-starred 
 fraternity, the public's horses, in all countries. 
 
 The scene, while it reminded me of similar ones in 
 Madrid, Naples, Milan, Lima, or Havanna, presented strik- 
 ing differences, growing out of national character. In 
 all these places the company seemed to be known to each 
 other, and to have come together full of life and spirits, 
 and the determination to be pleased. The nods of re- 
 cognition, the graceful beckoning of the fan or fingers, the 
 brightening eye, and the passing word of salutation, ex- 
 changed with warmth and kindness, all, as I thought of 
 them, brought vividly to my mind the charms of the paseo. 
 Hyde Park, on the contrary, though excelling in the mag- 
 nificence of the equipages, the liveries, and the horses, 
 everything of the sort I had ever seen, was, if one looked 
 to the countenances of the assistants, a scene of gloom and 
 despondency. The crowd seemed to have come forth, not 
 in search of joy, but to parade its ennuis. It was a col- 
 lection of sullen looks and care-worn countenances. None 
 seemed to know each other, and there was no gay inter- 
 change of sprightly recognition. 
 
 Something of this may have been owing to the enormous 
 size of the capital, of which this was the gathering ; but 
 more to the prevailing absence of sociality, and to the 
 distinction of classes and the various shades of respec- 
 tability, as numerous as the individuals laying claim to it. 
 Many, doubtless, who were proud to claim each other 
 as friends in the avenues of the Exchange the day before, 
 now, skilled in all the arts of cutting as practised in this 
 country, of which it is the classic land, contrived to be 
 looking in some other direction as they approached an 
 acquaintance whose recognition might ruin them, or else 
 to stare at him with a vacant, unconscious gaze. Perhaps 
 
SUNDAY IN LONDON 
 
 2>>l 
 
 the most striking cause of the gloom and solemnity of this 
 scene of amusement might be found, after all, in the musing 
 and contemplative character of our race, and might equally 
 be noticed on similar occasions in our own country. We 
 have little of that gushing flow of spirits and exuberant 
 desire to be pleased which characterize so many other 
 people. We are grave, solemn, and reflective in the 
 midst of our sports, and are apt to carry with us to scenes 
 of festivity that melancholy and musing mood which is the 
 prevailing habit of our minds. 
 
 Leaving this glittering yet disheartening scene, we drove 
 to the Regent's Park. The press had been so great at 
 the place we had just left, that it seemed as though all the 
 world were there assembled. Yet here it was scarce in- 
 ferior. Crowds of carriages and led horses surrounded 
 the Zoological Gardens, in attendance upon those who 
 were engaged in the favourite Sunday amusement of Lon- 
 don, — a visit to the wild beasts. In the gay season it is 
 perhaps the most fashionable resort of the metropolis ; and 
 I have seen, at the same time, dukes and marquises, a 
 prime minister, a lord high chancellor, and distinguished 
 leaders of the opposition, deposing their grandeurs, their 
 cares of state, and brooding intrigues and aspirations after 
 office, to gather quietly round, and witness peaceably to- 
 gether, the manoeuvres of the cameleopard and the rhino- 
 ceros, or the bathing of the elephant. 
 
 This is an institution which had its origin in that spirit 
 of association which has achieved so much in England. 
 At the end of a very few years it already exceeds what 
 royal munificence has only been able to accomplish in a 
 succession of reigns in a neighbouring capital. The pay- 
 ment of a trifling subscription, by many people, has led to 
 the creation of a beautiful garden, of a tasteful and pleas- 
 ing arrangement, such as is peculiar to this country. Spe- 
 
'22-2 
 
 SUNDAY IN LONDON. 
 
 cimens of rare, curious, and beautiful animals have been 
 collected from every corner of the world, and the study of 
 the si ructure, character, and habits of what is most in- 
 teresting in the works of the Creator is thus rendered easy 
 and entertaining to the young. The arrangement of the 
 species is made with great care and order, and many of 
 the animals are lodged in rustic cottages, in the style of the 
 country from which they came. Here, too, are strange 
 exotic plants; so that a walk through this garden is in some 
 measure like a rapid journey over the world. 
 
 In order to connect two portions of the garden lying on 
 different sides of the public road, without the inconve- 
 nience of traversing it, there is a beautiful tunnel, which 
 carries the footway tastefully beneath it. Everything, in 
 short, about this establishment, which might be repeated 
 in the neighbourhood of any of our large cities, if the taste 
 and public spirit were not wanting, is of a finished and 
 perfect character. 
 
 Among all the animals here collected, the monkeys were, 
 as usual, the decided favourites, in attracting both little 
 children and those who were full grown. So far as my 
 own tastes go, they are to me the most disgusting of ani- 
 mals. I cannot understand the pleasure which is found 
 in such pets as these, and should as soon think of making a 
 companion of a monkey, as of the individual who could 
 be gratified by such an association. To say nothing of its 
 odour, which should be enough to satisfy ordinary sensibi- 
 lity, I cannot endure it for its resemblance to man. When 
 I look at one, and watch its movements, so like our own, 
 the way in which it uses its fingers, evinces affection, or 
 nurses its young, and, above ail, when I study its counte- 
 nance, in which intelligence and inquiry may be detected, 
 or pleasure and pain, expressing themselves by smiles and 
 frowns, just as in the human face divine, it almost seems 
 
SUNDAY IN LONDON. 
 
 223 
 
 to me as it nature had been seized with an excess of ridi- 
 cule and satire, and humbled itself to the taste of carica- 
 turing humanity. May not this be meant to inculate a lesson 
 of humility, by showing us, that with all our god-like qua- 
 lities, we are, after all, but a better order of monkeys? 
 
 There was here one large baboon which more parti- 
 cularly attracted my attention, and which I looked on 
 with even more horror than that general aversion I have 
 described. He was a solitary and fierce monkey, shut up 
 by himself, quite alone, and devoured by ennui. When I 
 first discovered him, he was sitting musing, and with a 
 most misanthropic Rousseau-Byronic expression, in a cor- 
 ner of his cell. If it had been lawful for a baboon to 
 quote poetry, I am sure he would have broken forth into 
 the exclamation — 
 
 " Forced from home and all its treasures. 
 
 Afric's coast I left forlorn ; 
 To increase a stranger's treasures, 
 
 On the raging billows borne. 
 Men from England bought and sold me, 
 
 Paid my price in paltry gold ; 
 But, though slave they have enrolled me, 
 
 Minds are never to be sold." 
 
 I do not think, though, he could have had the heart to 
 utter this, lest it should have been the means of getting 
 up a monkey mania, and putting this unfortunate country 
 to the expense of another twenty millions' worth of gene- 
 rosity, for, the emancipation of monkeys. He would, per- 
 haps, rather have been satisfied to exclaim — 
 
 " It must be so ; why, else, have I this sense 
 Of more than monkey charms and excellence ? 
 Why else to walk on two so oft essayed, 
 And why this ardent passion for a maid ?" 
 
 This not being permitted, he was content to look it, which 
 
224 
 
 SUNDAY IN LONDON 
 
 lie did every line and letter, together with other things 
 unutterable. Presently he began to kick the straw about, 
 like a miserable bachelor lying on his back, and tossing 
 the clothes about for the want of more agreeable pastime. 
 Then he seemed to come to a little; rose, picked the straw 
 off his person, ran his fingers through his hair, and made 
 his toilet. Now he seemed better pleased with himself, 
 and looked along his figure admiringly. A wooden ball 
 had been given him to beguile the tedium of existence. 
 This he now threw against the side of his house, and 
 caught, and threw again — having a very quiet little game 
 of fives to himself. But the effort to struggle against his 
 cares and be gay was evidently an abortive one; he pre- 
 sently relapsed into melancholy, and the satanic mood 
 came over him again. Catching the idle toy that was 
 given to him in the place of creature comforts, he bit it 
 with rage and vexation, then threw it down, tore his hair 
 with both hands, and actually looked round as if for some- 
 thing to commit suicide. I feel morally sure that if at 
 that moment I had handed him my open penknife, he would 
 have carried it at once to his jugular. His rage seemed 
 to overpower him ; and he sank helpless in the corner, 
 covering himself with straw to shut out a hateful world 
 and its impertinent observation. Such was the gnawing 
 misanthropy of the melancholy monkey. No one could 
 resist the hardship of his case, to be thus condemned 
 without crime to solitary confinement — or, in comparing 
 the recluse with those so little his superiors in "charms 
 and excellence," who hovered about as spectators, walking 
 upright, with wives upon their arms, could venture to 
 deny that, with reason on his side — 
 
 " Poor pug might plead, and call his gods unkind. 
 Till set on end, and married to his mind." 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 NOVEMBER IN LONDON. 
 
 Rainy Streets — Adventures in the Mud — A Cat's-meat Merchant — Um- 
 brellas — Lahour Exchange — Conversation of Workies — R. D. Owen. 
 
 Hitherto the weather had been very fine, not only since 
 my arrival in London, but also since our approach to the 
 English coast, nearly a fortnight before. The wind had 
 generally blown from the south, bringing with it a mild and 
 balmy air, which compared most advantageously with what 
 was doubtless the prevailing temperature at the time in the 
 lower latitude of my own country. The atmosphere, though 
 not cloudy, was yet not clear; an imperceptible film, which 
 I afterward found to be the attendant of even the brightest 
 English day, was spread in a gauzelike veil over the heavens. 
 Through it the dim sun struggled ; and as he performed a 
 small section of a circle far in the southern horizon for his 
 prescribed course, looked down with tempered and languid 
 gaze upon the landscape. Though there was a dulness in 
 the climate as it thus exhibited itself, yet there was also some- 
 thing calm, melancholy, and contemplative in it which har- 
 monized with my feelings. I had almost begun to doubt 
 in the existence of those fogs and showers with which London 
 
 1 5 
 
220 
 
 NOVEMBER IN LONDON. 
 
 was associated in my imagination. Now, however, the 
 scene was to be changed ; a new week was to introduce a 
 new system; and London was to exhibit itself in all the 
 horrors of its November attire. 
 
 On Monday morning it was only by the aid of a light 
 that I could contrive to make my toilet; and on descending 
 to the coffee-room, the like aid was not unwelcome in dis- 
 cussing breakfast and the newspaper. If there were much 
 that was sad and gloomy in the scene within doors, the 
 spectacle from the windows was most deplorable. The 
 street ran down with rain and mud, through which, clogged, 
 coated, and overshadowed by his umbrella, stepped forth 
 the Englishman. Just before the door stood a dirt-cart, 
 to which were harnessed two wet and disconsolate-looking 
 horses. Some men, dressed in tarpaulin clothes, were 
 shovelling the mud into their cart, where it floated, a stag- 
 nant pool. Hard by was a coal-waggon, with its attendant 
 colliers, engaged in carrying the fuel in bags to a poulterer's 
 opposite. The rain had made some impression upon their 
 blackened faces, leaving them streaked in the same unseemly 
 way as the statues on the front of St. Paul's, and giving a 
 singular and demoniac expression to their countenances and 
 glaring eyes. There were quantities of women clattering 
 over the pavements in iron clogs, and not a few thieves 
 and adventurers in greasy black coats, from which the rain 
 turned without effect, save where a rent left the skin visible. 
 
 The spectacle without was gloomy enough ; the coffee- 
 room was still and solemn as some death-bed scene, and 
 the newspapers served only to carry out the one impression 
 of despair which was stamped on everything. One of the 
 first paragraphs that struck my eye was a list of suicides. 
 There were no fewer than three, in which the weapon had 
 been a razor; and two of the self-murderers were women. 
 Having remained in the coffee-room some hours, gazing in 
 
NOVEMBER IN LONDON. 
 
 381 
 
 utter hopelessness in the fire, — for my own room proving 
 to smoke badly, I had been obliged to discontinue the fire 
 there, — I a t length grew weary, and determined to go out 
 in search of distraction, and in the hope of killing a little 
 time. So, enveloping myself in my cloak, I went forth and 
 strolled along the colonnade. 
 
 Every thing wore an air of inexpressible gloom. The 
 houses of unpainted brick were half hidden at their topmost 
 stories by the canopy of smoke, fog, and rain which over- 
 hung the scene. It did not rain with that earnestness and 
 energy common in our climate, which conveys the idea of 
 a thing to be done, as a matter of business, and despatched 
 with business-like rapidity, but in a deliberate, cold-blooded 
 way, as if it might continue on thus for ever, without ex- 
 hausting its capacities to curse and to annoy. An eternal 
 dripping fell from every object; and the Royal Perambulat- 
 ing Advertiser, which happened to pass like a moving house, 
 stuck round with newly-printed placards, shed big inky tears, 
 and seemed about to dissolve with grief. The enormous 
 waggons, piled high with merchandize, were covered with 
 huge tarpaulins, and the horses that drew them, as well as 
 the drivers, were decked in garments of the same gloomy 
 and desperate-looking material. Every man, except myself, 
 was the bearer of an umbrella. The women, too, dashed 
 through the mud with a courage above their sex; holding 
 in one hand the umbrella, in the other their shortened gar- 
 ments, they strode fearlessly on, transferring the mud from 
 one leg to the other, until all was blackness. 
 
 Nor was it permitted to rest satisfied with such a share of 
 mud as came within the compass of one's own gleanings, 
 aided by such little acquisitions as were to be received from 
 the tread of others. The coaches and cabs, rushingthrough 
 the black rivers with which each street ran down, scattered 
 it from their wheels like rays from so many miry suns, 
 
 15 * 
 
NOVEMBER IN LONDON. 
 
 whose business it was lo give out mud and misery, instead 
 of vivifying heat and light. The ruffianly drivers of these 
 seemed to have a thorough contempt for all pedestrians; 
 and instead of admiring them for the courage and hardi- 
 hood with which they trudged on, sought purposely to assist 
 in draggling them, with a view to discourage the inelegant 
 practice of walking. There was a strange confusion of sub- 
 stances. Every thing seemed to lose its identity, dissolve, 
 and become mingled together ; the atmosphere was a mix- 
 ture of rain, smoke, exhalations, and mud, set in motion by 
 so many wheels; the macadamized streets, mixed into a 
 sickening decoction, formed vast quagmires, dead and de- 
 spondent seas, in which one would expect to flounder, and 
 sink, and expire, ignobly suffocated, with the prospect of 
 being shovelled into a scrapings-cart, and there terminating 
 one's career " unwept, unhonoured, and unsung." 
 
 To walk in the mud is a bad thing at any rate; and when 
 one is wholly unaccustomed to it, it becomes awful indeed. 
 It creates a feeling of melancholy dissatisfaction, not unlike 
 what a hitherto honourable man might feel the. first time 
 that misfortune, the pressure of circumstances, and his own 
 weakness, had led him to humble himself to the commission 
 of a mean action. Thus reasoning, I ploughed my way 
 through it like the rest. From having seen the carriages 
 keep to the left in my drive from Gravesend, I fancied that 
 the rule must be the same for footmen. But I got on very 
 badly with it. At each instant I was justled and knocked 
 out of my course ; and a great Welsh milk-woman, with 
 red face, fat cheeks, and a figure running out everywhere 
 into redundancies, as I was feasting my eyes on thespectacle 
 of such prodigal charms, well-nigh stove a hole through my 
 shoulder with the sharp corner of her milk-yoke. The 
 gallantry which would not expire under so unkind a cut 
 must be glowing indeed. 
 
NOVEMBER IN LONDON. 
 
 229 
 
 Misfortunes never come singly. I was traversing the 
 open space leading to Charing Cross; just behind me came 
 a female vender of old joints and broken meat, with her 
 merchandize in a wheelbarrow. I stopped a moment to 
 gaze at the lion over the Duke of Northumberland's palace* 
 which, in the misty atmosphere, loomed singularly, and 
 stood forth in strong relief, with a strange air of reality. 
 The wheel-barrow struck against my heel, making me 
 step quickly a-head, stooping at the same time from the 
 pain. This brought my cloak on the ground ; and the wheel- 
 barrow continuing to pursue me, fairly took me prisoner. 
 The little dog harnessed beneath the barrow, though shel- 
 tered in some sort from the weather, was yet wet, soiled, 
 and looking in all respects uncomfortable, and impatient to 
 finish the day's work and get home. He struggled hard, 
 barked and snarled at my heels, and seemed indisposed to 
 recede. The woman, seeing that there was no progress to 
 be made in that direction with such an obstacle in the way, 
 moderated the ardour of her canine auxiliary, drew back 
 her barrow, and released me, following her course, not how- 
 ever without a slight bestowal of Billingsgate, of which she 
 shot off a broadside as she ranged past me. 
 
 Henceforth my fears were only for wheel-barrows. I 
 looked round, saw none, and was safe. I turned again to 
 gaze at the lion, when I was aroused by a rush of wheels 
 and a shout. Two omnibuses were descending the hill, 
 side by side, and at a rattling pace; a flight of inferior ve- 
 hicles hovered on their flanks, and it was quite evident that 
 I was likely to be hemmed in. Turning to escape in the 
 opposite direction, I saw that there too I was equally cut 
 off. There was a brewer's cart, drawn by enormous horses, 
 which was close upon me, and a magnificent equipage the 
 panels of which were completely , covered with armorial 
 bearings; presently the blockade was rendered complete by 
 
230 
 
 NOVEMBER IN LONDON. 
 
 a swift cab coming directly at me, whose wo-begone horse 
 was trotting fiercely, as if it were his last race, and he had 
 leave to die and escape from all his troubles when he had 
 won it. How to escape, and where to go, was now the 
 question. I looked in vain in search of any outlet, and came 
 to the conclusion that there was nothing left for me but to 
 choose my death. 
 
 To die by an omnibus or^a cab were to die ingloriously : 
 the newspapers could have told a story of the sort any day 
 the last week. It would be far more honourable to be 
 trampled into the mud by the aristocratic heels of the pranc- 
 ing steeds, which were already close upon me. As a last 
 and only chance, I determined, upon philosophic principles, 
 to trust to the magnanimity of the largest animal I could see. 
 I swung myself under the neck of the brewer's horse, which 
 was too noble to step on me; encouraged by this reception, 
 I kept beside his head, making a tower of strength of him, 
 and thus I managed to reach an open place and escape to 
 the side- walk alive. It was reasonable enough that I should 
 recollect the proud equipage which had been so near crush- 
 ing me. I saw it afterward in Hyde Park on a Sunday, 
 and it was pointed out to me as belonging to a noted brew- 
 er; so that, after all, my choice of deaths had not been so 
 various as I imagined. 
 
 I slunk home, nervous, covered with mud, and miserable, 
 feeling very much as a dog might be supposed to do, which 
 being badly hung by some malicious urchins, contrives to 
 worry himself loose, and escapes home with the rope about 
 his neck, and looking very dejected. I determined, if I 
 lived to see another day, that I would become, what I 
 never yet had been, the possessor of an umbrella, and sub- 
 stitute an upper benjamin for the embarrassing folds of my 
 Spanish capa. In my professional pursuits, the use of an 
 umbrella was preposterous; and in the climate of my own 
 
ROBERT OWEN. >M 
 
 country it rains so seldom, that to a man of leisure, having 
 no business avocations to call him inauspiciously into the 
 open air, the umbrella is also a useless and disagreeable en- 
 cumbrance. But in England the case is otherwise; and a 
 man without an umbrella is as incomplete as a man with- 
 out a nose. 
 
 Having seen in a morning paper an advertisement of 
 Robert Owen, convoking a meeting that day for the pur- 
 pose of taking into consideration the condition of the work- 
 ing classes,, and reducing the length of the working-day to 
 six hours, for which full wages were to be given, I deter- 
 mined to drive to the place of meeting, which was the Na- 
 tional Equitable Labour Exchange. This is an establish- 
 ment which had its origin in the imagination of Mr. Owen ; 
 the object of it being to enable the producer of any article 
 — a pair of shoes for instance — to exchange it for some 
 other article which he does not produce, but wants for his 
 own use; by this means relieving the workman from the 
 tyranny of the master, and securing him a fair participation 
 in the fruits of his own labour. If he do not want to take 
 any article in return for what he deposits, he receives its 
 value in bills of the association, which I imagine are not 
 very current beyond its own walls. 
 
 At the entrance to the hall, I found a collection of books 
 for sale, and, on turning to look at their titles, I found that 
 instead of works on political or domestic economy, and 
 calculated to promote industry and thrift, such, for instance 
 as the admirable writings of Dr. Franklin, which I look 
 upon as containing the most wholesome nutriment that can 
 be offered to the minds of the poor, they were entirely of 
 an atheistical character, and directed against the Christian 
 religion; among them, Paine's Age of Reason occupied a 
 conspicuous place; and there were many tracts of Mr. 
 Owen, and other modern imitators of that arch apostle of 
 
ROBERT OWEN. 
 
 infidelity. If I were already indisposed to believe in 
 the feasibility of Mr. Owen's system, this doubt was not a 
 little increased by finding myself met, at the very threshold, 
 by that which went to remove the comforts, the consola- 
 tions, and the restraints of a religion which is the poor 
 man's best friend. 
 
 The edifice, appropriated to the Labour Exchange during 
 the week, and to lectures and anti-religious orgies on the 
 Sabbath, was as singular in its construction as in its uses. 
 It was of oblong form, having a gallery running completely 
 around it, and a skylight roof above. At one extremity 
 of the gallery was the place of the speakers, who stand 
 against the railing, in sight of those ranged in the galleries, 
 on either hand, or in the court below. Here was a table 
 with books, round which the reporters of the London 
 papers were assembled, to note the proceedings and take 
 down the speeches. 
 
 There was an immense crowd of the unwashed already 
 assembled; their faces, hands, and bodily conformation 
 indicating their peculiar line of labour. Some were in 
 their holiday clothes ; others had evidently just escaped 
 from their benches, having their aprons twisted up and 
 stuck through the drawing- string. The air was redolent 
 of gin, beer, leather, and the various commodities with 
 which they were respectively conversaut. Their con- 
 versation was of trades' unions, initiation of nobs and 
 dungs, that is, recusant individuals of their fraternities who 
 refused to affiliate. They spoke very angrily of the Times 
 newspaper, as being against the working men, and the par- 
 tisan of rich persecution. 
 
 I was not a little amused with the conversation of a little 
 shoemaker who sat near me. He was very short, owing 
 to his legs being out of all proportion to his body, and not 
 having been properly developed, from the sedentary nature 
 
KOBEKT OWEN. 
 
 2X1 
 
 of his occupation, and that of his ancestors through many 
 generations. He had on a white corded jacket, rather 
 darkened by his trade, breeches, and an imperfectly-iilled 
 pair of worsted stockings. He was pock-marked, and a 
 scald, which had rendered him blear-eyed, and scarified 
 one side of his face, showed how neglected had been his 
 childhood, and added to.the general expression of vulgarity, 
 recklessness, and vice which was stamped upon his coun- 
 tenance. To complete the catalogue of his personal 
 charms, there was about him a very unpleasant ilavour of 
 shoemakers' wax and leather, which made him less en- 
 durable even than the highly-perfumed inmate of the om- 
 nibus. His speech, which he presently addressed to a 
 neighbouring friend, was comformable. " I say, Bill, if 
 we works four hours a day, I don't see why it ar'n't is much 
 is they as her right to expect. We had a famous meetin 
 last night ; we filiated up to ninety. If we could unite with 
 the tailors, we d be main powerful ; but the darn stitchlouses 
 are too ristocratic ; they're worse, all hollow, nor the Ouse 
 o' Lords. They think as they're better nor hus; and un- 
 dertakes to turn their noses up at a cobbler." 
 
 Here Mr. Owen made his appearance, and was received 
 with unbounded applause ; my worthy little cobbling orator 
 being among the most vociferous. He was a rather tall, 
 big-boned man,well enough dressed, but somewhat slouching 
 in his appearance. His face was singularly ill-formed; 
 the forehead receding very suddenly, and the whole contour 
 of the head indicating a deficiency of both animal and mo- 
 ral qualities. His chin was sharp and protruding; and the 
 style, as well as the expression, of his face reminded me 
 most strikingly of an unusually-ugly monkey, which I had 
 seen the day before in the Zoological Garden. His arms 
 were piled with bundles of pamphlets, to which he was 
 about to refer, many of them written by himself, and a 
 
234 
 
 ROBERT OWEN. 
 
 huge folio report of a committee of the House of Commons 
 on the condition of the working classes. I had heard of 
 the venerable appearance of the sage and the philanthro- 
 pist of Lanark ; but as he now entered the room, groaning 
 under this immense weight of learning, and filled with 
 self-complacency, and tickled at the reception which the 
 tatterdemalions gave him, that caused him to grin and show 
 his teeth most absurdly, he presented a most ludicrous 
 spectacle. 
 
 His style of eloquence was not of a very ambitious kind. 
 It consisted of all the startling truisms which have been 
 uttered at various times on the same subject by cleverer men 
 than Mr. Owen, and which he now strung together with 
 as little art as might be, — his language being vulgar and 
 slovenly, and his pronunciation bad. When he fancied he 
 had made a good hit, he would stop for applause; and 
 when it came, grin back a responsive recognition. Some- 
 times there seemed to be a difference of opinion between 
 him and his audience as to the expediency of cheering. 
 Once, when a few cried " Hear!" one near me hissed, as if 
 to stop the interruption; another beside him corrected him 
 by saying, " Don't hiss, he is waiting for it." I think this 
 anecdote decidedly illustrative of the man ; and am con- 
 vinced, from what I saw of him, not having previously 
 heard this foible ascribed to him, that an overweening vanity 
 is at the bottom of all his extravagances, and that, not 
 being capable of attracting the attention of men of sense 
 and education, he is content to surround himself with the 
 vulgar rabble, and be, at an easy rate, a great man among 
 them, receiving their applause in return for his stupid 
 ravings. 
 
 In the course of his address he was saying, what is indeed 
 very true, that the power was all wielded by the rich in Eng- 
 land, " But," he continued, u we will take it away from 
 
ROBERT OWEN 
 
 them." Here he was interrupted by overpowering ap- 
 plause. When he could be heard, he added, " but peace- 
 ably, not forcibly. 1 ' This qualifying sentiment was not so 
 well received. I noticed, however, one starved, thin-legged 
 conspirator, apparently wholly unfitted for the stern arbi- 
 tration of club-law, who seemed mightily to approve of the 
 peaceful mode of redress, and the march-of-mind system, 
 for he cried "Hear! hear!" at the top of his squeaking 
 voice. When Owen at length took up the great parlia- 
 mentary folio, and began to relate, with a most complacent 
 smirk, how he and the member for Oldham, one Mr. Fiel- 
 den, had been closeted together three days, at the residence 
 of the said member in the country, studying the contents 
 of this folio, I came away, dreading the possibility of his 
 inflicting a synopsis, which, in his hands, would have been 
 so much more cruel than the book itself. 
 
 I was happy, on getting into the open air, to find that my 
 pockets had not been levied on, so that there was nothing 
 to interfere with my meditations concerning the cosmopolite 
 philanthropist. If he be, indeed, the friend of the labour- 
 ing people, and not wholly the slave of his own vanity, it is 
 yet certain that he has done them no good. As a general 
 rule, I think it may be admitted, that the man who has mis- 
 managed his own affairs is not fit to charge himself with 
 those of other people. This individual has failed notori- 
 ously in all his undertakings. Having succeeded by marriage 
 to the property of a valuable and most flourishing manu- 
 facturing establishment in Scotland, he has contrived to 
 squander the patrimony of his children, and, deprived of 
 their birthright, their home, and, haply, even their religion, 
 sent them forth to endure every privation in the uncivilized 
 wilds of his western Utopia, while he has adopted, as the 
 object of his affection and paternal solicitude, the filthier 
 million of this overgrown metropolis. Still we must admit 
 
23G 
 
 ROBERT OWEN 
 
 — such sacrifices as these irresistibly convey the idea — thai; 
 he is botli benevolent and philanthropic, though on too large 
 a scale to be appreciated by every one. I must claim to 
 be among the number of the incredulous; and I must con- 
 fess that a benevolent and philanthropic fool always seems 
 more dangerous to me than a roguish one. A roguish fool 
 may steal, and allow himself to be quickly caught and shut 
 up; but the other, being left at large, may lead astray others 
 yet simpler than himself, and, actuated perhaps by a ridi- 
 culous vanity, get credit for good qualities which he does 
 not possess, interfering with the labours of industry, and 
 creating a real evil without any alternative of good. 
 
 There can be no doubt, indeed, that the poor are insuf- 
 ficiently paid in England. That in the presence of a deve- 
 lopment, far exceeding whatever the world has hitherto 
 seen, the profits of it are concentrated in the hands of a 
 few, while they who mainly contribute to it by their labour 
 are left to languish in destitution of what mere animal wants 
 require. Yet one hears of nothing but the property of the 
 country, and the necessity of having it represented, and 
 giving it proper influence, at the very time when it is re- 
 gulating and governing exclusively for its own interests, 
 and crushing the many with a despotism unknown in coun- 
 tries which are stigmatized as despotic, and especially so 
 stigmatized by Englishmen — a despotism which starves. 
 While property has for its mercenary champions the genius 
 and learning of the country, the claims of labour are un- 
 represented and unrestrained; its cause, instead of being 
 supported by the high, the gifted, the intelligent of the 
 land, is abandoned to the advocacy of rogues like Cobbett> 
 and idiots such as Owen. 
 
CHAPTE.R XX. 
 
 ISLINGTON. 
 
 Liston— Remove to Islington — Scenes from Window — Suburban Rambles 
 -^-Habits of Retired Citizens— Life of Seclusion— Subjects for Emi- 
 gration. 
 
 In the evening of the day I had attended 31r. Owen's ex- 
 hibition, I went to see a much better actor at Madame Ves- 
 tris's theatre, being no other than Liston. Though I found 
 him evidently in the decline of his health and powers, yet 
 I was not at all disappointed in the high expectations I had 
 formed of him. He is of moderate height, with a rather 
 dropsical-looking body, and the air of a man sinking under 
 dissipation. He appeared, indeed, to be half drunk. It 
 was in his part, however, to be so; and he had either made 
 a sacrifice to his profession, in order to give effect to the 
 piece, or else it was another proof of his excellent acting. 
 There were, indeed, an irresistible drollery and perfect air 
 of nature about him. 
 
 His acting appeared to me as Tal ma's did, — so easv that 
 any one might have done it without effort. This is, how- 
 ever, in efforts of every sort, one of the greatest proofs of 
 merit. The company of this theatre struck me as being 
 much the best I had seen in London; there were a perfec- 
 
•23H 
 
 ISLINGTON. 
 
 tion, indeed, and unity in the company, and in the general 
 effect of the acting, which not a little reminded me of the 
 minor theatres of Paris. As for Liston, though the source 
 of so much and such immoderate mirth to others, he is said 
 to be of a very melancholy temperament himself, and only 
 to be at all happy and humorous when treading the stage. 
 His appearance sufficiently justifies this opinion; and his 
 moody, wo-begone physiognomy gives effect to his drollery, 
 and to the oddly-uttered jokes, at which he only does not 
 laugh. 
 
 Though I had been beguiled of my ennui, and greatly 
 amused by Liston, I retired, when the play was over, to my 
 lodgings, as sad as himself. I had brought with me to Lon- 
 don a chronic weakness of the eyes, contracted by winter 
 cruising in the Mediterranean, which, instead of improving 
 there, increased from day to day, prevented me from escap- 
 ing from the weariness of unoccupied time by reading, and 
 converted the amusement of the theatre, which alone re- 
 mained for my evenings, into a means of adding to my tor- 
 ture. 
 
 I was the bearer of abundant letters; but I knew that 
 most of those to whom they were addressed were absent 
 from town; and, in the little courage which I felt to en- 
 counter perfect strangers, I was willing to fancy that they 
 were all so, and failed altogether to inquire. If the reader 
 feel any sympathy for me, I may as well relieve him, by 
 jumping to the conclusion of it, and telling him how, a 
 year later than the period of which I write, I was entirely 
 cured of my malady by Mr. Alexander, the celebrated Lon- 
 don oculist, who, after hearing a statement of my case, and 
 after a moment's inspection, sent me away with a prescrip- 
 tion, which, at the end of a few months, restored me to the 
 complete use of the most valuable sense with which Divi- 
 nity has endowed us, and left me with a feeling of personal 
 
ISLINGTON. 
 
 gratitude to the skilful operator himself that will not easily 
 be effaced. I do not mention tins out of any pleasure which 
 I take in relating what only concerns me individually, but 
 because the reader might not otherwise be able to compre- 
 hend the peculiarity of my situation, and the circumstances, 
 personal to myself, which made England so much sadder 
 to me on this, my first visit, than it usually is to my country- 
 men, and which, at the end of a very few weeks, drove me 
 from it in search of more congenial scenes. With the use 
 of my eyes, and amusing books to read, I could have passed 
 a winter not merely in London, but in Lapland. 
 
 My eyes had become so much irritated since my arrival 
 in London, from the prevalence of smoke, and perhaps also 
 from too frequent attendance at the theatre, that I began to 
 feel the necessity of changing my mode of life forthwith. 
 I chanced to have living in Islington an esteemed relative, 
 who had been the friend and Mentor of my boyish days. 
 Being in delicate health, and finding, in the course of much 
 journeying, that the climate of England agreed with him 
 better than any other, which is, in fact, a very common 
 remark among Americans, he had retired to this suburb 
 of London to pass his days peacefully among his books. 
 This being in a high situation, to the north of the town, 
 with an open country on the side from which the wind 
 usually blows, is less canopied with smoke than any other 
 quarter. My friend fancied, on this account, that it would 
 be more suitable to me until my eyes should restore them- 
 selves, and prevailed upon me to accompany him to his 
 house. Here I passed a few days most agreeably, as well 
 as beneficially to my sight ; eschewing theatres, listening to 
 the perusal of a newspaper, or of some entertaining book, 
 instead of endeavouring to read myself, dozing quietly on a 
 sofa wheeled to the fire, or engaging in delightful conver- 
 sation about the half-forgotten events of other times. 
 
•210 
 
 ISLINGTON. 
 
 Occasionally, w hen the weather was fine, and the w ind 
 not high, which w as a combination of somewhat rare oc- 
 currence, we took a walk to the neighbouring villages of 
 Highgate or Holloway. In* this last place are some beauti- 
 fully-designed almshouses, originally founded by the famous 
 Whittington, and standing near the spot where, having 
 paused on his return to his native county, in despair of 
 finding employment in London, of which he had come in 
 search, he heard the merry chime of St. Mary's bells, and 
 fancied he could trace out the encouraging sounds, "Turn 
 again, Whittington — twice Lord Mayor of London!" He 
 took heart, turned back, and his name afterward mingled 
 honourably in the annals of the city. 
 
 These villages of Highgate and Holloway will soon be- 
 come incorporated, like Islington, with the all-absorbing 
 metropolis. It is in this way that the increase of the popu- 
 lation of London has been so extraordinary in late years, 
 and not entirely by positive development and augmentation. 
 London was, and still is, surrounded by many considerable 
 towns. By the mutual growth of it and of them, they 
 gradually run into each other, — the towns or villages losing 
 their distinctive limits and character, and being counted 
 thenceforth part of London, to whose population their own 
 is thus suddenly added. 
 
 When, on the contrary, as was more common, the wind 
 blew high, the sky lowered, and, intermixed with wind and 
 smoke, came down to hang its dark pall low over every 
 object, investing all things with its gloom, and tinging 
 whatever it touched with the hues of despondency, and 
 when, moreover, the rain paltered relentlessly, then, as an 
 only resource, I reclined in dreamy torpor and forgetful- 
 ness, lost in melancholy musings, or gazing the live- long 
 day half unconsciously from the window at the frequent 
 omnibuses, — the Sun — oh, sad misnomer! what but his ab- 
 
ISLINGTON 
 
 141 
 
 sence could have called to mind the joyous god of day ! — 
 the Times — the Champion — meaning, doubtless, Dutch 
 Sam, or the undaunted Jem Ward of pugilistic memory. 
 These rushed by with the merry sound of well-blown bugles, 
 the only notes of cheerfulness which came encouragingly 
 on the ear. Countless in number, too, were the stage- 
 coaches that whirled by, conveying daily their thousands of 
 passengers to Liverpool, Manchester, and all the counties 
 of the north. What toppling masses of trunks, baskets, 
 and bandboxes were there suspended behind, at the sides, 
 and piled high overall! And what a cargo, too, of live 
 lumber interspersed among these, — men, dogs, parrots, 
 and women! How strangely muffled in water-proof 
 M'Intoshes, cloaks, shawls, and comforters, and yet how 
 thoroughly soaked were the biped voyagers! Ho*w the 
 horses reeked, and how instinct was everything with mud 
 and misery. 
 
 In these my rambles over Islington and its pretty neigh- 
 bourhood, I made some remarks for myself, and was as- 
 sisted to others by the maturer observation of my friend, 
 concerning the habits and manners of the inhabitants of 
 this region, which excited my curiosity and tended to amuse 
 me. It seems that it is inhabited almost entirely by retired 
 tradespeople, a general phrase, which includes almost 
 every one in this country below the dignity of a gentleman, 
 or man living without occupation on his means, and on the 
 labours of his ancestors. People engaged in business here 
 have a sufficiently general practice, which it were well that 
 we imitated in America, of realizing their property the 
 moment they have secured a competence, and, investing it 
 in some safe and convenient w T ay, so as to yield them a mo- 
 derate interest, retiring either ^ the country or to some 
 suburban situation, where they may compass the luxury of 
 a garden-spot, there to pass the evening of their days in 
 
 1G 
 
242 
 
 ISLINGTON. 
 
 tranquillity, fn the neighbourhood of Islington there are 
 many pretty and modest villas thus inhabited, and in the 
 town itself frequent ranges of dwellings, called places or 
 terraces, which are constructed on a uniform design, fre- 
 quently standing back from the road, and having verandas 
 in front, with a common garden laid out for the resort of 
 the inmates. These houses, though mostly unpainted and 
 of a gloomy hue without, gave evidence within of great 
 neatness and comfort. The windows were tastefully cur- 
 tained, having blinds to obstruct the gaze of passers in the 
 street, or else the same effect more tastefully produced bv 
 means of shrubs and flowers, amid which hung the frequent 
 prison-house of lark or canary. 
 
 Some of these retired citizens keep lumbering carriages, 
 covered with heavy armorial bearings. Here there are no 
 equipages with simple ciphers, or without arms of some 
 sort, which are generally largely and glaringly painted, 
 and conspicuous in the inverse ratio of the established dig- 
 nity of the aspirant. One of the earliest uses that is made 
 of wealth is to pay a handsome fee to a herald, for the con- 
 trivance of an elegant coat of arms. 
 
 There is one thing, however, in which they evince more 
 sense than we do, that is, in never setting up a coach until 
 their fortune entitles them to do so. Each graduates his 
 expenses nicely to his means; if they do not justify the ex- 
 travagance of a pair, he contents himself with an enormous 
 fly, a species of close carriage, drawn by one horse, and of 
 which two horses would stand in awe over our rugged 
 pavements. Others rejoice in the possession of a huge 
 phaeton, capable of containing the entire household, which 
 is drawn by a single family horse, a meek-spirited jade, 
 which jogs along with a mill-horse perseverance — an air 
 of motiveless and heartless dulness, in happy accordance 
 with the heavy, stupid looks of the group which he drags 
 
ISLINGTON. 
 
 249 
 
 after him. Here and there antiquated cobs, which in their 
 younger days had carried their impatient masters to the 
 scene of money-making in a twinkling, now crept over the 
 ground calmly, contrasting singularly with the rapid move- 
 ments of the young traders, the sons probably of the former 
 in many instances, who, starting in life on their own ac- 
 count, seemed to be full of motive, and as greedy to gain 
 time as the others were anxious to consume it. 
 
 Those, indeed, who had achieved the competence which 
 had been the cherished object of their hopes, seemed to be 
 far more miserable than those who were in pursuit of it. 
 The retired trader was ever ready to pull up his equally 
 willing steed, which had learned, by long practice, to adapt 
 itself to the habits of its master, to talk, with some equally 
 time-ridden worthy, of trade and the stocks. Others 
 lounged at the corners, or before their doors, speaking in 
 monosyllabes or speaking not at all, and gazing with vacant 
 and envious stare upon the passing whirl of the busier po- 
 pulation. It was difficult, indeed, to imagine people more 
 evidently at loss and out of tune. The retirement and 
 competence which they had sighed for through the earlier 
 years of a busy life, seemed to have become, by robbing 
 them of their occupation, the source of their misery. 
 
 Perhaps the morning, with its freshness of sensations, 
 physical and moral, agreeably ministered to by breakfast, 
 and the newspaper, which circulated from house to house at 
 the cheap rate of a shilling the week, was the season in their 
 existence freest from corroding ennui, and coming nearest 
 to a negative something that might be called happiness. 
 The long interval to dinner and the joint, though broken 
 by luncheon and a walk, perchance made in unconscious 
 habit to the crowded region of the City, or in bad weather 
 passed in vacant gaze from the window, was yet, doubt- 
 less, to thtm, one of awful duration. Dinner was succeeded 
 
 la* 
 
214 
 
 ISLINGTON. 
 
 by another fatal pause, until the timely tea resisted in good 
 season the growing drowsiness. The rubber of whist, eked 
 out by dummie, if the smallness of the family circle made 
 his assistance indispensable, gave the mercy-stroke to the 
 day, which finished with them as it began, with a war 
 against time, implacably carried on. Such, as far as I could 
 learn or observe for myself, is the daily picture of the life 
 of the retired citizen of London. 
 
 Where there is social intercourse, with familiar and un- 
 ceremonious visits, the stranger can at once discover it in 
 a passing glance. Here, from day to day, and through the 
 livelong night, the most watchful eye could detect no traces 
 of congregation. Here were no rush of carriages, no clang 
 of knockers, no slamming doors, no lively hum of chatter- 
 mg voices, no spirit-stirring violin. The musical entertain- 
 ments of the neighbourhood were eonfined to an occasional 
 "Rule Britannia," "God save the King," " Buy a Broom," 
 or "Yankee Doodle," dolorously ground forth by monkey- 
 aided Savoyards from hand-organ or hurdy-gurdy. 
 
 Occasionally, as the patriotic bosom of gouty bachelor 
 orshirvelled old maid was touched by the strains which 
 have power to enkindle enthusiasm even in the most torpid 
 English feelings, a window might be seen to open at either 
 side of the street, and a swollen or skin-dried hand emerge 
 to throw a penny's worth of gratification to the industrious 
 grinder. Once, when I saw such a coincidence, I could not 
 help thinking that, with this identity of tastes, had the 
 habits of society and the existence of social intercourse 
 favoured the coming together of this sympathetic pair, 
 they might in earlier years have rushed into each other's 
 arms, and, joining their means and their establishments, 
 furnished each other with comfort and joy. When the 
 hurdy-gurdy ceased to charm, a piano might be heard 
 responding, in well-struck measure, with "Paddy Carey,' 
 
ISLINGTON. 
 
 24j 
 
 or " All the blue bonnets are over the border." Other 
 sounds of joy there were none, and stillness and a placid 
 calm reigned here for ever. 
 
 But perhaps it would be wrong to say that the whole 
 year revolves for them in joyless and unbroken monotony. 
 One should at least except the annual visit to the theatre, 
 to see the King and Queen at the play, when is presented 
 the singular spectacle of an immense house, crowded with 
 living masses from pit to gallery, with two people looking 
 at the entertainment, and all the rest looking at them. It 
 is on this occasion, more than any other, that they nourish 
 that sentiment of loyalty which is natural to every English 
 bosom, and which, evincing itself in love and veneration to 
 one individual, is yet, though perhaps unknown to him 
 who feels it, only a concentration of patriotism, an ardent 
 love of country, fixing itself on the man who represents its 
 sovereignty, and who is, as it were, only England itself 
 personified. When an Englishman listens with rapture to 
 that noble anthem, " God save the King," it is not attach- 
 ment to a bloated profligate, such as George IV., that ani- 
 mates and lifts him to the clouds, but rather the thought of 
 England, with her greatness and her triumphs, which kin- 
 dles the glow at his heart. 
 
 It is on occasions such as these, then, that the r eti red 
 citizen indulges in an enthusiasm which is a contradiction 
 to the whole tenour of his daily life. In a country where 
 castes and classes of society occupy more of men's thoughts, 
 and modify in a greater degree their manners, than in any 
 other, he feels himself elevated into unwonted dignity and 
 self-estimation at finding himself admitted to sit at the same 
 entertainment, and, as it were, to feel towards a real and 
 live king that sense of equality which, though habitually 
 extinguished within him, is yet the most ardent of man's 
 aspirations. Here, too, he is wound up to a pitch of ecstasy 
 
210 
 
 ISLINGTON 
 
 the most grandly ludicrous that can be conceived, at the 
 spectacle of a queen drinking a cup of tea just like a com- 
 mon person. 
 
 This is the citizens' jubilee, — this their annual holyday, 
 — purchased by the endurance of a year made up of mo- 
 notonous days, succeeded by nights yet more monotonous. 
 They would die, as they doubtless often do, of apathy, 
 were it not for the abiding excitement kept alive by the 
 perpetual dread of being robbed and murdered, and the in- 
 terest derived from their nightly precautions against such a 
 consummation; from bolting and chaining the doors, seeing 
 the window-bells set in a condition to sound should a thief 
 attempt to break in and steal, and taking good care that 
 the rattle is in readiness by the bedside, to spring suddenly, 
 if necessary, at the window, and bring the assistance of the 
 watch. Such a life must necessarily produce singular and 
 unbounded eccentricity of character, and would, if studied, 
 furnish the oddest and most varied subjects to the drama- 
 tist. It begets, in many cases, disease of both mind and 
 body, inducing every species of hypochondria, and lead- 
 ing to the swallowing of the thousand pills and philtres 
 which are the prevailing taste of the land, until at length 
 the fear of dying drives them to self-slaughter. 
 
 It has often been said that a great city is a great solitude. 
 Of none is this so entirely true as of London ; for the dread 
 of intercourse, and the fear of contamination, must act 
 either upwards or downwards in the case of every one, 
 where the grades and classes are as numerous as the indi- 
 viduals, each of whom comes armed to the conflict with his 
 separate and peculiar pretensions. The evils that result 
 from this life of isolation are unbounded. It must not only 
 be productive of much misery, but of vice also. The young 
 women, returning from the boarding-school with such 
 lessons of virtue as they may have learned there, pass their 
 
ISLINGTON 
 
 •217 
 
 lime in a corroding solitude, the prey of that ill-nature 
 which develops itself in families that are strangers to the 
 checks of social intercourse and observation. Meantime 
 they continue their daily walks to the nearest circulating 
 library, and come home charged with novels and romances, 
 which, instead of strengthening and giving a healthy tone 
 to the mind, fill it with artificial notions and preposterous 
 views of life, which there is no real observation of the 
 world to disprove and counteract, — thus delivering it up to 
 false and fanciful day-dreams and unreal reveries. With 
 little opportunity, in the well-nigh total absence of social 
 intercourse, of forming a virtuous and well-judged attach- 
 ment, they must be content, in general, to take such 
 husbands as Providence may send them ; and without the 
 enlightening and guiding advantage of public opinion, 
 which in society assigns to each pretender his proper 
 position, must be content to choose at hazard, with the 
 obvious risk of falling into the hands of adventurers and 
 sharpers. 
 
 Hence the frequency of those runaway matches, which, 
 contracted in opposition to the will of parents, discreet 
 to choose and sedulous of the happiness of a daughter, al- 
 most invariably become the prelude to a life of misery and 
 wretchedness. Hence, too, in constitutions where the 
 yearning for matrimony is ungovernably fervid, the dispo- 
 sition to fall in love, where there is a positive necessity to 
 fall in love with somebody, with some comely and well-fed 
 servant, be he butler, groom, or coachman, and the de- 
 plorable frequency of preposterous misalliances, and often 
 of something worse. The liberty of manners which here 
 permits the solitary and unwatched rambles of females of a 
 tender age, furnishes facility for vice which is not always 
 neglected. Moreover, where there is no social intercourse, 
 there can be nothing of that social restraint, and of public 
 
248 
 
 ISLINGTON. 
 
 opinion omnipotently acting upon all within its reach. I 
 do not know that the case is any better in instances where 
 all these dangers are triumphantly avoided, and solitary 
 females, surviving their parents and all who were near to 
 them, grow old in unsullied maidenhood, drying up and 
 withering, mere useless and unproductive vines and barren 
 fig-trees. 
 
 Many such victims of the want of social intercourse and 
 intermixture were to be found in Islington. Unfortunate 
 spinsters, whose minds were crowded with a thousand 
 corroding cares, and assailed each night by groundless 
 terrors of robbery and violence. For the most part they 
 seemed to he devoted to religion, going regularly, tippeted 
 and muffed, with their prayer-books, whenever the bells of 
 St. Mary's chimed for prayers or sermon. To console 
 themselves for their carnal bereavement, they seemed, one 
 and all, to have made themselves, as the nuns in Spain say, 
 esposas de Christo. As they could not, however, pray 
 all the time, they contrived to amuse themselves with se- 
 veral pets, such as singing-birds, cats, dogs, and parrots. 
 One of them, opposite us, passed much of her time at the 
 window, watching for the arrival of the cats'-meat man, 
 and stroking a huge tabby. She seemed to find much 
 comfort in this; yet, after all, a cat is an insufficient substi- 
 tute for a husband. "Women," says the learned Dr. 
 Lieber, in illustrating the bad consequences of the frequent 
 and prolonged mourning in use in America, as it tends 
 to keep our young ladies out of society, which he looks 
 upon as a species of matrimonial market, — "Women," 
 says the learned cyclopaedist, "are born to be married." 
 Agreeing with him, as I do most perfectly, it is on this 
 ground that I object entirely to this life of separation, and 
 the whole system of retired citizenship in Islington, prayer- 
 books and tabby cats included. 
 
ISLINGTON. 
 
 Of all the various classes of people in England, these 
 retired citizens are they who would gain most by emigration 
 to America. Any of those who live obscurely and humbly 
 in Islington, might lead a life of elegance and luxury on 
 the noble banks of the Hudson. There, in a healthful 
 climate, strangers to all noxious exhalations, and in the 
 presence of whatever is beautiful or grand in natural 
 scenery, one of these men might, for the sum of five 
 thousand pounds, become possessor of an estate of three 
 or four hundred acres, capable, by tolerable cultivation, 
 of rendering an interest of six or eight per cent, upon the 
 purchase-money. 
 
 Fixing upon one of the thousand unimproved sites that 
 are scattered up and down the lordly stream, he might 
 build from marble or granite, quarried on the river itself, 
 such a villa as he pleased. Instead of planting for the 
 benefit of his descendants, he might cut down and fashion 
 to his mind the dense groves of oak, sycamore, maple, 
 locust, hemlock, and hickory, as they have been tastefully 
 intermingled by the hand of nature ; and might indulge, 
 to his heart's content, in those sweetly rural tastes that 
 are so entirely English. Or, if he were indifferent to the 
 exercise of the creative power, he might purchase a place 
 already habitable, and having a confortable mansion on it, 
 and well-improved grounds, capable of yielding at once 
 the same interest, for six or seven thousand pounds. 
 
 Here he might live as secluded as in London itself. If 
 he had a taste for stocks, he might go to Wall-street, though 
 a hundred miles off, in eight hours, and get double the 
 interest for his money that he could in London, and on better 
 security too, — the security of a solvent government and of 
 unexhausted resources. He could always get the Times a 
 month old, and might keep on railing against radicalism, 
 which here would no longer have power to threaten his 
 
250 
 
 ISLINGTON 
 
 property, or terrify him with the dread of convulsions to 
 come. Here, too, he might indulge for ever in the privilege 
 dear to the heart of every middling Englishman, of grum- 
 bling at everything he saw, of damning the country he was 
 in, and praising the fast-anchored isle he had left behind him. 
 He might go on indulging in the most injurious comparisons, 
 deploring the insecurity of a country which had no national 
 debt to keep it together, and no taxation, no immense 
 subsidies to kings, king's brothers, and unnumbered pen- 
 sioners, "all, look you, to be spent in the country, which 
 you know makes the money circulate, and keeps the work- 
 ing-people busy, do you see." He might curse our transpa- 
 rent heavens, our deep blue sky, our far-extended vistas, 
 with nobly-swelling mountains, remotely distant, yet so 
 palpably seen as seemingly to be within the reach of the 
 hand, and sigh for congenial mists, and rains, and unbroken 
 levels. Here, too, he would lose his sense of inferiority, 
 his dear distinction of classes and castes, the pleasure 
 which a pariah may feel in licking the dust which a bramin 
 has just honoured with his tread, in the admiration of the 
 nobly great, in the rapture of being permitted to look full 
 in the face a Sir John, or even a My Lord, in a committee - 
 room or at a cattle-show, and all the manifold enjoyments 
 of toad-eating and of sycophancy. 
 
 But what would be the prospects of his children ? They 
 would grow up in a country which offers an unbounded 
 field for energy and talent. There he might provide for a 
 hundred children as for one, though there be no place or 
 office to be begged, and no favours to be asked, save from 
 one's own exertions. If the father himself were unfitted 
 to associate with the gentlemen of equal means around 
 him, unaccustomed as they are to superiors, and haters 
 of servile vulgarity, not so his children. By sending them 
 from home, and secluding them from his own society, they 
 
ISLINGTON 
 
 25! 
 
 would grow up with independence and manliness of thought, 
 and dignified elevation of character. They would learn to 
 speak good English, to feel nobly, and to act accordingly ; 
 and finally enter upon life with a sense of independence, 
 claiming for itself no distinction, yet conscious of no in- 
 feriority, a proud feeling of equality, and a republican 
 simplicity of manners, which in England is only the at- 
 tribute of one class, and that class the highest. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 DRIVE TO BRIGHTON. 
 
 Dart Coach — Scene at Starting — Suburbs — Benevolent Institutions — 
 Rural Tastes of Englishmen — Scenes at the Roadside — Fellow-TTa- 
 vellers— Their Conversation — Brighton— Church— Albion Hotel. 
 
 I had been a fortnight in London, when a countryman 
 of my own, whom I was already prepared to like, and for 
 whom I afterward contracted a warm friendship, which I 
 still continue to cherish, proposed to me, as a change of 
 scene, a short trip to Brighton, in which he offered to ac- 
 company me. Having gladly accepted this offer, I joined 
 him at his house in Regent's Park, and we went together, 
 at the appointed hour, to the coach-office in Oxford-street. 
 The coach was the Dart. It was hung very low, on the 
 new safety plan, as it is called, the bottom of the body 
 being not more than a couple of feet from the ground, and 
 the circle of which one would describe an arc in falling, 
 in the event of a summerset, being of course proportionably 
 small. 
 
 Though the weather was fine, and the drive only of six 
 hours, my companion, who knew the climate, decided that 
 it would be most safe for us to go inside. This is a dis- 
 agreeable alternative, as the interior of the English coaches 
 
DRIVE TO BRIGHTON 
 
 2f,3 
 
 offers very scanty room for Four persons of even ordinary 
 size, and, being perfectly closed everywhere, furnishes the 
 traveller with barely such imperfect vistas of the country 
 he passes through, as may be rapidly caught from a narrow 
 window on either side. 
 
 A pair of worn-out horses, driven by a second-rate sort 
 of coachman, conveyed us from Oxford-street to the grand 
 starling-place, in Piccadilly. Here we took up the rest of 
 our passengers and luggage. The make-shift horses and 
 coachman were dismissed with ignominy; four active 
 grooms led out each a mettled hunter, disabled for the 
 chase, yet still full of spirit and energy. The coachman, a 
 portly personage, well clad, with muffled neck, well- 
 brushed hat, a heavy coat hanging over his arm, and his 
 whip held with the air of an adept, and who had, in no 
 slight degree, the appearance of having been born for 
 something better, stood calmly superintending the labours 
 of the hostlers, while the guard, having carefully attended 
 to the disposition of the luggage, and of all the various 
 packets and parcels to be delivered on the road, or at the 
 end of the journey, now ascended to his station at the back 
 of the coach, and taking up his bugle, blew forth a sweet 
 and animating blast. 
 
 The merry sounds, even more than the favourite spec- 
 tacle presented by the starting of a coach, quickly drew 
 together a vast crowd of the idle of the neighbour- 
 hood, or such as happened to pass that way. There were 
 soldiers from the palace, grooms in well-polished suits of 
 fustian, proud and disdainful servants in their masters' 
 livery, and beggars, who were humble in their own 
 Here, too, were eloquent Irishmen offering for sale, in 
 words of soft persuasion, the newspapers of the day, the 
 map of the road to Brighton, the Comic Annual, and 
 quantities of absurdly-ludicrous caricatures. 
 
254 
 
 DKIVE TO BRIGHTON 
 
 I exchanged a piece of silver for a handful of these. They 
 wanted the masterly drawing and extravagant oddity of 
 Cruikshank, and the grace, spirit, ingenuity, and gentle- 
 manlike observance of good taste and propriety that chara- 
 terize the inimitable political sketches of H. B., in which 
 the wit and satire of many paragraphs are conveyed far 
 more vividly and distinctly to the mind, by a single glance 
 of the eye ; yet they had still a certain cleverness of their 
 own, and a fund of coarse, broad humour, which is charac- 
 teristic of the land. The tatterdemalion crew around us, 
 captivated, like the rest, by the soft strains of the musician, 
 suspended for a moment their vociferation, and anold groom, 
 who was smoking, with his hands in his pockets, beside the 
 coach, was so lulled into forgetful ness, that he fairly suf- 
 fered his pipe to go out. When the tune was over, however, 
 he betrayed no vexation, but turning to his next neighbour 
 to light it, said, " Dom it, Bobbie, that be a game chap; he, 
 blows like a good un." 
 
 And now the coachman was on his box ; the ribands 
 were in his hand and nicely adjusted ; a flirt of these and a 
 single crack of the whip set us in motion ; each groom re- 
 leasing the horse which he had been holding, remained in 
 possession of the blanket, twitched suddenly from the back 
 of the bounding animal. Onward we sped to Charing 
 Cross, and hence at a rapid rate towards Westminster 
 Bridge. As we passed the Horse Guards, where two soldiers 
 of the Blues, in casque and cuirass, sat as sentinels, mo- 
 tionless, on their coal-black chargers, our guard struck up 
 " God save the King." I admire this noble national anthem, 
 and I sympathize with the feeling which it awakens in the 
 bosom of every honest Englishman, — a feeling, not, as one 
 might fancy, of servile attachment to the person of any in- 
 dividual, but made up wholly of pride and patriotism, an 
 ardent love of country stimulated by the recollection of her 
 
DHIVE TO BRIGHTON. 253 
 
 Howes, her Collingwoods, and her Nelsons, and whatever 
 of greatness and of glory Old England has achieved. 
 
 We made our way without accident, and with admirable 
 address, through the thronged thoroughfare, to the Elephant 
 and Castle, and so onward, traversing a suburb which pro- 
 mised to be interminable. The ranges of houses, ceasing 
 occasionally to be continuous, were built in rows and ter- 
 races, with attention to architectural effect. These were 
 interspersed at frequent intervals with stately and extensive 
 edifices, devoted to the uses of charity, and having for object 
 the solace and alleviation of some one of the thousand ills 
 that flesh is heir to. Many of these had their origin in the 
 spirit of association, impelled by a pervading and active hu- 
 manity ; more were pointed out to me as having been 
 founded by individuals of enormous fortune, the result 
 of their own efforts, and of a life of frugal and persevering 
 industry. 
 
 It were an odious task to inquire in how many cases 
 these noble institutions sprang from the promptings of a 
 pure and unsullied benevolence — in how many from the 
 vanity of immortalizing a hitherto unhonoured name. Even 
 the vanity of being remembered through all ages, as the be- 
 nefactor of our fellow-men, is it not in itself, and still more 
 so when compared witb the thousand other vanities which 
 impel our efforts to live in the recollection of those who are 
 to come after us, a fit subject for commendation ? 
 
 At any rate, whatever be the actuating motives to bene- 
 volence, in no country is it so abounding as in England. 
 Wherever the eye is turned, it rests upon lordly edifices 
 consecrated to the alleviation of misery. This is not the 
 place to inquire in how great a degree this mass of misery 
 to be alleviated may have had its origin in the unequal 
 distribution of the fruits of labour, and in a compunctious 
 wish for retribution, urging the rich to render back to the 
 
DRIVE TO BRIGHTON. 
 
 poor something of that whereof an exclusive and oppressive 
 legislation, acting ever in the interests of property, may 
 have robbed them. It is sufficient here to call to mind 
 the fact, that there has been only one Howard, and that he 
 was an Englishman. 
 
 If there were much to indicate the attention of the rich 
 to the comfort of the miserable, there was, of course, more 
 to show that they were not unmindful of their own. On 
 reaching the more open country, we passed at each instant 
 some pretty villa of a retired citizen, the lit abode of a 
 happy and contented competence. If there be anything 
 that I covet for my countrymen, it is the sweetly rural 
 tastes of the children of this land, and their rooted love of 
 retirement from the city's din to the seclusion of groves and 
 gardens. If, as I believe, the tendency of a life passed 
 amid crowds, confusion, the intimate and indiscriminate 
 contact with the eager and mammon-seeking throng that 
 congregate in cities, and all the manifold horrors that are 
 to be found in smoke, dust, noise, omnibuses, and disgust- 
 ful surroundings, is to uproot the natural affections and to 
 corrupt the heart ; so, on the contrary, do I believe that an 
 existence gently gliding away amid the scenes of nature, 
 and the calm and tranquil occupation of some rural abode, 
 must oppositely and equally contribute to develop whatever 
 is generous within us, and to give elevation and purity to 
 the sentiments, and dignity to the character. 
 
 It is therefore that I would wish to see cherished among 
 us tastes calculated to develop virtues so essentially re- 
 publican. And if I were now to seek for generous and 
 honourable feelings in my country, it would not be 
 among the crowds who congregate in cities about gilded 
 liberty caps, to shout their anathemas against the sovereign- 
 ty of the people, but rather among our honest and native- 
 born yeomanry, at once cultivators and proprietors of the 
 
DRIVE TO BRIGHTON. 
 
 *57 
 
 soil, who constitute the best safeguard of the sacred right a 
 of property and of American liberty. 
 
 The country over which we passed was nearly without 
 mountains, or anything that rose even to the dignity of a 
 hill. Its character of monotony was, however, relieved by 
 gentle undulations, along which the road wound mean- 
 dering, and by the beautifying effect of art, everywhere 
 visible in the effort to produce what was either useful 
 or agreeable. The labour of cultivation was everywhere 
 carried on with neatness as well as care. The fields were 
 all enclosed with hedges, interspersed with trees ; and 
 where the plough had been used, the furrows were drawn 
 with the nicest exactness. The farmhouses were anti- 
 quated stone buildings, with an air of comfort, and some 
 show of taste ; flowers were blooming in the windows, 
 there were evergreens and shrubbery about the doors, to 
 banish the idea of winter, fruit-trees were trained against 
 the walls, and the gables were overrun with ivy. The men 
 seemed, in general, sturdy and well-grown ; the women 
 plump and tidy ; and the children, which were sufficiently 
 numerous to show that the injunction to increase and 
 multiply was not unheeded in the land, were healthy and 
 clean, and full of mischief and cheerfulness. 
 
 The country-houses, of a more modest character, were 
 frequent; and the more imposing forms of aristocratic 
 mansions were occasionally caught sight of, in the seclu- 
 sion of a greater distance from the road, through the leaf- 
 less branches of the trees. These were ever surrounded 
 with extensive parks, tastefully planted in easy imitation of 
 nature, having occasional clumps of trees interspersed over 
 the smooth lawn, and close thickets for the preservation of 
 game. The trees were by no means various in kind. 
 Though collected anc| planted with studious care, there were 
 
DRIVE TO BRIGHTON. 
 
 not, perhaps, one tenth of the varieties that start up spon- 
 taneously in cur American forests. The elm occurred 
 the most frequently, with a few beach, oak, and stunted 
 pines. 
 
 T^hey were, for the most part, knotty, scrubby, and irre- 
 gular in their growth, as compared with the tall, graceful, 
 columnar, and infinitely-varied forms which delight the eye 
 in our forests ; and it seemed to me, from their whole ap- 
 pearance, that, in addition to the want of the vivifying nou- 
 rishment of the sun, their growth was checked by the incle- 
 mency of the weather, and the high winds causing them to 
 assume that crooked and knarled form, which is, however, 
 valuable for the uses of ship-building. The trees, with the 
 exception of a few evergreens, were, of course, destitute of 
 leaves; but the grass exhibited a verdure which the season 
 would not have permitted with us, and still furnished pas- 
 ture to herds of beautiful cattle, and flocks of overgrown 
 sheep, which moved with some difficulty under the added 
 weight of so much flesh and wool. 
 
 Our road led us through many large towns. Villages 
 and smaller collections of population were more rare. 
 There were, however, a few of great beauty, having very 
 antiquated parish churches, which, from the various and 
 blended character of their architecture, might have owed 
 their existence, in its present state, to the patchwork con- 
 tributions of every succeeding century, from the time of 
 the Conquest. 
 
 At one of these places was a venerable village oak, and 
 one of the passengers said something about its trunk hav- 
 ing been used as a school-room. Though not to compare 
 with the patriarchal trees of my own country, when one 
 has the good fortune to get far enough from the haunts of 
 civilized man to see one of them, or the famous chestnuts 
 
DRIVE TO BRIGHTON 
 
 269 
 
 that flourish on the side of Etna, — such, tor instance, as 
 the noted Castagno a cento cavalli, — yet still its dimensions 
 were sufficiently respectable to attract admiration. 
 
 The groups that filled the road were sufficiently varied 
 and picturesque, and the scene which it presented was 
 moving and animated. I was not so fortunate as to see a 
 fox-chace, but I had a glimpse, beyond Croydon, at some 
 of the consequences of one. We met a number of gentle- 
 men returning from what seemed to have been a hard run, 
 for their horses were sadly jaded. Many bore marks of 
 having been down, both horse and rider : and one luck- 
 less wight was as thoroughly drenched and mud-covered 
 as if he had been dragged through a dozen horse-ponds. 
 This, however, was not likely to tame the energy with 
 which the English gentry pursue this manly and animating 
 sport ; a bath, a change of apparel, and a good dinner, 
 with the adventures of the day, and all its battles fought 
 again over his wine, were sure to give heart to the most 
 ill-used of these to figure at the succeeding M meet." 
 
 The effect of the gay dress of these huntsmen, the top- 
 boots, the white breeches, and, above all, the red coat, as 
 seen at the turnings of the road, or emerging from behind 
 an intersecting wood, was pleasing, and fraught with ex- 
 citement. As we paused at the solitary inns for a moment to 
 water the horses, and give time to the coachman to drain 
 the foaming tankard which was presented to him, I was 
 carried back to the olden time by the quaintness of the 
 antiquated signs, in general no longer painted, indeed, in 
 these march-of-mind days, when every body can read, but 
 written out in full — The Black Horse, The Beggar's Bush, 
 or The Jolly Tanner. 
 
 Perhaps I should say something of my fellow-travellers 
 of the interior. Besides my companion, there was a rich 
 
DRIVE TO BRIGHTON 
 
 banker, a man of much note in the city. He was a Jew, and 
 an unbelieving one, indeed ; for he did not seem to have 
 placed any more faith in Moses than he did in Jesus Christ. 
 He was full of cleverness and intelligence, both natural and 
 acquired ; for he added the sprightliness and versatility of 
 youth to the experience and observation of a very mature 
 age. It was quite frightful to hear the tenets of such un- 
 measured infidelity put forth with a calm indifference, and 
 yet with so much ingenuity. What, however, made his 
 mode of thinking in religion the more extraordinary, was 
 the perfectly orthodox character of his opinions as a politi- 
 cian. He was a thorough Church-and-King man, and an 
 undoubting and uncompromising Tory. As a Jew, exclud- 
 ed from any participation in the benefits of a church, to 
 which, as a proprietor, he doubtless contributed most ex- 
 tensively, and from any influence in the conduct of a go- 
 vernment which he was yet called on to support, such 
 opinions might seem inconsistent and paradoxical. 
 
 And yet the man argued from a just perception of his 
 own well-understood interests. He was like him, of whom 
 we read in the New Testament, in which he did not believe, 
 who could not see the truth because he was very rich. 
 He had much property, and was a great fundholder, and 
 therefore contemplated with dismay the prospect of any 
 change in the present order of things, or any revolution 
 calculated to interfere, or open the door to interference, 
 with vested rights, to shake the tottering and unsubstantial 
 fabric of that public credit in which his own was involved, 
 and to take from property its present overwhelming pre- 
 ponderance. Of course he was an arrant infidel in the 
 virtue and excellence of our republican institutions, and 
 in the conservative vitality of a system which admits labour 
 to some share in the state, thereby securing its weary sons 
 
DRIVE TO BRIGHTON. 
 
 261 
 
 a just portion of the profits of their toil, instead of trans- 
 ferring all beyond a mere grudging and exiguous subsis- 
 tence, to the coffers of a moneyed oligarchy. 
 
 Our fourth traveller was a man of very different de- 
 scription, who yet, from community of interests, had some 
 sympathy with the Jew. He was a good-natured cockney, 
 full of city slang, and not deficient in humour. After 
 attaining the age of manhood in the heart of London, and 
 growing up in the full belief of all those prescribed opinions 
 which the mass of Englishmen receive from each other, 
 with somewhat less reservation than they subscribe to the 
 thirty-nine articles, he had been led to America by some 
 speculations which had a very fortunate result, and re- 
 mained there during many years. He was the owner of 
 property in both countries; and the different burdens he 
 was subjected to in one and the other, and the very dif- 
 ferent balances of interest he from time to time received, 
 suggested the most embarrassing additions to his stock of 
 previously-conceived opinions. 
 
 His mind now exhibited a strange lumber-room, filled 
 with notions as heterogeneous as the contents of the till of 
 a seaman's chest, stuffed with the discordant contributions 
 of a dozen climes ; church-and-state maxims; loyalty to 
 the king; the advantages of an aristocracy, and the benefit 
 of having a class to look up to — a feeling which is so elo- 
 quently advocated by that mirror of pride and chivalry, 
 Captain Basil Hall — and the benefit to be derived from 
 the vast expenditure of a costly government, the money ail 
 remaining in the country, and keeping up a circulation 
 there, were strangely blended in his mind, with quaint, com- 
 mon-sense notions which he had picked up in America 
 about religious equality ; the absence of all other distinc- 
 tions than those of personal merit and respectability; exemp- 
 tion from tithes, taxes, and poor-rates, and the benefits of 
 
262 
 
 DRIVE TO BRIGHTON. 
 
 cheap government. In America, he said, we had neither 
 pensions, unless for undoubted services rendered to the 
 state, sinecures, nor poor-laws, by which the laborious 
 are made to support the idle. This advantage he ascribed 
 to the circumstance of our having the benefit of the expe- 
 rience of the old country to guide us ; illustrating our po- 
 sition most humorously by saying, that " America is just 
 like that king — what do you call him — who was born with 
 teeth ; or that man they tell about, who dove overboard 
 naked and came up with a cocked hat on his head." Among 
 such things as he did not like in America, was the too 
 great precocity of our American youth. He said the boys 
 with us were all little miniature men, destitute of all proper 
 awe of their superiors. In England, on the contrary, the 
 whip broke their unruly spirit in season, and taught them 
 to be obedient, subordinate, and loyal. " The rod," said 
 he, " teaches obedience, and the use of money, as they 
 grow up, to be comfortable." 
 
 Our cockney was a neat, clean, comfortable little man 
 of a certain age, extremely well preserved, having a 
 round bullet head, with scattering gray hair, a rosy face, 
 the nose on which told of the daily pint of port, and a 
 small cunning eye, which he winked knowingly when he 
 said anything that was particularly acute. Though chat- 
 tering, fussy, and betraying perpetual impatience by the 
 frequency with which he looked at his watch, and stretch- 
 ed from the coach window to see how far we had come, 
 he was yet, on the whole, both amiable and amusing ; and, 
 though evidently feeling very complacent towards himself, 
 he was yet not unmindful of what was due to the self- 
 complacency of others. This he evinced by taking our part 
 against the Jew in the political discussion, which was very 
 necessary, for my companion had been too long in the 
 country to permit himself to become impatient on these 
 
DRIVE TO BRIGHTON. 
 
 2(33 
 
 subjects, and I, though not wholly without a set of received 
 opinions of my own, had no desire to make proselytes to 
 republicanism, felt no obligation to spread the truth, or 
 to convert, or to unsettle men's opinions, had I been able, 
 and had no taste for argument of any sort. 
 
 There was, however, one subject in the discussion upon 
 America, in which these disputants most entirely agreed. 
 This was the war then waging between General Jackson and 
 the Banl^ of the United States. Both of them were deeply 
 interested as stockolders in that institution ; the fussy little 
 man to the amount of a hundred thousand dollars, and the 
 Jew to a much greater. Now, certainly, it was not very 
 considerate towards them, to break up a solvent and flourish- 
 ing institution, which furnished them with an interest of 
 seven per cent., and give them back their money to be vested 
 in funds which, while they would only yield them half that 
 interest, or even something less, might be sent at once to 
 the devil, and turned into chaff, by the consequence of 
 war without, or the breaking out of a revolution within. It 
 would have been most unreasonable, then, to expect any 
 other than one coinciding opinion between them, and this, 
 of course, most damnatory of the iron General. 
 
 I was necessarily mystified by their reasonings about ex- 
 changes, the regulation of credit, and the salutary checks 
 to over-trading, which were all to me as unintelligible as 
 Hebrew. But when they came to talk about the security 
 of the moneyed interests, the representation of property, 
 and the preponderance of capital for its own protection, and 
 I — while they carried out their deductions, in one sense, 
 concerning the dread of democracy, the sweeping devasta- 
 tion of a rabble inundation, and the horrors of an agrarian 
 law — pursuing mine in a directly opposite sense, contem- 
 plated the effects of such a system in elevating the rich and 
 crushing the poor, and bringing about, by means of the 
 
DRIVE TO BRIGHTON 
 
 systematic usurpation of those powers of government which 
 society delegates in the interests and for the general hap- 
 piness of all, such frightful and preposterous disparities of 
 fortunes, from which misery can find no outlet of escape, 
 and which award to toil no other reward than the privilege 
 still to toil on for ever, I could not help glorying in the live- 
 and-let-live system of my own country, and honouring the 
 magnanimity of that man who, discovering in a rich corpo- 
 ration the disposition to control the suffrage, and usurp 
 the sovereignty of the people, had dared to stand singly 
 forward as the champion of the poor, and to send back, as 
 the constitution permitted him to do, for reconsideration, 
 the solemn verdict of the representatives of the people. 
 
 I have neither taste nor turn for argument ; but, by a 
 strange perverseness, I have a singular facility, in listening 
 to the arguments of others, to be convinced sometimes in 
 the directly opposite sense from what they intended. This 
 occurred to me now, and led me first to doubt the expe- 
 diency of sustaining an institution which these men were so 
 auxious to support. The bills of the United States Bank, in 
 which I had been long accustomed to receive my monthly 
 pittance, were the only ag money in America for which I had 
 any respect. What little feeling I had on the subject had, 
 therefore, been hitherto in its favour. What I now heard first 
 led me to doubt whether General Jackson were not the sort 
 of president we needed at this conjuncture ; for my ears had 
 been tickled by the well-turned phrases and epigrammatic 
 smartness of his immediate predecessor, and although my 
 profession released me from the obligation of striking the 
 balance of my opinions at the ballot-box, yet what little feel- 
 ing I had was not in his favour. Now, however, the tide of 
 my opinions began to turn, and, not long after, I was made 
 a complete believer in the virtues of the hickory-tree by the 
 kind efforts of a zealous friend, who undertook to enlighten 
 
DRIVE TO BRIGHTON. 2ttt 
 
 me, and whose perverted arguments and bad pleasantries 
 succeeded at length in rooting my opinions in the directly 
 opposite sense. Perhaps I should be ashamed to confess, 
 this perverseness, the piglike disposition of my opinions to 
 run, in spite of me, in opposition to the very arguments 
 benevolently intended to enlighten them, did I not recollect, 
 in recurring to my mathematical reminiscences, that there 
 is no reasoning so irresistible as that of the reductio ad 
 absurdum. 
 
 Ere the subject was exhausted, I had fallen asleep, and 
 only awoke amid the glare of the lighted streets of Brighton. 
 A fly speedily conveyed us to the Albion, where, after a 
 change of dress, we consoled ourselves in the coffee-room, 
 over a comfortable dinner, for the slight fatigues of our 
 journey. On rising the next morning and opening the 
 windows, I found that my room had a southern exposure, 
 and overlooked the sea. The hotel stood alone, out of the 
 general line of the buildings lining the quay, and at the verge 
 of a slight promontory. Though it was already nine o'clock, 
 the light was dim and imperfect. The sky was overcast by 
 dark clouds, flying low and quick, for it blew tremendously. 
 The gloom sO thickened seaward that but little of the ocean 
 was visible; this was lashed into fury and torn by the wind, 
 coming in heavily in breakers as it approached the snore, 
 and converting itself into a raging surf in beating against 
 the shingle, and sending up a deafening roar not inferior to 
 that of Niagara. 
 
 There was a stout parapet wall, built up to protect the 
 shore from the encroachments of the water, as well as to 
 form a barrier to the road and promenade; while break- 
 waters, running seaward at right angles from it, served still 
 farther to protect it, by intercepting the rollers, and break 
 ing their continuity. To the left appeared the celebrated 
 chain pier, which was constructed to facilitate the landing of 
 
266 
 
 BRIGHTON. 
 
 passengers from steamers, and which, having been recently 
 destroyed in a gale of wind, was in process of being repaired. 
 It consisted of a collection of wooden piers, planted securely 
 in the sands, and standing at equal intervals from each other. 
 From each of these rose a species of tower, from which the 
 chains supporting the bridge were suspended. 
 
 There was, as yet, little movement or sign of animation, 
 for it was Sunday, and in no country is the odious habit of 
 rising late on that day so universal as in England. A few 
 restless urchins were playing among the shingle, running 
 after the receding waves, and taking quickly to their heels 
 to escape, as the proud sea came raging in again to assert 
 his dominion. There was one other group whose errand 
 was less joyous. It was a wan and meager woman, in 
 squalid attire, with the tatters of a straw hat on her head, 
 and attended by a little boy yet more ragged than herself. 
 They were searching the beach attentively, and collecting 
 whatever, in their abject condition, they might esteem valu- 
 able. Now and then some trifling article was secured and 
 placed in a coarse bag, which the woman bore upon her 
 back. I thought of the frequent wrecks occurring on this 
 coast; of the last possessors of the wretched property, which 
 the sea, having swallowed what was most noble, now re- 
 linquished and threw back; and how willingly, in their 
 doomed hour, they would have exchanged conditions with 
 even this miserable gleaner, — the widow, haply, of some 
 drowned seamen. 
 
 If I had already felt some of the inconveniences of an 
 English Sunday, in being compelled to be in bed somewhat 
 longer than was agreeable to me, in order to accommodate 
 myself to the general postponements of the day, I found, in 
 descending to the coffee-room, others which I took even 
 more to heart, in the unsatisfactory character of my break- 
 fast. Stale bread appeared as the representative of hot rolls, 
 
BRIGHTON. 
 
 267 
 
 and eke to do the honours of the smoking and comfort-breath- 
 ing muflins. This might equally have been the case in my 
 own country. Alas! that religion, which is in itself so ex- 
 cellent a thing, should be so wholly incompatible with a 
 good breakfast. God's blessing be upon that man who first 
 invented a newspaper! for it is a comfort under every mis- 
 fortune; by its aid even a bad breakfast maybe swallowed 
 with composure. 
 
 With my equanimity thus partially restored, I wandered 
 forth, leaning upon the arm of my friend, as the melancholy 
 music of the bells announced the hour of devotion. The 
 waiter had directed us to the church where we would be 
 most likely to hear a good sermon, and meet with edification 
 for our souls. Thither we bent our steps. As we went, 1 
 had an opportunity of gathering an idea of the situation of 
 Brighton, and its general appearance. It extends along a 
 low terrace, closely skirting the seashore, and being under 
 cover of a range of hills, formed by the higher land of the 
 interior, which overlook it to the north. Hence it is pro- 
 tected from the cold winds, and only exposed to the more 
 genial southern breezes that blow from the sea. 
 
 This gives it great advantages as a winter residence, and 
 leads numbers of people in infirm health, or who, without 
 this cause, are attentive to their comfort, to establish them- 
 selves here during the winter months. The greater part of 
 the town is of modern construction, having sprung up since 
 the erection of the Marine Pavilion by George IV., when 
 Prince of Wales, who first attracted the attention of the 
 rich to the capabilities of the place, and led many people 
 of rank and fashion, with a still greater number who were 
 desirous of becoming so, to build in so eligible a position. 
 A city having such a luxurious origin could scarce fail to be 
 a magnificent one. Many of the houses are constructed on 
 uniform designs, in terraces overlooking the sea, and the 
 
BRIGHTON. 
 
 general impression produced by whatever one sees here is 
 of a pervad ing elegance and good taste. 
 
 The church into which we presently entered was a very 
 neat one, in a style of architecture slightly resembling the 
 Morisco, — the architect having probably caught his inspi- 
 rations from the eccentricities of the Pavilion. The services 
 were performed by two clergymen. The elder one, whom 
 1 took to be the vicar, read prayers. He was a venerable 
 old roadster, who had evidently been broken into his duties 
 by long practice, and who went on in a very persevering, 
 dingdong manner, his voice offering a rich specimen of that 
 nasal euphony which is ascribed to the people of New Eng- 
 land. It is a very general remark, that the people of New 
 England are the Americans who, being exclusively of Eng- 
 lish origin, most nearly resemble the mother country. This 
 may, perhaps, account for an identity in this respect, which 
 I had already noticed with sufficient frequency. 
 
 A younger man, who was doubtless the rector, was a 
 person of much more elegant appearance, and of very su- 
 perior air and pretensions. His sermon was very good, and 
 delivered with much attention to oratorical effect, and with 
 an energetic shake of the head, which, however well calcu- 
 lated to frighten sinners, was more impressive than graceful. 
 As for the clerk, who responded below, he was a little man, 
 done up in a black gown, richly sprinkled with silk knots. 
 He had, as clerks usually have everywhere, a singularly 
 precise and professional manner of performing the functions 
 that fell to his share; his pronunciation was most peculiar, 
 especially in the often-repeated ejaculation, " Amen!" in 
 which he contrived — it is to be hoped with less sacrifice — 
 to pitch his voice to the tone of Velluli, or some other model 
 of the neuter gender. 
 
 The organ was extremely well played; but the singing 
 » as most execrable, the chief performers being either the 
 
BRIGHTON. 
 
 parish children or the juvenile members of a Sunday school, 
 who, being well pleased to escape for the time from the 
 restraints of their position, and let off the restless exu- 
 berance of their spirits in some legitimate and admitted way, 
 yelled forth a hideous discord, most distressing to sensitive 
 nerves, and which might only be compared to a concert of 
 assembled swineherds, blowing each, on his own account, 
 his separate symphony on a cracked cow-horn. 
 
 On leaving church we found the weather still more 
 inclement. The strong gale from the sea brought with it 
 an occasional cloud, blacker and more heavy than the rest, 
 which, as it passed above, emptied itself in a drenching 
 shower. To carry an umbrella was out of the question. 
 So great was the force of the wind, that it gave full em- 
 ployment to a man's muscular energies to force himself 
 forward. As the squalls blew by, the eye was able to pe- 
 netrate the gloom for a mile or two seaward, though the 
 atmosphere was mingled with mist, rain, and spray, wildly 
 blended. A couple of brigs, under close-reefed topsails, 
 were buffeting with the winds and waves; and a cutter 
 under very low sail was standing in shore, and endeavour- 
 ing to work to the westward. They scarcely gained any- 
 thing, while they must evidently have been greatly strained, 
 and doubtless, if one could have had the patience to watch 
 them, they would have been, ere long, seen to bear up, 
 abandon what they had gained, and run for the Downs, or 
 some nearer shelter. 
 
 Intrenched within the citadel of our apartment, and 
 cheered by the comfortings of a coal fire, we passed the day 
 in letter-writing, conversation, or gazing from the sheltered 
 security of our windows upon the agitated sea, and the 
 hapless mariners who were contending with its horrors. 
 Dinner came to our relief in the evening, and by its aid we 
 managed to overcome no inconsiderable number of the 
 
270 
 
 BRIGHTON 
 
 weary hours that remained to us. The system of solitary 
 dining and non-association prevalent in English inns, and 
 which has its origin in the distinction of classes, certainly 
 has its disadvantages, and these bear with peculiar hardship 
 on the solitary stranger, not only by depriving him of the 
 accidental society which is perpetually thrown in his way 
 in other countries, but by withdrawing from him those 
 means of information, and of obtaining an insight into na- 
 tional manners, which are furnished by a different system. 
 
 But though not brought into immediate contact with my 
 fellow-frequenters of the coffee-room at the Albion, I saw 
 enough of them to be greatly pleased with their tone and 
 manners. These were quiet, respectable, unostentatious, 
 and characterized by a scrupulous attention to refinement 
 and the rules of good-breeding. The conversation among 
 those who knew each other was easy and intelligent, and a 
 stranger to argument or excited discussion. Many indeed 
 of these persons were men of distinction, and one among 
 them was the representative of a family which has been 
 distinguished in the annals of the land since the period of 
 the Conquest, uniting in his person the dignities of admiral 
 and peer. Indeed, among all those who frequented the 
 coffee-room during a week that I remained at Brighton, I 
 noticed but one person whose manners were offensive. 
 
 This was a fussy, talking, intrusive old fellow, who could 
 not be got rid of or shaken off, a beggar of franks, an arrant 
 pretender to gentility, and a personification of whatever is 
 vulgar. Yet I was told that this was a person of large for- 
 tune in the City, a great speculator on the Corn Exchange, 
 and, what I found somewhat more difficult of belief, an in- 
 dividual who had enjoyed the benefit of a liberal education 
 and foreign travel. At any rate his conversation was made 
 up of low sentiments, expressed by low ideas, and uttered 
 in low English, rife with city slang, and the choicest cock- 
 
BRIGHTON. 
 
 271 
 
 neyism of pronunciation. He talked loudly, and for effect; 
 and when the aristocrat was at hand, instead of imitating 
 his own unpretending demeanour, it was then, precisely, 
 that he was most swelling and offensive. He seemed, in- 
 deed, to become more vulgar by the very effort to be elegant. 
 This was one illustration of the effects of aristocratic dis- 
 tinctions, from which philosophers and drawers of conclu- 
 sions may extract what inferences they please. 
 
 As I said before, the prevailing tone of manners among 
 the frequenters of the coffee-room was simple and decorous 
 in the extreme, and the vulgarity of the single exception 
 only rendered it more apparent. Indeed, my subsequent 
 experience tended to confirm the impression which I then 
 received, that nowhere, so much as in England, is the class 
 of travellers — from various causes, growing out of the vast 
 difference of expense and the very different remuneration 
 of labour, of course infinitely more circumscribed than 
 with us — so scrupulously observant of whatever is enjoined 
 by the established axioms of good-breeding, or the dictates 
 of good taste. An observer might come armed with Don 
 Quixote's directions to Sancho Panza, when he was trying 
 to make an extempore gentleman of him ere he undertook 
 the government of his island, or with Mr Shandy's list of 
 well-bred qualifications required in a tutor for his son — 
 he might be as sensitive as either Sterne or Cervantes, 
 and as censorious as he pleased — and yet be able to find 
 little to cavil at, in whatever relates to refinement and ex- 
 ternal propriety. 
 
CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 BRIGHTON. 
 
 Pavilion — Palace— Stables — A fine Day — Hurdle Race — High Wind— 
 The Race — The Esplanade — Return to London — Conversation on the 
 Road. 
 
 The Pavilion at Brighton is much the most eccentric 
 building I have seen. It is in the Chinese taste, if in any 
 besides its own, being composed of a mass of low walls, 
 out of which arise a number of very singular domes, having 
 their greatest diameter at some distance from the base, and 
 presenting much the figure of an inverted top. At the an- 
 gles are placed tall stone columns, which are very light 
 and delicate in their proportions, and which, as well as the 
 domes, terminate in quaint ornaments, resembling log-reels. 
 These columns, from their extreme lightness, have the air 
 of tent-poles, and, with the rest, convey the idea of some 
 gorgeous Indian encampment, instead of a palace of mas- 
 sive stone. The columns have a toppling insecure look ; 
 but though the winds blow with great violence at Brigh- 
 ton, none of them have ever fallen. 
 
 Having been much struck with the external appearance 
 of this singular and most fantastic edifice, I was not sorry 
 to have an opportunity of seeing it within, which, from the 
 
BRIGHTON. 
 
 27:$ 
 
 circumstance of the palace being then inhabited, I had not 
 ventured to expect. This advantage was procured for me 
 by the attentive courtesy of one of the king's aid-de-camps, 
 who, supposing that the sight would be acceptable to me, 
 had kindly offered to conduct me, and fixed an hour for 
 me to meet him. I found him at breakfast in a large apart- 
 ment, having much the air of the coffee-room of a French 
 inn. In the centre was a large table, furnished with va- 
 rious condiments, and the universal newspapers, while 
 lords and officers were seated round in table d'hote fashion, 
 each breakfasting according to his fancy. Some were 
 reading or writing letters, others discussing politics, palace 
 news, military or naval discipline, or fashionable intelli- 
 gence in high life. One or two had been in America, on 
 service with their regiments. 
 
 If the Pavilion had seemed curious to me from without, 
 it was not less so when I came to look at it within. The 
 dining pavilion was especially magnificent. Its ceiling was 
 formed by the interior of one of those singular domes 
 which I had seen from without. From the centre hung a 
 gorgeous lustre of a strange design, to correspond with the 
 rest. On one occasion this fell down upon the table with a 
 fearful crash. It was blowing a gale of wind, and the 
 domes being all of iron, covered with metal, yield a little at 
 such times, and acquire a slight vibratory motion. This 
 was the cause of the accident, and it certainly was very op- 
 portune in its occurrence, as my companion observed. 
 Had the catastrophe occurred at a royal banquet, one 
 might imagine what would have been the effects on the 
 nerves of sensitive dames and ladies in waiting. 
 
 The paintings and ornaments were in a rather tea-chest 
 taste, yet not, therefore, destitute of grace. They were beauti- 
 fully executed on linen, with which the walls were lined, re- 
 presenting in a strange arabesque the blended forms of 
 
 18 
 
'274 
 
 BRIGHTON 
 
 serpents, dragons, and whatever was strange and extrava- 
 gant, and might therefore he Asiatic. My companion re- 
 marked to me, that, though each object was, individually 
 considered, rather horrible and disgusting, yet the effect of 
 the whole was not by any means unpleasing. In passing, 
 he pointed out to me the awful table at which the king was 
 wont to sit in the evening with the queen, and one or two 
 privileged favourites. It happened to be the time at which 
 the royal family were likely to be returning from the break- 
 fast-room, and we had to move with much caution, as our 
 proceedings were not exactly in order. 
 
 In passing to the stables, we traversed the garden, 
 which has none of those beauties that so universally abound 
 in places of the sort in England. The trees are all planted 
 in straight lines, and the walks are stiff and formal. This 
 however may be a concession to the unities, and a compli- 
 ment to the Chinese, though I believe they were the ori- 
 ginal inventors of what is known on the Continent as the 
 English garden. The stables, however, are very beautiful, 
 and have the reputation of being the finest in the world. 
 They are built in amphitheatric form, with ranges of horse- 
 shoe arches, supported by a colonnade. The taste is de- 
 cidedly Saracenic, though there is more attention to gene- 
 ral symmetry than is found among the Moors. Though 
 this amphitheatre be very vast, almost large enough for a 
 bull-fight, yet it is covered throughout with a glass dome, 
 kept together by an ingenious frame-work of iron. The 
 stables completely surround the open area, while above, 
 and opening on the corridor, are the apartments of the 
 grooms, postilions, and coachmen. Each horse had a neat 
 straw mat, to serve as a carpet to his stall, and on which 
 his bed is made. The temperature was exceedingly warm 
 in this stable, and when the sun shines upon the glass 
 dome, it is said to be oppressive. 
 
BRIGHTON 
 
 I think, though my opinion is not worth much, that the 
 stables are almost always too warm in England, and the 
 horses too much pampered. They are very apt to get sick, 
 and require perpetual nursing. I know from experience 
 that in Madeira, where horses are taken from both Eng- 
 land and America, the American horse of equal figure 
 will bring a higher price, and is always preferred as being 
 most serviceable and hardy. Perhaps, however, the Eng- 
 lish system may produce a finer animal for luxury and 
 show. There is certainly no country in which the horses 
 are groomed as they are here. In the stables we talked 
 with a trooper, who was occupied in clipping the entire 
 coat of a saddle-horse, having come down from his bar- 
 racks in London for the purpose. This is a new idea, of 
 only a few years' standing. The effect on the appearance 
 of the horse is certainly very improving. This custom has 
 been maintained in Spain from time immemorial, where 
 the mules are clipped annually at the entrance of the sum- 
 mer, though there they remove the whole hair with great 
 address, and have an object separate from ornament, 
 which is to diminish the difficulty of cleaning, and still 
 better to prepare the animal for resistance to the intensity 
 of the heat. 
 
 The display of horseflesh was very gratifying. There 
 were four very fine bays, and as many grays. I was grieved 
 to see, however, that the saddle as well as coach-horses 
 were mutilated, and without tails. The Queen's carriages 
 were exceedingly neat and plain, being chiefly chariots, 
 with seats behind for the footmen, and without boxes. I 
 was very much amused at the sight of a most formidable 
 vehicle, which is used to transport the maids of the royal 
 establishment from palace to palace. Though I had never 
 seen it filled, I was ready, from what I had already ob- 
 served of English maids, to believe that, when duly 
 
 is 
 
'270 
 
 BRIGHTON 
 
 freighted, it would contain as agreeable a collection of good 
 looks, fresh complexions, and wholesome figures as might 
 anywhere be found. It was known by the humorous name 
 of the Columbus. If the care-worn discoverer could have 
 had that coach-load of comfort with him in some of his 
 wayfarings, it would certainly have been a great and most 
 acceptable solace to his weary soul. 
 
 Having forgotten to show me the kitchen, my courteous 
 conductor took me back to the Pavilion for the purpose. 
 There was quite an army of joints, turning by means of 
 clockwork machinery before a coal fire, in readiness for the 
 royal lunch and the dinners of the domestics, while a reserve 
 of haunches of mutton, venison, and poultry, was drawn 
 up on the eminence of a distant table, ready to give at 
 dinner the mercy-stroke to the gastronomic capabilities of 
 the day. There were quantities of cooks, scullions, and 
 women preparing pastry. They were scrupulously neat 
 in their appearance, and every thing in the place looked 
 nice, clean, and decidedly English. 
 
 Upon the whole, I was pleased with the Pavilion. 
 Though original, eccentric, and unlike any thing else, yet 
 the effect is good. Perhaps it may be considered the most 
 successful architectural oddity that was ever perpetrated. 
 The expense of its construction was of course enormous, 
 and indeed it laid the foundation of the subsequent pecu- 
 niary embarrassments of George IV. William, in speak- 
 ing of it, once remarked, with the plain sense and nautical 
 directness that distinguish him, " Well! though I must say 
 that I should never have built such a place myself, since it 
 is here 1 will enjoy it." Just as an old quarter-master, left 
 heir-at-law by some departed brother of the compass and 
 cun-ladder to an outlandish pea-jacket, might say, " Well, 
 this is bloody curious, to be sure, with all these out-of-the- 
 way stow-holes" (running his hands into the pockets), " but 
 
BRIGHTON 
 
 277 
 
 since Jack has taken the trouble to have it built, and been 
 so kind as to die and leave it to me, why here's put her on, 
 right off the reel; and a bloody good fit it is, too." 
 
 I expected to leave Brighton without having seen a 
 glimpse of the sun, or enjoyed the comfort of so much as 
 one fine day. Such, however, was not to be the case. 
 The Wednesday subsequent to my arrival the wind lulled, 
 the clouds scattered themselves, and the sun peeped mildly 
 and languidly out, lighting up the scene with a subdued 
 cheerfulness. When I went forth, after breakfast, I found 
 that others had been waiting for this relenting mood besides 
 myself. The whole town was in an uproar of bustle and 
 preparation. The fox-hunting population, who had been 
 unable to participate in their favourite pastime for many 
 days, were all mounted, and in high feather, spurring gaily 
 through the town, with a polish on themselves and their 
 well-groomed horses which was likely to be a little dimmed 
 by the adventures of the day. 
 
 There was no end to the gigs and equipages of various 
 sorts, turning out on all sides for a drive. The number of 
 pedestrians, also, was not inconsiderable. The females 
 were well clothed, and stoutly and sensibly shod, and wore 
 in their countenances a most pleasing expression of fresh- 
 ness and good health. There were quantities of fine 
 children sporting along the quay, under the care of their 
 nurses, each with its toy of some sort, a pair of dissatisfied 
 dogs, drawing very much against their will, or a pet goat 
 harnessed to a neat phaeton. 
 
 The modes of getting rid of time, which seemed to be 
 the great end and object of all, were various. Some 
 lounged into reading-rooms ; some sat down deliberately in 
 shops, to make the most of the little business they were 
 blessed with ; some had themselves weighed, and were able 
 to judge of their relative condition. Thus was the burden 
 
27S 
 
 BRIGHTON 
 
 of the day got rid of. In the afternoon all repaired, by 
 common consent, to walk, ride, or drive along the ramparts 
 by the seaside. There were a great many ladies on horse- 
 back, riding beautifully, and with the confidence of assured 
 skill; some were unattended by gentlemen, being followed 
 by their servants; there were two whom I noticed in a 
 phaeton, quite alone, driving a very spirited pair of horses, 
 which one of them managed with consummate ease and 
 skill; two grooms in livery, and admirably well mounted, 
 followed them at a distance, leaving them quite unembar- 
 rassed, and without the fear of being overheard, to make 
 their remarks upon those who were passing. There was 
 every species of equipage represented here, from the pony 
 phaeton to the lumbering fly, which seemed ever on the 
 ascent. Even the Queen added her beautiful and rapid 
 equipage, for a moment, to swell and give brilliancy to the 
 concourse. 
 
 It would have been difficult anywhere to see a more 
 brilliant spectacle, not only as far as the equipages were con- 
 cerned, and the high-bred animals that drew them, but 
 also as respects the collection of men and women which the 
 occasion had assembled. The men were well grown, 
 manly, and graceful, with fresh and handsome counte- 
 nances •, the women were most pleasing in their appearance, 
 with an air of health and cheerfulness, added to an expres- 
 sion of great intelligence, in countenances which were, 
 moreover, often radiant with brightness and beauty. 
 
 I considered myself particularly fortunate, while at Brigh- 
 ton, to hear that there was to be a hurdle-race over the 
 neighbouring course. This was a new style of racing, 
 which had become very fashionable, and of which I felt very 
 curious to see a specimen. On the morning fixed for it, it 
 blew the usual hurricane. Sailor as I was, though a very 
 tolerable horseman, I knew better than to perch myself on 
 
BRIGHTON 
 
 horseback in sucli weather, which was just the time for 
 housing masts and striking yards, instead of spreading any 
 thing additional to the wind. I engaged a fly, therefore, 
 to carry me to the scene of action; but, while 1 was pre- 
 paring to go, the driver took himself off. There was not 
 a vehicle in sight, and there was no choice but to walk, 
 which was indeed no very great hardship, as the distance 
 was only a mile. The wind, moreover, was directly aft; 
 and, catching against my cloak and outspread elbows, drove 
 me on like a ship under two lower studding-sails, making 
 it only necesary to move my feet at double quick time, 
 without making any muscular exertion whatever. 
 
 The hills which overlook Brighton landward, and protect 
 it from the north winds, are called the Downs. They are 
 composed entirely of chalk, being covered with soil to the 
 depth of a very few feet. They are not cultivated, but 
 almost everywhere covered with grass, which serves as 
 an excellent pasture for sheep, producing mutton of su- 
 perior flavour, which is very celebrated. These hills have 
 a gradual swell, and are not disagreeable objects, though 
 monotonous, and naked of trees. They were to be the 
 scene of the race; and, on reaching the allotted spot, 1 
 already found the place thronged with people. I at once 
 took refuge in the station-house, to escape from the force 
 of the wind, which here blew with tenfold fury. 
 
 On looking round me from this more comfortable post, 
 the scene which presented itself was gay and animated. 
 There was a brilliant assemblage of the rich and dis- 
 tinguished population of the neighbouring watering-places; 
 some were in tasteful chariots, driven by gaily-dressed 
 postilions; others driving four-in-hand ; mounted gentle- 
 men, followed by their grooms, or others, who were 
 officers, by their orderlies in uniform; the grooms being 
 usually more gaily mounted than their masters. Notwith- 
 
280 
 
 BRIGHTON. 
 
 standing the violence of the wind, there were even ladies 
 on horseback, though they seemed as if about to be torn 
 into ribands, and driven piecemeal by its violence. Among 
 the more undistinguished throng were groups of private 
 soldiers in their gay scarlet ; stout and merry wives from 
 the neighbouring villages, who seemed not at all afflicted 
 by the discomposure of their dress; and numbers of sturdy 
 peasants in smock frocks, leathern leggings, like stockings, 
 and apparently as much fixtures as those of Gurth, the 
 swineherd, and having on coarse laced shoes, shod with 
 pounds of iron. There were, also, venders of cakes and 
 strong beer, attending to the behests of these last as they 
 called out roughly — "I say, master! a pint of heavy wet!" 
 Some fellows were trying, in various parts of the field, — 
 not everywhere ineffectually, — to start some game they 
 might turn to their advantage, or to get up a fight, which 
 might be as useful to them ; others, very much out at the 
 elbows, slyly skulked about, watching, apparently, for a 
 chance to lift the " blunt," or other moveable property 
 of the unwary, when they should be lost in the excitement 
 of the race. 
 
 The ardour with which these manly sports are pursued 
 in England was sufficiently shown by the circumstances 
 of so great a crowd having assembled, notwithstanding the 
 unpropitious character of the day. The wind, indeed, blew 
 with such violence, that the garments of the spectators 
 fluttered on all sides like split topsails in a hurricane at 
 sea ; hats, handkerchiefs, shawls, and cloaks, were per- 
 petually escaping, and driving far before the blast. The 
 horses often refused to face it, and turned to escape its 
 force ; and in the course of the day I saw, myself, two 
 flies, now first doubtless meriting the name, which were 
 blown completely over, carrying the drivers with them. 
 One of these accidents occurred immediately beneath the 
 
m 
 
 BRIGHTON. ' 281 
 
 station-house, amid a large crowd, where many might have 
 been injured, and possibly killed, but very fortunately, 
 there was no one caught by the overturned vehicle. 
 
 The course over which the race was to be run was 
 neither level nor circular. It was nearly two miles long, 
 branching out into an elliptic form at the extremity, which 
 turned the horses, and brought them back again to the 
 stand by the same road on which they had left it. In 
 leaving the starting place, the horses were to leap, in suc- 
 cession, three sheep-hurdles — a species of wicket-fence, 
 three or four feet high, and used as a temporary enclosure 
 for sheep — placed at distances of a hundred yards from 
 each other, and these were to be again leaped in returning 
 to the winning-post. 
 
 The scene was brilliantly animated within the enclosure, 
 when the cloths were stripped off the horses, and the riders 
 vaulted into the saddle. The horses, ten in number, were 
 stout and powerful hunters, and though not full-blooded, 
 or having a very racing look, yet still appearing well suited 
 to the heavy work that was before them. The riders were 
 all gentlemen, generally riding their own horses, and beau- 
 tifully dressed in white breeches, top boots, and caps and 
 jackets of crimson, purple, violet, or tartan. They sat 
 finely and gracefully on their powerful horses, heedless of 
 hurdles, hurricanes, or whatever might betide them, though 
 the feat they were about to undertake was not wholly 
 without its dangers. 
 
 At length they all started together, and at a round pace. 
 The horse mounted by the rider in tartan, which was as 
 *gallant in his bearing as any at the outset, refused the 
 very first hurdle, bringing his rider with a sudden bolt 
 completely over his head. He was, however, anything 
 but a dead man; in an instant he was mounted, and at 
 length fairly forced his horse over. Charging boldly at 
 
282 BRIGHTON. 
 
 the second hurdle, his horse bolted again, and again lie 
 made a summerset, and so on three times in succession, 
 at each falling on his back or head with more or less 
 violence, but with no diminution of courage. Meantime 
 the rest pursued their way with such fortune as they 
 might. In returning to where the tartan chief was fiercely 
 battling with his recusant charger, two horses swerved in 
 leaping the hurdle, and came with their riders violently 
 to the ground. And thus the race continued through its 
 various heats, the horsemen riding over each other in 
 turn, and each meeting with accidents enough to have 
 killed a dozen, yet the whole ending without one broken 
 bone, or a single one of the hardy horsemen losing heart, 
 however maltreated. The spectacle, on the whole, was 
 the most brilliant one of the sort I had ever seen; and 
 the exhibition of the bold and fearless character which 
 is developed among Englishmen by the pursuit of field 
 sports, was most creditable to the country and pleasing 
 to contemplate. 
 
 I was fortunate enough to find a carriage to return in, 
 as meeting the wind face to face would have been a for- 
 midable encounter. Indeed, it blew so hard that it was not 
 without exertion that the horses could draw the carriage 
 down a tolerably sleep hill. Sometimes the fly-men would 
 have to descend and draw their horses downward by the 
 head. A few horse-women, scattered along the road, were 
 well-nigh torn asunder by the pitiless blast ; and, what with 
 fluttering attire, escaping hat, and dishevelled hair, offered 
 the most piteous spectacle in the world. Don Quixote 
 should have been there to add to the variety of his ad- 
 ventures, by battling with the wind in the cause of these 
 distressed damsels. The walkers only got forward by stretch- 
 ing so far out of the perpendicular, as to have the air of 
 men swimming for their lives. 
 
BRIGHTON 
 
 283 
 
 My time at Brighton did not pass very agreeably. The 
 only persons I knew there had left. I afterward found, 
 indeed, that had I overlooked my letters, and cast about 
 me a little, I might have made some useful acquaintance. 
 One individual in particular, not less distinguished for 
 the charms of his character than the graces of his mind, 
 and whose kindness subsequently sought me out, and 
 loaded me with many and most acceptable favours, heard 
 of my having been there, and regretted that the oppor- 
 tunity had not then occurred of being useful to me. Had 
 1 known this circumstance at the time, my situation would 
 have been very different, and all my subsequent movements 
 might have been essentially modified. As it was, my time 
 hung heavily. Though the hotel was a good one, I began 
 to tire of it. The inmates of the coffee-room were, as I 
 before said, very agreeable people. And many of them, 
 discovering by my correspondence — exhibited with the rest 
 each morning on the chimney — that I was a foreigner, began 
 to address me and offer me civilities. 
 
 I was, however, weary with seeing the landlord enter 
 each day, at the same hour, with a similar leg of mutton, 
 and deposit it solemnly before me ; this daily tete-a-t&te with 
 a sheep's leg began to annoy me. I took a violent dislike 
 moreover to the waiter. He was a shrewd, clever, and 
 active fellow enough, and not wanting in civility. But his 
 fortunes had elevated him above his sphere, and he was 
 aspiring to be himself an innkeeper. He had accumulated 
 a little property from his gleanings in the coffee-room, the 
 which property he had invested in certain flies, which stood 
 at the inn door for the use of the guests. Now, if a guest 
 required a fly, it was the thing of all others in which he was 
 likely to secure the prompt attention of the waiter ; while 
 another, who pined for cotelettes or collops, was left to 
 languish in hopeless and unheeded deprivation. 
 
284 
 
 BRIGHTON. 
 
 There were other circumstances about the establishment, 
 with which I was in the humour to be displeased. The 
 house was full of young women of an interesting age, and 
 most of them sufficiently well-looking. These cumbered 
 stairways and passages, and met me at every turning. All 
 their occupations were accompanied by music; thus, a lusty 
 siren who scrubbed about my door, serenaded me each 
 morning with the seductive accents of — " I have loved 
 thee;" while a more sentimental damsel, whose duty it was 
 to fill the pitchers, sighed forth her soul each evening in the 
 fond invitation — " Meet me by moonlight alone !" 
 
 The long nights, which, for want of better occupation, 
 I passed alone in my chamber, devoured by ennui, and 
 with the lurid glare of the sea-coal fire scattering a me- 
 lancholy and partial light around me, were full of misery. 
 The only real pleasure within my reach was to repair to 
 the esplanade leading to the Pier. Here were one or two 
 rude benches under cover from the weather ; the surf 
 beat immediately at my feet, while, behind, all other objects 
 were excluded by the high parapet, which protected the 
 town from the encroachments of the sea. During the day, 
 this place was much resorted to by fashionable walkers, 
 but by night not a footfall disturbed its silent walks, and 
 then a man might seek out this solitude, and be alone with 
 nature and himself. Here I was wont to repair in the dead 
 of the night, and enveloped in my cloak, stretch myself on 
 one of these benches. Usually the sky lowered, the blast 
 swept by, bringing with it an occasional shower, to which 
 the sea would mingle its mists. Then, to contemplate this 
 strife of the elements, and listen to the voice of terror in 
 which they gave utterance to their rage, was to me a peculiar 
 pleasure. 
 
 From my youth I had been familiar with the sea, yet 
 never before had I been so impressed with its grandeur. I 
 
BRIGHTON. 
 
 285 
 
 had lived among its horrors until they had hecome familiar 
 to me as my most well-known friends. But now to con- 
 template the ocean in its angriest mood, from the comfort 
 and security of a sheltered situation, with unnumbered 
 objects of comparison around me, and fresh from the 
 contact with the common circumstances of an every-day 
 existence, heightened immeasurably the sublimity of the 
 scene. 
 
 On one single occasion the night was tranquil; though 
 the surf still beat with violence, the wind scarce sighed au- 
 dibly over the broken waves, and the pale moon looked 
 tremulously forth, silvering the tips of the broken billows, 
 which, though the storm had gone by, and the breeze was 
 gentleness itself, still danced madly, as if in terror of their 
 past agitation. It is in such a moment, and when thus 
 surrounded, that we love to abandon ourselves to the wings 
 of our imagination, to search into the hidden recesses of the 
 memory and the secret places of the heart, and bring forth 
 whatever is connected with our tenderest recollections of 
 the past. 
 
 At the end of a week I started for London by the Wonder 
 coach, having left Brighton at eight o'clock. The top of the 
 coach was covered with schoolboys, who were returning to 
 their friends in London to pass the Christmas holidays. 
 Though they might be very well supposed to be half- 
 perished with cold, as indeed their vivacious stamping on 
 the roof of the coach sufficiently indicated, yet they were 
 full of glee and merriment, shouting and cheering as we 
 went, as if possessed. So soon as the day dawned, they 
 began to shoot peas, through long tubes which they had for 
 the purpose, into the faces of every one we met. There 
 were several other coaches similarly blessed ; and when we 
 passed each other, the urchins would mutually prepare to 
 lire a volley, which, to judge from the report on our window- 
 
286 
 
 BRIGHTON 
 
 glasses of some of the enemy's shots, I should have es- 
 teemed anything but acceptable. The youths on the various 
 coaches seemed mutually to have encouraged the coachmen 
 by words or promises, and to have inspired the dignified 
 knights of the whip with something of their own vivacity, 
 for we bowled along at a wondrous rate, even taking the 
 name of our coach into consideration. 
 
 We struck at once to the north, climbing the Downs. As 
 the day dawned, I was pleased with the appearance of that 
 part of the country which I had missed seeing on the drive 
 down. There were many country-seats, and ornamental 
 cottages of great beauty. In the kitchen gardens, of which 
 there were many in sheltered situations by the roadside, I 
 noticed it as not a little extraordinary, considering the season 
 of the year, that many vegetables, such as lettuce, spinach, 
 and others, were perfectly green and fresh. The grass was 
 in the same condition. The fields were filled with fat sheep 
 of the South-Down breed, the freshness and richness of 
 the pasture sufficiently accounting for their well-fed condi- 
 tion. In others, the cows and oxen were taking their 
 breakfast of dry hay, which had been scattered along the 
 hawthorn trees to make it more tempting. 
 
 These cares were attended to by sturdy peasants, in white 
 frocks, gaiters, and hobnailed or wooden-soled shoes, who 
 strode forward with indifference through the rain and wet 
 grass; others, of inferior condition and worse clad, were 
 engaged in breaking flints and sprinkling them on the road, 
 or else in taking off the scrapings, so as to leave it smooth 
 and level. At various points were notices, conspicuously 
 placed, proclaiming the penalty which was to be inflicted 
 on those who should remove the " road scrapings." The 
 condition of the poor cannot be very enviable where there 
 could be theft of this description. 
 
 A little gipsy group, which we saw in the course of the 
 
BRIGHTON. 
 
 28? 
 
 morning, breakfasting under a hedge by the roadside, re- 
 minded me of scenes with which I was already familiar, 
 through the medium of pictures, novels, and descriptive 
 sketches of English life. There was a little cart, the recep- 
 tacle of rags, findings, and plunder of various sorts, from 
 which a shaggy pony had been released, to crop the grass 
 along the hedges. The tent had not been pitched, but the 
 family group, consisting of father, mother, and two children, 
 were collected about the tea-kettle, under shelter of a 
 hedge, and making a meal, which their morning's exertions, 
 and the stimulating effects of the open air in which they 
 lived, no doubt rendered palatable. 
 
 At every six or seven miles we changed horses, an ope- 
 ration which did not delay us more than a minute or two. 
 Sometimes at the foot of a hill, though of so slight elevation 
 as to be scarce distinguishable as such, we would meet a 
 mounted postillion with an extra pair of horses, which, 
 taking us quickly in tow, would whirl us upward at a gallop. 
 
 Having paused ten minutes at Crawley for breakfast, we 
 again set forward, and in four hours and fifty minutes from 
 the time of our starting from Brighton, we were set down 
 at the Elephant and Castle, a distance of fifty-eight miles. 
 The best driving indeed in England is found on this road. 
 Many of the coaches are drawn throughout by beautiful and 
 spirited horses, and some of the drivers are men of ruined 
 fortunes, backsliders from distinguished families. Thus, I 
 was told that one of them was the son of a baronet, and that 
 a rattle-headed marquis, famous as a whip, not unfrequently 
 amused himself in playing the coachman on this road. 
 
 My fellow-passengers of the inside were a young couple, 
 who, from the pleasure they seemed to take in each other's 
 society, I imagined to be newly married, and a third per- 
 son, somewhat older, very particular about the care of his 
 luggage, and the comfortable accommodation of his per- 
 
288 
 
 BRIGHTON. 
 
 son, and who, from the confirmed character of his ways 
 and habits, was as evidently a selfish and inveterate ba- 
 chelor. This last individual was valetudinarian and hypo- 
 chondriac. He had travelled extensively on the Continent ; 
 knew a great deal about prices and the expense of living 
 there; had been a little enlightened on the subject of 
 cookery, and knew a thing or two about Rhenish and 
 French wines. During the drive he edified us with a com- 
 plete history of his complaints, and engaged in conversation 
 with his countryman, silting opposite to him, about the 
 fashionable news of the Court at Brighton. 
 
 I was not a little astonished at the pleasure these people 
 seemed to take in vying to show their acquaintance with 
 the private and familiar history of titled people, to whom it 
 was impossible, from a certain vulgar pretension of manner, 
 that they could themselves be personally known, and in 
 talking of entertainments in high life, and pleasures from 
 which they were necessarily excluded. I subsequently 
 found this unworthy custom to be a sufficiently prevailing 
 one. What most shocked me, however, was the familiarity 
 which the elder traveller showed with some of the inferior 
 arrangements of the king's domestic establishment, and the 
 singular pleasure he took in describing a Norfolk pie, which 
 the king had lunched from on the preceding Sunday, and 
 of which he had eaten, the day previous, at dinner. It was 
 evident from his tone and manner, that if there were any 
 act or circumstance of his past life of which he felt that he 
 had reason to be proud, it was the eating of that pie. The 
 reminiscence seemed to kindle within him an enthusiasm 
 of self-contentment, equal to the achievement of the most 
 honourable deeds. 
 
 As our coach terminated its career in the City, and not 
 at the West End, such of the passengers as were going to 
 the latter transferred themselves to an omnibus, and went 
 
BRIGHTON. 
 
 289 
 
 off' in the direction of Westminster. When the last of us 
 descended to take hackney-coaches in Regent-street, our 
 young couple discovered, to their dismay, that one of their 
 portmanteaus was missing. It was that of the lady, and 
 doubtless contained the jewels and finery with which she 
 had been striving to dazzle the gay world at Brighton. 
 What pen may venture to describe the looks of dismay with 
 which the hitherto happy pair gazed at each separate ar- 
 ticle, produced from top, and boot, and stow-hole, until all 
 were on the pavement, and saw, that what their eyes so 
 earnestly sought to rest upon, was not! The grief with 
 which Jacob bewailed the loss of Joseph might convey 
 some notion of the scene ; or, if, reader, you have ever 
 beheld the terrified solicitude with which a dog, suddenly 
 deposited in a crowd, in a strange city, courses the pave- 
 ment and seeks for his lost master, you may conceive the 
 anxious and intense bewilderment of our hapless bride- 
 groom. The loss of luggage in America, where people 
 travel in bunches of six hundred, is the commonest occur- 
 rence in the world, and occasions sufficient inconvenience, 
 although the missing article, if duly labelled, is sure to re- 
 turn, like another prodigal son ; but in London, where fifty 
 thousand of the most ingenious inhabitants live without 
 means or labour upon the goods of their fellow-men, the 
 loser of a trunk has nothing better to do than to fold his 
 hands, and utter an exclamation analogous to that of the 
 bereaved Boabdil — " Wo is me, Alhama!" 
 
 Having promised to domesticate myself under the roof of 
 the friend who had accompanied me to Brighton, and who 
 had already returned, I took my way to the Regent's Park. 
 Here I found myself most pleasantly situated, in that part 
 of London which I still continued to think the most attrac- 
 tive, even when I had become familiar with the whole me- 
 tropolis; having almost entire possession of a charming 
 
 19 
 
290 
 
 BRIGHTON. 
 
 mansion, filled with every imaginable luxury and comfort, 
 and commodious to a degree scarcely known in our own 
 country, with abundance of civil and attentive servants, and 
 a carriage or a saddle-horse perpetually at my disposal. 
 The avocations of my friend and my own, if I might be 
 said to have any, ceased at the same time, and our evenings 
 passed together in a social intercourse, of which his ami- 
 able character and agreeable qualities render the recollec- 
 tion most pleasing to me. I began now to believe in the 
 possibility of my being able to weather out, in this snug an- 
 chorage, the horrors of a London winter, and to accom- 
 plish that which I so much regretted having undertaken. 
 Circumstances, however, very soon occurred to change my 
 plans, and send me, a very willing exile, to sunnier and 
 more congenial climes. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 Christmas — Celebration by Populace — Comparison with Catholic Coun- 
 tries — Westminster Abbey — Exterior — Interior— Services — Sermon — 
 Tombs— Den of a great Publisher. 
 
 The merry season of Christmas was now approaching ; 
 and there was much to indicate that, however the times 
 might have changed, and lost their poetry and pastimes in 
 the more prosaic and utilitarian usages of the age of radi- 
 calism and of steam, it was not to go by wholly unho- 
 noured. The shops began to glow out with additional 
 lustre; the goods were displayed in the windows to tempt 
 the passers with more than usual coquetry ; and not a few 
 of the lower classes began the prelude, by flourishes of 
 drunken preparation, to the scene of debauchery which 
 the streets of London were presently to exhibit. 
 
 Among the more pleasing evidences of preparation for 
 some great feast, in whose joys there were to be many par- 
 takers, was the arrival of untold quantities of game by the 
 vans and coaches from every part of the kingdom, whether 
 sent as presents from the country to friends in town, or to 
 swell the stock in trade of some extensive poulterer. The 
 
 19* 
 
292 LONDON 
 
 game thus transported by coach in England, from one ex- 
 tremity to the other, is packed in boxes or hampers, or else 
 left loose, where the distance is not considerable. Such 
 indeed is the influx of game from some of the counties at 
 this season, that the coaches are often exclusively freighted 
 with it; and I saw one coach from Norfolk come whisking 
 up to the Bull and Mouth, the day before Christmas, drawn 
 by six smoking horses, and festooned in every direction — 
 body, box, and carriage — with moor-fowl, hares, and 
 partridges ; and exhibiting, moreover, for inside passengers, 
 instead of the querulous features of weazen-faced old maids, 
 or the bottle-nose of doughty half-pay officer, or the 
 anxious countenance of muffled valetudinarian, the more 
 interesting spectacle of dangling goose-heads, looking more 
 than usually silly, or the whitened gills of what had late 
 been vapouring and consequential turkey-gobblers. 
 
 The riot had already commenced, one day in advance. 
 An ill-judged charity, or their own economy, had furnish- 
 ed the most wretched of the populace with the means of 
 brutal indulgence, and at nightfall the streets of the capital 
 resounded with drunken brawls, and the clamours of a per- 
 vading debauchery. That night I went to Covent Garden 
 theatre, to see the Christmas spectacle of Mother Hubbard 
 and her Dog. Having tired of this, I next went to Drury 
 Lane, where there was a most brilliant pageant, founded 
 on the fable of St. George and the Dragon, and the Seven 
 Champions of Christendom. In both places the audience 
 was of a character more disgusting than can be furnished 
 by any other capital in the world; 
 
 In the places of inferior price the occupants were sit- 
 ting in their shirt sleeves, their coats hanging down before 
 the boxes, and sometimes falling ; bottles were passing from 
 mouth to mouth, while immediately below me sat two ruf- 
 fians with their sweethearts, who, in addition, to their bottle 
 
LONDON. 
 
 293 
 
 o£ gin, had a glass to drink it from, either because their 
 tastes were more scrupulous, or because they had an eye 
 to the just distribution of their " lush." One of them, who 
 had but half a nose, kept his arm about the neck of his 
 greasy partner, and indulged in open dalliance, in which, 
 indeed, he was supported by the example of many others, 
 in the face of the audience. 
 
 This, in the boxes, consisted chiefly of persons of a ten- 
 der age of either sex, who, having returned from their 
 boarding-schools to spend the holidays at home, were 
 brought by their parents to see what they might. The 
 spectacle off the stage was at all events an edifying one ; 
 and what with the shouts, groans, the whistling, and deaf- 
 ening din, I left the place at length, completely stunned and 
 heart-sick. 
 
 There was nothing very refreshing in the scenes with- 
 out. Here, too, the air was foul with gas, smoke, and ill 
 odours of every sort. It was raining in a slow, deliberate 
 manner. The streets, and they who perambulated them, 
 were reeking with mud, while the corners and other sta- 
 tions, where a more than usually brilliant display of gas- 
 lights and stained glass announced the position of a gin- 
 palace, were surrounded by ragged throngs, whose flushed 
 faces, tainted breaths, and noisy clamour, gave evidence of 
 the depth of their potations. These groups were not com- 
 posed alone of the ruder sex, but women from the labour- 
 ing classes of life, as well as of a more wretched descrip- 
 tion, mingled in equal numbers. Many swaggered home- 
 ward, cursing, or chanting a drunken catch, with a bottle 
 in each hand ; while others, only singly armed, sustained on 
 the other side an unconscious infant, exposed thus soon to 
 the inclemency of the weather, and doomed to suck its ear- 
 liest nourishment from a bosom polluted by poisonous mi- 
 nisterings. 
 
594 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 It was near two o'clock: the light of day, withdrawn 
 some ten hours earlier, had proclaimed that this was the 
 season meant by nature for repose; yet everywhere the 
 streets were thronged with whatever was unseemly in the 
 spectacle of human degradation. The ears were shocked 
 with slang and obscenity, and from blind alleys, constituting 
 the darker haunts of misery and vice, proceeded the fierce 
 clamour of drunken strife, and reiterated cries of " Mur- 
 der! murder! 1 ' 
 
 As I went musing homeward, it was difficult to realize 
 that that which I had contemplated was done in comme- 
 moration of the Nativity of our Saviour. It was by drunken 
 orgies, murderous brawls, and shameless prostitution, that 
 the English populace celebrated the advent of Him who 
 came to establish a pure and unsullied religion — " the 
 Lamb which taketh away the sins of the world." I could 
 not help remembering that the last Christmas had found me 
 among the Mahonese, a people who, being both Catholic 
 and Spanish, had, as such, a double claim to the scorn and 
 pity of Englishmen. What were the circumstances there 
 attending the celebration of Noche Buena — the happy night 
 of all the year? 
 
 Why, the streets w r ere gay with groups of mirthful and 
 merry-making maskers, pausing to sing and to dance be- 
 neath balcony or veranda, until, as the midnight hour 
 approached that fulfilled the period of the thrice joyous 
 anniversary, all were seen to seek the temple which was to 
 be the scene of its celebration. Behold the vast area of the 
 noble edifice, filled with adoring thousands kneeling hum- 
 bly on the pavement, as they contemplated the mystery 
 which shadowed forth the scene of the Nativity, the Gothic 
 roof trembling with the glad sounds of angelic hallelujahs, 
 or reverberating to the joyous and life-inspiring strains 
 peeled forth by that noble organ, thrilling the feelings with 
 
LONDON. 
 
 295 
 
 untold ecstasy, and elevating the soul heavenward with a 
 holy joy, hy strains not unworthy of the skies. There was 
 no intoxication, save what might be found in the delirious 
 transports of believers, quickened into a sublime enthusiasm 
 at the advent of the Redeemer. 
 
 On Christmas-day my friend drove me to Westminster 
 Abbey, to attend the morning service there, which I ex- 
 pected would be, considering the greatness of the occasion, 
 rich with pomp and ceremony. I had already frequently 
 passed near this noble pile, which, in magnificence of ex- 
 tent, grandeur of proportions, and elaborate beauty of 
 construction, compared most favourably with the noblest 
 specimens of Gothic architecture which I had seen, and 
 these included whatever is celebrated throughout Europe. 
 It possesses, indeed, a symmetrical and homogeneous cha- 
 racter throughout, that is not often found in these vast piles, 
 which, erected for the most part in various succeeding 
 ages, generally bear the impression of the conflicting and 
 discordant tastes of their constructors. 
 
 There is, however, one defect in the external appearance 
 which is sufficiently obvious, and this is, the too great 
 length compared with the height ; though this, within, adds 
 vastly to the character of grandeur and continuity, as you 
 look along the naves from extremity to extremity. This 
 defect of the exterior is moreover increased by the addition 
 of Henry VII.'s chapel, on the east, which is a complete 
 construction in itself, having its own proportions and style 
 of architecture, namely, the florid and highly-ornamented 
 Gothic, and which, however superbly beautiful when singly 
 considered, is, as forming part of the whole, an ungainly 
 and injurious excrescence. 
 
 If, however, there were any impression at variance with 
 unqualified admiration in contemplating this grand struc- 
 ture from without, that impression vanished as I traversed 
 
LONDON. 
 
 the cloisters, and, passing the noble portal, stood in the 
 midst of columns, and arches, and swelling naves, sur- 
 rounded by the mighty dead of England, the treasured re - 
 mains, the sculptured effigies, and the recorded epitaphs of 
 those who have emblazoned our history with the brightness 
 of their deeds, immortalized our language, and shed un- 
 dying glory on our race. 
 
 It was the Poet's Corner, and I would have knelt, in 
 imagination at least, before the efligy of Shakspeare, to 
 offer the passing adoration of my mind and my heart, and 
 to bless him for the elevation and dignity he had conferred 
 on that nature in which I glowed with pride and enthu- 
 siasm to feel that I was a common participator. But I 
 was not permitted to pause, being at once ushered by gro- 
 tesquely-liveried beadles, armed with maces, into the inte- 
 rior sanctuary of the choir, which is a church of sufficient 
 dimensions in itself, fashioned within the central nave of 
 the cathedral, and set apart for the services of a worship 
 which does not admit of heing exercised in a vast and too 
 extended an edifice. 
 
 The choir was separated from the body of the abbey by 
 screens of richly-carved wood, and a lofty organ intersect- 
 ing the central nave, and interrupting the grand effects of 
 its continuous ranges of columns and arches. There was, 
 however, a partial glimpse of its vastness and grandeur 
 above and on either hand, where the eye followed the co- 
 lumns of dark marble as they expanded into pointed arches, 
 supporting in turn the ribbed and fretted roof, which, rich 
 with gilding and blazonry, swelled nobly harmonious above ; 
 while, at either extremity of the cross, the stained and sto- 
 ried windows admitted a dim and solemn light, which grew 
 and waned perpetually with the fitful alternations of the 
 sky. \ 
 
 The service was about to commence; many of the seats 
 
LONDON 
 
 Ml 
 
 were already tilled ; and the beadle, having scanned our air 
 and attire to graduate his courtesy, conducted us to a very 
 comfortable seat, holding out, as we entered, his familiar 
 hand to receive the customary gratification. There were 
 many clergymen seated in the stalls of the choir on either 
 hand, while lower down were bands of professional chan- 
 ters and boys, dressed as in Catholic cathedrals, and con- 
 tributing, with the effect of the edifice, to carry the mind 
 back to the Romish usages of which it was for so many 
 centuries the scene. 
 
 At the chiming of a small bell, telling the quarters, the 
 services commenced. A well-fed, dark-haired, and whis- 
 kered clergyman led off in a soft melodious voice, cadenced 
 as in the mass, and the responses were made in the same 
 style, from the entire choir, the organ playing the custo- 
 mary accompaniment. The effect of this service was very 
 similar to that of the Roman church, doubtless being pre- 
 cisely that which came in use at the Reformation, the Li- 
 tany being translated, and the English language substituted 
 for the Latin, with preservation of the Roman forms. 
 There was much of the same pomp, and the well-drilled 
 chanter seemed to study the harmony of his accents more 
 than solemnity of utterance. The effect of the liturgy in 
 this form, in which very important words were occasion- 
 ally swallowed and lost to the hearer, was not unlike that 
 which is produced— if one might compare a church to a 
 theatre — by the subjection of Shakspeare's sentences to 
 t operatic forms. It is, however, but fair to add, that if, as 
 tfie perversion grew familiar to me, I learned gradually to 
 listen with composure to Othello's song when he is about 
 to stifle Desdemona, so also in process of time I came to 
 like the cathedral service of the Church of England, and to 
 seek every occasion of listening to it. 
 
 As for our sermon, instead of glowing with feeling and 
 
298 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 eloquence, and being filled with exulting pictures of that 
 scheme of redemption which it was Christ's mission to ful- 
 fil, it was from first to last a cold and listless declamation 
 about the lusts of the world, the flesh and the devil, uttered, 
 if not with an air of unbelief, at least with one of supreme 
 indifference whether belief were inspired in others. It was 
 almost ludicrous to observe the heartless manner in which 
 the faithful were told that religion must be of the heart. 
 In short, it was quite evident that the sermon was preached 
 because it was paid for, though unquestionably beyond 
 its value. The preacher had a small head, a delicate hand, 
 a decidedly fashionable look, and an extreme air of good 
 tone. Every thing about him, indeed, spoke of a famous 
 salary, — the gift of God, by whose providence he had been 
 born of good family, and showed that he was in no manner 
 indebted to his flock of miscellaneous hearers, who might 
 either repair to, or keep aloof from, a richly-endowed esta- 
 blishment, which was alike independent of their charity 
 and their faith. 
 
 If I were eager for the close of the sermon because it was 
 a stupid one, I had also an additional motive of impatience 
 in my desire to loiter through the aisles of the Abbey, exa- 
 mining its rich monuments and eloquent inscriptions, and 
 offering my homage at the shrine of departed genius. In 
 this intention, however, I was frustrated by the assiduous 
 beadles, who headed me off as I was starting on my excur- 
 sion, ushering me out as rapidly as the rest. This, indeed, 
 was one of the days of the year in which the Abbey is not a 
 shown ; for the pilgrim, no matter from what distance ne 
 may have wandered, is not permitted to approach the 
 remains of Milton and Shakspeare without the payment of 
 money. The sentiments which such a visit is calculated to 
 awaken in a generous bosom are sold for silver, passing 
 into the pockets of the greedy gleaners, or expended in 
 
LONDON. 
 
 200 
 
 repairs, which might well he met hy the ample endowment 
 provided by the piety of past ages, were it not diverted 
 from its legitimate uses to minister to the cravings of sacer- 
 dotal avarice. 
 
 I had to repeat my visit to the Abbey the following day, 
 and wandered through the precincts, examining the monu- 
 ments, and reading the inscriptions, with such a feeling of 
 awe and admiration as they were suited to inspire. There 
 is no end, indeed, to the claims to one's attention on every 
 side ; for architecture, sculpture, and the consecrating asso- 
 ciations of genius, of greatness, and of misfortune, are all 
 here to awaken the admiration, or stir the sympathies with 
 a tender and touching interest. 
 
 In the chapel of Henry VII. the mind is awed by the 
 gorgeous character of the architecture, and by the splen- 
 dour of the monuments which entomb the buried majesty of 
 England's kings; while above are seen the swords, the 
 helmets, and the waving banners of the knights of one of 
 the noblest orders of Christendom, to complete the im- 
 pression of the scene, and fill the imagination with images 
 of magnificence and pomp. Now, one of the tenderest 
 and most mournful recollections which history and a Shak- 
 speare's muse have traced in the memory, is quickened into 
 new life by the sight of that tomb beneath which repose the 
 remains of the early victims of a Richard's cruelty; anon, 
 the proud sepulchre of the murdered Mary is seen to mock, 
 by its pomp and gorgeousness, the unequalled misfortunes 
 of that queen, so renowed for beauty, genius, and attrac- 
 tion; who added every loveliness of person to the most 
 bewitching graces of the mind ; and who only closed a 
 hopeless captivity, which extended through half a life, 
 begun with every circumstance of auspiciousness and pro- 
 mise, with a death of ignominy and horror. 
 
 With what a melancholy feeling does the fancy not revert 
 
300 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 from the proud effigy of the queen, full of loveliness, and 
 clothed with all the emblems of state and power, to the days 
 succeeding that of her execution at Fotheringay, during 
 which her headless trunk, deserted by her women, who 
 were not permitted to approach it, and render the decencies 
 which the meanest of her sex might have claimed for her 
 remains, lay exposed in a lumber-room, with no death- 
 clothes more becoming than the tatters of an old cloth, which 
 had been torn from a billiard-table ! 
 
 In a chantry over one of the chapels were some wainscot 
 presses, containing wax figures of various princes, heroes, 
 and statesmen. Among them was one of Queen Elizabeth, 
 executed with admirable reality and life, and dressed, as 1 
 was told, in garments which she had worn. The figure is 
 tall and commanding ; but the face is imperious and for- 
 bidding, the complexion bad, and the hair coarse and carroty. 
 1 was delighted to find this evidence that the beauty on 
 which she prided herself, and which she was fain to place 
 in competition with that of her persecuted and murdered 
 rival, had no existence save in her own vanity, and the base 
 flattery of sycophants and courtiers. 
 
 Here is also a similar statue, which I gazed on with very 
 different feelings. It is that of Nelson, taken from life, dress- 
 ed in his own clothes, and fresh with the hues of health. 
 On the glass case are those words in which the hero gave 
 utterance to his aspirations, previous to that battle which 
 closed his splendid career — " Victory or Westminster 
 Abbey !" I know not why they should have been placed 
 there, unless to show that, from whatever motive, his last 
 behest had not been held sacred. 
 
 In another part of the Abbey is an effigy of like execution, 
 representing Charles I. in the robes which he was wont to 
 wear at Windsor, at the installation of the knights of the 
 Garter. It bespeaks the same genius, the same amiability. 
 
LONDON. 
 
 301 
 
 the same mournfulness, the same presentiment of melan- 
 choly and misfortune to come, which characterise those 
 noble portraits of Vandyke, who seems, as it were, to have 
 shadowed forth in anticipation the fate of his illustrious 
 patron. How sorrowful is the nature of those feelings 
 which are awakened by the contemplation of this counte- 
 nance, in whomsoever has a heart to admire genius or to 
 pity misfortune ! Brave, generous, talented, courteous, full 
 of tenderness and romantic devotion to the gentler sex, 
 Charles, with all the nobler and better qualities of Mary 
 Stuart, was a stranger to her vices. Yet, like her, he died 
 on the scaffold; though, in his case, popular violence, and 
 not the jealousy and feigned dread of a rival, aimed the blow. 
 
 Among the objects of curiosity preserved in Westminster 
 Abbey are the famed Doomsday-book, and the stone brought 
 from Scone, with the regalia of Scotland, by the first Ed- 
 ward, and reputed to be that veritable pillow on which Jacob 
 reclined during the night when his sleep was so disturbed 
 by terrifying visions. Perhaps there could scarce be devised 
 a surer provocation to dreams than a pillow such as this. 
 My own tastes led me, however, rather to dwell upon the 
 beauty or associated interest of the monuments and the 
 eloquence of the inscriptions, than to attend to the claims of 
 these venerable representatives of a remote antiquity. The 
 circumstances, however, under which the Abbey is seen, 
 are not very favourable to the indulgence of those feelings 
 which almost every object is suited to awaken. Whoever 
 has visited Westminster Abbey, will bear witness with me 
 to the annoyance and disgust which are awakened in the 
 mind by the low slang, the unintelligible jargon, the gro- 
 tesque and cockney commentaries of the mercenary and 
 degraded showmen, disturbing, as they do perpetually, the 
 current of gentle thought, and melancholy musings. 
 
 Many pieces of sculpture here possess great beauty. 
 
302 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 Among those which arrested my attention, I was most 
 struck with one by Roubillac. It represents a beautiful 
 lady reposing in the arms of her husband, while Death is 
 seen starting from the half open lid of a sarcophagus beneath, 
 grasping in his skeleton hand a dart, which he directs to 
 the heart of his victim. Her spirit seems to fade at the ap- 
 proach of the unerring weapon. The husband, overcome 
 with dismay, in vain clasps her in an affectionate embrace, 
 which is yet powerless to protect her from the grim King of 
 Terrors, whose whole figure expresses a singular ruthless- 
 ness, energy, and exultation, which the sculptor, with incon- 
 ceivable and perplexing art, has been able to infuse into a 
 mere fleshless skeleton. 
 
 There are also two statues by Chantrey, one of Canning, 
 the other of Watt, the engineer, which conveyed to me an 
 idea of the genius of that artist very different from, and very 
 superior to, that which I had formed from his statue of 
 Washington, in which he has treated the grandest subject 
 that ever fell into his hands, whether we consider the history 
 and character of the individual, or the nobleness of his form 
 and features, without genius or skill. Canova's conception 
 of the hero was of a far different character. There is some- 
 thing godlike and sublime in his noble creation, at once worthy 
 of Canova, and worthy of Washington. 
 
 There was one circumstance which struck me as extra- 
 ordinary, as I loitered through the aisles, and this was the 
 frequent evidence of mutilation. This is particularly notice- 
 able in the monument to the memory of Major Andre. There 
 are a number of bass-reliefs about it, which have been pur- 
 posely injured, the nose being broken from most of the figures. 
 If it had been an old monument, dating previous to the Com- 
 monwealth, the origin and cause of this destruction would 
 have been sufficiently obvious ; for Cromwell's followers, 
 in their double capacity of Presbyterians and plebeians, had 
 
LONDON. 
 
 303 
 
 an equal horror for images of all sorts, and for whatever 
 they might conceive to be either idolatrous or aristocratic ; 
 wherever they passed they dealt largely in mutilation, and 
 were as fatal to marble noses, as some diseases are to real 
 ones. This monument of Andr6, however, is of our own 
 times. There was nothing in his fate to excite other senti- 
 ments than those of pity, and the mutilation of his monu- 
 ment can only be taken as an evidence of a popular pro- 
 pensity for destruction. 
 
 It is in the Poets' Corner, however, that the pilgrim's 
 footsteps most fondly linger. It is there that his eyes — 
 haply, not unsuffused with tears — trace and retrace names, 
 and study lineaments, connected with his sublimest and 
 tenderest associations, until at length his fancy almost 
 places him in communion with the idols of his imagination. 
 
 In no place, perhaps, is the sentiment of gratitude so 
 nobly awakened as in this ; a gratitnde which is not one- 
 rous, which calls for no return but itself, which is freely 
 rendered as a fit tribute for unalloyed pleasures, for happy 
 hours, and endearing associations, for accessions of ideas, 
 which we could never have invented ourselves, and which 
 yet become thenceforth and for ever our own. 
 
 It is no bold assertion, no childish dealing in extravagant 
 and unfounded superlatives, to say, that no place in the 
 world is capable of recalling so many associations, connect- 
 ed with whatever is most godlike in human genius. Sup- 
 posing each country to have — as it has not — a like hallow- 
 ed receptacle for the remains of its most honoured child- 
 ren, yet which other of modern times can boast such a 
 name as that of Shakspeare. Where shall we look for the 
 counterpart of the divine Milton ? — Where else for the 
 godlike and intuitive perception of the secrets of nature, — 
 fora genius so nearly kindred to that which created it, — as 
 that which characterized Newton, who, in the words of his 
 
304 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 epitaph, — " first solved on principles of his own, the figure 
 and motions of the planets, the paths of comets, the ebbing and 
 flowing of the sea, the nature of light, and the real charac- 
 ter of the colours which arise from it, and by his philoso- 
 phy maintained the dignity of the Supreme Being ? — How 
 great reason have not mortals to pride themselves in the 
 existence of such an ornament of their race !" 
 
 The monuments of the Poet's corner are blackened by 
 time and the intrusion of an impure atmosphere ; but the 
 memory of those to whom they are sacred is still and will 
 ever be green in the hearts of their countrymen — of their 
 countrymen on either side the ocean, whose intervening 
 depths have no power to modify the common sentiment of 
 love ; and their fame, instead of being consigned to the sole 
 keeping of those who dwell within the narrow circuit of 
 this little, yet most renowned isle, is fast spreading itself 
 over the boundless regions of a vast continent, whose po- 
 pulation are equally its guardians ; the preservers alike of 
 that which they wrote, and of the language in which it was 
 written ; who are imbued with their sentiments, and have 
 been emboldened by their inspirations ; at whose fire-sides 
 their busts take their place beside those of a Washington 
 and a Franklin, the patriots who have bequeathed freedom 
 to the land, and are enrolled among the household gods of 
 a people, whose homage and admiration are not frittered 
 away in sentiments of indiscriminating loyalty to kings and 
 princes, but reserved, in their integrity, to be offered as an 
 undivided and undegraded tribute at the shrine of heroism 
 and genius. 
 
 There was one parting regret with which I took leave of 
 Westminster Abbey. I had seen many names there which 
 I had never seen before, and which I ceased to remember 
 ere I had left the cloisters ; but I looked in vain for the 
 familiar and honoured one of the chancellor Bacon. 
 
LONDON. 
 
 In a quiet street of the more aristocratic region of Lon- 
 don is the well-known den of a great publishing lion. No 
 gilded sign, no obtrusive placards hung flauntingly in the 
 street, are seen to catch the eye of passing stranger, and 
 exercise their eloquence in converting him into a customer. 
 A brass plate on the door alone announces a name familiar 
 to title-pages, and connected in the mind with much that is 
 most valuable in the literature of the age. Within this door 
 a long room is seen, with well-filled shelves of books on 
 either hand. A counter of polished oak on the left is strewn 
 with reviews, elegantly printed prospectuses of forthcom- 
 ing works, or beautiful volumes of tempting aspect, which 
 announce the last triumphs of the press. Behind this, a 
 single clerk is seen engaged with his accounts ; while in the 
 obscurity beyond, a plodding shopman is busy, preparing 
 boxes and parcels to be despatched to country customers by 
 coach or van, and carry the latest edification or amusement 
 to aristocratic halls, or the rural retreats of the curious and 
 the intelligent. 
 
 So much may be discovered by whoever may wish to 
 become the purchaser of a book. He who may have claims 
 or courage to penetrate beyond, will discover a green door, 
 having a small glass peep-hole, concealed by a taffeta cur- 
 tain of the same colour, and intended to reconnoitre indi- 
 gent authors and pertinacious men of genius, the ponderous 
 producers of voluminous epics, who, after years passed in 
 dreams of immortality, and in the confidence of assimilation 
 to a Shakspeare and a Milton, begin, at the end of an hour's 
 attendance in the anteroom of the literary accoucheur, first 
 to doubt the excellence of their embryo, and go away at 
 length, sunk from their high estate, and bursting with cho- 
 ler and vexation, at being told that what has cost them so 
 many pangs is not worthy to be brought into the world. 
 
 Perhaps there is not in the wide world an object more 
 
 20 
 
LONDON 
 
 pitiable than the self-imaged man of Renins, when thus 
 rudely awakened from his delusion. If a sense of power 
 and a conviction of superiority be indeed, as is said to he 
 the case, the common concomitant of genius, a modest dif- 
 fidence and doubt is quite as usual a one. The first, in 
 deed, is often attended by a prurient imagination, undi- 
 rected by good taste, or an effervescence and pseudo poetry 
 of feeling, unaided by any day-spring of ideas. When 
 such a man arouses from his dream of god-like genius at 
 the rude touch of the publisher's pencil, — scratching upon 
 his manuscript the damnatory sentence — "Not of a de- 
 scription suited to the taste of the day" — or — "Mr. Blank, 
 being much engaged, declines publishing," — to the waking 
 conviction, that instead of an inspired and immortal poei, 
 he is only a miserable rhymer; and that he has wasted, in 
 the production of lame and limping verses, the time that, 
 with security of profit, might have been advantageousl \ 
 employed in the casting up of accounts, — his situation must 
 be miserable indeed. 
 
 The individual who, carried forward by his own im- 
 pudence, or freely admitted, reaches the inner sanctuary 
 beyond this mysterious door, discovers a small neat room 
 with a few necessary articles of furniture ; two or three 
 chairs, and a writing-table, whose pigeon-holes are stuffed 
 with blotted manuscripts, a few elegant volumes, and some 
 costly engravings, the meditated embellishments of forth- 
 coming works. If the lion should not have disappeared by 
 some one of the various sally-ports, invented for the pur- 
 pose of escape from unwelcome visitation, but be found in 
 his den, the visitor beholds himself face to face w ith an in 
 dividual slightly touched by time, yet firm and elastic in 
 his step, and with an air of activity and health; neat in his 
 dress, of a gentlemanlike appearance, polished manners, 
 and as much fluency of speech as falls commonly to the lot 
 
LONDON. 
 
 3M7 
 
 of his countrymen; and he is not sorry to have the op- 
 portunity of an interview with one who has been the besl 
 patron of literature in an age teeming with literary pro 
 (taction. 
 
 Perhaps it may even be the lot of our visitor to pene- 
 trate to the apartments above, and to admire, with no 
 common feeling of pleasure, the choice collection of manu- 
 scripts and letters, the originals of those which have at- 
 tracted so much interest, and of whatever is most valuable 
 in literature, there interspersed with noble portraits of 
 some of its modern producers — men who have monopolized 
 almost the attention of the age which they honoured, and 
 who were the frequent breathers of this literary atmo- 
 sphere, which their presence has consecrated. They who 
 have had the opportunity of knowing will tell you, more- 
 over, that these precincts, which genius has hallowed, are 
 still the not unfrequent resort of such choice spirits as re- 
 main, and that the feast of reason there celebrated is not 
 the less so for being blended with banqueting of a more 
 substantial character. 
 
 20 r 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND. 
 
 Leave London — Spread Eagle Coach — Road to Dover — Steamer — Voyage 
 — Fellow-travellers — Disembarkation — Hotel Quillacq — Comparison of 
 France and England— Conclusion. 
 
 The period of my leaving England came upon me very 
 suddenly, and with little previous intimation. I received, 
 on the first day of the new year, a note from the amiable 
 and intelligent young friend who, at an age inferior to my 
 own, so creditably filled the important station of our di- 
 plomatic agent at St. James's, requesting me to charge 
 myself with despatches for our minister in Madrid, con- 
 taining his new powers, accrediting him to the government 
 which had succeeded that of Ferdinand. 
 
 The civil war, which has continued with such disastrous 
 fury to rage in the north of Spain, since the accession of 
 Isabella 11., had already commenced. The ordinary com- 
 munications w ere intercepted on the direct route for some 
 distance beyond the French frontier ; couriers were per- 
 petually interrupted and despoiled of their papers; and the 
 latest gazettes brought intelligence of the detention and 
 maltreatment of a French Secretary of Legation, his escort 
 
4 
 
 DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND. 303 
 
 having been fired into. There were daily accounts of fo- 
 rays, charges, and loss of life, without much attention to 
 the claims and immunities of strangers to the quarrel, even 
 when they happened to be recognised. The service was 
 then one of some difficulty, which, as an officer of the 
 government, familiar, moreover, with the language and 
 manners of the country to be traversed, I did not feel at 
 liberty to decline. 
 
 I had, to be sure, a conscientious wish, growing out of 
 some perseverance or obstinacy of disposition, by which- 
 ever name the quality may be dignified, to acquit myself of 
 the literary undertaking which had brought me to England, 
 however distasteful it had already become to me ; still, the 
 alacrity with which I undertook the service proposed to 
 me, the pleasure and return of cheerfulness, to which I 
 had long been a stranger, with which I hurried through the 
 various preparations consequent upon so sudden a change 
 of purpose, and the undisguised and overflowing joy with 
 which I took my seat the very next morning in the Spread 
 Eagle coach for Dover, with a charge of some importance 
 upon my mind, an immediate motive for exertion to arouse 
 me from my stupor, all convinced me that, treacherous as 
 was the feeling to the purpose which had brought me from 
 my home, I was not sorry to escape from that merry Eng- 
 land, which to me, at least, had proved to be otherwise, 
 and to have the sunny Spain gleaming brightly in my re- 
 collection, as the end and object of my journey. 
 
 Our coach at starting was surrounded by the customary 
 venders of knives, pencils, newspapers, and maps of the 
 road, not forgetting the eloquent Hibernian, who held up 
 Hood's Comic Annual, with the solemn assurance that it 
 would make us laugh the whole way to Dover. My fellow 
 passengers within consisted of a Scotch lady and her son, 
 who were going to reside at Hontleur, and a young Anglo- 
 
DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND. 
 
 Frenchman from Mauritius, just turned adrift in the world, 
 without any superfluity of ballast, and who had a famous 
 scar on one side of his nose, which sufficiently indicated 
 that he was of an adventurous disposition. 
 
 As far as Gravesend, the road was the same which I 
 had traversed on my first journey in England. Towards 
 Rochester, the country lost its level character, and became 
 more broken and picturesque than any that I had yet seen 
 m England. The hills were higher, and more boldly un- 
 dulated ; and although the soil was only two or three feet 
 deep, reposing, wherever it was revealed beneath the 
 surface, on a bed of chalk, yet it was everywhere in a 
 high state of cultivation, and, where left in grass, still 
 beautifully verdant. 
 
 Ascending a hill, we came, at the summit, in sight of 
 Rochester, charmingly situated on the Medway, which is 
 here a considerable arm of the sea, navigable for coasting 
 vessels, of which there were a number, with their sails 
 loosed to dry, in the harbour. A fine stone bridge traversed 
 the stream, and above it, on the bank beyond, were seen 
 the crumbling battlements of an ancient Norman castle. 
 Out of the heart of the town rose the tall roof of the cathe- 
 dral, which is of Gothic construction and of great antiquity. 
 As we crossed the bridge, and rattled down the main 
 street, we passed numbers of the officers in garrison, tall, 
 dashing, well-dressed fellows, who, beset with listlessness, 
 were eyeing the young women from the various corners 
 and crossing- places, and meditating mischief for others and 
 amusement for themselves. One sea-lieutenant, whose 
 tarnished epaulet and buttons told of poverty and salt 
 water, came roiling down the street with a noble lump 
 of a wife in tow on his arm. It was an illustration of the 
 difference between the soldier and sailor, and the decided 
 propensity of the last to be caught, especially when he 
 
DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND. 
 
 311 
 
 comes ashore after a long cruise, and finds himself, at the 
 sight of the first woman, irresistibly beset by the pleasing 
 idea of having a wife of his own. 
 
 At the last relay before reaching Canterbury, there was 
 a curious, though not a very interesting, spectacle, at the 
 inn door. Immediately in front of it lay a drunken soldier 
 of the forty -sixth regiment, wallowing in the dirt, and 
 without power to recover his legs. His red coat, and 
 pipe-clayed bells which bore the marks of recent good 
 keeping, were sadly smeared with mud. In the midst of 
 his abortive efforts to move his body, his tongue ran glibly 
 enough, recounting the history of his regiment, and telling 
 how he was going on furlough. The landlady, being very 
 much scandalized, was very anxious that he should take 
 benefit of his leave, and set forward immediately; and 
 encouraged, with this motive, a benevolent young rifle- 
 man, who was endeavouring to aid him, with the promise, 
 should he succeed, of what would have made him as glo- 
 rious as his comrade. One of our passengers, who seemed 
 to be knowing in these matters, called from the top of the 
 coach to give him some mustard. There was something 
 irresistibly ludicrous in the demurrer of the drunken man, 
 who, with a knowing squint, rejected the prescription — 
 44 Mustard, eh! mustard! as much liquor as you like, but 
 no mustard!" Meantime, all the village urchins had ga- 
 thered about, and were looking on observingly. They 
 were dressed in breeches and yarn stockings, or leggings, 
 and had a very old-fashioned look. 
 
 After a bad dinner, eaten in a great hurry, at Canter- 
 bury, we set forward, and reached Dover at eight o'clock, 
 descending a sufficiently precipitous road, through a ravine, 
 which at this place interrupts the perpendicular character 
 of the lofty cliffs beneath which Dover is situated. Having 
 taken a cup of tea at the inn which the coach stopped at 
 
Hi DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND-. 
 
 and which, considered as an English inn, was not par- 
 ticularly £ood, I strolled forth to look at the piers, the 
 basin, and whatever else might be discovered in a dark 
 and gusty night. 
 
 At five o'clock we were all roused in readiness to take 
 the packet for Calais. Soon after the steward came, with 
 the message that we might make ourselves quiet for a 
 couple of hours, as the tide would not serve until seven. 
 Some of the passengers addresed themselves to the busi- 
 ness of getting breakfast, while I set about writing a letter. 
 Suddenly we were told that the packet was casting of, and 
 would be at sea in a moment. " Six shillings and six- 
 pence!" cried the landlord; "Waiter, sir! waiter!" — 
 " Boots, sir! if you please, boots!" — "Please don't forget 
 the chambermaid, sir!" said a pretty, smiling girl, stretching 
 forth her hand, and naked, well-rounded arm. 
 
 In other moods, this last might have been a redeeming 
 circumstance; but in the midst of the confusion of collecting 
 effects, attending to those demands which were not to be 
 resisted, as the appellants placed themselves in the road, 
 anxiety to bundle one's self into the steamer, and ap- 
 prehensions of being left, it was only an additional an- 
 noyance. When I reached the pier, the steamer had 
 swung her bow off, and had given one preparatory snort 
 ere she set herself in motion. A desperate leap carried me 
 on to her quarter, and, on looking round, I was made 
 happy in discovering that my household goods, portman- 
 teau, bag, and hat-case, were all around me. INot so the 
 Anglo-Frenchman, who, ere long, became aware that he 
 had parted company with an enormous chest, which had 
 already occasioned him some annoyance, and which con- 
 tained, as he said, forty shirts to begin. The youth bore 
 the deprivation with a philosophic placidity, that papa, had 
 he been there, might not have participated in. 
 
DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND. 313 
 
 In a minute after, we had passed the pier-head, and were 
 at sea in the open Channel. This was an artifieial harbour, 
 excavated into the open coast, and when we had passed the 
 tide-light at the pier-head, without prelude of any sort, we 
 commenced rolling forthwith. The wind was strong from 
 the south-west, and the jib and foresail were set, to help 
 along and steady her ; still the motion was short, quick, 
 lurching, and intolerably disagreeable. 
 
 The day had not yet dawned; it was squally, with passing 
 rain, and a gale which strengthened each instant as we left 
 the shelter of the coast. Shakspeare's Cliff, and the op- 
 posite eminence crowned by the old Castle of Dover, 
 overhung us for a brief interval, while, in either direction, 
 the frowning and inhospitable coast might be discovered for 
 a short distance through the gloom, while northward were 
 seen two enormous lights, looming out like rival suns, shin- 
 ing portentously through a fog on the banks of Newfound- 
 land. 
 
 Presently we discovered a large ship standing for the 
 shore, which was not half a mile distant. One of the sailors 
 re-assured me, however, concerning her position, by telling 
 me that there was no danger while the lights were in sight. 
 The moment they were shut in, it would be time to tack. 
 In a few minutes more the coast, the Cliffs, and Castle, had 
 equally disappeared. Nothing of the land was seen except 
 the two looming lights, and the only other object visible was 
 our little steamer, fretting and plunging through the agitated 
 sea, and emitting a black smoke, more dismal than the 
 frowning clouds above, and which, scattered furiously by the 
 wind, soon hastened to mingle with them. 
 
 If the scene without were wild and terrific, that within 
 was ludicrous and disgusting. The passengers, a few mi- 
 nutes before replete with life and activity, and taken up 
 
311 
 
 DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND 
 
 witli earnest attention to their effects, were now strelchc \\ 
 lifeless, sonic below, others on deck, heedless of spray or 
 rain, in the presence of a more overwhelming calamity ; 
 all, however, whether above or below, were equally pro 
 \ided with basins by fellows whose daily business it seemed 
 to be to distribute them. The provocative to sea-sickness 
 appeared, naturally enough, to be in almost every instance 
 irresistible. The coolness and system with which this thing 
 was done was really chilling ; and I fled at each approach 
 of a basin-bearer — offering his commodity as if he were 
 handing about refreshments — with mortal apprehension. 
 
 Among the passengers were many young ladies com- 
 pletely overcome, drifting from side to side, abandoned by 
 their companions, and receiving scant courtesy from the 
 crew, to whom the spectacle was neither novel nor heart- 
 rending. Among the various persons thus sorely dis 
 couraged at the outset of their travels, I noticed an immense 
 young lubber, more than six feet high, who was done up in 
 various water-proof caps, cloaks and comforters, apparently 
 provided for this very emergency. I never saw a more 
 abortive personification of comfort. 
 
 A more sentimental and less sick companion of his 
 talked to him in the interval of his own spasms, concerning 
 the picturesque grandeur of the scene, and wild agitation 
 of the elements. He presently added, as a consolatory 
 salvo, — " You are too sick, however, to enjoy fine scenery." 
 The stout lubber, thus taunted, presently picked himself up, 
 and began stumbling about in search of the picturesque, 
 on two long and formidable supporters, which would have 
 been doubtless more at home on either side of a hunter. 
 His efforts to stalk about, now grabbing the shrouds, 
 now the funnel, anon a stout woman, adrift like himself, 
 were about as successfully abortive as the movements of a 
 
DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND. 
 
 chicken with its head cut off. At last he let go his hold of 
 the screaming woman, gave up the pursuit of the pictur- 
 esque, and made himself comfortable in the lee scuppers. 
 
 A few awful hours, which made up an age of misery, 
 brought us in sight of the French coast, and of a bark 
 which seemed to have a signal of distress up. This very 
 neighbourhood is at this season the yearly scene of many 
 .shipwrecks, attended not unfrequently with deplorable loss 
 of life. To our great annoyance the tide was out, and we 
 were obliged to anchor, at the distance of a mile or two 
 from the coast. The town of Calais loomed out through 
 the storm. Two nobly-constructed quays stretched from 
 the port, in which the vessels lay aground, far seaward. 
 The extremities of these were covered with people, while 
 others wandered along the strand, seeking for whatever rem- 
 nants of wrecked vessels or ruined cargoes the tide might 
 have left there. A belfry on the end of the quay seemed 
 placed there to ring an alarm, and call for succour, in the 
 event of any signal of distress from seaward. 
 
 Ere long a number of stout boats put off to disembark 
 us. Every one, short as had been our voyage, sighed to 
 enjoy the wished-for land as earnestly as the tempest- 
 tossed /Eneas. I was anxious to secure a place in the mail, 
 having an object of importance which precluded me from 
 being ceremonious, and therefore dashed in forthwith. 
 Many followed ; among them a lady, who, being nearly sepa- 
 rated from her party, was dragged in by her companion, 
 while the boatmen, pronouncing their boat already over- 
 laden, attempted to resist it, she vibrating half overboard on 
 the gunwale. We were a confused heap of passengers and 
 portmanteaus, some of the first as lifeless as the last. Our 
 stout young fellow, having mustered strength to escape from 
 the scene of his tortures, lay down as dead 
 
316 
 
 DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND 
 
 Some young Englishmen, commencing already the bu- 
 siness of abuse, which was to be the chief occupation of 
 those travels which they were about to begin, exercised 
 their returning sensibilities, in ridiculing our boatmen. 
 Perhaps they did not handle their oars quite so skilfully as 
 Englishmen would have done, and it might, moreover, be 
 objected, that they made more noise than was necessary. 
 To blame them for chatting was to blame them for being 
 Frenchmen. Yet they were cheerful in their toil, which 
 was something, and their shouts were shouts of encou- 
 ragement. " Tirez, mes enfans! tirez! doublez le point!" 
 This was not so easily done as said. The tide ran out as 
 furiously as the breakers came in. Though the men on the 
 quay waved to us perpetually, indicating the deepest water, 
 yet we repeatedly grounded astern; our bow would be 
 swept out by the tide, and the broadside coming round to 
 the breakers, they would come over us most refreshingly 
 for a January day. I had about two barrels-full to my 
 share, and it was quite enough to render me comfortably 
 moist. 
 
 At length, some men on the beach, prompted by a cha- 
 ritable benevolence, for which I thanked them from the 
 bottom of my heart, bethought themselves to send off a buoy 
 and line to us. This being attached to our bow, we were 
 quickly drawn upon the beach ; and a precious draught of 
 drenched and sea-sick sinners it was. As the boat would 
 not come up high and dry, we were obliged to be carried 
 ashore by the fishermen, who waded off to us, two carrying 
 a lady in their locked arms, and one a man, mounted as on 
 horseback. Our young hero of the manifold caps and 
 water-proofs, whether scorning to be carried by a French- 
 man, or dreading the imposition which, under circumstances 
 of similar necessity, would have been practised in his own 
 
DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND. 
 
 317 
 
 country, or taking counsel of his manhood alone, boldly 
 stepped into the sea, and marched forward with the faith 
 of Peter. 
 
 The beach presented a singular scene. The spectacle of 
 wet luggage, and soaked, sea-sick, chop-fallen passengers, 
 was most deplorable. Not one of all the rescued but looked 
 as though he had been recently indebted for resuscitation 
 to the apparatus of the Humane Society. Such shawls, 
 such bonnets, such watered silks, and such dishevelled hair! 
 — above all, such whiskers ! A whisker, when in its highest 
 feather, and in all the pomp and pride of pommade, and 
 cire, and of consummate keeping, is assuredly a thing to be 
 admired. But what spectacle is there so deplorable as 
 your drowned — your crest-fallen — your dejected whisker ? 
 When I looked round, indeed, on the whiskered faces about 
 me, and remembered my own destitution, I was disposed 
 to feel anything but envious. 
 
 The strange people, among whom we had made so un- 
 dignified an entry, were also in some measure objects of 
 curious attention. The phlegm of the other side of the 
 channel had disappeared in the sail of a few hours. Every- 
 thing was done with much noise and controversy, accom- 
 panied by earnest gestures and almost frantic cries. Here, 
 too, the national drollery and sense of ridicule began already 
 to assert itself among these uncultivated fishermen, one of 
 whom, looking at our tall worthy, who was no less extra- 
 ordinary on shore than he had proved himself afloat, 
 pronounced thus prematurely a verdict of absurdity, which 
 was sure to be confirmed by the more enlightened judgment 
 of the Boulevards, and the terrace of the Tuileries, " Qu y il 
 est drole, ce gros gaillard!" 
 
 There was much to admire in the conduct of the crowd. 
 They were not troublesome, obtrusive of their services, 
 vexatious, or mercenary, and indications of intemperance 
 
•31S 
 
 DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND. 
 
 were nowhere to be seen. The man who carried me on 
 shore, instead of stipulating for half-a-guinea, when midway 
 from the boat to land, under penalty of depositing me, could 
 not be found soon after to receive his compensation. The 
 Douaniers, though firm and dignified, incapable of any 
 low and vulgar truckling, or accessibility to bribery, were 
 yet most civil and obliging, yielding their personal aid in 
 protecting and transporting the luggage to the custom-house. 
 Every functionary vied in courtesy ; so that when I had 
 been to the post-office to secure my place in the Malle, 1 
 traversed the ancient Place d'Armes of this famous old city, 
 and entered the Hotel Quillacq with a cheerfulness and 
 gaite de coeur to which I had long been a stranger. 
 
 The inn was an extensive quadrangle, with a porte cochSre 
 and an open courtyard. At one side was the remise, well 
 filled with britschkas and travelling-carriages. A chariot, 
 covered with a profusion of boxes, hat-cases, and leathern 
 conveniences, was drawn up at the foot of the principal 
 stairway, and Quillacq in person had just closed the door 
 upon some people of rank who had that moment entered. 
 Two postilions, each conducting a pair of stout, stubborn, 
 serviceable-looking horses, and whose gaiety, in sympathy 
 with their lively livery, seemed in the inverse ratio of the 
 heaviness of their boots, now cracked their whips and set 
 forward with many shouts. Quillacq bowed low, and the 
 great personages having departed, made room for the 
 humbler to take their place. 
 
 My room was neatly and tastefully furnished, and the 
 French bed had a very tempting look to one long cut off 
 from its comforts. But there were other and more interest- 
 ing cares. It was past noon, and as yet I had not eaten ; 
 so, changing my dress, I descended without unnecessary 
 loss of time to the coffee-room. It was quite plain and 
 uncarpeted ; a wood fire burned in a Franklin-stove at the 
 
DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND 
 
 31 i) 
 
 farther comer; the chairs were of the simplest form; :i 
 few engravings ornamented the walls ; while through 
 frequent windows on street or courtyard, God's light 
 streamed in, in untaxed abundance. 
 
 I rang the bell with a hasty and energetic jerk, suited to 
 convey the idea of a hungry man. " Voila, Monsieur! 1 ' 
 said the waiter, overflowing with alacrity. I set forth the 
 nature and urgency of my wants with sober truth and 
 earnestness, and with the eloquence that was in my feel- 
 ings, and which, ere long, was productive of comfortable 
 results. Meantime, I meditated upon the land which 1 
 had left, and that in which I had arrived. It is impossible 
 to deny that in many of the nobler points of character, the 
 English greatly excel their more mercurial neighbours. 
 Without assuming their alleged superiority in one par- 
 ticular, intimately connected with the well-being of society, 
 — namely, female virtue, — there are many others in which 
 their advantage is undoubted. In the matter of patriotism 
 and public probity, for instance, where would you look in 
 France for such a man as Lord Althorp, now Earl Spencer, 
 and where for individuals or parties capable of appreciating 
 him ? A man who, endowed simply with good plain sense, 
 and right judgment, seeking its dictates in the counselling of 
 an honest heart, possessing no superiority of genius, and 
 unaided by any power of eloquence, was yet able creditably 
 to fill the station which a Pitt and a Fox had illustrated by 
 the brilliancy of their talents, and to carry with him on all 
 occasions a weight, an influence, and an adhesion such as 
 his illustrious predecessors could not often command, — a 
 man whose sole power consisted in the unbounded con- 
 fidence yielded by his countrymen to the rectitude of his in- 
 tentions and the probity of his character. 
 
 Such a man in a French Chamber would have been a 
 yanache and afwrgmr, or at best a pnvvre homme. There. 
 
320 DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND 
 
 on the contrary, the high places are filled by men of brilliant 
 genius, subtle in intrigue, and expert in delusion. If you 
 compare Lord Althorp with Thiers, you have a just measure 
 of the value attached to public virtue and integrity in the 
 two countries; the first such as we have described him; 
 the second sacrificing everything and everybody to his own 
 advancement, and immoveably strong in the possession of 
 office, at a time when he was suspected of having used the 
 political knowledge conferred by his station, and the secrets 
 of the telegraph, for stock -jobbing purposes and the rearing 
 of his own fortune. Whether the accusation were true 
 or false is of no importance. It shows that the thing was 
 possible and susceptible of belief ; the suspicion alone in 
 England would have driven a public man into infamous 
 and irrevocable retreat. One circumstance alone is suf- 
 ficient to give the measure of political honour and public 
 probity in France, — the fact that Frenchmen have been 
 capable of believing in the base and mercenary peculation 
 of a king, whom, by a spontaneous feeling, they chose to 
 reign over them as the mirror of every princely virtue. 
 The confidence which an honourable man must feel in his 
 own integrity will ever make him slow to doubt the integrity 
 of others. 
 
 If, however, the better classes in England excel those 
 which correspond in France, in many noble virtues essential 
 to the stability and happiness of a state, the comparison 
 ceases to be advantageous as you descend to the inferior 
 conditions of life. In France, the lower classes are found 
 to be sober, honest, civil, courteous, actuated by a genuine 
 sense of politeness ; instead of being characterized by every 
 vicious propensity, and taking pleasure in the exhibition of 
 a gratuitous brutality. The reason of this difference is 
 obvious enough. Regenerated by their revolution, reliev- 
 ed from the odious distinctions and the oppressive burdens 
 
DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND 
 
 321 
 
 by which they were degraded and crushed, the French have 
 won for themselves that equality which, as it is the dearest 
 want, is also the most ennobling attribute of our nature. 
 
 In addition to the pervading courtesy of the lower classes, 
 there are other circumstances which not a little contribute 
 to make the condition of the passing stranger pleasing in 
 France. It is the amiable philosophy of the land to enjoy 
 each passing moment ; to make the most of every means of 
 gratification that accident scatters in the way ; to contribute 
 to the pleasure of those whom chance casts, however mo- 
 mentarily, beside one, as a means of promoting one's own, 
 Hence, in entering a French diligence, or taking one's seat 
 at a table d'hdte, instead of forbidding frowns, or at best a 
 silence eloquent of ill-nature, one is greeted by kind words 
 and smiles, and delighted by the amiable attention to those 
 little courtesies and trifling kindnesses which, however in- 
 considerable in themselves, contribute, in no slight degree, 
 to make up the happiness of life. 
 
 But one of the most pleasing contrasts is in the matter of 
 meals. Every thing that this important subject embraces 
 in France is civilized and unexceptionable : the hours every- 
 where uniform, and neither too early nor too late; instead 
 of the seclusion of one's separate corner, the social feeling, 
 and the well-bred conviviality of the common table ; the 
 solitary beefsteak, with its attendant potatoes, replaced by 
 the abundant variety which results from the spirit of com- 
 bination ; but, above all, the stupid roast and boiled, the 
 miserable turnips and the cabbage, substituted by the noblest 
 triumphs of our modern civilization, the triumphs of the 
 French kitchen. Where, in England, could my complacent 
 eyes have reposed upon such tempting mutton cutlets, such 
 a dainty omelette, such rich cafe au lait, as now greeted my 
 delighted vision in the Hotel Qujllac? But perhaps the 
 most eloquent eulogium that one can pass on a charming 
 
 •21 
 
CONCLUSION 
 
 breakfast is to do justice to its attractions fork in hand. 
 Besides, it is past twelve; we have been up and toiling all 
 day, exposed to the peltings of the pitiless storm, and moist- 
 ened with salt water as well as fresh. With your leave, 
 therefore, kind reader, let us say, adieu! 
 
 In conclusion, it may be proper here to state, that the 
 writer returned to England, some months subsequent to the 
 period to which the foregoing pages refer; that he travelled, 
 with far greater gratification than on his previous visit, ex- 
 tensively over the United Kingdom, keeping notes of what- 
 ever he saw; the very extent of which might, had not this 
 essay already satisfied him, alone deter him from the task 
 of preparing them for the press, though relating simply to 
 matters that came under his observation as an ordinary 
 traveller, and not in any instance to dinners, balls, or draw- 
 ing-rooms, or any scenes of a private nature, to which the 
 courtesy and kindness of those to whom he became known 
 procured him admission. 
 
 He would not wish to relieve himself of the debt of grati- 
 tude thus imposed upon him by so cheap a recognition, and 
 his vanity is not of the sort to be gratified by the accidental 
 association of illustrious names. Yet he cannot help re- 
 gretting that his sense of propriety, and of what is due to 
 the privacy of families whose hospitality submitted them to 
 his observation, — and which, from being elevated, are not 
 therefore excluded from the claims to remain sacred from 
 being dragged into public exhibition, to gratify the small pride 
 of a book-maker, or the prurient curiosity of such as may seek 
 to become well-bred by external imitation, rather than by 
 cherishing elevation and nobleness of sentiment with in them- 
 selves, — should prevent him from drawing pictures of do- 
 mestic life, alike creditable to the individuals and the country 
 
CONCLUSION 
 
 to which they belong, and of a state of society characterized by 
 intelligence and refinement, though chiefly known amongus 
 through the blackened and perverted caricatures of writers, 
 who have ascribed the vices of a few individuals to a whole 
 class, and affixed to characters intended as portraits, the unna- 
 tural and distorted sentiments that are peculiar to themselves. 
 
 Believing, however, that the popular manners of Ireland 
 furnish a theme for amusing description, and that the mode 
 of writing adopted in this work on England might be ap- 
 plied more advantageously in describing the sister kingdom, 
 the writer will at least promise himself to prepare for pub 
 licationthe account of his travels in that country. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 21 " 
 
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