/ ONE MOKE UNFORTUNATE. (I'lii;*' 469.) GUANU STAIRt'ASK, I5UCKING11AM PALACE. 1 V PALACE AND HOYEL: OB, PHASES OF LONDON LIFE. PERSONAL OBSERVATIONS OF AN AMERICAN IN LONDON. BY DAY AND NIGHT ; WITH GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF ROYAL AND NOBLE PERSONAGES, THEIR RESI- DENCES AND RELAXATIONS ; TOGETHER WITH VIVID ILLUSTRA- TIONS OF THE MANNERS, SOCIAL CUSTOMS. AND MODES OF LIVING OF THE RICH AND THE RECKLESS, THE DESTITUTE AND THE DEPRAVED, IN THB METROPOLIS OF GREAT BRITAIN. VAIjXJAJBI-iE statistical IN-FORIwrATIOKT, COLLECTED FBOM THE MOST RELIABLE SOURCES. BY DANIEL JOSEPH KlUWAN. Beantifhlly Illustrated with Two Hundred Ingravings, and a finely executed Map of London. / PUBLISHED BY SUBSCRIPTION ONLY. BELKl^AP & BLISS. W. E. BLISS, TOLEDO, OHIO. — NETTLETON & CO., CINCINNATI, OHIO. — DUFFIELD ASHMEAD, PHILADELPHIA, PA. UNION PUBLISHING CO., CHICAGO, ILL. A. L. BANCROFT & CO., SAN FRANCISCO, CAL. 1870 Bntbbkd according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by BELKNAP & BLISS, In the Clerk's Office of tlic District Court of Connecticut. I THE LIBRAKT or CONGR£SS WAtBINOTON WILLIAM n. LOCEWOOD, ElectrotyixT, BAETrOBP, COMB. % TO OP NKW YORK CITY, A Tl\UE pENTLEMAN IN ^VEI^ OuALlTY AND pUTY OP LlPE, THESE PAGES ARE DEDICATED, AS A ^J-IQHT TE^TIjVlOj^Y TO THE J]HVA.I\YIHG J'^I^ENDSHIP BOI\NK BY HIM FOR THli >iUTHOR PREFACE. In offering this volume to the Public, the result of a year's experience and labor, I must indeed feel gratified, and more than rewarded, if any of those ■who may peruse its pages shall find in them a tithe of the pleasure which I enjoyed in journeying in and about the nooks, crannies, and curious places, of what may be justly called the greatest and most populous City of the Modern World. Believing that a Metropolis of Three and a Half Millions of people should be observed and described, if observed and described at all, in a large and comprehensive sense, in order that a thorough knowledge of it may be ob- tained by those who will do me the honor of turning the leaves of this book, I have not hesitated to take my readers into places which they might shrink from visiting alone, and which are rarely or ever seen by the stranger, in London. Therefore have I sketched its Haunts of Vice, Misery, and Crime, as well as its fairer and brighter aspects, with no faltering in my purpose, so that the American people might see London as I saw it, and as it exists To- Day. The material employed in making the book was gathered from personal observation, while acting as a Special Correspondent of the New York World, in London, and I cannot do less than make an acknowledgment of the kindness of its Editor, Mr. Manton Marble, by whose permission I have used some portions of the matter embodied in this work. DANIEL JOSEPH KIRWAN. Hartford, August 1st, 1870. 10. 11. 12 13. 14. 15 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29 30 31. 82. 83. 84. 85. One More Unfobtu>'ate Frontispiece — Gkand Staircase, Buckingham Palace — Illuminated Title-Page Bikd's-Ete View op Losdon 17 Initial Letter, 17 The London Stone, 19 "Thank you. Sib," 20 The Rock and Chain, Tail Piece 23 Initial Letter, 24 Sword, &c.. Tail Piece, 27 Entrance to Docks, 32 " I DoNT Think it Will Hurt me," 34 Forest, Initial Letter, 42 Buckingham Palace (Full Page,) 45 Portrait of Queen Victoria, 50 John Brown Exercising the Queen, 53 Fancy Sketch, Tail Piece, 56 Lion on Guard, Initial Letter, 57 PuRir Bill Showing us in, 61 " Wont you T.ike Scmethino?" 63 Snake Swallowing, 67 " Bilking Bet takes the Chair," 72 ' Teddy the Kinchin's Song," 74 Explosive M.atehials, Tail Piece, 75 Initial Letter, 76 CoGERs' Hall, Debating Club, 85 Snake in the Grass, Tail Piece, 91 Initial Letter, 92 Conservative Club House 99 Carlton Club House, 101 Oxford and Cambridge Club House, 102 United Service Club House, 104 Architectural Sketch, Tail Piece, 106 Initial Letter, 107 Westminster Abbey, 109 Shakespeare's Tomb, 115 Tomb of Milton, 117 ToMD OF Mary Queen of Scots, 118 Coronation Chair, 121 Gauntleted Hand and Sword, Tail Piece, 127 Initial Letter, 128 Victoria Theatre in the New Cut (Full Page,) 186 KagFair 142 Vi ILLUSTRATIONS. 43. A Cell Wwbow, Initial Letter, 145 44. Tae Last Execuiio.n at Newgate, 151 45. Fetters and Ciiai.v, Tail Piece, 15S 46. Broken Wheel, Initial Letter, 159 47. Doctors" Commons, 162 48. Eagle and Snakb, Tail Piece 166 49. Initial Letter, 167 60. A Bohemian Carouse, 171 61 A Water Scene, Tail Piece 180 52. Tower op London (Full Page,) _.. 182 53 Initial Letter, 183 54. Traitors' G.\te, 189 55. The Crow.v J ewei^, 197 56. Imperial Orb, A.mpclla and other Jewels 199 57. The St.\te Salt-Cellars, 200 58. Cannon, Tail Piece, 206 59. Initial Letter, 207 60. The Cadgers' JIeal, 210 61. Raft Timber, Tail Piece, 215 62. The Old Oak, Initial Letter, 216 63. Bathing in Htde Park 219 64. The L.^byrinth, 221 65. The Crystal Palace 223 66. iHi: Promen.U)e, Tail Piece 225 67. Fort and W.wer Scene, Initial Letter, 226 68. Portrait of the Prince op Wales, 230 69. Prince and Cabman, 234 70. Broken Wagon a.nd Dead Horse, Tail Piece, 239 71. Blood-Hounds in the Leash, Initial Letter, 240 72. Portrait of Lady Mordaunt, 243 73. Portrait of the Duke of ILwiaTON 262 74. Portrait op the Marquis of Waterford, 265 75. Portrait of the Marquis of Hastings, 267 76. Mounted Cannon, Initial Letter, 270 77. Houses of Parliament (Full Page,) 272 78. Portrait of William Ewart Gladstone, 274 79. The Legislative Bar-Maid, ?T. 279 80. Portrait of John Bright, 281 81. The Student, Tail Piece, 284 82. Initial Letter, 285 83. " Could tod .Make it a Tanner?" 290 84. The Speaker of the House 292 85. First Lord op the Admiralty, 298 86. Portrait of Robert E. Lowe, 300 87. Ol.\dstone Speaking in the House of Commons (Full Page,) 307 88 Landscape, Tail Piece, 317 89. Initial Letter, ; 318 90. The Pocket-Book Game, 324 91. Steam Frig.^te, Tail Piece 329 92. A Broadside, Initial Letter, 330 93. The Sewer Hunter, 334 94. Blood-Hound, Tail Piece, 336 95. IsuND, Initial Letter, 337 96. Oats Receiving Rations, 339 9". The Great Porter Tun 341 98. Initial Lctter, 344 99. The Harvard Crew (Full Page,) 853 ILLUSTRATIONS. VU 100. Bridge, Tail Piece 361 101. Initial Letter, 362 102. The Oxford Crew, (Full Page,) 369 103. The University Race, (Full Page,) 375 104. Beautiful Cr.4.ft, Tail Piece, 381 105. Initial Letter, 382 106. Hospital Ship " DREADSOUonT," 384 107. Jonathan Wild's Skeleton, 389 108. Tail Piece 390 109. Initial Letter, 391 110. Coke Peddler, 399 111. Bum Boatman, 401 112. "I Gets it for Cigab Stumps,"' 403 113. Street Acrobats, 405 114. Pu.^'c^ and Judy, 407 115. Initial Letter, 410 116. Nelson's Monument, 416 117. Damaged Tree, Tail Piece, 419 118. Initial Letter, 420 119. Nursery in the Foundling Hospital 421 120. Washing the Waifs, • 427 121. Landscape, Tail Piece, 434 122. Initial Letter, 435 123. Breakfast Stall, Covent Garden Market (Full Page,} 143 124. The Orange Market, 450 125. Going to Market, Tail Piece, 451 126. Fancy Piece, Initial Letter, 452 127. Wild and Desolate, Tail Piece, 4G0 128. Initial Letter, 461 129. Foreign Cafe in Coventry Street,., 462 130. Canteen of the Alhambra, 471 131. The Old Sinner, 473 132. Rough AND Ready, Tail Piece, 475 133. In the Haymarket, ^ 482 134. Initial Letter, 486 135. St. Paul's Cathedral, 487 136. Sharp-Shooter, Initial Letter, 493 137. "Beautiful Miss Neilson,". 494 138. A Gin Public in the New Cut 500 139. A Gallery of the "Vic," 502 140. Putting on Airs, Tail Piece, 507 141. Initial Letter, 508 142. An Auction at Billingsgate Fish Market, (Full Page,) 511 143. Initial Letter, .' 518 144. Lincoln's Inn, 520 145. Fancy Sketch, Tail Piece, 525 146. An English Oak, Initial Letter, 526 147. Bankers' Eating-House, 528 148. The Bank of England, 533 149. " I Began to Perspire," 538 150. Carpet-B.\g, Tail Piece, 544 151. London Bridge, (Full Page,) 546 152. Forest Scene, Initial Letter, 547 153. Temple Bar, Fleet Street, 550 154. The New BLAgKFRiARS Bridge, 553 155. Bridge and Water Scene, Tail Piece 555 156. iNiTLiL Letter, 556 Viii ILLUSTKATIONS. 157. Windsor Castle, 560 158. Tail Piece, 565 161). I.MTIAL LETTEa, 666 160. Loading tub Prison Van, 570 161. Detective Irvixo, 572 162. UEFORK TH8 LOBT) MaTor, 574 163. BiiiLE AND Hand, Initial Letter, 676 Ifrl. Portrait of Spuroeon 577 165. Portrait OF Fatqer Ignatius 578 166. " Lothair" (Marqdis or Blte,) 583 167. Ruins, Tail Piece i 5S6 168. Initial Letter, 587 169. " Scott's ' in toe IIatmabeet, .'. 588 170. The Midnight Mission, (Full Page,) 592 171. " Skittles " and the Princess Mary, 595 172. A Row in Cremobsf., 696 173. Sword AND Purse, Initial Letter, C 598 174. Portrait op " Madel Gret," 602 176. Portrait of " Anontma," 605 176. Portrait or " Baby Hamilton," 606 177. Mabel Grev at Home, 609 178. Portrait of " Alice Gordon," 613 179. Snake and Dote, Initial Letter, 614 180. A Meal at a Cheap Lodging Housb, (Full Page,) 617 181. "Damnable Jack," 619 182. Statue of George Peabodt, 625 183. Tailpiece, 625 184. Initial Letter, 626 185. Old "Smudge,'' the Cabbt, 627 186. "A Hansom Cab " 628 187. " One Hundred Rats in Nine Mintjtes," , 630 188. The Rat-Oatciier, 632 189. " Paddvs Goose," 633 190. Waiting FOR the Tide 634 191. Ruins, Tail Piece, 635 192. " TuE Times ' Office, 650 193. The Suu-Editors' Room, "Daily Telegraph" Office 661 194t. Portrait op James Anthony Froude, 639 195. Portrait of Algernon Charles Swinburne, 641 196. Portrait of John Stewart Mill 643 197. Portrait of Benjamin Disraeli, 644 198. Portrait of John Ruskin, 637 199. Portrait of Charles Kingsley, 645 200. Portrait of Anthony Trollope, 647 201. Tail Piece, 652 202. Initial Letter, 655 203. Half-Penw Soup House, (Full Page,) 653 204. A Pawn-Broker's Shop C56 205. A Third Class Railway Carriage 659 206. Tail Piece, 662 207. Map of London, — CHAPTER I. THE MISTRESS OF THE WORLD. View from the Cupola of St. Paul's Cathedral — Population of London — Its Wealth and Poverty — Interesting Statistics, - - - 18 CHAPTER II. THE SILEXT HIGHWAY. The Thames Embankment — The Tunnel — The Sub-way — Tunnel Thieves — Pneumatic Railway, ------ 24 CHAPTER m. THE DOCKS, SHIPPING, AND COMMERCE. Custom-House Duties — Immense "Wine Vaults under the Docks — Hoisting and Discharging Cargoes — London and West India Docks — Opposition to the New Dock System — Dock Laborers, - - - 28 CHAPTER IV. PALACES OF LOXDOX. St. James — Whitehall — Buckingham Palace — Magnificence of the Queen's Residence — The Grand Staircase — Queen's Library — The Famous John Brown, -------- A2 CHAPTER V. HIDDEN DEPTHS. Underground Life — A Friendly Visit among Thieves and Pick-Pockets — The Midnight Feast, 58 CHAPTER VI. DEBATING CLUBS AND COGERS' HALL. Society of Cogers — Tlie Most Worthy Grand — News of the Week — Inter- esting Debates — Irish Orator and Scotch Presbyterian — Liberals and Conservatives — "A^Tiere are we now?" — Farce and Tragedy, - 76 X CONTENTS. CHAPTER Vn. CLUBS AND CLUB HOUSES. Aristocratic Members — Entrance and Subscription Fees — How Managed and Supported — Architectural Splendor — Choice AVines and Luxurious Dinners — Interesting Statistics — A ;ModeI Kitchen — Heavy Swell Club, 92 CHAPTER Vm. WESTMINSTER ABBEY. Its Dimensions and Architectural Construction — Its Wealth and Immense Revenues — The Burial-Place of the Kings and Queens — Magnificence of their Tombs — Tomb of Shakespeare — Tomb of Milton — Tomb of Mary Queen of Scots — Coronation of William the Conqueror — The Massa- cre, ..---..- 107 CHAPTER IX. THE COSTERMONGERS AND RAG FAIR. The New Cut — Heathenism of the Costers — Marriage Relation — Old Clothes District — Petticoat Lane — Congress of Rags — Modus Operandi of Sell- ing, -------- 128 CHAPTER X. FROM NEWGATE TO TYBURN. Dying for an Idea — Execution of Barrett — !Man in the Mask — Famous Criminals — Pestiferous Prison — The Old Bailey Court — Hotel Regula- tions — Drinking from St. Giles' Bowl, _ _ - 145 CHAPTER XL doctors' commons. Man-iage Licenses — Divorces — Ecclesiastical Court — High Court of Admi- ralty — Paying the Piper — Legal Scoundrelism — The Last Will and Tes- tamentsof Shakespeare, Milton, and of Napoleon Bonaparte — The For- gotten Sailor, - - - - - - - 159 CHAPTER XH. ' ■ THE BOHEMIANS OF LONDON. Carlisle Arms — A Pint of Cooper — Cockerell's Lodgings — Fitz and Dawson, or the Radical and Conservative Reporter — Tlie Short Hand Rejiorter — Dawson's Story — A Song from the Speaker — Beautiful Potato, 167 CONTENTS. XI CHAPTER Xin. TOWER, PALACE, AND PRISON. Its History and Dimensions — Council Chamber — Jolly Bishops and Royal Prisoners — The Traitor's Gate — Anne Boleyn — Princess EUzabeth — He- roism of Lady Jane Grey upon the Scaffold — The Crown Jewels — What can be seen for a Sixpence, ----- 183 CHAPTER XIV. CADGERS OF LONDON BRIDGE. Under the Arches — Vagrancy and Pauperism — The Family Gathering — The Cadger's Meal— A Confirmed Vagrant— The Girl Molly— The Hopeful Son — The Cadger's Story, - - - 207 CHAPTER XV. THE LUNGS OF LONDON. Regent's and Hyde Parks — Dimensions of the Public Parks and Gardens — What they Contain — Bathing in Hyde Park — Richmond Park with its Forests and Hunting Grounds — Hampton Court Park — Its Lab}Tinth — The Crystal Palace — Veteran Musicians — Greenwich Park — Grand Ob- servatory, - - - - - - - 216 CHAPTER XVI. THE RAKES OF THE ROYAL FAMILY. Vagabonds in Kingly Robes — Prince of Wales and his Personal Friends — The Prince and the London Brewer as Firemen — Lord Carington as a Coachman — His Cowardly Assault upon Greenville Murray — The Prince and Cabman — Infamy of the Prince — A Mad King, - - 226 CHAPTER XVH. FAST YOUNG ENGLAND. Lord Carington — Lady Mordaunt, Divorce Proceedings, and Interesting Tes- timony — Love Letters of the Prince — Duke of Hamilton — The Fastest Young Man in England — The IMarquis of Waterford — Marquis of Has- tings — Duke of Newcastle — Earl of Jersey — Lord Clinton and others, 240 CHAPTER XVin. LORDS AND COMMONS. Westminster Palace and Houses of Parliament — Interior of the House of Commons — Bobbies and Cabbies — Strangers' Gallery — The Legislative Bar-Maid — William Ewart Gladstone — England's Greatest Commoner John Bright, ------- 272 Xli CONTENTS. CHAPTER XIX. LORDS AND COMMONS CONTINUED. Reporters' Gallery — Dr. Johnson taking Notes — Tlie Speaker and his "Wig — Important Personages — First Lord of the Admiralty — Peers in the Gallery — Gladstone's Early Life — The Eloquence of the Premier — The Sarcasm of Disraeli — Ducal Houses — Upper House of Parliament — Privileges of the Peers, ----- 285 CHAPTER XX. LONDON POLICE AND DETECTIVES. The Old Jewry — Central Detective's Office — Relics of Crimes — Inspector Bailey — Experience of Mr. Funnell — Tlie Pocket-Book Game — New York a Precious bad Place — Police Districts — Expenses Attending them —River Thieves, .--..- 318 CHAPTER XXL HUNTING THE SEWERS. The City Honey-Combed — 2,000 Miles of Sewerage — An Unlawful and Dangerous Business — Prizes Found — The Hunter's Story — Great Battle with the Rats — "Victory at last, - - - - 330 CHAPTER XXIL BACCHUS AND BEER. The English a Great Beer-Drinking People — Amount of Exports — Barclay and Perkins — A Princely Firm — Cats on Guard — The House of Han- bury, Buxton & Co. — Great Porter Tun — Libraries in the Establishments — Quantities of Beer used in London, - . . 333 CHAPTER XXHL HARVARD AGAINST OXFORD. Police Arrangements — Thomas Hughes, ^I. P. — Dark Blue and Magenta — On the Tow-Path — A Frightful Jam — Booths and Shows — Badges and Rosettes — The Dear Old Flag, . - _ . 344 CHAPTER XXIV. STRUGGLE AND VICTORY. On Board the Press Boat — Tlie Harvard Crew — Loring's Condition — Sim- mons the Pride of the Crew — Tlie Oxford Crew — " Little Corpus," the Coxswain — Tlie Start — Harvard Leads — Burnham's bad Steering — Ox- ford's Vengeance Stroke — Tlie I.,ast Desperate Struggle — Beaten l)y Six Seconds — Fair Play and Courtesy, - - - 3G2 CONTENTS. Xiii CHAPTER XXV. CURIOSITIES OF LONDON. "Domesday Book" — Oldest Books in England — Hospital Ship "Dread- nought " — A Gaudy Show — The Queen's Stage-Coach — Jonathan AVild's Skeleton — The Lord Mayor's State Coach — Installation of a London Sheriff, 382 CHAPTER XX"Va STREET SIGHTS OF LONDON. Street Hawkers — Venders of Old Boots and Shoes — The Dog Fancier — Bird Sellers — Coke Peddlers — Bum Boatman — Stock in Trade — How Dick gets his Porridge — "I Gets it for Cigar-Stumps" — Street Acrobats — Punch and Judy Show, - - - - - 391 CHAPTER XXVn. THE BRITISH MUSEUM AND NATIONAL GALLERY. Its Origin — Laying the Foundation — Reading Room — Departments of the Museum — The Galleries and Saloons — The Three Libraries — What can be seen — Nelson's Monument — Pictures and Works of Art in tlie Na- tional Gallery — The Great Masters — Free to the Working People, 410 CHAPTER XXVHI. NAKED AND NEEDY. Infanticide — The Benevolent Captain — Foundling Hospital — Admission of Children — Great Numbers Received — How they Dine — How they Sleep — Washing the Waifs — Charitable Institutions — An Interesting Sight — Innumerable Bequests, _ _ . - _ 42O CHAPTER XXIX. MARKETS AND FOOD. Amount of Food Sold — Inspections — Metropolitan Cattle Market — New Smithfield Market — Covent Garden ]\Lirket — Hot Coffee Girl — Vegeta- ble Market — The Baked Potatoe Man — The Jews' Orange Market, 435 CHAPTER XXX. SECRETS OF A RIVER. Waterloo Bridge — The Pale-Faced Girl — Tliree O'clock in the Morning — Weary of Life — A Leap from the Parapet — Fruitless Attempt to Save — A Sad Sight^Tlie Wages of Sin is Death, - - - 452 xiv CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXXI. IXTO THE JAWS OF DEATH. Leicester Square — Foreign Cafe in Coventry Street — The Abode of Sir Joshua Reynolds— The Residence of William Hogarth— Royal Alhambra Palace— The Great Social Evil—" Wottcn Wow "—In the Canteen— Tlie Old Sinner— The Tulip and the Daisy, - - 461 CHAPTER XXXn. THE "ARGYLE," " BARNES'" AND «' CASINO." The Haymarket by Night — The Argyle Rooms — Fast Young Men — Paint and Jewelry — Silks and Satins — Free and Easy — Barnes' — "Holborn Casino" — A Magnificent Saloon — Good Night, - - 476 CHAPTER XXXIH. ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL. Its History and Dimensions — Destruction of Old St. Paul's — Annual Reve- nues — Prices of Admission — Monuments to Nelson — Burial-Place of Wellington — Nelson's Funeral — A Grand Sight — "I am the Resurrection and the Life," ------- 486 CHAPTER XXXrV. GOING TO THE PLAY. Beautiful Miss Neilson — The Lord Chamberlain a Censor — Royal Victoria Theatre — Covent Garden and Drury Lane Theatres — A " Gin Public " in the New Cut— The Gallery of the "Vic"— The Chorus of "Immen- , sekoff," ------- 493 CHAPTER XXXV. BILLINGSGATE FISH MARKET. Profit on Fish — Oyster Boats — Number of Fishing Vessels — The Fish Woman — Tlie Old Style of Dress — Breakfast at Billingsgate — Capital Invested — Immense Sales, ----- 508 CHAPTER XXXVI. THE INNS OF COURT. Number of Students — Gray's Inn — Tlie New Hall of Lincoln's Inn — Parlia- ment Chamber — How to become a Lawyer — Procuring Admission — '• Hall Dinners " — Cup of " Sack " — The Toast — Irish Students, 5J9 CHAPTER I. THE MISTRESS OF THE WORLD. N the civilized world perhaps such an- other sight cannot be witnessed, as that which greets the eye from the great Cupola of St. Paul's, when the view is taken on a bright summer morning, after daybreak has settled on the leads and huge gilded cross of this, the most mighty of English Cathedrals. I saw this vast expanse of brick, stone, and mortar, one de- licious, but hazy September morning, from the outer circle of the dome, and I shall never forget that peopled metropolis which lay swarming below me like a vast human hive. For a radius of ten miles, the roofs and spires of countless religious edifices, dwelling-houses, banks, the tall cones of storied monuments, the delicate tracery of a forest of slender masts, and the smoky chimneys of innumerable breweries, manufactories, and gas-houses, met my vision, which had already begun to weary long before any of the individual characteris- tics of the British metropolis had segregated themselves from the aggregate mass. 2 18 THK MI.STRESS OF THE WORLD. Directly before me, and almost at my feet, lay the turbid Thames, winding in and out sinously under bridges, and heav- ing from the labor which the paddles of numerous steam craft impressed in its dirty yellow bosom. These small steamers were of a black and red, mixed, color, and it was only through a glass that I could discern where the two colors met and divided. Passing under the huge stone bridges, their smoke stacks seemed to break in two parts for an instant as they shot under an arch of the huge spans of London or Waterloo Bridges ; gracefully as a gentleman bows to his partner in a quadrille, and then the black funnels went back to their original erect but raking position with great deliberation. I had secured an eyrie in the top of St. Paul's at an early hour with the aid of a greasy half crown, which I had slipped to an old toothless verger with his sih-er-tipped wand, and he readily gratified my wish to allow me egress from the Whis- pering gallery which encircles the interior dome of the Cathe- dral, to a point where, giddily, I might lean out and look all over the great city. "It's as good as my place is worth, sir," said he, "to let you look out here. A man who was a little light headed from drinking tumbled from this window some years ago, and was broken to pieces on the cobble stones below." The danger did not prevent me from looking long and greedily at the splendid coup d'oeil. Far up the river to the left the queerly shaped toy turrets and massive ramparts and quadrangles of the Tower broke through the morning haze in shapely and artistic masses, and at the back of the green spot of grass which surmounts Tower Hill, the square, solid, and sul)fetantial looking Mint showed where Her Majesty's sworn servants were already at work employed in making counterfeit presentments of her features for circulation in trade and commerce. The Norman tower and flanking buttresses of St. Saviour's, Southwark, next came in range, fallowed liy the long oval glass roof of the Eastern Railway Terminus, facing Cannon street, where is erected London Stone, upon which Jack Cade sat in triumph THE MISTRESS OP THE WORLD. 19 before the dirty, noisy, rabble, which had followed his fortunes ; and now I can see Guy's Hospital with its hundred windows, the Corinthian Royal Exchange in Cornhill, the massive Guild- hall where many a bloated Britisher has fed on the fat of the land ; the Mansion House in which the Lord Mayor occasion- ally does petty offenders the honor of sentencing tliem to the Bridewell ; and now the view enlarges to the soutliward, and the eye takes in the fine Holborn Viaduct, lately honored by tlie Queen's presence ; Barclay and Perkin's massive cara- vanserai for the brewing of beer, and the gray stones of St. Sepul- chre's where the passing bell is always tolled for the condemned Newgate prisoner just before execution. The square, gray blocks of this fortress of crime gloom in an unpitying way be- low me, and there now is the court yard of Christ's Hospital with the gowned and bare head- ed school lads at their morning game of foot ball, and their shouts peal upward, even up as high as the dome of St, Paul's, like the chimes of merry music. The great piles of Somerset house and the Custom House frown down on the busy river, and the sound of the bell of St. Clement Dane's in the Strand, striking six o'clock, mingles with the mighty thunder whirr of the incoming trai^ from Dover, which dashes like a demon over the Charing Cross bridg(j and into its station. Structure after structure rises on tlie retina, the Treasury Buildings and Horse Guards in Parliament street, Marlbrough House, the British Museum, Buckingham Palace, the University College, the Nelson and York IMonuments, the splendid club houses in Pall Mall and St. James ; Apsley House and Hyde Park with its lakes of silvery water, Westminster Abbey, the Clock and Victoria Towers surmounting the Parliament Houses which THE LONDON STONE. 20 THE 3IISTRESS OF THE WORLD. overhang the Thcames, Lambeth Palace, the residence of the Archbi.shop of Canterbury, Chief Dignitary of the English State Chnrcliand Milbank Penitentiary down in dusty Westmin- ster, and by the way this prison with its eight towers looks like a cruet stand and its towers certainly represent the caster bottles. With its parterre of trees in the central square, the quadrangles of Chelsea Hospital, and the dome of the Palm House in Kensing-ton Garden next come under inspection, and finally I became weary in endeavoring to pierce the haze which the sun had broken into an- noying fragments, and failing to pene- t ra t e farther than \'auxliall bridge, I ■z ive up the task and draw in my head af- ter a last look at the Catherine and West India docks, bewil- dered and confused by the very immensi- ty of wealtli and pop- ulation which is cen- tered and aggregated below, under and in the shadow of St. Paul's, the Mother Church of Great Brit- ain. Tlic verger says with a weak and wheezy voice : " Tliis is a worry great city, sir. They do say as how there's more nor three millions of hooman beings in this 'ere metrop- olis, and how they all gets a living is a blessed puzzle to me. I gets an occasional sixpence, and Americans seem to be more generous than any other visitors. Thank you, sir." London is a wonderful city in many ways. The year 1866 brought the number of the inhabitants to the total of 3,186,000. " THANK TOU, SIR." THE MISTRESS OF THE WORLD. 21 This is a population larger than that of Pekin, and as large and a half as that of London's great rival, Paris. It has a greater number of edifices devoted to religious worship than the Eternal City, Rome. Its commerce exceeds that of New York, Glasgow, Cork, Havre, and Bremen in gross. It sends abroad missionaries of all known sects, to convert the heathen and blackamoor, and for them and their wives there is a larger amount of money collected in London than could by any pos- sibility be subscribed in all the other great cities of the world combined for a like purpose. It numbers among its population more prostitutes and unfortunate females than Paris, there be- ing according to a calculation made by a former bishop of Ox- ford, 30,000 of this wretched class, alone, who are strictly professionals. London has work houses to accommodate 150,000 paupers under the parochial system, for which the residents or freehold- ers of every parish in the metropolitan district are taxed at an annual rate of fourteen pounds ten shillings per pauper, and yet men, women, and children die of starvation, weekly, in the slums of St. Giles, Saffron Hill, Bethnal Green, and Shore- Ditch. For a penny the young thief or abandoned street girl can listen to hoarse fiddling, obscene jests, and the lowest of low slang songs at some penny " gaff " in Whitechapel, and on a benefit night at Covent Garden, or the Haymarket, the man who is known in society will have to pay twenty-five or thirty shillings or from six to ten dollars to hear the musical warblings of a Patti or a Nillson. There are one hundred and three hospitals in London in which all the complaints, frailties, and misliaps of poor human nature are supposed to be provided for, and yet it will be much easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, or a rich man to get a free pass into paradise, tlian that a poor wretch without friends or influence should be able to find a bed in an hospital, unless he can succeed by a miracle in dodging the sentinels which red tape has placed at every entrance to these vamited institutions. 22. THE MISTRESS OF THE WORLD. Dov.n in the quiet and aristocratic dwellings of Pimlico, you shall find such ladies as " Nelly Holmes," or " Skittles," and in St. Julin's Wood a" Mabel Gray," and in a delicious villa at Fulham, a " Formosa," spending in one night's Corinthian revelry the yearly salary of a bank clerk, or hazarding at a game of cards the life-time pittance of a sewing woman. And with these painted women shall be found night after night the curled darlings of the Pall Mall clubs, some of them mere youths who bear names as old as Magna Charta, and once as spotless pcrlwj^s as those of Sidney or Hampden. At Klancliard's, in Regent street, you may dine for a pound upon the choicest variety of dishes, cooked by a French Chef, who would scorn a gift of the Order of the Garter were it given to him without the proper culinary brevet to accompany it ; and at a ham and beef shop in Oxford street you may fill yourself to repletion, taking as a basis a pork saveloy for a penny, a " penn'orth" of bread as a second layer, a mutton-pie for " tuppence," a tart for a penny, and a pint of porter for " tuppence," and then as a relish of a literary kind, you can look at the great evening paper of London, the Echo, written in the most scholarly English, without any fee. Or you can go down Camden Town way, or up into Tottenham Court Road and get a kidney pie for two pence, or an eel stew for two- pence half penny, with a dry bun for a penny, and a good glass of Bass's ale for three half pence. And then you can go to Morlcy's or the Langham Hotel and pick your teeth and no one will Ijc the wiser. For other amusements there is the Zoological Gardens in the Regent's Park, with the anmsing elephant, the comic kangaroo, the graceful hippopotamus, the sleepy alligator, a band of music, lots of very ])rctty English girls, a score of impudent waiters in the restaurant to give you cold dishes when you call for hot ones, and all these delights may be enjoyed on six- penny days, and wlien you come out from the wild beasts, if you 1)0 thirsty it will only cost you a half-penny for a chair in the Regent's Park with its noble avenues of stately trees, and the little old woman at the little old house which juts off the gate THE MISTRESS OP THE WORLD. 23 will hand you a bottle of cooling ginger beer, a popular Cock- ney drink, for one penny. In the National Gallery, a magnificent structure which faces the Nelson Monument in Trafalgar Square, one of the finest collections of paintings in the world is hung. Here is the noble Turner Gallery, bought for the nation and free to all for copying or inspection. Here are Corregio's Angelos', Titians, the master pieces of Velasquez, Murillo, Paul Yeronese, the best things done by Etty, Landseer, Stanfield,Wilkie, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and nearly all of that glorious galaxy whose names have been painted too deeply in their grand canvasses ever to efface. All this is free to the public, poor and rich alike, but on Sunday, British piety bolts the lofty doors in their hapless faces. The Londoners have the finest public parks in the world. The flower beds in Hyde Park, Battersea Park, Victoria Park, Regent's Park, Kensington Gardens, and the Crystal Palace at Sydenham, are wonderful for their beauty and con- stant freshness, and in the Serpentine, a clear stream in Hyde Park, there is no hindrance from bathing, though the stream laves the margin of Piccadilly, one of the principal thorough- fares of the city, where many of the richest and most powerful of the nation have their mansions. This is London in brief. But a rapid and imperfect glance can be given of the wonderful city in the opening chapter of this book, but it is my purpose to give such details as I hope may instruct and amuse my readers, in the chapters that shall follow. CHAPTER II. THE SILENT HIGHWAY. 5 HE Thames, the great river of England, Avhich enriches London ^ith the cargoes of its thousand ships, weekly, rises in the south- eastern slopes of the Cotswold Hills. For about twenty miles it belongs wholly to Gloucestershire, when for a short distance it divides that county from Wiltshire. It then separates Berk- shire first from Oxfordshire, and then from Buckinghamshire. It afterward di\ddes the counties of Surrey and Middlesex, and to its mouth those of Kent and Essex. It falls into the sea at the Nore, which is about one hundred and ten miles nearly due east from the source, and about twice that distance measured along the windings of the river. From having no sandbar at its mouth like the Mersey out- side of Liverpool, it is navigable for sea vessels to London bridge, a distance of forty-five miles from the Nore, or nearly a fourth of its entire length. The area of the basin drained by the Thames is estimated at about six thousand five hundred miles. The progress of half a century has made wonderful changes in the river. Wharves have taken the place of trim gardens, and the dirty coal scow is now found where the nobleman's state barge formerly anchored. No man, it is said, can count the national debt of England, but who can give an adecpiatc idea of the number of millions of tons that annually pass through this highway ? THE SILENT HIGHWAY. 25 The flow of land water through Teddington Weir is annually 800,000,000 gallons. This is the main body of the river within the metropolitan area, not counting the additions it receives from rain-falls and other sources. Since the removal of the old London Bridge, the tide has been lower upon an average. Shoals have been brought to light, before unknown, and the result has been that nothing but a most constant and unremitting dredging has enabled the Thames Conservancy Board to keep the river navigable. It requires but a glance at Blackfriar's Bridge to determine how much longer it will take to remove all the gravel from the bed of the river, and leave the solid London clay as its bed. Every old bridge when removed leaves so many tons of gravel which eventually finds its way to the mouth of the Thames, and there forms shoals. The channel of the river thus deepened, becomes more and more brackish every year, and it can be but a question of time, as to how and from what source the inhabitants are to derive their water supply for drinking purposes. At the East India Docks the tide falls fourteen inches lower than formerly, and it is a fact that the low Avater at London Docks is lower than the low water at Sheerness, sixty miles below. At present the tide at London Bridge has a rise of 18 feet. This river at almost any tide can float the largest ships, being 33 feet in depth at London Bridge. The river water when found at low tide near the city is much prized for its power of self-purification, and is much in requisition for sea voyages, for the reason that it contains so large a percentage of organic matter. There are few or no fish to be found in the Thames in the neighborhood of the city or below, owing to the impurities prevailing from drainage and sewage. This fact is particularly to be noticed in the vicinity of the town of Barking on the Thames, where is located the outfall for all the sewage of dirty London. Formerly salmon were very plentiful at the Nore, and the last one tliere caught sold at fifteen shillings per pound. 26 THE SILENT HIGHWAY. The Thames embankment, which was first proposed by Sir Christopher Wren, the architect of St. Paul's Cathedral, is now almost completed. This magnificent roadway, one of the finest in Europe, and which gives the modern observer some conception of what the Appian Way or Via Sacra were in the palmy day of ancient Rome, is fifty feet broad, and three and a half feet above the highest high-water mark. The embank- ment, which is constructed of Portland stone, and extends on the Surrey side from "Westminster to Vauxhall bridge, a dis- tance of nearly a mile, and on the Middlesex shore from Westminster to Blackfriar's bridge, a distance of fully a mile. The embankment is lined on both sides with trees which throw a j)leasant shade under the summer sun, and serve to protect the thousands of people of both sexes, who seek in the evening a breath of fresh air always grateful to the tired and sweltering citizen. At ditferent points, on both sides of the river, the embank- ment has magnificent stone terraces with stone stairs to enable wayfarers, who seek transportation up and down the river, to get on and off the numerous ferry boats that swarm and ply all over the Thames from Richmond to Rotherhithe. A description of the Thames tunnel, now closed to the public, may appropriately be included in this chapter. It was commenced by a joint stock company in 1824, after designs by Sir Isambert Brunei. Early in December, 1825, the first horizontal shaft was sunk. The difficulties encountered in the construction of the great engineering work can scarcely be overestimated. For a distance of five hundred and forty-four feet all Avent well, but at this point the river burst into the shaft, while the workmen were at labor, filling the excavation entirely in fifteen minutes, but fortunately no lives were lost. With great difficulty the water was pumped out and work resumed. After adding fifty-two feet to the original length of the shaft, the turbid Thames again broke through. Six men by this accident were smothered in the rush of angry waters, the remaining laborers escaping. Thrice again THE SILENT HIGHWAY. 27 the river broke into the succeeding excavations, and at length the tunnel was completed to the Wapping side of the river. Here a shaft was sunk from the surface to meet it. In sinking this shaft, three distinct lines of piles, showing the existence of wharves below the present level of the Thames, were discovered. March 25, 1843, nineteen years after its commencement, this monument of British stupidity and dogged obstinacy, the Tunnel, was opened to the London public. As an investment it has never paid a dollar ; as a convenience it was a swindle on the general public, but for the wild Arabs of London, and the lowest order of shameful women, it rivaled the infamous Adelphi Arches as a rendezvous ; calling into existence a dis- tinct class known as "Tunnel Thieves," who, conscious of the fact that strangers would naturally visit this much lauded work, were always waiting in secret hiding places to plunder the unsuspecting \'isitor of his watch or valuables. To take the place of this absurd tunnel, a Thames Subway has been devised, starting at Tower Hill, and continuing under the bed of the river to a point near Blackfriar's Bridge. The Thames subway is in a manner similar to the Pneumatic Rail- way. Shafts are sunk on either side of the river, and vehicles constructed like a horse railway car, are used to convey pas- sengers to and fro under the river, for a fare of two pence per head. Tliese vehicles are lighted by lamps, and a conductor is attached to each car. Powerful engines at either end fur- nish the force which propels these underground vehicles. CHAPTER III. THE DOCKS, SHIPPING, AND CO^DIERCE OF THE PORT OF LONDON. jF you leave King "William Street just at the foot of London Bridge, and turn to the left, you will find your way into a grouping of streets, narrow and steep, a few only of which admit of car- riage and horse traffic. This is the region of the world-renowned London Docks, the basins which hold the great- est commerce known to any city on the globe ; a commerce before which the ancient traffic of Tyre, Sidon, Carthage, and Sicily, the granary of the ancient world, was as nothing. The lower stories of the houses in this district, which smell of tar, resin, and other merchantable commodities, are let out as offices, and the upper as warehouse floors ; the pavement is narrow and the roads are as bad as broken staves and long neglect can make them ; dirty boys in sailor's jackets play at leap frog over the street posts ; legions of wheelbarrows encumber the broader part of these thoroughfares ; packing cases stand at the doors of houses, and iron cranes and levers peep out from the upper stories. No man, it has been said, could ever tell how much money lies hidden away in the vaults of the Bank of England, and it is about as difficult to count up the tons of produce which London exports and imports annually. For instance, during one year, (1865), the number of car- CUSTOM HOUSE DUTIES OP LONDON. 29 goes entered and cleared coastwise, (which besides British ports includes t-he shores from the Elbe to Brest,) was 30,820, and their tonnage, 5,263,565i As many as fifty thousand ships of all classes enter and leave the Thames in twelve months, or about seventy vessels per day, exclusive of all the innumerable kinds of miscellane- ous small craft. The entire French commercial navy consists of twelve thou- sand vessels, an aggregate of perhaps one million seven hundred thousand tons, a little more tlian a quarter of the number of ships and the same percentage of tonnage that en- ters and leaves this world metropolis of London. If tlie ships that move to and fro on the bosom of the Thames be supposed to average one hundred and fifty feet in lengtli one with another, tliey would reach, placed stem and stern together, upward of thirteen hundred miles, or nearly half way across the Atlantic. The Custom House duties, Avith a very low tariff for the port of London, during one year amounts to sixty-eight millions of dollars in gold, and the declared real value of exi)orts from London for tlie same time amounted to one hundred and sev- enty millions of dollars in gold. The declared real value of the imports registered at the huge granite custom house on the Thames, for the port of London, for 1869, from foreign and colonial jiorts, was four hundred millions of dollars in gold, or as much as the total value of the real estate on New York island in 1870. Englishmen are very fond of coffee it seems, for they im- ported tliirty million pounds of the fragrant berry in 1869. The choleric temper of the people may find an explanation in the six million pounds of pepper received in London. London also imported seven million gallons of rum, althougli it is su)> posed to be the great beer drinking city of the world. Eiglity tliousand gallons of gin, sixty million pounds of tea, thirty- eight million pounds of tobacco, nine million six hundred and fifty-seven thousand and thirty-four gallons of foreign wines, two million cwts. of raw sugar, and two million seven hundred 80 THE DOCKS, SHIPPING, AND COMMERCE OF LONDON. sixty-tAvo thousand two hundred and forty-eight gallons of bran- dy were imported in 18G9. These articles of merchandise were all held in l)()nd at the London Custom House, and from these figures my readers may form some idea of the magnitude of the commerce of tins great city. Russia sent one tliousand three hundred vessels and received three lunidred and ninety-one vessels, Sweden one thousand one huiuh-ed and twenty-one vessels and received five hundred and twenty vessels, France sent one thousand four hundred and sixteen vessels and received one tliousand three hundred and eighty-two vessels, Holland sent nine hundred and twen- ty-four vessels and received seven hundred and fourteen ves- sels, Cuba sent three hundred and twelve vessels and received sixty-two vessels. United States sent four hundred and twelve vessels and received three hundred and seventeen vessels, Chi- na sent two hundred and eight vessels and received one hund- red and thirty vessels in 1869. I have not space here to enumerate all the petty nationalities, whose merchants trade with London, but the above table, ob- tained from the custom house authorities and therefore authen- tic, may serve to indicate what the trade of London is, and the vast interests which gather there. Tlie United States does not figure so conspicuously as might be expected here, the Alaba- mas and Floridas perhaps have something to do vrith. the pau- city of American commerce with the commercial metropolis of England. The most wonderful of all the London sights arc tlie huge artificial l)asins, bound in masses of masonry and known as the London Docks. No other city in the world can boast of such magnificent artificial basins, where millions of tons of shipping can be accommodated. It is enough to make an American feel humiliated to pay a visit to these wonderful docks, and to be forced to compare them with the rotten wooden wharves Avhich environ the great city of New York, and Avliich are honored with the title of docks. The ])riiicipal docks of London are those wliich I give be- low Avith their water areas, cost, and the number of vessels wliich they accommodate : WATER AREA. 75 acres, LAND AREA. 150 acres. KO OF VES- SELS ACC. 200 COST. £610,000 40 " 100 u 320 900,000 90 " 295 (( 1104 1,600,000 18 " 31 « 112 380,000 15 " 24 t( 160 2,252,000 71 " 40 a 300 423,000 90 " 1- •2 mile frontage, 400 1,072,871 90 miles long. 16 acres, 2,000,000 8 1-2 miles long, 300 THE COMMERCIAL AND LONDON DOCKS. 31 Commercial Docks, London Docks, West India Docks, East India Docks, St. Catharine's Docks, Surrey Docks and Canal, Victoria Docks, Brentford Dock and Canal, Regent's Canal, The Commercial Dock is chiefly used by vessels in the oil, corn, timber, and tobacco trade ; and there is floating space for fifty thousand loads of lumber, and the warehouses afford storage for one hundred and fifty thousand quarters of corn, while the yards of the company will hold four million pieces of deals, and staves without number. The lock in the South Commercial Dock is two hundred and twenty feet long l>y for- ty-eight feet wide, with a depth of twenty-two feet, and will admit vessels of twenty-six feet draught. Five hundred thou- sand tons of shipping have been received here in a year, rei> resenting about one thousand five hundred vessels of various tonnage. The London Docks extend from East Smithfield to Shadwell and have twelve thousand four hundred and forty feet of wharf frontage, and are intended principally for the reception of vessels laden with wines, brandy, tobacco, and rice. There are forty warehouses for the storage of merchandise of every description, couvenient in arrangement, and magnifi- cent in design and execution. The cubical capacity of the warehouses is two hundred and forty-nine thousand four hund- red and thirty tons ; two Inmdred and thirty-one thousand one hundred and forty-seven for dry goods, and eighteen thousand two hundred and eighty-three for wet goods. The tobacco house in these docks sends its very strong odor all over the Thames, and it is as good as the flavor of a Ha- vana cigar almost to smell this huge warehouse as you pass by on the river in a steamboat. This warehouse is the largest 32 THK DOCKS, SHIPPING, AND COMMERCE OF LONDON. of its kind in the world, covering five acres of ground, and is rented by the government at foui-teen thousand pounds a year of the conii)any, for all the London Docks are owned Ly stock companies, and this perhaps explains the economy displayed in their construction, and their useful adaptability to the com- merce of London. The tobacco warehouse will contain twenty-four thousand hogsheads of tobacco, each hogshead holding one thousand ENTRANCE TO DOCKS. two hundred pounds, the total capacity being equal to thirty thousand tons of general merchandise. Under the London Docks are tlie finest vaults in the world, vast catacombs of the precious vintages garnered from every famous vineyard in the glol)e. The vaults in the London docks cover an area of eighteen acres, and afford accommoda- tion for eighty tliousand pipes of wine. One of the vaults alone is seven acres in extent, and the tea warehouses will THE WINE VAULTS, AND " TASTING PERMITS," 33 hold one hundred and twenty thousand chests of that fragrant herb. To go into these vast wine vaults is indeed a treat. It is like entering a City of the dead, only that instead of the skel- etons of human beings piled on top of each other, you find an Aceldama of casks, pipes, barrels, hogsheads, and butts, bonded and stored tier upon tier, until the eye becomes wearied, and a man wonders how all those costly vintages can ever be consumed. There is no difference between night and day in these dim deep recesses under the London streets. The vaults are only separated from the bed of the Thames by a thick wall, and at noonday, gas has to be turned on to light the way to the enor- mous storehouses of wine and brandy. Passes arc granted by the companies and the owners of liquors on bond, called " tast- ing permits," which gives the privilege to the visitor to ask an attendant for a sample of any wine, or wines and liquors that he may choose to taste. Armed with one of these permits I visited the London docks one day with a friend, and we penetrated the gloomy cavern's entrance, and finally found our way to a part of the vaults where were stored thousands of pipes of the delicious golden browli vintage of Xeres de la Frontera. My friend was one of those wandering Americans you arc always sure to light upon abroad, who makes your acquain- tance whether you like it or not, and who cries out frantically whenever he sees a foreign flag. " By Gad— Sir, that flag is all good enough in its way — but 1 tell you it does not come up to our flag of beauty and glory — now I'll put it to you — does it ? " A grimy looking cellar man who smelled like an old claret bottle that had long remained uncorked, wearing an apron an I carrying a wooden hammer for tapping, came to us and said, politely, on presentation of our orders : "The borders are werry correct, sir. "Would you like t) try a little old Sherry, sir, fine as a sovrin and sparkling as the sun ? " 3 34 THE DOCKS, SHIPPING, AND COMMERCE OF LONDON. " Well, I don't care if I do take a little sherry — I don't think it will hurt me — do you think it Avill ? " said my friend. lie then took about half a pint of fine golden sherry, and after taking it he seemed all at once to discover a new beauty in the architecture of the vaults, although he had condemned the place when he entered it, as a " chilly, stinking .hole, not fit for a dog, by Gad, sir." While he was delivering himself most eloquently on the merits of the sherry, I had an opjiortunity to look about me and examine the i)lace. I UO.N T THINK IT WILL IIL'KX SIE. Different jjarties were going from cask to cask, from hogs- head to hogshead, like my friend, trying each vintage, and tasting brandies, and gins, and wines to their heart's content. I thought to myself, what a splendid boon these vaults would l)e to a New York corner loafer, without restriction and with full liberty to drink till he died likt) a soldier, contending to tiie last against the enemy which deprives a man of his HOISTING AND DISCHARGING CARGOES. 35 brains. The attendants here never object to the amount called for, and a tasting permit admits to all the privileges. "We were now standing in an arched alcove devoted exclu- sively to the wine's of Madeira, Teneriffe, and the Canary Isl- ands. Some of these huge casks held as many as seven hund- red gallons, and the rich, old, musty and fruity odors that came from them were truly revivifying to my friend, who was loqua- cious under the influence of the sherry. " This ere sexshin is for the Madeery," said the bung star- ter. " "Will you try a little Madeery, sir ? " said he. " Well I dori't care if I do take a little Madeira — I don't think it will hurt me. Now I put it to you this way — I don't think it will hurt me if I am moderate ? " He seemed to relish this heavy and fruity wine very much, and before he left the alcove he had " tasted " a good deal of the Canary also smacking his lips lusciously. There is considerable skill displayed in the building of the arclies of the range of vaults, and with the dim lights of the sperm lamps, burnings— as it is not deemed safe to have gas in the vaults where spirits are stored — the vaults very much resemble the crypts under the cloisters in "Westminster Abbey, or the vaults under St. Paul's. The method for hoisting cargoes from the holds of ships to the grading, which is level with the opening in the vaults is very perfect. The opening in the wall of the basin or docks is eighteen feet high, and large hogsheads can be hoisted and lowered at once into the vaults instead of being temporarily deposited on the quay. In the old times before steam had been discovered and these magnificent docks had been built, an East Indiaman of eight hundred tons took a month to discharge her cargo, or if of one tliousand two hundred tons, six weeks were required for the labor, and their goods had to be taken from Blackwall to London Bridge in lighters, when they were placed on the quay exposed to dock rats and river thieves as goods are in New York, where the private watchmen on the rotten wooden docks are generally to be found in league with the thieves. 36 THE DOCKS, SHIPPING, AND COMMERCE OF LONDCiX. At St. Katharine's Docks the time occupied on an average in discharging a vessel of three liundred tons is eight hours, and for one of six luuidred tons two days and a half. In one instance one thousand one lunidrcd casks of tallow were dis- charged in six hours, but of course this was unusually rapid work. One of the cranes in the St. Katharine's Docks cost about twenty-five thousand dollars, and will raise from forty to sixty tons at a time. There is a wharf attached to the St. Katharine Docks, whicli Parliament compelled the company to construct at a cost of nearly a million of dollars, and the warehouses will contain one hundred and ten thousand tons of goods and merchandise. The depth of water in the St. Katharine's Docks is twenty- eight feet^at spring tide, at dead tide twenty-four feet, and at low water ten feet, so that vessels of eight hundred tons reg- ister are docked and undocked without the slightest difficulty. There is a water frontage and quays of one thousand five hundred feet in tlie St. Katharine Docks. The wharfage of the London Docks is one thousand two luuidred and sixty feet in length and nine hundred and sixty feet in breadth. The capital of the London Docks company is about twenty-five million dollars in gold, and as many as three thousand labor- ers are cmijloycd in the London Docks in a day. The walls surrounding the London Docks cost sixty-five thousand })ounds in construction, and all these walls are so high (nearly thirty feet,) that they present an impregnable barrier to thieves and depredators. The receipts for one year in the London Docks were over three million dollars, currency ; the salaries and wages amounted to about one million dollars, and the revenue cus- toms paid about eleven hundred thousand dollars. These figures show that the company is in a prosperous state, and gives the municipal governments of our American Athmtic cities the best reasons, when others which I have already enumerated are combined, wliy New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Portland, Savannah and Charleston, sliould , have stone docks to equal those of London and Liverpool in magnitude and solidity. THE WEST INDIA DOCKS. 37 Having made a lengthened inspection of the London Docks I turned to leave and could not find my friend who had accom- panied me. After some difficulty I discovered him afar off at the other end of the vaults discussing with the cellarman what liquor he was next to taste. " Yer honor might just taste a little of the Hennesey Brandy of 1832 — it is very fine and runs down like hile." " By Gad, sir, the very thing — now that you mention it I will try a little, just a leetle Hennesey brandy. I'll put it to you in this way — I don't think it can hurt me — and the cellar- man says it's just like oil. Now I recollect that oil never intoxicates. I will take just the faintest tint." He did take the "faintest tint," perhaps a good sized glass- full, and he became so jolly, and affectionate, and good na- tured, embracing me and also the cellarman, that the latter personage had at last to call a cab into which my friend was carried, and after being propped up he was driven to his hotel. The cellarman said to me : " We 've two agents as comes 'ere sober, bless 'em, and goes away drunk ; but they hurts nobody but themselvdife, bless them." I went from the London Docks to the West India Docks, about a mile and a half distant, at the Isle of Dogs, a small islet in the Thames near Blackwall. These numerous basins and warehouses occupy three times the space of the London Docks, or about two hundred and ninety-five acres, with a canal three quarters of a mile in length as a feeder. The Im- port Dock is five hundred and ten feet in length, and about the same measurement in width. The Export Dock is about the same length and is about four hundred feet wide. The docks and warehouse are enclosed by a wall of masonry five feet thick, that seems as if it would endure as long as the port of London is open to commerce and merchandise, and the value of twenty millions of pounds is here stored by its owners. I gave an employee of the company a shilling to take me through, and he was not at all backward in showing me the treasures under the care of the company. 38 THE DOCKS, SHIPPING, AND COMMERCE OF LONDON. he: ■ two 9 " These arc the biggest docks in Lunimn, sir," said " say what they will on the other docks. We will hold hundred million tons of merchandise here, sir, and we will not be crowded at all. Why, sir, I've seen as much as two hundred thousand casks of sugar, five hundred thousand bags of coffee, fifty thousand pipes of Jimaky rum, ten thousand pipes of Madeery, twenty-five thousand tons of logwood, and lots of other things here and we were not full. " I've seen an acre of 'ogsheads of tibaccy, eight feet high, and piles of cinnamon, spices, pepper, indigo, salt pork, hides and leather, Hindian corn, mahogany, and sich like, and no one of us, sir, ever knows the walley of them, and I suppose Mr. Bright hiself would be more nor puzzled to tell the walley, and I've heard as how he has got a preshis head for figgers." Formerly when steamers employed paddle wheels as a means of locomotion, the docks were very much crowded, but the use of the universal screw has given much more space for berthways. There is, however, great risks in these docks, of fire, from steam vessels, and I believe the rates are much higher £or steam craft than for sailing vessels. Small offices and compact frame houses for the company's officers, revenue officers,warehousemen, clerks, engineers, coopers and other petty attachees, have been provided within the ground area of all these stone basins, and everything connected with the docks is done in a systematic and business like way that is truly wonder- ful. When I recollected that less than fifty years ago London had no inclosed docks at all, and no accommodation for shipping but a long and straggling line of private quays, under the management of firms who had no public interests to serve, (and in fact when the present system of docks was at first proposed it met with almost universal opposition, particularly from the interested parties,) I was amazed at the progress made in a half century. There is not such a city in the world, perhaps, for the num- ber of corporations, guilds, societies, and titled people, who derive and did derive emolument and income, of one kind or another, from these private quay and wharfage receipts. OPPOSITION TO THE NEW DOCK SYSTEM. 39 Therefore when the citizens of London became thoroughly awakened to the possibility of substituting for these rotten old timber wliarves and tumble down old stone piers, a thor- ough, efiicicnt, and lasting system of dockage, the interested people began to clamor most hideously about their " vested rights." These two Avords have always stood in England as a safeguard to protect some oppressive or corporate interest. The " Tackle House " and City Porter Companies com- plained that if the import and export business were removed beyond the city limits, their right to the exclusive privilege of unloading and delivering all merchandise imported into the city would be worthless. The carmen who enjoyed a similar privilege and monopoly made the same complaint, and they stated that Christ's Hospital, an institution nmch revered by all Londoners, derived an income of four thousand pounds a year from the licenses under which they held their monopoly ; the watermen, wlio were then numbered by thousands, foxetold that the establishment of docks would deprive one half of their number of bread ; the lightermen stated that they liad a capi- tal of one hundred and twenty thousand pounds invested in tackle and craft, employed to transport merchandise, which capital would be annihilated if ships were allowed to discharge their cargoes on quays within docks ; the proprietors of the " le- gal quays " as they were called, and the " sufferance wharves," or wharves which held no legal title, all prophesied that the trade of London would be ruined at once if the new system of docks Avas established. However these people differed in some details of their griev- ances, they all concurred in stating that unloading ships in closed docks would be more expensive than discharging them into lighters in the river. On the other hand the advocates of the new system estima- ted on paper that the unloading of five hundred hogsheads of sugar from a vessel could be done in the new docks for about three hundred and fifty dollars of American money less than under the old lighterage and open quay system, to say nothing of the greater safety of the property thus enclosed in dock walls. 40 THE DOCKS, SHIPPING AND COMMERCE OP LONDON. Finally, Parliament passed an act creating the new docks and granting a comi)ensation of four hundred and eighty-six thou- sand and eighty-seven pounds to the proprietors of the legal quays in addition to the sum of one hundred and thirty-eight thou- sand seven liundred and ninety-one pounds which was paid to persons liaving " vested rights " in the mooring claims on the river. Altogether the cost of the different London Docks, including ground purchases, etc., was about thirty millions of dollars. The "West India Docks were the first opened in 1802, and the citizens of London have, I am sure, no cause to regret the decision which gave them the finest and safest system of wharfage in the world. The passenger traffic, by water, which transpires daily be- tween London and Continental cities and towns is incalculable. This of course does not include the traffic almost as great be- tween London and American and Colonial ports. You can go from London to New York in a splendid state- room with every comfort and luxury at sea, for about one hundred and thirty dollars, or you can take passage in a steer- age, herding like a beast as best you may for about forty dol- lars, by steam. I can safely recommend the Inman Line of Steamships which ply between New York and Liverpool, as the best afloat, the most punctual and the most comfortable. This line has nineteen fine steamers constantly plying between Europe and America. From London to Cork the fare, first class, is about twenty- three English shillings, and to Dublin twelve shillings. From London to Edinburgh, first class, by sea, fifteen shillings. London to Calais, by rail and sea, twenty-five shillings, to Havre, eleven shillings. London to Ostend, Belgium, fifteen sliillings ; to Antwerp, twenty shillings ; to Hamburg, two pounds ; to Rotterdam one pound ; to Belfast, forty-five sliil- lings ; to Dundee, twenty shillings. London to Malta twelve pounds ; to Maderia sixteen pounds sixteen shillings ; to Opor- to, eight pounds eight shillings ; to Marseilles, twelve pounds ten shillings ; to Rio Janeiro, thirty pounds ; to St. Petersburg, I RATES OF FARES AND DOCK LABORERS. 41 six pounds six shillings ; to Glasgow, twelve shillings ; to Liv- erpool, twenty shillings ; to Stockholm, eighty-four shillings ; to Brussels, forty-eight shillings ; to Genoa, twelve pounds ; Leghorn, fifteen pounds ; Naples, eighteen pounds ; Christiana' Norway, eighty sliillings, and Copenhagen, sixty-three shil- lings. I give these fares as I believe it may be of some use to Americans, who design to travel, to know the correct rates of Continental travel. It is much pleasanter to travel to tlie continent by sea from London than by rail, the accommoda- tions are better, the views of the best. Tliere is no hurry, you may get your meals regularly, it is more healthful and 'cer- tainly much cheaper, as the above fares are all for first class passages, and it is easy to obtain second or third class accom- modations for a very great deal less money. In concluding this chapter on the Port of London, I may say that it is almost impossible to name a place for which pas- sage cannot be obtained, by sea from London, and vessels are leaving daily and hourly for their various destinations, from the many wharves and docks that line the Thames between Lon- don and Westminster bridges, a distance of two miles, on the river. Thirty thousand men find employment, daily, as laborers, in the London Docks. Men who have been reduced by want, misfortune, or by drunkeness, find in these vast commercial reservoirs, a precarious means of subsistence, earnino- from eighteen pence to two shillings a day, half of which generally goes for beer, or potations of a heavier and moi^ spirituous kind. This kind of labor is unskilled, and has for its propul- sion mere nianual strength, so that, when a man fails in every- thing else, he may possibly succeed as a dock laborer. The public houses frequented by the laborers are situated in the dark alleys and crowded courts near the river, and all of tliem partake of the brutal, low appearance which distinguishes the London coal heaver and dock lifter. CHAPTER lY. PALACES OF LONDON. ONDON is studded with palaces some of which were constructed by Roy- alty itself — some of which were con- fiscated by royalty, and others again were bought by royalty from the no- bles of England, or from those per- sons who had amassed great wealth. The Court of St. James is a household word among diplomats, and is used as a threat by ambassadors at "Vienna, or perhaps as a phrase of mediation at Washington, St. Petersburg, or Paris, but generally this name is used by belligerent envoys with threat and menace at Constantinople, Athens, Honduras, or Lisbon. English statecraft and diplomacy always tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, and an English Cabinet never fails to measure the strength of a nation before trying conclusions with it. Even the Sultan himself, and he is by common consent sup- posed to 1)0 a very sick man, could pass the dirty looking pile of St. James palace at the lower end of Pall Mall, near St. James street, without a tremor, and the only signs of royalty or power are the bear skin caps and red coats of a couple of guardsmen, who walk up and down with their muskets at a support, in a most melancholy and bored manner before the gates. This is one of the chief residences of royalty in the metrop- olis. In 1532, his majesty by the Grace of God, King Henry ST. JAMES AND WHITEHALL. 43 the Eighth, cast his eyes upon St. James Hospital, a place set apart for lepers, fourteen of whom were residing there at the time, and being convinced of the healthfulness of the situa- tion, the inmates were driven forth, a small pension given to each, and on the site of the hospital for physical lepers, this moral leper erected what is now known as the palace of St. James, for the reception of the unfortunate but giddy Anne Boleyn. During the reigns of Mary and Elizabeth tlie palace was deserted, but with the advent of the Stuarts, St. James became a royal nursery. The ill-fated Charles the First had a passionate fondness for this palace, and on the morning of his execution attended divine service in the chapel which lie had fitted up. After the restoration, James II furnished St. James at great expense ; and from this period St. James became with hardly an intermission the abode of royalty. George the Second died here mumbling. George TV was born, and passed much of his time here. As a royal residence it has fallen away from its ancient splendor and is now only used on occasions of state solemnity ; yet it is one of the best planned palaces in Europe for comfort, and possesses a fine gallery of paintings. Whitehall, or the palace that is known by that name, was formerly called York House, and for three centuries before the time of Cardinal Wolsey, was the residence of the Archbishop of Canterbury. After the death of Wolsey its name was changed to White- hall, from a large hall in the building painted entirely white. Wolsey fitted up the palace in a style of grandeur never equaled, much less excelled by any other subject of the Eng- lish crown, and being occupied by the king on the demise of Wolsey, it was called the King's Palace of Westminster. When Queen Elizabeth died it was refitted by King James, and enlarged — but was destroyed by fire in 1619. Immedi- ately after its destruction James determined to rebuild it, and a portion of the palace was completed at a cost of fifteen thousand pounds, but such extravagance could not be allowed in those 44 PALACES IN LONDON. days, parliament refusing to grant money to continue the build- ing, and the fanatical monarch, whose memory has survived because of his hatred of tobacco, was forced to suspend oper- ations for want of funds. The ceiling of the banqueting-room, a work of Rubens and for which he was paid three thousand pounds, is said to be one of the finest efforts of that most gifted artist's pencil. In the time of the Protector Cromwell, one of the rarest collections of paintings ever made in the world, and of immense value — which had been accumulated here by succes- sive kings, was ordered to be sold by Cromwell in accordance with the Puritan belief that to possess paintings or statuary was conducive of image worship in the owner. Charles the First was really a great admirer of works of art, and had he lived he would no doubt have made "Whitehall the finest palace of Europe. Cromwell occupied Whitehall as a residence for his family after the execution of King Charles I, for biitcher as he was, and strict republican as he pretended to be, he was not above enjoying the good things of this life, and despite his cadaver- ous countenance he could appreciate a soft bed and a tender piece of roast beef with the jolliest of cavaliers. On the 10th of April, 1691, a fire broke out in the apart- ments of the bad Duchess of Portsmouth who occupied a portion of Whitehall, (this woman was a mistress of Charles II,) and in 1698 the entire structure was consumed with the exception of the banqueting-hall, and nothing but the walls were left standing. This hall was altered to a chapel by King George II, and since that time has been used for that purpose, the clergyman always being a royal chaplain. Over the door is a bust of the founder, and the brilliant frescos of the ceiling pieces of Ru- bens are all that is left of the once magnificent palace of Whitehall. The residence of the Queen, when in London, is generally supposed to be Buckingham Palace, a long gloomy looking building in St. James Park, not a stones' throw from the % BUCKINGHAM PALACE. 47 Marlilc Arch in Hyde Park or "Westminster Abbey. The same big flashy looking soklicrs in red coats, and hideous grenadier bearskins are to be seen marching up and down opposite this palace gate just as they do about St. James Palace, or at the Horse Guards in Parliament street. St. James Park is a pretty place with fine shady trees, and here in the mall or wide walk of the park was played a cen- tury ago, and still farther back in the days of paint, powder, and patches, and garden masquerades, the game of " pell mell." Buckingham Palace, though much frequented by the Queen, and situated pleasantly as far as appearances go, is not a healthy place of residence at all. The Queen frequently has complained of its dampness, she having often contracted bad colds there. This I have on the authority of her former chap- lain. George the lY had a Dutch predeliction for low ceilings, and as he never lived on good terms with his wife, whom he used to call a Fat Dutch Hog, no accommodations were made for Queen Caroline his spouse, in Buckingham Palace. The palace was occupied by this monarch, for whom it was built, in 1825. This king was one of the most profligate of men and a roue — and yet had the reputation of being the finest gentleman in Europe, but he never spared man in his rage nor woman in his lust. John, Duke of Buckingham, lived in a house on the site of the palace, in 1703, from which circumstance it has derived its name. I had special permission to visit this palace while the Queen was absent on her summer tour in Scotland ; it being a great favor to be admitted, and it was only by great perseverance and difficulty that I obtained entrance to the royal abode. One bright morning I called about ten o'clock, and after presenting my order of admittance was allowed to enter. I was bewildered by its sumptuous magnificence. Fancy a noble hall surrounded with a double row of marble columns, every one composed of a single piece of veined Carrara mar- ble, with gilded bases and capitals ; the tout ensemble being 48 PALACES OF LONDON. a splendid perspective of over one hundred and fifty feet. The steps of the grand, staircase are also of the purest marble. The Library, Council room, and Sculpture gallery are all most beautifully decorated. The Library is used for a waiting room for deputations, which as soon as the Queen is ready to receive them pass across the Sculpture Gallery into the hall, and thence ascend by the Grand Stairway, through the Ante-Room and the Green Drawing-room to the Throne room. The Library and adjoining rooms are fitted up in a most gaudy fashion, there being a sad want of taste displayed, cither by her Majesty or her uphol- sterer, but by which I am not able to say. The Sculpture Gallery contains the busts of leading states- men of all countries, and chief among them I noticed one of Prince Albert, the late husband of the Queen, mounted on a fine pedestal. Busts of all the members of the royal family, male and female, are also here. That of the Princess Louisa is a charming, innocent looking English face ; she is said to be deeply in love with a rich Catholic nobleman of the Duke of Norfolk's family. The Picture Gallery has fine skylights so as to throw a shaded light on the works of art below, and here are to be found the master pieces of the Dutch and Flemish schools, gems of Reynolds, Watteau, Titian, Albert Durer, Rembrandt, Teniers, Ostade, Cuyps, Wouvermans,and others, formerly the collection in great part of George IV. The Yellow Drawing room, a superb apartment, has a series of paintings in panels of the royal family, there being full length pictures of Queen Victoria, looking very fat, with the crown upon her head, and Prince Albert in his costume of Knight of the Garter, a dress which is supremely ridiculous in these days when none but priests and academicians wear such drapery. The Throne Room is a gaudy looking apartment, very large and spacious, and like all the rooms in Buckingham palace having a very low ceiling, the prevailing decoration being cur- tains of striped satin, and the alcoves are hung in rich crimson queen's library. 49 velvet relieved or rather bedizened %vith an nearly obscured gilding. William TV, the sailor king, hated this palace for its ugliness and discomfort, and this all the more that he was used to sleeping in a hammock aboard his own frigate. The Marble Arch, an immense pile of stone now at the corner of Piccadilly and Hyde Park, formerly occupied the central position in this building, and was erected in its present posi- tion at a cost of thirty-one thousand pounds. When the present Queen had her first child the palace was found so uncomfortable that she had to have the nursery re- moved to the attic, and there, while the royal child was getting its teeth cut, the Lord Chamberlain of England, ^\iio had charge of the improvements, was boiling glue and making French polish in the basement, so that altogether the queen of the greatest nation of the earth, subsequent to her honeymoon, was no better housed than a poor family in New York, dwell- ing in a respectable tenement house. Parliament, however, was kind enough to grant the sum of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds to alter and repair the building, and accordingly the palace was made habitable for her Majesty. The Ball Room is one hundred and thirty-nine feet in length. The Supper Room is seventy-six b}" sixty feet — with a prome- nade gallery one hundred and nine feet in lengUi, and twen- ty-one feet wide. There is a riding school attached, with a mews or stable for horses ; here the state carriages and coaches are kept at an expense, for flunkies, grooms, masters of the horse, stable boys, feed for horses and labor, of thirty-six thou- sand pounds, or over two hundred thousand dollars annually. I was allowed as a great favor to inspect the Queen's lil)rary, which is very handsomely fitted up, and wherever the oye rcsted for a moment it was sure to find a picture or bust of Prince All>ert. There were a number of small tables of inlaid ivory, mother of pearl, and gold, covered with handsomely bound volumes of Shakespeare and otlier English poets. I also saw a finely bomid €opy of the Memoirs ofthe Queen, wliich it is supposed was written by l>er Majesty. This is a mistake, how- 60 PALACES OP LONDON. ever, as tlie entire book was written Ijy a secretary of hers from some scanty notes provided by her, and from personal recollections. The Queen was nine months dictating the work before its publication. The Queen was in the habit of sitting four hours a day giving these reminiscences of her husband, and during this time she always had a glass of sherry and a biscuit by her side. Very little is known of her Majesty outside of the British Isles. Almost every other female sovereign has publicity given to all her secret actions, and her private life is dis- cussed with great person- al freedom, in the cafes and clubs. A thousand stories have been set afloat and circulated in regard to Madam Isabel- la, lately Queen of Spain, and but a few of them are true. Rochcfort in his papers, "The Lan- tern" and the "Marsel- laise," has not hesitated to i)0ur columns of abuse upon tlie head of the Em- press Eugenie, a lady whose principal fault is a fondness for low necked dresses. Two women have hitherto escaped this kind of slander, and these two are the Empress of Austria and Queen Victoria. The reason is palpable in the case of the Empress of Austria; she is an imperial lady to discuss whose private life it would be dangerous if done on Austrian territory. In regard to the Queen of England, the reason why silence is kept in relation to her private life is because of a sneaking regard for tlie manners, customs, and good opinions of titled individuals among most American travelers. POBTRAIT OF THE QUEEN. queen's seclusion. 61 The Queen has been a good wife and mother, hut in these two qualities she is more than equaled by thousands of Amer- ican women. She is no better and no worse than the average married woman ; has her faults, her weaknesses, and her good qualities, and it is among her own people that her failings find their loudest trumpeters. In honestly dealing with these stories I shall not stop to give the gross yarns which are spun by the Jenkinses of the press, who make what they call an honest penny by chronicling all the loose street scandal that is poured into their ears. The London Times, the leading paper of England, has on several occasions soundly berated the Queen for her continued seclusion from the public, her exalted position being, it is said, her only excuse, and subsequent to the death of Prince Albert this seclusion was continued so long that the shopkeepers and tradesmen who profit by the receptions, festivals, and gaieties of the court, were loud in their complaints of what they deemed to be an overstrained and extravagant grief. Several leading modistes or dress makers were obliged to- give up business, owing to the Queen having closed her draw- ing rooms ; murmuring loudly that they had been ruined by her Majesty, as their principal business was to make dresses for the ladies of rank who have nothing else to do but go to balls, parties, and drawing-room receptions Avhen invited. Indeed for the past three years there has been a growing dissatisfaction with her Majesty, and sad stories are told of that royal lady in the English capital — chiefly the shopkeepers were enraged — although this class of people are usually the most loyal — then the Fenian affair came and was added as fuel to the general discontent. But the worst remains to be told, and it is ^vith no feeling of pleasiu-e that I am compelled to lift the veil. The story is everywhere prevalent that the seclusion of the Queen is owing to her fondness for liquor ; this statement has never been openly promulgated in the papers, but is contin- ually hinted at obscurely in the more liberal organs. It is boldly spoken of by private individuals that the temper of her 4 62 PALACES OF LONDON. Majesty has of late years become very irascible and is some- times ungovernable, and the cause is attributed to drink and its consequent delirium which has seized upon this unfortunate lady. I was told by a clergyman who had it direct from the wife of a former chaplain of her Majesty, that the Queen was in the habit of drinking half a pint of raw liquor per day. The effects of these liberal potations arc making visible havoc in her once comely face. I saw her thrice, and her inflamed face and swollen eyes gave her all the appearance of an inebriate. Perhaps the trouble caused by her scapegrace of a son, the Prince of Wales, who, without doubt, is as reckless a scamp as ever ex- isted, has had much to do with his mother's present condition, and has driven her to drinking. It is also notorious that the Queen has chosen for her body servant one John Brown, a raw boned, robust, and coarse Highlander, and clings to him with more warmth and tenacity than becomes a lady who carried her sorrow for a deceased husband previously to such an extravagant pitch. This John Brown whom I saw is over six feet in height, a powerful looking fellow ; but he has a face that would find favor in the eyes of very few women. He was formerly a body servant of Prince Albert, and was always an attendant on him in his hunting and fishing excursions. The Queen took notice of him at Balmoral, her summer residence in Scotland, and here she made a great pet of him. After the death of Prince Albert the Queen attached Brown to her person, and ever since he has constantly attended her. It is the custom of the Queen to have herself pushed around the grounds of her lodge at Balmoral in a perambulator or hand carriage when she visits that charming spot. The person selected for this duty was the lucky John Brown. Day after day he might be seen pushing around the spacious lawn, the Majesty of England. During her hours of idleness Brown is always allowed to con- verse with the Queen in a familiar manner, and it is said pre- LUCKY JOHN BROWN. 53 sumes on her gracious condescension more than her noblest subject would dare to do. When the Queen takes her seat in her perambulator it might often occur that a servant would spring forward with a lowly reverence to assist the royal lady, but in every instance the un- fortunate flunkey would receive a rebuking frown, and in a moment after might have to undergo the mortification of a sneering laugh from Brown, who at this crisis would make his JOHN BROWN EXERCISING THE QUEEN. appearance — strolling in a leisurely fashion toward the per- ambulator, and stretching his long Celtic legs, his arms full of warm wraps in which he proceeds to enfold the person of the Queen, with as much seeming fondness as if he were the hus- band instead of the Ioav lackey of royalty, without polish and breeding ; then in addition to the silent rebuke of the Queen the offending servant Avould hear from Brown some such remark as " I say my douce laddie, dinna ya offer yer sarviccs till her 64 PALACES OF LONDON. Majesty asks ya fur them. Dinna ye be sticking yer finger in till anoother miin's haggis or ye moon be scalded." " That will do Brown," the Queen would say to prevent a scene which would be sure to take place were Brown's violent temper not curbed in time to prevent an explosion, for the tall Highland gillie is no respecter of persons, and cares very little for royalty except in the person of its chief representa- tive. It is a current anecdote in the Pall Mall clubs, that the Queen's cousin, the Duke of Cambridge, who is also the com- mander-in-chief of the British Army, having one day desired an audience with the Queen of a private nature, waited upon her at Buckingham Palace and presented his card like any other private citizen. He was desired to wait, and did so until he became tired, and finally he was admitted to the presence, and was somewhat astonished to find the servant, John Brown, in the room. The Duke being a member of the royal family did not hesi- tate to say to her majesty in a respectful way : " Will your Majesty be so kind as to ask your footman to leave the saloon, I desire to speak to you on a matter of im- portance, privately." " Very well, you may speak without intrusion," said the Queen, turning her head slightly to the window where her ser- vant stood with his back turned coolly upon the Queen's cousin, " there is no one here but Brown, he is very discreet." Finding that the Highlander could not be prevailed upon to leave the room, the Duke made a virtue of necessity and pro- ceeded to state the purport of his visit. The Queen engaged in conversation with her cousin, and some minutes having elapsed the conversation turned upon different subjects. The Duke was relating a joke about the Clubs for the edification of the Queen, in which a noble person was made to assume a ridiculous position, when all at once he was interrupted with a peal of coarse and irreverent laughter, which rang through the apartments, and the Duke turning around with a thrill of A GOOD STORY. 55 horror and astonishment, heard Brown scream out while he held his sides to contain his mad mirth : " Oh ! oh ! What a d — d Me that fellow must have been." The Duke for a moment stood petrified with horror, an un- pleasant tremor ran down the small of his back, and then being seized with a sudden idea, he took his hat and making a low reverence left the apartment as the Queen said in an irritable tone : " Oh ! never mind, it's only Brown." The story was too good to keep, and in a few days it was known all over London. On the day that the Queen opened Blackfriars bridge she rode in a state carriage with Brown behind her, and the act was so flagrant that when the procession passed through the Strand, the Queen was openly hissed by the people who stood on the sidewalks and saw the burly form of the Scotsman in the carriage, so close to her Majesty. I leave facts to speak for themselves, there is no need of com- ment. The great rival of Punch is a paper called the Toma- hawk, published in Fleet street, and which is edited with fear- less ability. The chief artist is a Matthew Morgan who excels all others of his craft in London for the beauty and spirit of his cartoons. Well, one day the Tomahawk appeared with a large two paged cartoon, in which the queen was pictured in her perambulator, and the tall form of Brown behind pushing the vehicle, while he leaned over the back and looked with an affectionate leer into the face of the sovereign of England. There was no inscription at the bottom of the picture, but it was so truthful and telling, that every person who looked, saw the whole scandalous story at a glance. Three editions of this number of the Tomahawk were sold in a few days, and in the corner of the picture the daring artist did not hesitate to sign his initials, " M. M." It is sufficient to state that no proceed- ings were taken, nor was a suit of libel brought against the editors who publish the paper. I have here only recounted facts well known in England, and I set them down without malice or extenuation. t «.,- ^^-' «-►- J *-/ tt -^ i 56 PALACES OF LONDON. The salary or income of Queen Victoria is, I believe, about five thousand two hundred dollars a day, including Sundays, for which she also receives her regular stipend. Like other sovereigns, slie does not toil or spin, yet the people must pay the bills all the same. Being of a very economical and thrifty disposition, it is supposed that her Majesty will leave a fortune of many millions of pounds to her scapegrace son when she dies, that is to say, if he has common decency enough too wait for her decease, and ceases to outrage her feelings to much. Queen Victoria was born May 24th, 1819, and is conse- quently in her fifty-second year. CHAPTER y. HIDDEN DEPTHS. INDING it necessary to have a companion with me who had a perfect knowledge of the EngHsh MetropoHs, I paid a visit to the headquarters of the police in the Old Jewry, and procured from Inspector Bai- ley, the Chief of Police, the aid of a de- tective to accompany me in my nightly adventures. Shortly after midnight Ser- geant Moss and myself passed through Gracechurch into Fen- church street, by towering warehouses, and along xUdgate into High street, Whitechapel. Until we got well up into White- chapel we had not met more than three or four persons, and they were principally individuals who had taken more ale or strong liquor than was good for their equilibrium. One person, who was evidently out of his latitude, accosted the detective and demanded of him, in a menacing but rather ludicrous way : " I s'ay ole fel', whish ish Goodman's Feelsh ? I wansli to go to Somshseet sthreeths. Goodman's Feelsh, ole boy. Show we waysh and give shixpensh, ole fel ? " " Go along and turn off to your left, and wnen you get home eat an onion, and it will do you good p'raps," said he, as ho tried to dodge the drunken fellow, who seemed well dressed, and had some jewelry on his person. " Eesh an onionsh. Sir, yer a gentlesmansh — ole boy. Blesh you. Blesh you," and he staggered away into the dark- ness, rolling like a yawl-boat in the breakers. 68 HIDDEN DEPTHS. We turned ofT the Whitechapel road into Baker' street, up Charles into Wellington street. The neighborhood was a poor desolate one, and every building, and every stone in the street, with the offal in the gutters, spoke of poverty and wretched- ness. Now and then a policeman spoke to us and looked sharply at me, but always tliey seemed civil and obliging. The district we were now traversing was a kind of debatable land between Whitechapel and Bethnal Green. The streets, or rather lanes, ran across and along at angles and in circles of a perfect maze tending to confound ways that were well calculated to puzzle a stranger. The lanes were, with few exceptions, not more than two or three hundred feet long, and the odor from the cellars and lodg- ing houses was miasmatic. Shouts and yells and curses came from drunken male brutes who passed us, and now and then a wretched looking outcast of a woman, hideous with filth and bloated with gin, stole like a shadow from some of the low public houses that were, in accordance with the beer-house act, putting up their shutters. A woman passed us with a stone bottle in one hand and a herring in the other, while we stood looking up and down the narrow street. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face seamed with dissipation and wretchedness, while she grasped the stone bottle hard, and seemed ready to defend her precious property with her life. " Wot have you got there," said my companion seizing the stone jug and holding it to his nose. The woman was al- most frenzied at this attempt, as she believed it was, to deprive her of what was far dearer to her than her life. " Give me back my gin! " she screamed, and dashed forward like a tigress to claw his eyes out. The sergeant seemed satisfied, and hand- ed her back the stone vessel with a motion of disgust. " That'll do, ole lady," said he, " I'd rather you'd drink that White Satan nor me. I pitys yer precious witles, that's hall, when you drinks it. Where do you live ? " " I live's in ' Purty Bill's lodgin.' I'll show it to you for a AN EXPLORATION. 59 brown. Come along." We followed her for a short distance, and now and then, as we passed the doorways and courts, some low blackguard would vent a little of his vile or rough humor upon *our devoted heads, merely to keep his intellect in play. " I say, ye pair of duffers, give us tuppence to get a pot o' beer, wont ye ; come here, and I'll cash yer check hif you 'ave no small change," said a cut-throat looking rascal of large build who was lying across a door that seemed to open into the earth somewhere. He half rose ; fell back on the broken cav- ern door stupefied with liquor, and began to snore like a wild beast gorged with blood. " This is an awful district, sir," said the detective. " They doesn't stand on ceremony with you here." We passed further down the dark street, and a very dark street it was. The atmosphere was very different from that which hung over London Bridge. The air was noisome, and the collected offal in the gutters sent up a frightful stench to the heavens. At the end of the street was a cul de sac, and before we came to it my conductor stopped at a passage, dim under the midnight sky, which ran back for some distance ; I could not tell how far, owing to the darkness. We passed into the court, which seemed to yawn wider as one progressed, between three-storied, tumble-down, dirty brick buildings, and finally we found ourselves in a yard about a hundred feet square, from the opposite side of whose buildings clothes lines depended covered with canvass jackets, ragged highlows, aprons, and two or three sou'westers, beside a lot of female articles of under-linen. There were barrows, hand carts, small jackass carts and baskets, with a few empty bar- rels piled up in a confused mass in the corner of the yard. Cab- bage leaves, bones of fish and animals, potato skins — the re- mains of carniverous appetites — were strewed all round. The detective had by this time lit a lantern which he had concealed in his breast, and thus I was enabled to look around me. He said, " This is a rum spot ; but never mind, it's safe enough. Now dy'e see that cellar — that's where we are a goin' to spend an hour or two. Come along." 60 HIDDEN DEPTHS. He pointed in the direction of the cellar, or rather an open- ing in the ground, at the further corner of the yard, from whose bowels issued slanting streaks of light, shouts of laugh- ter, and yells indicative of mad revelry. Groping our way carefully over the heaps of rubbish, and around the vehicles and barrels, we arrived at the cellar, which had for an opening an aperture about six feet wide by five feet in length. The broken wooden stairs leading to the bottom had some fifteen steps. We descended and found the door at the lowest step barring the entrance. It was fastened, and had a dirty, impenetrable pane of glass as a watchhole for the use of those inside, so that nothing could be seen from the outside of the door. We gave the door a kick, and then the shouting and laughing seemed to stop very suddenly, and there was a hustling and running about inside which betokened preparation. A face appeared at the pane of glass, and, after a scrutiny of a minute or two, the door went back on its hinges with a grating sound. A big bullet-head protruded itself, and a voice said : " Who is that ere ? Wot does you want, and who the d — 1 send you at this time o' night a disturbin' of honest people in their comfortable beds ? " " Bill, its ' Faking Johnny' as wants to hold a few moments conversation with you. The queen has just sent me with a patent of nobility for you, from Buckingham Palace. You are to be made a barronnight right hofif when you reforms," said the detective, in a jocular way, as he descended into the cellar and faced the proprietor of the den, who held a halfpenny can- dle above his head to get a look at us both. The master of the mansion finally recognized my compan- ion, but did not seem at all well pleased with his visit. " Well," he said, in a very gruff voice, " is hit bizness or pleasure? Vich? Kase, hif hits bizness you must 'elp your- self." " Oh, pleasure by all means, Purty Bill," said the sergeant, " myself and friend here, who is a son of Henry Clay, as was " PURTY BILL.' 61 President of the United States of America, just wants to see how the fun is goin' on to-night, and as I knew you kept a fiist-class place, Bill, I thought I would bring him around to see you. He has called on the Queen, Mr. Bright, Mr. Gladstone, the Hemperor of the French, and he expressed a great desire to see ' Purty Bill ; ' so here we are." The hideous vagabond seemed touched by this piece of insid- ious flattery, and said in a modified tone : PURTY BILL SHOWING US IN, " Oh, well, that's fair enough. I don't hask hanything bet- |ter. But ye see I thought you might ha' wanted some of my lodgers, and so many of them have been done for lately that they are getting suspicious of my honesty, and I have to be careful. Come this way," and he held the halfpenny candle over his head, which gave me a chance to observe him. The jaan was about six feet two inches in height, and much in 'orm of shoulders like an ox, with loins like a prize-fighter. rhe face was pitted terribly with small-pox, his entire face was 62 HIDDEN DEPTHS. seared, and even the corners of his eyebrows seemed eaten away by the awful disease. Hence his name of " Purty Bill." His eyes were of a greenish blue, and his attire was that of a costermonger ; a smock of canvass, and knee breeches and huge shoes, whose heavy nails made rapid incisions in the clay floor of the long, dark passage through which we had to pass until we came to still another door. This door was not a door ; in fact it was only a few planks strongly nailed together, and was not more than four feet high, so that we were all com- pelled, as " Purty Bill " lifted the latch, to put our feet in first, and making half circles of our bodies, we entered, and after de- scending three or four flagged steps we were at last in the cel- lar and establishment proper over which " Purty Bill " claimed a proprietary interest. It was one of the strangest sights I ever saw — the interior of this AVild Beast's Den. It was a huge cellar formerly used as a brewery, of perhaps a hundred by seventy-five feet in di- mension. The ceiling, or, rather, the rough, unplaned beams which supported the roof above us, gave an appearance of great strength to the place. There was a large fireplace in the cen- ter of the cellar, around which fifty or sixty persons sat, of all ages and of both sexes. The floor was of damp clay, smooth and trodden by the feet of countless thieves, vagabonds, and prostitutes. The corners of the cellar were buried in dark- ness, while the center of the cavern, near the fireplace, was bright with the flames of a fire of logs, which threw a flicker- ing light on the wooden beams, the broken chairs and stools, the pewter pots in the hands of the lodgers, and on many faces stained with dirt and ploughed up with crime and misery. There were thirty or forty berths roughly constructed as they are in the emigrant steerage of a Liverpool packet, and a heap of dirty straw in each indicated that they were used as beds by the occupants of the apartments. There was a large black pot hanging from a big hook, which depended from the brick chimney, and from this pot came a steaming odor of soup, or stew of some kind. The majority of the lodgers were sitting .11 "WONT YOU TAKE SOMETHING?" 63 on the bare ground, which was dry and hardened near the fire, while at a distance from its flame the ground was rather damp and the lodgers sat on broken stools or on ragged pieces of matting, broken pieces of willow ware, logs of wood, bundles of rags, or any other article, or articles, that were convertible into seats for the time being. The room was lighted by four or five candles, which were stuck in glass bottles, the bottles being fastened to the joists which supported the berths in which the lodgers slept. The people nearest the fire had fragments of food in their hands and were evidently preparing for a grand midnight feast. Some of them were peeling potatoes, and one old fellow with rheumy eyes had a piece of bacon of five or six pounds weight between his crossed knees on a board, which he was cutting into small square lumps, and as he hacked a piece off he threw it at random into the large pot. A young girl was en- gaged in carving a huge cabbage-head, and her assistant was scraping carrots and parsnips. Every one seemed interested about the pot, and every one seemed to have some contribution for the feast, which 1 found was a co-opera- tive one, "Purty Bill " bustled about and found two broken stools for myself and conductor, and placed them near the fire, saying in a hospitable way : "wont tou take something? 64 HIDDEN DEPTHS. " Gent's, this ere night is weriy wet, and you might as well dry yourselves. Sit up nearer the fire. "Won't ye take some- think ? " and he put his huge paws on the detectives knee in a friendly way. " This is agoin to be a topper of a meal to- night, and all of us will welcome ye gents to our 'umblc board. . So make yerselves at 'ome, and peck a bit when it's biled." " Wot's the idea of getting up this cram at this time of the morning, Bill ? " It's near two o'clock. Won't it interfere with yer lodgers' precious digestion ? " " Hinterfere with it ? Wot, vith one of my lodgers ? Ray- ther ! No. Vy there's Kicking Billy as heats six blessed meals a day, and then he's all the time a lookin' for sangwich- es and pigs trotters a-tween meals. Urt their digestion hin- deed ? Vy they 'av got stomax like them ere hanimals wot performs at Hastlcys. You knows Slap-Up Peter. You used to be a stone swallower in the purfession," and the proprietor touched a man who was squatted on his haunclies, smoking a dirty stump of clay pipe, with his foot. Slap-Up Peter drew the pipe out of his mouth, shook the ashes from it, dusted the venerable relic with a greasy red handkerchief, carefully placed it in his breeches pocket, and said : " Vy don't ye keep yer big feet to yerself ? Wot hanimals do you mean ? Do you mean cammomiles ? " " Yes, them hanimals vith the 'umps on their hugly backs. You see, sir, Slai>Up Peter has had a good eddy cation in his time, and he knows the names of the hanimals, 'cos he used to travel with the circus afore he went on the tramp to swallow stones and snakes." "Peter," said the detective, "you must 'ave quite an 'istry. Could you tell us somethink about your past life, my boy ? " Slap-Up Peter had a melancholy face. The skin was tanned, the eyes large, black, and bulging, and the nose like a hawk's. His clothes were worn and greasy ; his face was gaunt, and when he moved his body the bones seemed to creak and grate as if they had been joined together by metallic hinges. There was something mournful about the man — some queer story at- tached to him, I felt. PETER AND JUDY. 65 " Tell ye me 'istiy, is it ? Veil, I don't mind if I do ; but tliem as hears my story mout give me somethink to drink first, for I ham werry dry. I lost my woice speaking on the Histab- lished Church bill tother night in Parlymint, and I've been 'oarse hever since." "Well, take a drop, Peter," said Kicking Billy, a one-eyed and one-legged, and rascally looking fellow, who sat with his crutches between his knees, toasting his shins at the fire, and he handed a bottle to Slai>Up Peter, who took it without say- ing a word, and lifting it to his mouth, took a deep, deep draught without winking. " Look at that fellow that they call Kicking Billy — the one- legged fellow, I mean," said the detective to me. " He's a returned burglar, that fellow, and has served fourteen years. This place is full of thieves. They are nearly all thieves, and this is a thieves feast," he whispered in my ear. " My name is Peter Wilson, and I've been in the shoAV busi- ness for sixteen years, come Christmas, man and boy. I'm thirty-eight years of age now, and they called mc Sla}>Up Pe- ter when I fust began jumpin', as a hacrobat in the penny gaffs. Cos wy, I had a way of turnin' myself over a chair and coming back-handed on a somerset that used to take well, but now so many does it that the haudience don't mind it a bit. I jumped for four years, and wos counted pretty good in my line until I dislocated my wrist a doin' of the Pyramids of Hegypt, and then I vos laid hup and couldn't jump for six months and hover ; so I thought I'd leave the bus'ness and happear in another character. I got married to — " " More fool you," said Kicking Billy, sententiously, taking a drink. " Well, hit didn't cost you nothing, no more than it did for the government to support you in Botany Bay for fourteen years. So you needn't hinterrupt me again." " Go lion, Peter, and never mind him, its only 'is chaff." " Well, as I wos saying," continued Slap-Up Peter, " I got married, and maybe it was rayther foolish, for when we were spliced, Judy and I — she wos an Irish gal and a good worker — 66 HIDDEN DEPTHS. we went into our cash account and found that we had only one pun six shillings and height pence, not a blessed brown more. I said to Judy — she wor a good gal — " Judy, we can't keep 'ause on twenty-six sliillings capital, that's shure. That's all our fortune in silver and gold, and it won't last long. So wot will we do ? " " ' Well, Peter,' said she, ' I didn't marry you for the dirty money ; I married you cos' you were sich a good jumper and hacrobat, and I'll stick to you now when you can't jump any more ; ' for you see, Billy, my wrist was two years afore it got well." " ' Let us pad the hoof together,' said Judy, * and we'll do the best we can. Let us two work the southern counties and we'll get long French or Hitalyan names, and we'll pick up a shillin here and there.' Cos you see," said Peter, " Judy had been born and bred in Shoreditch, and she knew all the wan- dering play-actors and showmen, and she wor hup to all their affs. So I next came out as ' Signer Hokenfokos, the fiery sal- amander of Naples, and my wife, the Baroness Padila, who had to leave her country on account of the wiolent love vich the king's son would persist in making hup to her, and she had to leave all her property, to the amount of six millions, behind her.' This was a good lay and we made from three to eight shillings a day down in Devonshire and Cornwall, wherever we could get a crowd together. I used to swaller hot iron bars, pokers, and red hot coals, and my wife used to play the hurdy-gurdy while I was swallerin' the hot coals. I improved at this werry much in two years, and then, after I had vorked the hot coals out, Judy said to me one day : " ' Peter, why don't you try and swaller snakes and swords ? They are better than coals, and not so dangerous.'" " ' Yes, but I don't know how,' I said, ' and I don't like snakes at all, they are so precious slimy.' You see sir, even then I didn' know what it was to get used to a thing. Well, I com- menced to swallow knives at first, and I liad to oil them — that's the trick you see — with sweet oil as good as I could find SNAKE SWALLOWING. 67 at eighteen pence a pint, and I had to rub this on with a piece of shammy cloth. This oil lets the knife down easily, and when I wos well drilled there wos no danger at all — only I had to be sober. My swallow was hawful bad with the hirritation for two months, but I got over that ; for when I felt my throat sore I took sugar and lemon juice, and gorgled my throat and that took the soreness away." " Tell us about the snakes, Peter," said Purty Bill. " That's a good story, sir," to the author. #"^^4-- ®*.^'2&^e?'^ftl.v^ SNAKE SWALLOWING STORY. "Ah ! that was the most unlikely thing I hever took to. It went aginst my stomach hawful to swaller the snakes at first, and I don't believe I'd ever have done it if it hadn't been for Judy, who said to me, wlien I kicked agin it, — " ' Wot difference does it make, Peter, whether you swallow red hot coals or snakes ? The snakes has their stings all taken out, and its nothing more than swallowin' a sausage or pork saveloy.' " 5 68 HIDDEN DEPTHS. " Well, I -went at it with a very bad 'art, and my old •vroman used to play ' Boncy's Iklarch Across the Halps,' and the ' Death of Nelson,' whenever I swallowed a snake. You see I generally took a snake aljout fourteen or fifteen inches, or maybe a foot and a half long. The sting is out, you know, and I takes the head and puts the snake in, and if he doesn't go down why I pinches his tail, and then he rolls down the throat. It made me sea-sick at first, and the people in Sussex thought I was the devil out and out, and a good many hexam- ined my feet, which were in tights, to see if I had cloven feet. A goodish lot of people thinks that the snake goes entirely down the throat, but it stands to reason that the snake is more frightened than the man, and he does not go down, and hif he did he would be glad to come up, I can tell you." " Don't you put somethink in your throat," said a boy of fourteen, who was known among the confraternity as ' Teddy the Kinchin ; ' " I mean, to make the snake sick if he'd go too far." " No, that's no use at all ; you see he doesn't go hall the way down. He is afraid, is the snake, and if you cough he'll come up and draw himself up and coil in a bunch in your mouth. But the duffers who pay their money think that the snake is in your stomach. It stands to reason that he'd get sick. It makes a man retch, and the first snake I swallowed I threw up and had awful vomits, but the next one I rather rel- ished it, and it did me a sight o' good, like an oyster does after ye 'ave been drinkin at night and take's tuppence worth of natives in the morning. Well, when I began snake-swallow- ing it was rather new, and I had it all my own way for a long time, but finally, lots of men began to swallow snakes, and coal swallowing was not as good as it usfcd to be ; so I took to bal- lad singing, Judy and I. By this time we had sixty pounds . saved, and we Avere doing well, but I made the acquaintance of a lot of Doncaster men, who knew I had the money, and before I could say ' Jack Robinson,' the money was all gone. Judy was in her confinement then, and she took on so bad about it that she died in child-bed, and the kid as well, and slap-up-peter's song. 69 I've been on the tramp ever since, and now I do an odd turn at anything that turns up, but mostly I sing ballads, and make sometimes a shilling a day, and sometimes eightpence and ninepence a day. Times have changed for me. Worse luck." Here the snake-swallower's story ended. " Slap-Up Peter, will you give us a song ? and I'll give you a drink, me oul wiper," said the crippled Kicking Billy to the snake-swallower. " Well, Billy, I don't mind if I do," said Slap-Up Peter, draining the tin skillet to the last greasy drop. The thieves, loafers, and women gathered around the fire in a half circle, and Purty Bill heaped logs very liberally, while Slap-Up Peter chanted in a hoarse voice the song, an extract of which I give below, as near as I remember it with my rec- ollections of the scene, the choking smoke, the blazing fire, and the band of outcasts and outlaws in the den in White- chapel : 'Twas down in Whitechapel that once I used to dwell, And of all the coves that knocked about, I was the greatest swell, My highlows were the cheese, with breeches to the knees. Oh, my toggery was quite correct — my coat was Irish frieze. My togs from Bond street came, it's a nobby slap-up street, In a fashionable locality — the swells the girls there meet ; Nicol's my man for shirts, with his I cut a shine, His shop's in far famed Regent street, he's a pal-o'-mine. Rum too-rul-um, Happy-go-Bill, Inyuns and greens who'll buy. Rum too-rul-um, Happy-go-Bill, Inyuns and greens who'll buy. " That's a fine melojous voice of yours," said Purty Bill to the singer. '• He's used to it," said one of the women. Here's Spuds at Thrums a pound, they're prime 'uns as I've found, Oh, I've Reds and Dukes and Flukes and Blues, I sells in going my round. My greens are superfine, full blown and hearty are mine. Oh, come make a deal with me, my dear ; don't wait, you'll find 'em prime. My inyuns now are new, you'll find what I says is true. In fact, the Queen, since these she's seen has cartloads just a few ; TO HIDDEN DEPTHS. My carrots are long and red, you'll find theyVe well bred, My vegetables are the cheese, bunch for you — i^enny-a-head. Rum too-rul-um, '&c. " Now give US the last werse with all the 'armony," said Teddy the Kinchin, in a piping voice. " I vill, vith moosh plesh-yar, as the Frenchman said," re- turned Slap-Up Peter. Jerry, my moke's a bird, of him perhaps you've heard, He knows his way about, he does, to match him's quite absurd ; Just see him cock his eye when grrub time's gettin"- nif^h. He likes his feed, he does indeed, he lives on cabbage-pie. Now any girl that's kind, and a husband wants to find, I'm ready made and so's my trade, that's if I'm to her mind ; So down to Whitechapel we'll trudge again to dwell. And of all the coves that knock about I'll be the greatest swell. Rum too-rul-um, &c. " That's wot I call a topper of a song. It's so werry senti- mental that it makes a gal peep. The lines are werry touch- in'," said a young gal of sixteen or seventeen years of age, who was not badly dressed nor bad-looking, and who went by the name of " Bilking Bet." She was a favorite, and several of them called upon her to sing. She had just the same mock modesty, this young woman with the brassy face, as if she had been a fashionable lady at the West End, with a jointure and a coach and six. " Wot's that young gal's name. Bill," said the detective to the boss of the thieves. He did not seem inclined to tell at first, but said sullenly, "you don't want her do you ? No ? Well then that's " Bilk- ing Bet,' she used to be a 'coster gal but now she's on the cross." " Oho ! " said Serjeant Moss, " that's the gal as was hup be- fore Mr. Knox at Marlboro street the other morning for snatch- ing a lady's purse in a push." " Yes," said Purty Bill, " but there was no proof aginst the gal. She was brought out has hinnocent as the new-born baby. She wor." THE COSTER GAL. 71 " Of course, Bill, you had that done and cooked. One of those nice little halybi's as you halways 'ave ready just to suit your customers. ' Bilking Bet ' was down in Wales a waitin upon her poor sick mother, who was down with the scarlet fever, and not expected to live. My Heye ? Eh, Bill, one of your old tricks ? But, I say. Bill, don't you get ketched, cos its over the water to Charly with ye hif I ketch ye." This conversation was carried on in the corner of the room, from which we could see that the group around the fire were preparing to hear a song from " Bilking Bet," who cleared her throat twice with a pull at a gin bottle — no glasses here to annoy a person — and l)egan, in a mellow and not unpleasing voice, the following slang song which is common among the London costermongers, but is seldom heard among the thieves. The song, no doubt, she owed to her early costermonger asso- ciations, before she became a pickpocket. She was now one of the most expert in London, and was the kept mistress of a well known burglar, who had, two days before I saw her, bro- ken open a tea shop in the Old Bailey, near Ludgate Hill. The song was as follows : " THE coster' gal." Some chaps they talk of damsels fine, Being angels bright and fair, But they should only see my girl, She is beyond compare, She is the finest girl that's out, Her name is Dinah Denny, When you are out you'll hear her shout " New Walnuts, twelve a penny ! " Chorus. — S'holp me never none so clever, As my Dinah Denny, Can shout about, all round about " New AValnuts, twelve a penny." Her voice is like a dove. And bright is her black eye, I think she does me truly love, She looks at me so sly. 72 HIDDEN DEPTHS. She sports the smartest side spring boots, Eclipse her cannot many, And shows feet small, while she does call " New Walnuts, twelve a penny." Chorus, &c. Rich noblemen may dress their wives In silk or satin dress. But Dinah I like quite as well In her Manchester print, " Express," We're going to be wed, and then If offspring we have many. We'll be nuts on, and christen them " New Walnuts, twelve, a penny." Chorus, &c. BILKING BET TAKES THE CHAIR '• Now I think that's werry neat and happropriate to the hoc- casion," said a cockney lodger who had successfully begged twopence from the detective to pay for his lodging, which he handed over to " Purty Bill " as soon as he got the pennies. " TEDDY THE KINCHEN's SONG." 73 " I moves we put Bilking Bet in the cheer ? Wot dye say, gentlemen and ladies hall, to the proposition ? " " Hall right. Bet take the cheer and give us some of yer 'Ouse of Commons." " Bilking Bet " was escorted to the middle of the group, placed standing on a three-legged stool without any visible back, and assuming as stately an air as she was capable of, the young girl, with the most perfect sang froid, began : " Me lords and gentlemen, and likewise the ladies. Me no- ble pickpockets, gonofifs, blokes, and pinchers. I am with you this hevening, for what purpose, I hask ? For avot purpose i HASK ? Why, to be present at the feast which takes place hannerally among the members of our noble purfession — shall I say dignified purfession ? No ; I won't." " But ye have said it. Bet," said Kicking Billy. " Hear ! hear ! Shut up, will ye, and let the gal tork," said Slai>Up Peter. " Well," said Bet, broken down in her attempt at a speech, " I move that we have a songfrom' Teddy the Kinchin.' Will he hoblige ? " " He will ! he will ! " said a dozen voices. " I am sorry, me blokes, that my woice is so werry much out of tune in singing at Her Majesty's Hopera in the Hay- market, but howsumbever, as I have given hup my hengage- ment at that 'ouse, I'll fake you a few werses to show wot I woncc wos wlien I wos in woice," said this cheerful young blackguard and thief, who had a pair of eyes like a ferret, and could not have been more than seventeen years of age, as he stood there dressed in the height of his idea of the fashion, with a flashy velvet coat and satin scarf, showing a huge pin. He sang, after clearing his throat with a long drink of gin, as follows : " TEDDY THE KIXCHIN's SONG." I am a curious comical cove Everybody does own O, Hey ricketty Barlow, Cock-a-doodle-do I 74 HIDDEN DEPTHS. I was born one day when father was out, And mother she wasn't at home O, Hey ricketty Barlow, &c. I went to school and played the fool, At learning was a shy man. Hey ricketty Barlow, &c. The boys they used to hollo out, ♦' There goes a Simple Simon ! " Hey ricketty Barlow, &c. Oh lor ! oh my ! I'm a Simple Simon, Oh lor ! oh my ! cock-a-doodle-do ! "Where ere I go the folks they know. And call me " Simple Simon ; " Hey ricketty Barlow, &c. Haltogether, please," said the Kinchin. I used to " kick " the cobbler out, And rip up people's pockets, Hey ricketty Barlow, &c. And I was very fond of throwing stones TEDDY THE KINOHIN's SONG. TEDDY THE KINCHIN. 75 And lumps of mud at coppers, Iley ritketty Barlow, &c. But now I'm going to settle down, Won't I cut a shine O, Hey ricketty Barlow, &c. I'll many a gal with lots of Tin, And won't I spend her rhino, Hey ricketty Barlow, &c. Oh lor ! oh my ! &c. " Now, once more, and a good haltogether please," and the young pickpocket sat down amid thunders of applause from every one in the cellar belonging to the band of thieves. The thieves stew was now declared ready for consumption by the chef de cuisine, and as I at least felt no appetite for such a rich dish, we left this underground den of infamy just as a few faint streaks of the coming dawn began to gild the spire of St. Boldolph's ancient church. " That Purty Bill is one of the greatest scoundrels in Lon- don. He is a fence, and we've got him once or twice, but he minds himself now, and we are after his tricks every day. His cellar used to be a brewery, that's why he's got so much room underground, and his game is to let out lodgings, at two pence a night, for a blind, and then they can stay all day at this place until twelve o'clock at night, and if they cannot pay sure for the next niglit's lodging in advance, unless they are in very good circumstances, he clubs them out, and they have got to pad the hoof until daybreak, and sleep where they can. Good night." And we parted for that twenty-four hours. CHAPTER yi. DEBATING CLUBS AND COGERS'S HALL. ' HOE lane hath a veiy uiiromantic sound for a locality. It does not smell of the aristoc- racy. It hath not even a slight favor of the Landed Gentry, and no one could possibly take the trouble to find armorial bearings or liatchments for Shoe lane. Yet is Shoe lane a most eloquent place, and there is a little old public house there deemed second only in point of fame by the admirers of forensic eloquence who frequent it, to the House of Commons. The way was long and dreary that Saturday night that I strolled from Long Acre, whose carriage-shops and leather manufacturers' stalls were all closed for the day ; and the sul- try London fog came down, blinding the pedestrians, as I turned from Lincoln' s-Inn-fields into the better-lighted High Holborn, with the glare from its brassy gin-shops and dirty- looking old houses, that seemed all of them as if a good scour- ing would have done them an incalculable service in the way of a fresher appearance. I thought that Shoe lane was in a very suspicious neighborhood. Turning to the left through Farringdon Market, a huge square seemingly devoted to the worship of highly odorous vegetables, I came into the narrow Shoe lane, which runs down at its bottom to Fleet street, just below where the gray stone arch of Temple bar bisects the Strand and Fleet street. There is nothing particularly noticeable about this part of Shoe lane. There is a ham and beef shop, with its layers of cold meat- SHOE LANE. 77 pies piled on top of each other in the windows ; and across the way there is the inevitable gin-shop, with its polished brass fender outside to keep off the boys who have no money to spend in gin, and there arc the enticing signs all over the gin- shop telling of the merits of the brown-stout there A'cnded, and the Burton ale and somebody's " entire " malt liquors which tlie proprietor assures the public are only genuine at his shop. The lane is narrow here and not more than three or four men could pass abreast, although there are sidewalks to the lane, or rather apologies for sidewalks. This narrow lane is one of the few remaining relics of old London. Below, at the foot of Shoe lane, runs Fleet street — one of the busiest marts in the world, which is ever jammed and blocked with drays, cabs, and vehicles of all descriptions crowding to and fro, in sight of the mighty dome of St. Paul's ; and under the pave- ment of that street, so famous for its publications and shops, the old River Fleet once ran in a dirty, hideous current, until it emptied its garnered filth into the Thames. Here, opposite Shoe lane, one of the curious old conduits that formerly supplied old London with water might have been seen about the time of the wars of the Roses, when the Eng- lish nobles were hard at work cutting each other's throats- and making and unmaking kings for the want of something better to do. The cistern erected at the point where Shoe lane inter- j sects Fleet street, was counted one of the handsomest in I London. Stow — that quaint, old, musty chronicler — says : j " Upon it was a fair tower of stone, garnished with the im- Jage of St. Christopher on the top, and angels lower down, I found about, with sweetly sounding bells before them, whcrc- jupon, by an engine placed in the tower, they, divers hours of [the day and night, with hammers chimed such a hymn as was jappointed." Frolicsome Anne Boleyn, the first day that she ' ivas queened, rode through Shoe lane on her way to the sacred ^bbey of Westminster to receive the gilded toy upon her fair "orehead, and pageantry and pomp met her at every step of ler palfrey, in Cornhill, Cheapside, Fleet street, and Shoe lane. 78 DEBATING CLUBS AND COGERS HALL. In those days the streets and lanes of London were narrow and difficult, and the unfortunate queen that was to be might have touched the over-hanging eaves and gables of the houses in her progress tlirough tlie city without leaving her saddle. The conduit in Slioc lane Avas grandly gilded over to do her honor, and ran wine for the whole day. At the base of the conduit a starvling poet sat reciting verses in her honor as she and her newly made ruffian of a husband passed, and no doubt this mediaeval Mormon was highly pleased with the conceit. There were towers and turrets erected to do her honor in Shoe lane, and in one of these towers, according to the chronicler, " was such several solemn instruments that seemed to be an heavenly noise, and was much regarded and praised ; and, be- sides this, the conduit ran wine, claret and white, all the after- noon ; so she, with all her company, rode forth to Temple Bar, which was newly painted and repaired, where stood also divers singing men and children, till she came to Westminster Hall, which was richly hanged with cloths of Arras." "While Prince Hal was splitting the sculls of fractious Frenchmen at Agincourt and fording the passage of the Som- me. Sir Rol)ert Ferras de Chastley held eight cottages in Shoe lane from his Icing. Here and there was a garden peeping forth in its floral verdure ; and here was also the town residence of the Bishops of Bangor, powerful and pious prelates in their day, God wot and odds bodkins ; and as early as 1378 they held the tenure by virtue of the patent of the forty-eighth of Ed- ward the Tliird, which says in most barbarous Latin : " Ununi messuag ; unam placeam terrce, vnam gardinum cum aliis cedificis in Shoe Lane, London.''^ Times have changed since then in Shoe lane. A bishop of Bangor now, with his train of lances, his men-at-arms, mitre, cross-bearer, and torches, woidd be a sight indeed in Shoe lane. How that l)right-eycd bar-maid at the door of the Blue Pig would stare at his lordship ! How the greasy boy in the ham and beef shop would shout at the cope and silks and vel- vet housings — taking them, pcrhajjs, in an innocent way, for a part of the Lord Mayor's show ! And as for the conduit run- SOCIETY OF COGERS. 79 ning Claret and Malmsley, the beer-swilling cockneys would not thank headless Anne Boleyn for such washy foreign stuff. Their fancy could only be fed by gin. A man-at-arms would be compelled nowadays to wash his throat with Bass's bitter beer or brown stout, instead of sack, hippocras, or mead. At last we arc in the neighborhood of " Cogers Hall " — the hall of the Ancient and Honorable Society of Cogers. There is a gin-shop at the front, with its low doorway and flaring signs. The windows are well lit, and by the side of the bar is a long, narrow passage conducting the visitor for twenty or thirty feet to a back room, about forty feet long and twenty- five feet wide. Off the passage are a number of small waiting-rooms, noisy and smoky, with the voices and vile pipes of the occupants. Four rows of tables run along the room, in which are present fifty or sixty persons all of the male sex. They are all decent- ly dressed, for, although the admission is free, yet is tli^ visitor to the Cogers Hall expected to drink or eat something, and the place, with its tariff of prices, though moderate enough to an American, would not suit a costcrmonger or laborer. The roof is arched and paneled, done in a feeble imitation of the style of Sir Christopher Wren, who is popularly sup- posed to have built everything in London after the great fire of 1666. A handsome chandelier depends from an opening in the roof, and is ornamented with a number of glass globes, which serve to light the apartment and dissipate the thick clouds of smoke that constantly arise in the room. There is a large, gaudy sign in the hall, on which are prin- ted these cabalistic words : " Hot joints are served in this room from one until five." At the farther end of the room, opposite the entrance, is a paneling hollowed back in the wall, the entire room being paneled ; and this paneling is shaped like a door, and is gilded. A step from the floor, in the paneling, is placed a chair of honor, which is occupied by the Most Worthy Grand, as he is styled ; or, in fact, the chair- man of the meeting. Those who are familiar with him go so far in their irreverence as to call this awful personage " Me 80 DEBATING CLUBS AND COGERS HALL. Grand," and whispers have been lieard that his name in real- ity is Tompkins or Noakes. Directly opposite this dignitary, at the other end of the room, is a place in the paneling and a chair like to that which I have already described, and this is occupied by a tall, lean man, with side whiskers of a grayish pattern, who has the title of Vice Grand. But the Vice, or Worthy Wicc, is of greatly inferior dignity to the Most Worthy Grand. He is, so to speak, an empty or- nament of the feast, and his duties are simple, and confined to calling out in unison with the assemblage, " Hear, hear," or " Good." " You arc Right," when the Worthy Grand, in his or- acular sentences, is most happy. At other times, in a loud voice he will call the attention of the waiters, who heartily detest him for his interference, to the fact that some customer has drained his beer, or gin and hot water, and needs, therefore, to be served afresh. Still this man is human, and will listen, when off his seat of duty, to any scandal against the Most Worthy Grand with secret pleasure. In fact, the Worthy Wice, inspired by a gen- erous fourpence worth of gin and hot water, told me aside, in conversation, that the Worthy Grand was unfit for his high position. " He his han hass, sir. He his too Hold. And he 'as no woice watsomever, sir. Bah ! that, sir, for Tompkins" — and the Worthy Wice snapped his fingers in an insane man- ner at the air in which his potent imagination had conjured up the semblance of the Worthy Grand. Sitting down at a table I followed the custom of the place and called for something. On each table were placed a couple of long-shanked clay pipes, and a thin-necked, big-paunched, red-clay jar, which a man sitting near explained to my satisfaction. " You see," said, he in a rather mysterious voice, " we 'aven't much ice to speak of in England ; leastways, it is too dear, and this 'ere red clay 'as a peculiar ^virtue — it keeps the water as cold as if it was in the waults of Bow Church." This man was decently dressed, and was, I believe, a drover by profession. He was very fleshy and very red in the face. AT THE TABLES. 81 Tissues of fat lay around his eyebrows in layers, and his double chin was dewlapped like one of his own beeves. He had a heavy red hand, and was, as I found out, a true Briton in every sense. I asked him why the place was called Cogers Hall. To this conundrum he confessed himself unable to answer, but after scratching his head the " Beefy One," as I shall call him, made a sign for a waiter to come to the table. " I say," said the Beefy One, " why do you call this place Cogers 'All ? " The waiter could not satisfy him, but said that he would call the Master. Well, the Master came, a thin-faced, side-whis- kered Englishman, with watery blue eyes and trembling lip. The counterfeit presentment of the Master hung over the Wor- thy Grand's chair of state, done in oil, and it seemed as if the artist had endeavored, in accordance with the spirit of tlie Cogers Hall, to give the face an oratorical, Gladstonian ex- pression, and the cloak was folded around the shoulders of tlie Master as the toga is folded around the shoulders of Tully, in classic pictures. Besides the picture of the Master, several other pictures of Past Worthy Grands were hung as tokens of their former forensic abilities. The Master, in answer to the question why the place was called Cogers Hall, said : " Well, you see, we calls it Cogers Hall from the Latin ko- gee-TO — to cogitate, to think. Oh, yes, sir, we have been a long time established, sir ; since 1756, sir ; a matter of a hundred years or so, sir. You are han Hamerican, sir. Oh, yes, sir, we've 'ad George Francis Train' 'ere, sir, for many a night, sir ; and 'e spoke in that chair, sir ; and when he was arrested, sir, in Ireland, tlie Home Secretary as wos, sir, wrote to mo to question me if he had spoken treason, sir, or spoke agin the Queen, sir. Cos ye see, sir, the principle of an Eng- lishman, sir, is to allow every man liberty to say wot he likes, sir, so long as he does not speak agin the Queen or speaks treason. That's an Englishman's principle, sir." And George Francis Train had spoken in this very room ! I could fancy the feelings of poor Artemus Ward when he stood at the the tomb of Shakespeare at Stratford. These wooden chairs and benches were hallowed in my eyes henceforward. 82 DEBATING CLUBS AND COGERS HALL. Men had sat upon those chairs who had listened to the fervid eloquence of a Train, and perhaps some of these very men had survived. Civis Americanus sum. As the night came on apace, the smoky, oldfashioned, pan- eled room began to fill up, and before long nothing could be seen but rows of men lining the small tables, puffing vigor- ously iVom the long clay pipes, and at intervals taking deep draughts from the large, brightly burnished metal pots, hold- ing a pint each, or perhaps sipping fourpenny glasses of hot gin and water. Along with the little jar of hot water which tlic waiter brought on demand, were little saucers of sugar — these little saucers never containing, by any chance, more than three lumps of sugar, and each of these lumps being equalized in size with a mathematical nicety. Some of the visitors, more hungry than others, satisfied their longings with " Welsh Rabbits," at sixpence apiece ; or, when the rabbits had, in addi- tion, two eggs cooked with them, the Welsh rabbit was called a "Golden Buck," and the waiter, in his greasy tail coat, raised his demand to eightpence. In a few minutes the Worthy Vice, a gray-bearded man with a meek face and in shabby-genteel clothes, took his seat, and all the chairs in the apartment were turned around by those who occupied them in order that they might hear and see bet- ter. The Worthy Vice, who is sometimes entered on the bills of the performance as a " Patriot" when he has to take part in a discussion, read the minutes of the last meeting of the xVncient and Honorable Society of Cogers, which were listened to quietly, and then the attention of the audience was turned to the Most Worthy Grand, who occupied the chair at the other end of the apartment. This most noble Briton, in a quavering voice, having adjusted his vest — which had a tendency to leave exposed the lower part of the shirt-bosom at his stomach where his trousers bisected — opened the proceedings with much solemnity, imitating by hems and haws, as well as he could, tlic manners of the dullest and most commonplace ora- tors of the House of Commons. His business as a specialty Avas to review the events of the week. NEWS OF THE WEEK. 83 " I don't think, gentlemen," said he, " that my task will be a very long one this hcvening in reviewing the hevents of the week. There, aw, 'asn't been much a-doing in furrin parts, ah, this week. There 'as been 'a row in Turkee again, and in, ah, fact we might say there is halways a row in Turkee, more or less. There's a man in Hegipt whom we call the Viceroy of that, ah, country, and when he, ah, wos here we gave 'im fireworks and sich, and made a blessed time about him, as we might say vulgarly, so to speak. Now, he has been a invi- tin' of all the sovrins of Europe on his own hook to see him and his ryal family open the Sooz Canal. Well, he has been, ah, spendin' sich a lot of money that the Sultan comes out in a long letter and calls him a Cadivar, which is a word that I can't understand, being neither Latin nor yet Greek. " Blessed hif I knowed that ye iver understood Greek or Lating, ither, Jimmy," said an old man who sat observant of the reviewer in a corner, drinking beer from a pewter pot. " I thank ye all the same, Mr. Wilkins, but I don't like to be interrupted when I'm speaking," answered the Most Worthy Grand. " You're right, Me Grand. Horder ! border ! " shouted sev- eral indignant voices. " I wos goin' to say," continued the Grand, after taking a deep draught of the porter which foamed in the pewter pot on the table before him — " I wos goin' to say that the state of our neighbor, Fronse, just hover the water, is now a spektikle for mankind. There's a great hadoo about the Hemperor's 'elth ; and I must say as how he is in a bad way by all accounts. Nobody knows wot his disease is. It may be liver ; it may be kidneys. I might take the liberty of sayin', as a rule, kidneys is bad. No one knows wot would be the conse- quences if the Hemperor was to step out, wulgularly speakin'. It would p'r'aps be the cause of a general war in Europe. Hengland doesn't want any more wars. We 'ave 'ad enough of them. They does no good for the workin' man. (' Hear ! hear ! ') We pays the piper when the dancin' is done ; but we never dances ourselves." 6 84 DEBATING CLUBS AND COGERS HALL. " True as the gospel, Jimmy," from a beer drinker. " Now, there's another question which we all 'ave heard of a good deal, and that's the Ilalaljama claims. They are in a precious muddle, to be sure. They may be riglit and they may be wrong. But I must say that I don't see where the money is to come from to pay them." " We'll never pay them. We aint got the " dibs ; " least- ways, I won't pay any of it," says an irreverent young man whose face was quite flushed with strong drink. " Well, as far as that goes, if they are to be paid, we know it Avill come from the pockets of just such people as ourselves in the way of taxes. Its taxes halways." " I diifcr from the gentleman who preceded me altogether. Prussia must 'ave the left bank of the Rhine, and I'll put six- teen bullets in the Pope's heart. I tell ye, gentlemen, the Ekumenikal Council will be the downfall of the Romish reli- gion. I'll put sixteen bullets in the Pope's heart," cried out a tall, thin-faced man in a half-clerical suit of black, who got on his feet, and while in the act of energetically expressing his feeling, by a wave of his right hand carried away a glass globe shading the gaslight above his head. The man was very drunk appafently, but by his language seemed to be a person of education. The " Beefy One," who sat by my side, and who had reached his third bottle of beer, whispered to me : " I say, yon is a fine fellow when he's sober, and can talk poetry l)y the yard, l)ut he is very drunk, and when he's fud- dled he will talk a man blind about the Pope. Will you have some beer ? Do take a pot." It was with some trouble that the fiery Scotch orator was in- duced to sit down and defer his assault upon the Pope until a more fitting occasion. At this moment tlie Beefy One pointed out to me a tall, mar- tial-looking person in black clothes, who seemed to be very restive and looked as if he wanted to speak. He was of large frame, about sixty years of age, and was apparently a man of consi(]cral)le stamina and l)ackl)one. His white whiskers and neat dress gave him the look of a justice of the peace who had LIBERALS AND CONSERVATIYES. 85 dropped in to take a look at the assemblage from curiosity, and to see that the public morals and the constitution were properly taken care of. While the Worthy Grand was making a series of remarks on the health of the Emperor Napoleon and the menacing atti- tude of Prussia towards France in a gentle, slipshod way, the stranger looked up at times from the four-penn'orth of gin which he ordered when he came in to give an incredulous, COGEH8 HALL. doubting smile to a few of the coterie who sat around him and were evident admirers of his. The Beefy One whispered to me — " That ole gentlemun is the finest orator as ever was. I tell ye, sir, he can talk when he's agoing. There's no end to his beautiful sentiments, I do say it, although he's a Hirishman. Oh, 'e is a great horator is the Ole One." After the review of the week's public events by the Worthy Grand, debate was in order on the topics reviewed by him. I 80 DEBATING CLUBS AND COGERS HALL. fouml that the debaters who jumped to tlieir feet one after the other ill a manner wortliy of the most dignified legislative as- semblage, were divided into two parties, liberals and conserv- tives. The Lil)erals were the most logical, strange to say ; the Tories were most dogmatic and violent. The Liberals — one of them at least — wished to do away with all monarchies and established churches; while the Conservatives, jmncipally be- longing to the shopkecping element, in the audience, were strenuously opposed to the eight-hour law and to the trades- unions. One liberal orator would liked to have seen, as he expressed it, all the kings, barons, prime ministers, and other like des})ots, placed in one old rotten hulk of a vessel, and then the vessel was to be scuttled on the Goodwin Sands. " And who," said the eloquent orator, " would not say that it would not be a benefit to the human race ? Who would not exclaim ■with me," and here he looked around on his eager audience in a threatening manner, " the more of sich cattle in the rotten old ludk the Ijctter ? " There was a general grunt of acquies- cence from the advanced Liberals at this possibility and a dei> recatory shake of the head from one Conservative with a great clay pipe. Finally, the Irish orator got a chance, and then it was wonder- ful to sec how, in a sarcastic tone, he humbugged his hearers for half an hour by allusions to the good time coming, when every man should have a vote, and every Irish tenant should give up the graceful and sportsmanlike habit of potting from behind the Tipperary hedges all landlords who were in the way of a freeh(jld system. The orator waxed wroth and became pathetic at times as he reviewed the past glories of the Isle of Saints and her present degraded position among nations. Yet in that he was skilful enough, in speaking of the Fenians, to deprecate their acts mildly, but, at the same time, he told his English audience, in the most forcilde tones, of the abuses and tyranny that had led to the organization of Fenianism. " Oh, I say, 0'I)ricn,you are a humbugging of lius with that here gammon habout '98, ye know." " 1 give yes me word, me Worthy Grand and gentlemen, THE SCOTCH PRESBYTER[AN. 87 tliat I do not advocate Fenianism at all, at all ; but when yes dln-ive min to madness by oppression, by acts of oppression such as the world has never seen, can yes blame the wu-r-rum if it turns on yes and bites." No one could reply to this with the exception of the Scotch Presbyterian, who, again rising from his seat, denounced the Pope and Dr. Gumming as accomplices, and declared that at the first opportunity he would cheerfully encounter martyrdom to be able to " put sixteen bullets into the Pope's carcass," as he politely and charitably expressed himself. " I didn't care about your Ekumenikul Council," said he ; " it will be the downfall of popishncss and prelacy, and those who may go there are welcome ; but as for me I would be burned to have him under my pistol." " Oh, Mac, yer not so bad as yer purtend in yer talk. I'll en- gage, if his Holiness would give ye the chance, ye'd only be too glad to kiss his toe." This raised a laugh at the Scotchman's expense, but he vio- lently disclaimed for himself, as a true disciple of John Knox, any intention of submitting to such a degrading act of spirit- ual submission. The debate continued as the night waned, and at eleven o'clock, when I left the hall of discussion in Shoe lane, the subjects of vaccination, land laws, and coinage were yet to be touched upon by the speakers. I have given but a glance at this place, which is the oldest established of its kind among a number of discussion halls and forums, whose sign-boards meet the stranger's eye in dif- ferent parts of the city where most thickly populated. There is invariably a pothouse attached to these debating places, or rather the debating halls are attached to the pot-houses. The better class of artisans and shopkeepers in a small way are principally the frequenters of the discussion halls. Mechan- ics with a gift of the gab, and who have five or six shillings a week to spend out of twenty-five or thirty, are to be found here in large numbers. The Most Worthy Grand and the Vice Grand are paid a fixed salary for their stated eloquence, and it is principally their duty to read all the cheap weeklies and dai- 88 DEBATING CLUBS AND COGER S HALL. lies, not forgcttiiij^ the Times, which is very often quoted by them as a sort of a clincher in tlie argument brought up. A phiee like tliis will take in five pounds of a night, and the wages paid to llic bar maids is about sixteen shillings a week. There were two here, and four waiters, who receive sixteen pounds a year and their " grub," as they call it. A small pa- per of rough-cut tobacco is furnished to each customer for a penny, and the consumption of this narcotic and Welsh Rabbits is encouraged, as they arc quite certain to make the custom- ers dry, and this dryness, as a matter of course, leads to the imljibition of plenteous beer and gin and water. These shops are licensed to sell spirits under the new Beer act, and they are compelled to shut off the debate at midnight. As a gen- eral thing the most advanced liberalism prevails in these places, and religious sentiments are below par with the audi- ence. Very often it is possible to hear a well educated or sci- entific man debating in these halls, but, on closer survey, his accent will Ijctray him to be some impoverished French or German physician, or reduced savan, who has no occupation in the hours of the evening, and can, therefore, afford to dis- pense wisdom to the thick-headed audience, gratis. A])0ut a week after my visit to Cogers Hall I went, accom- panied by Mr. Marsh, a member of the Daily Morning Tele- graph's staff, and another gentleman connected with the edito- rial management of the Pall Mall Gazette, to take a look at an(jther debating hall which is situated at No. 16 Fleet street. This place is quite famous in London for the virulence of its debates and the high flavor of its gin. Its Brown Stout is also aljovc reproach. As usual in all such places there is a public bar here, and this is located at the entrance, and is attended by the inevita- ble barmaid, smiling and bedizined in all the glory of a two guinea silk dress, bought perhaps in Regent street or the Oxford Circus. Tlic room here was not so large a one as that at Cogers Hall in which the orators were in the habit of haranguing their audi- tors. There were a dozen small tables, around which chairs " WHERE ARE WE NOW." 89 were placed in a most picturesque confusion. Small white pla- cards printed in blue ink were posted on the walls with the fol- lowing announcement : TEMPLE DISCUSSION FORUM. ADMISSION FREE. STRANGERS ARE PARTICULARLY INVITED TO TAKE PART IN THE DISCUSSION AND TO INTRODUCE SUBJECTS FOR DEBATE. THE QUESTION THIS WEDNESDAY EVENING WILL BE " THE POPE'S MODEL LETTER," WHERE ARE WE NOW ? TO BE OPENED BY "A PROTESTANT." CHAIR TO BE TAKEN AT NINE O'CLOCK. SUPPER FROM EIGHT TILL TWELVE. BEDS. PRIVATE SITTING-ROOMS. There was a venerable looking old fellow in the chair when we entered the Discussion Forum, who lifted a pair of gold rimmed spectacles from his nose to take a look at us. This was the chairman of the meeting, and shortly after we sat down he cried out to a tall person with a short grey raglan coat who was speaking and perspiring at the same time. "Mister Chowley I will and cannot allow you, sir, to trample on the religious feelings of any man present in this harmonious meeting. We are all brothers here, sir, and the individual who disturbs our peace and quietness, should be to us all as the ' 'Eathen and the publican, sir.' (Hear, hear.) The tall man with the raglan, who did not like to be sup- pressed so easily, had taken his seat for a moment much against his will, but now he arose slowly and scornfully looking around him, spoke, with one hand leaning on a chair behind him, and another hand in his breast, as follows : " Gentlemen, this his an age of science if it is an age of hanythink. Wot does my honorable and noble Roman Catho- lic friend wish to advance has an argument. Does he mean to 00 DEBATING CLUBS AND COGERS HALL. tell ME, with my lieyes hopen in this here blessed Nineteenth Century, which we are all so proud of, and whose blessed light is the moving cause of so much mental brilliancy — does he mean t<» tell mc for a moment that the miracle of the transpo- sition of water into Avine at the wedding of Cana wos han hactual fact. Why gents it his altogether impossible — and no reasonable man in this Nineteenth century can for a moment believe it possible. Wot would Galileo, Kepler, Faraday or sich bright lights of the Nineteenth century say to sich stories ? Why gents, there is a chemical change which would have to take })lace before such a translation, and this chemical trans- f(3rmation could not take place without the assistance of other sul)stances. (Hear, hear.) And gents, as far as the infalli- bility of the Pope is concerned, why I have only to say in the words of the poet, hand I mention no names, that a piece of fat pork might stick in his gullet as soon as it w^ould stick in mine, and that's all I think of infallibility and fat pork, with the blessed light of the nineteenth century before me." (Hear, hear.) Mr. Chowlcy here sat down, thoroughly satisfied with him- self and auditory, who applauded him to the echo. Then a member of the Roman Catholic persuasion answered him in a long and si)lendid oration, which seemed to thoroughly con- vince every one present that the Catholic side was right, and the Protestant one a most diabolical doctrine. After each man liad done his little speech, it was curious, nay amusing, to hear the adherents of cither party comment upon the previous argu- ment. " Oh ! I say," said a Presbyterian, " didn't he smash the old Pope neither." "And wot a blessing he gave His Grace, Archbishop Man- ning, though ? " " Well," said an ardent Irishman, " I niver heard such a 1am- beastin as the heretics got to night." " You might well say that, Pether, and didn't he scald Mar- tin Luther with the holy wather, though," said an honest look- ing, hard working fellow who sat smoking a pipe. FARCE AND TRAGEDY. 91 One thing struck me in all this wilderness of argument and polemic discussion. While the two principals nearly argued their jaws off in the heat of discussion, they failed miserably to convert any of the opposite party, who sat the debate out with a heroic stupidity, understanding with much difficulty about one-third of what was said, and perhaps caring very lit- tle for the matter in hand, but sticking to their prejudices to the last, with a partisan fidelity not to be convinced by all the harangues that will take place from that night until the Day of Judgment. And yet I could not enter a place of this kind in all Lon- don, from Temple Bar to Hammersmith, without hearing this same everlasting religious warfare of controversy. And to add to the joke, hardly one of five of these persons who attend such discussions, were ever in a church of either the Catholic or Protestant persuasion. Such is life — part farce, part tragedy. CHAPTER VII. THE CLUBS AND CLUB HOUSES OF LONDON. E cannot conceive of any greater contrast than that which exists between the wretchedness and squalor of the lodging houses, and the '^^ splendor and refined elegance, combined with ^^llS^i^ X3^^ comfort of the Club houses of London, which are chiefly situated in Pall Mall, St. James street, and the neighl)orhood of lower Regent street. Club life has attained its greatest perfection in London. No city upon the Continent can compare with it for the number of its club houses, the splendor of their architecture, their luxu- rious furniture, and the standing in society of their members. There are, I believe, upward of fifty clubs in London, in which all the professions, and all the stations of life find repre- sentation, with a roll of perhaps 45,000 members. The follow- ing are the principal clubs with the cost of ground and con- struction : Army and Navy Club, George's street, St. James' square, 1,450 members, .£100,000 ; the Conservative Club, St. James' street, 1,500 members, .£81,000; Garrick Club, King street. Convent Garden, 500 members, £25,000; Junior United Service Club, corner of Charles and Regent streets, 1,500 members, .£75,000; Oxford and Cambridge Club, Pall Mall, 1,200 members, X100,000 ; Reform Club, 1,400 members, £120,000; University Club, Pall Mall East, 500 members, £20,000; Wyndham Club, St. James' square, 600 members, £30,000; Westminster Club, Albcanarlc street, 560 members, £15,000; Athenajum, Pall Mall, 1,200 members, £60,000; INTERESTING STATISTICS. 93 Carlton, Pall Mall, 800 members, £100,000; Guards Club, Pall Mall, 500 members, £40,000; Oriental, Hanover square, 800 members, £30,000; Traveler's, Pall Mall, 700 mem- bers, £30,000; Union, Cockspur street, 1,000 members, £25,000; United Service Club, Pall Mall, 1,500 members, £70,000; White's Club, St. James' street, 550 members, £20,- 000; Boodles, St. James' street, 500 members, £15,000; Cav- endish Club, 307 Regent street, 500 members, £15,000; and Civil Service Club, 86 St. James' street, 1,000 members, £45,000. Besides the before-mentioned clubs there are the followins;, which rank nearly but not quite as high among Club men : Albert Club, 15 George street, Hanover square, Alpine Club, Trafalgar square, - - . Arlington Club, 4 Arlington street. Arts Club, 17 Hanover square, - - _ Arundel Club, 12 Salisbury street. Strand, City of London Club, 19 old Broad street, (merchants,) Gresham Club, City, (bankers, &c.,) Junior Athenajum Club, 29 King street, St. James, - Junior Carlton Club, 14 Regent street, - - - New Carlton Club, Albemarle street, New University Club, 57 St. James' street, Portland Club, Stratford Place, Oxford street, Smithfield Club, Half-Moon street, Piccadilly - St. James' Club, 54 St. James' street, Whitehall Club, Parliament street, . . . Whittington Club, 37 Arundel street, Clarendon Club, 86 St. James' street, - - - Junior Reform Club, Albemarle street, Brooks' Club, 60 St. James' street, - - - Arthur's Club, 69 St. James' street, - - - Law Society, Chancery Lane, - - - - National, "Whitehall-Gardens, ... Prince's Racket and Tennis Club, Hans Place, Chelsea, United University, corner Suffolk street and Pall Mall, Beefsteak Society, Lyceum Theatre, - - - Club Chambers, Regent street, - - - " " St. James' square, » - - Ambassador's, 106 Piccadilly, - ■ . Erectheum, St. James's square, - - - - HEUBHRS. COST. 500 £10,000 600 18,000 400 16,000 500 16,000 600 52,000 1,000 50,000 1,000 60,000 800 30,000 800 40,000 800 25,000 600 29,000 400 18,000 300 12,000 600 23,000 500 9,000 1,600 40,000 900 36,000 800 40,000 575 20,000 600 18,000 1,000 68,000 400 17,000 300 11.000 500 33,000 250 5,000 400 31,000 300 1 7,000 200 16,000 300 20,000 94 THE CLUH3 AND CLUB HOUSES OF LONDON. In these several clubs each member is elected by ballot, and pays an entrance on admission, and afterward an annual sub- scription, wliich varies like entrance fees in different clubs. Thus, in the Atlienasum, the entrance fee is <£ 26.5s., annual subscription, M.Gs. Arthur's, entrance £21, subscription, XIO lOs. Brooks, entrance, £9 9s., subscription, Xll lis. Carlton, entrance, X15 15s., annual subscription, ,£10 10s. Con- servative Club, <£28 7s., subscription, .£8 8s. Garrick Club, entrance, X21, subscription, £Q Gs. Junior United Service, entrance, £30, subscription £G. Oxford and Cambridge Club, entrance, <£21 5s., subscription, £6 6s. Reform Club, en- trance, .£21 5s., subscription, £10 10s. Travelers' Club, en- trance, .£31 10s. Union, entrance, <£38 10s., subscription, £6 Gs. United Service Club, entrance, £36, subscription, £G. Whittington, entrance, £10 10s., subscription, ladies £1, gentlemen, £2 2s. Wyndham, entrance, £27 6s., subscription, £8. When clubs were first started they were regarded with much hostility as being most antagonistic to domestic life, and the ladies displayed an intense spirit against them. The clubs, however, survived and flourished' under their enmity, and it was found that they discouraged coarse drunkenness, the prev- alent vice of Englishmen ; encouraged social intercourse — of which ladies partook of elsewhere ; refined the manners of the members, constituted courts of honor, and tended most mate- rially to the manufacture of gentlemen. The London clubs are private hotels on a vast and magnifi- cent scale. They have billiard rooms, coffee rooms, nine-pin rooms, splendid libraries, saloons, and furniture, and plate of the costliest and rarest description. All the refreshment which a member has, whether breakfast, dinner, supper, or wine, are furnished to him at the market cost price, all other expenses being defrayed from the an- nual subscri])tions. For a few pounds a year, advantages are to be had, which no incomes but the most ample could pro- cure. The Athenffium, which consists of twelve hundred mem- bers, can Ijc taken as a good example of the rest. Among the LUXURIOUS DINNER LADIES EXCLUDED. 95 members can be reckoned a large proportion of the most emi- nent persons in England — civil, military, and ecclesiastical, peers, spiritual and temporal, commoners, men of the learned professions, those connected with the sciences and arts, and commerce, as well as the distinguished who do not belong to any particular class, and who have nothing to do but live on their means, bore their tailors, and admire their family gen- ealogy, and their own figures. These men are to be met with day after day at the clubs, living with more freedom and non- chalance than they could at their own houses. For six or eight guineas a year every niember has the command of an excellent library, with maps, the daily London papers, English and foreign periodicals, and every material for writing, with a flock of gorgeous flunkies, in powder and epaulettes, to attend at the nod of a member, and a host of youthful pages in buttons and broadcloths. The club is a sort of a palace with the com- fort of a private dwelling, and every member is a master with- out having the trouble of a master. He can have whatever meat or refreshment he desires served up at all hours, with luxury and dispatch. There is a fixed place for everything, and it is not customary to remain long at table. You can dine alone, or you can invite a dozen persons to dine with you, fe- males being excluded. From an account kept at the Athenaeum for one year, it appears that 17,323 dinners cost on an average 2s. 9-|cZ. each, and the average quantity of wine drank by each person at these dinners was a small fraction more than a pint for each. The bath accommodations are the finest that can be imagined. The kitchen of the London clubs cannot be equaled in the world, and the chief cooks who have charge of the kitchens, have each an European fame. Alexis Soyer, the greatest cook since Ude or Yatel, had, for a long time, the charge of the kitchen of the Reform Club, and the kitchen of this club, of which John Bright, and all the leaders of the English liberals are members, is the finest in London. A description of this kitchen will in a measure answer for 96 THE CLUBS AND CLUB HOUSES OF LONDON. that of any other London club, and I will give it here for the information of those who are curious in such matters. The kitchen, properly so called, is an apartment of moderate size, surrounded on all four sides by smaller rooms, which form the pastry, the poultry, the butchery, the scullery, and other sul)ordinate ()ffi3es. There are doorways but no doors, between the dillercnt rooms, all of which are formed in such a manner that the chief cook, from one particular spot, can command a view of tlie whole. In the centre of the kitchen is a table and a hot closet, where various knicknacks are prepared and kept to a desired heat, the closet being brought to any required temperature by admitting steam beneath it. Around the hot closet is a bench or table, fitted with drawers and other con- veniences for culinary operations. A passage going around the four sides of this table separates it from the various cook- ing apparatus, which involve all that modern ingenuity has brought to bear on the cuisine. In the first place there are two enormous fire-places for roast- ing, each of which would, in sober truth, roast a whole sheep. The screens placed before these fires are so arranged as to re- flect back almost the entire heat which falls upon them, and effectually shields the kitchen from the intense heat which would be otherwise thrown out. Then again, these screens are so provided with shelves and recesses as to bring into pro- fitable use the radiant heat which would be otherwise wasted. Along two sides of the room are ranges of charcoal fires for broiling and stewing, and other apparatus for other varieties of cooking. These are at a height of about three feet from the ground. The broiling fires are a kind of open pot or pan, throwing upward a fierce but blazeless heat ; behind them is a framework by which gridirons may be fixed at any height above the fire, according to the intensity of the heat. Other fires open only at the top, are adapted for various kinds of pans and vessels ; and in some cases a polished tin-reflector is so placed as to reflect back to the viands the heat. Under and behind and over and around, are pipes, tanks, and cisterns, in MODEL KITCHEN. 97 abundance, containing water to be heated, or to be used more directly in the processes of cooking. A boiler adjacent to the kitchen is expressly appropriated to the supply of steam for " steaming," for heating the hot closets, the hot iron plates and other apparatus. In another small room the meat is kept, chopped, cut, and otherwise prepared for the kitchen. There are also in the pastry room all the necessary appliances for preparing the lightest and most luscious triumphs of the art. In another room there are drawers in the bottoms of which blocks of ice are laid, and above these are placed arti- cles of undressed food, which must necessarily be kept cool. There is a cheerful air, an air of magnificence about these superb kitchens, which would charm a good housewife. Here all the genius that can be brought to bear upon cookery is con- centrated, and the head cook would not deign to notice any person of less rank than a baronet, while in superintendence. Although there are twelve hundred members or over, yet he is not responsible to any individual one, and the only authority in the club to which he has to bow is the eight or ten members of the House Committee, whose decrees even to this great be- ing are arbitrary. The pots and pans are of an exceeding brightness, and the entire system is perfect. In one corner of the kitchen is a lit- tle stall or counting-house, at a desk in which sits the "Clerk of the Kitchen." Every day the chief cook provides, besides ordinary provisions which are certain to be required, a selected list which he inserts in his bill of fare — a list which is left to his judgment and skill. Say three or four gentlemen, members of the club, deter- mine to dine there at a given hour, they select from the bill of fare, or make a separate "order" if preferred, or leave the dinner altogether to the intellect of the chef, who is sure to be flattered by this dependence on his judgment. A little slip of paper on which is written the names of tlie dishes and the hour of dining, is hung on a hook in the kitchen on a black board, where there are a number of hooks devoted to different hours of the day or evening. The cooks proceed with their 98 CLUBS AND CLUB HOUSES OP LONDON. avocations, and by the time the dinner is ready the clerk of the kitchen has calculated and entered the exact value of every article composing it, which entry is made out in the form of a bill — the cost price being tliat by which the charge is regulated — nothing is ever charged for the cooking. Immediately at the elbow of the clerk are bells and speaking tubes, by which he can communicate with the servants in the other parts of the building. Mcanwliile a steam engine is " serving up " the dinner. In one corner of the kitchen is a recess, on opening a door in which we see a small platform, square-shaped, calculated to hold an ordinary sized tray. This platform is connected with the shaft of a steam engine by bands and wheels, so as to be elevated through a kind of vertical trunk leading to the upper part of the building ; and here are the white-aproned servants or waiters ready to take out the hot and luscious smelling viands from the platform, to the member or members of the club who are anxiously awaiting dinner. Architecturally speaking the club houses are the finest build- ings in London, and in the west end of the town, and in the vicinity of the parks they do much to beautify the city ; these massive, richly decorated, and pillared palaces of exclusiveness. The " Heavy Swell " Club of all London is the " Guards " in Pall Mall. There are three or four regiments of the Queen's Household Brigade stationed always in London to guard the sacred person of the Queen, and it is from the officers of these crack regiments that the members of the club are balloted for. These fellows are supposed to bathe in cham- pagne, and dine off rose water ; they are afraid to carry an umbrella tliicker than a walking stick, they hate "low people," and devote their existence to killing time, yet are withal sen- sitive, honorable in many things, (except paying their grocers, wine and habcrdashing bills,) and will fight as becomes the de- scendants of the men who dyed the sands at Hastings with tlioir blood, to bequeath a rich and fruitful kingdom to those wlio now inherit it. The Conservative Club is frequented by those athletic and THE CONSEEVATIVE AND GARRICK CLUBS. 99 CONSLRVATIVE CLUB HOUSE. slo"W going squires and gentlemen who are always ready to ap- plaud Mr. Disraeli in the House of Commons, and are willing to serve as special constaldes on days when the English democracy become restive and open their eyes to tlie fact of tlieir being plun- dered and robbed every day of their lives. It was from tlie Conservative Club that Mr. Granville Murray was expelled by the secret influ- ence of the moral Prince of Wales, simply because following his duty as a jour- nalist he had told the hered- itary regulators of Eng- land tliat they were out of place in the nineteenth century. Tlie Garrick Club is, as its name indicates, made up of ar- tists, dramatists, actors, newspaper writers, and authors. It numbers among its members Charles Reade, Tom Taylor, Charles Dickens, Bulwer, Wilkie Collins, xVnthony Trollope, Andrew Halliday, George Augustus Sala, Mr. Delane of the Times, H. Sutherland Edwards, William Howard Russell, Ed- ward Dicey, Thornton Hunt, Editor of the Telegraphy John Ruskin, and I believe Thomas Caiiyle's name was proposed as an honorary member ; Charles Kean, Thackeray, Charles Mat- thews, Sr., wlio founded the club, W. H. Ainsworth, the novel- ist, the Blanchards, the Mayhews, Samuel Lover, Charles Lev- er, John Oxenford, Louis Blanc, Walter Thornbury, Lasccllcs Wraxall, Edmund Yates, Jolin Hollingshead, formerly critic of the Daily News^ James Greenwood, Frederick Greenwood, Brough, Dudley Costello, Lord William Lennox, Thomas Mil- ler, Cyrus Redding, and otlier well known literary men belong to or have at some period or another been members of this club. American authors, artists, and actors, arc always welcomed licre, and among the habitues of the Garrick may be found Lester Wallack, H. E. Bateman, and others. The 7 100 THE CLUBS AND CLUB HOUSES OP LONDON. Garrick is noivd for its famous gin punch which is a specialty here, and for which the following ingredients arc necessary to composition ; pour lialf a pint of gin on the outer peel of a lemon, then a little lemon juice, a glass of maraschino, a pint and a quarter of water, and two bottles of iced soda water. This is a most fragrant puncli and not very intoxicating. The collection of pictures at the Garrick is very fine, and em- braces nearly all the people, both male and female, who have made themselves famous in English histrionic art, among whom may be noticed Elliston,:Macklin, Peg Woffington, Nell Gwynne, Collcy Cibl)er, Mrs. Bracegirdle, Garrick as Richard III, John Phillip and Charles Keml)le, Charles Mathews, Mrs. Siddons, ■Macrcady, Miss Inchbald, Edmund Kcan, Kitty Clive, Mrs. Billington, and various otliors. Some of these portraits have been painted by the first of English artists. This gallery is only rivalled by that in Evan's Supper House in Convent Garden, where there is a fine and similar collection. The Reform Club has among its members John Bright, W. E. Gladstone, Lord Hatlicrley, the present Lord Chancellor of England, the Duke of Argyll, W. E. Forster, Lord DufFerin, and other well known liberal nobles. About a year ago John Bright and W. E. Forster, his able aide-camp, resigned from the membership of the Reform Club, owing to the fact that a correspondent of an American journal, proposed by them, had had been black-balled in the Reform Club. This correspondent was Geo. . W. Smalley of the New York Tribune. I believe that the club reconsidered their decision and admitted Mr. Smalley, and Mr. Bright and Mr. Forster are now members of the club. Sir Charles Wentworth Dilke, editor of the Ath- enceum, is a member of the Reform Club. The Carlton Club ranks high among the Tory or anti-liberal clu1)s of London, lias a very rich proprietary and a magnificent edifice in Pall ]\rall. The Right Hon. Spencer Horatio Wal- pole, one of the members for Cambridge University, and Alex- ander Beresford Hope, one of the proprietors of the Saturday Review, who was a member of Parliament during the Ameri- can Civil War, and a bitter foe of the North, are both mem- CARLTON CLUB. 101 CARLTOX CLUB HOUSii. bers of the Carlton Club, as is also Lord John Manners, a prominent Conservative noble, and fifth son of the Duke of Rutland. John Laird, M. P. for Liverpool, the builder of the Alabama, is also a member of the Carlton Club. Lord Cole, a son of the Earl of Enskillen, and a chief ac- complice with the Prince of Wales in the Lady Mor- daunt scandal, is a mem- ber of the Carlton. Gregory, the member for Galway, also a sympa- thizer with the Slavehold- er's Rebellion, belongs to the Carlton. To be brief, this Carlton Club, essen- tially aristocratic and in- imical to democracy all over the world, contribu- ted more individual moneyed and social influence and support to Jeff. Davis than all the London Clubs put together. I might state here that Bass, the great East India Pale Ale man, is a member of the Reform Club, while Sir Arthur Guin- ess, the Dublin Brown Stout man, Bass's great rival, is a member of the National Club, which is psuedo liberal. Jona- than Pim, the rich Irish Quaker, a member for Dublin City like Guiness, does not belong to any London club and keeps away from the flesh pots of Egypt. John Francis Maguire, M. P. for Cork, is a member of the Stafford Club, which numbers some of the Catholic families in its roll of membership. Sir Patrick O'Brien, an amusing Irishman Avho frequents the Cre- orne a good deal, belongs to the Reform Club. The present Earl of Derby, late Lord Stanley, who was expected to lead the liberals in the House of Lords, but does not give much promise of doing so while he is an active member of the Carlton Club. Tlie Right Hon. George Goschen, a Jewish merchant, who is President of the Poor Law Board, yet quite a young man and promising, has his name inscribed on the lists of the Reform 102 THE CLUBS AND CLUB HOUSES OF LONDON. and Allicnajum Clubs, and Robert Lowe, the witty, sarcastic, and clcar-lioadod Chancellor of Exchequer, are lights in the Reform Club. Edward Sullivan, the Irish Attorney General, may be seen at tlic Reform, and George Henry Moore, a coun- tryman of his, and an apologist for the Fenians, is a ha]> itue of Brook's Club in St. James street. Sir John Evelyn Dennison, the Speaker of the House of Commons, while in town during the session, when dinner time comes, always doffs his gown and wig and toddles around to the Reform Club for a chop or steak, and a glass of wine. Vernon Harcourt, who signs himself in tlie Times " Plistoricus," represents Oxford Borough in the House of Commons, and is a member of the Oxford and Cam- bridge University Clnb. A good story is told of " His- toricus." Three heavy swells of the Guards were dining at the Star and Gar- ter at Richmond, and all three made a wager that they each could boast of the biggest bore in London as an acquaintance. The discussion wore high, and they agreed to test it by bringing each his bore to dine on a set day, and at a set hour, at the " Star and Garter." When the day came two close carriages were drawn up to the " Star and Garter," and out of each leaped one of the gentlemen who had made the wager. They were both disappointed in their bores, and came without them as they had previous engagements. A third carriage drove up, and out of it leaped the third Swell who had made the wager, with a tall gentleman in a cloak. As soon as the stranger uncovered and presented the smiling countenance of " Historicus," the two SAvells cried out in as- tonishment, '' By J-a-a-v ye knaw, that's not f-ch-ah — he's got our bo-a-h!'' OXFORD AND CAMnHIDGE CLUB HOUSE. BEEFSTEAK CLUB. 103 Whalley, the religious madman, belongs to the Reform Club, and so does the Right Hon. Hugh Childers, First Lord of the Admiralty. Kinglake, the historian, who bribed his way into the Plouse of Commons, and afterwards testified to it without shame, is a member of Brooks, tlie Travelers, the AtheuEeum, and the Ox- ford and Cambridge Clubs. Sir Robert Peel, the member for Farnsworth, is to be found at Brook's and Boodle's. Sir Henry Lytton Bulwer, formerly ambassador at Wasliington, at the Reform Club. Layard, the Nineveh discoverer and now English ambassador at Madrid, belongs to the Athenaeum Club. The O'Donoughue at the Staf- ford and Reform Clubs, while young Mr. Gladstone, son to the Premier, modestly drinks his wine at the New University Club. Lord Carrington, a boon companion of the Prince of Wales, is a member of the Guards Club, and Sir Francis Crossley, the great Yorkshire manufacturer, may be seen nightly during the session passing his hours in the Reform and Brook's Clubs. Queer and strange reminiscences cling to the London Clubs like barnacles to a packet ship. At the Alfred Club, George Canning, one of the greatest men ever known in England, used to take a steak and onions alongside of Lord Byron, who was always partial to Madeira negus. Louis Napoleon, in his cheerless and hard up days, ate his eighteenpenny dinner at the Army and Navy Club in silence, Avliile aristocratic Englishmen sat around chaffing and joking and taking no part in the sorrows of the exiled nephew of his Uncle. Since then dynasties have changed, and now a mag- nificent piece of Gobelin tapestry work, the " Sacrifice of Di- ana," worthy to be the gift of a sovereign, hangs in the club house of which he was once a member. The Emperor pre- sented it to (lie Clulj. The stock of wine in the cellars of the xVlhcna?um is worth about 830,000, and is never allowed to run down or deteriorate, and its yearly revenue amounts to about $50,000. The Beefsteak Club is a coterie of choice S])irits M-ho meet over the Lyceum Theatre to eat beefsteaks and drink tobys 104 CLUBS AND CLUB HOUSES OF LONDON. UNITED 8ERTICE CLUB. of ale, each mcml)cr brinu-ino; his own l)ccfstcak and furnishincr his own jokes. Several noblemen belong to it, and the Presi- dent wears as his emblem of office, a golden gridiron. Peg Woffington Avas at one time a member of this club. The Duke of Wellington was in the habit of dining at the United Service Club, in Pall Mall, off the roast joint of beef or mutton, and one day he was charg- ed Is. 8d. for his plate of meat instead of Is., the proper charge. He de- clared he would not pay the extra three-pence, and denounced the swindle until the three-pence was deducted, when the old soldier became satisfied and said that he would have paid the extra charge, but that he did not wish to establish an unjust precedent whereby others might suffer. Just one hundred years ago a man dropped down at the door of White's Club, which is still flourishing in St. James' St., and the crowd of loungers in tlie bow windows immediately began to lay wagers whether the man was dead or not. A charitable person suggested that he be bled, but those who had wagered refused to allow it, saying that it would affect the fairness of the bet. In 1814, a banquet was given to the allied sovereigns at White's, which cost over $50,000 of American money, and the next year after a banquet was given to the Duke of Wel- lington wliicli cost ^2,480 10s. dd. George IV^ and Chester- field, tlic master of politeness, were members of White's Club. During the hard winter of 1844, the aristocratic clubs of London contril)uted to the starving poor of the metropolis, S,104 ])ounds of broken bread, 4,550 pounds of broken meat, 1,147 pints of. tea-leaves, and 1,158 pints of coffee-grounds. Otlierwise these leavings might have been given to swine to fatten them. I DEMOCRATIC CLUB. LADIES ADMITTED. 105 Gambling was carried on to a very liigli pitch at one time in the London clubs, but many have mended within twenty years. Crockford's Club House, No. 50 St. James' street, was known all over the world, and kings, princes, ambassadors, and states- men, were inscribed upon its rolls as members. It no longer exists, however. Crockford started in life as a fishmonger, in the old bulk- shop next door to Temple Bar Without, which he quitted for "play" in St. James'. He began by taking Watier's old club- house, where ho set up a hazard-bank, and won a great deal of money; he then sepai-ated from his partner, who had a bad year, and failed. Crockford now removed to St. James' street, had a good year, and built the magnificent club house which bore his name ; the decorations alone are said to have cost him .£94,000. The election of the club members was vested in a committee ; the house appointments were superb, and Ude was engaged as mattre dlwlel. " Crockford's " now became the high fashion. Card-tables were reg-ularly placed, and whist was played occasionally; but the aim, end, and final cause of the whole was the hazard-bank, at which the proprietor took his nightly stand, prepared for all comers. His speculation was eminently successful. During several years, everything that anybody had to lose and cared to risk was swallowed up ; and Crockford became a millionaire. He retired in 1840, "much as an Indian chief retires from a hunting-country when there is not game enough left for his tribe;" and the Club then tottered to its fall. After Crockford's death, the lease of the club-house (thirty-two years, rent £1,400) was sold for £2,900. The Whittington Club is the only democratic club in Lon- don. It was started twenty-four years ago by Douglas Jerrold, who became its first president. It combines a literary societ}', with a club house, upon an economical scale, and contains din- ing and coffee rooms, library and reading rooms, smoking and chess rooms, and a large hall for balls, concerts, and soirees. Lectures are given here, and classes are held for the higher branches of education, fencing, dancing, etc. Ladies have all 106 CLUBS AND CLUB UOUSES OP LONDON. the privileges of gentlemen or members in the restaurant, and in balloting, Avhilc their dues and subscriptions is half that of the male members. This is the largest club in London, and comljines all classes, having a roll of 1,700 members, all of whom arc to be considered active. The Whittington Club is the only one in London where a person may be proposed with- out having a crest, or without belonging to a " good family," which means to loaf or idle a life away, and live upon the bread which is furnished by the blood and sweat of what these dandy Club men call the " lowah closses." ■ CHAPTER YIIL THE ABBEY-CHURCH OF WESTMINSTER. HIS is the Pantheon of England's Greatest Dead. As I stand here under the groined roof of this vast and glorious Nave, with the sunbeams streaming in through rose windows, and falling softly on sculptured figures and tombs of Kings and Queens long mouldering in the dust, their bodies recum- bent in monumental brass, their hands clasped as in prayer, with heroes, and poets, and statesmen, law-givers, and royal murderers, lying silently around me on either hand, and under my feet beneath the worn and antique stones which form the pavement, I realize that I am in the Valhalla of the Anglo- Norman Race, a race that has been prolific of strong wills, great minds, and heroic deeds. This is the most sacred spot in all Great Britain, this spot enclosed by the four walls of Westminster Abbey. It does not seem an edifice raised by human hands, rather would it appear, as I look to the roof, supported by most marvelous pillars, resembling an interlaced avenue of royal forest trees, that it had been constructed by beings of another world. It was a grand faith that inspired Westminster Abbey, a faith that believed in sacrificing all earthly aspirations for the honor and glory of God. Thus musing I am interrupted by a tap on the shoulder, as I stand leaning against a pillar in the gloom of the vast pile. " Would you like to see the Habbey, sir ? — its sixpence to see the Chapels — there's nine on 'em ; the Hambulatory, the 108 THE ABBEY-CHURCH OP WESTMINSTER. Nave, Transept, Choir, Chapels, and Cloisters, are free — beau- tiful sijjflit.s — only sixpence, sir." I turned, and saw a man in a black fustian gown, bareheaded, with a tall thin stick in his right hand ; he was old, and seemed to need its frail support. Tliis was a prebendary's "Verger," a sort of a porter or Abbey guide, whose main object was to col- lect as many sixpences as possible, but ostensibly he was a cice- rone of the monuments and architectural beauties of the Cathe- dral Church of St. Peter's, Westminster. Numbers of visitors were straying in and out of the Abbey, looking at the monuments, criticising the works of art, the mural tablets, or gossiping over the ashes of dead Kings, as if they were in a concert room, while here and there might be seen some scholar or learned man delving for facts, and poring over tlie musty Latin of the crumbling tombs. In Westminster Abbey rival statesmen rest in peace, the tongue of the orator is mute, side by side rest the Crowned head and the Chancellor with his great seal, the Archbishop and tlic Phiy-actor, the pliilanthropist and the seaman, who died by his guns on the deck of the vessel of war, the divine and the i)hysician, the Princess and the Soubrette, all mingle com- mon dust together. In Westminster Abbey, the powerful, spiritual, Roman Cath- olic prelate has celebrated Higli Mass with more than Eastern magnificence, the Introit has issued forth from his lips, and the acolytes have answered his " Dominus Vobiscum " with tlieir "Amen;" and here the stern Puritan has knelt in. his less formal prayer. Here the dread sentence of excommunication has been launched forth in all its terrors from the lips of Papal legates, enthroned, and in Abbot John Estney's room Caxton printed the first English Bible. Here the magnificence and pomps of the coronation of a King have been followed by the solemn and beautiful burial service for the dead, and the pealing organ, and the swelling choir, reverl)erating through the lofty grey-grown aisles, have chained men's minds to the power of Almighty God. DIMENSIONS OF THE ABBEY. 109 Westminster Abbey is the finest and noblest specimen of Gothic architecture in all England. WESTMINSTER ABBEY. Its dimensions are Exterior. — Length fi-om oast to west, including walls, but exclusive of Henry VII's Chapel, - - - - _ 416 Height of the West Tower to top of pinnacles, - 225 Interior. — Length within the walls to the piers of Henry VII's Chapel, 383 Breadth at the Transept, - Nave. — Length, _ - - _ Breadth, - - - - Height, - . . . Breadth of each Aisle, Extreme breadth of nave and its aisles, Choir. — Length, - - - - Breadth, - - . . Height, - - . # . 203 166 '38 102 17 72 156 31 102 110 THE ABBIOY-CIIURCH OF WESTMINSTER. THE DIMENSION'S OF IIEXRY VIl'S CHAPEL ARE — FEET. Exterior. — Length from cast to west, including the walls, - - 115 Breadth, including the walls, - - - - 80 Height of the Octagonal Towers, - - - 71 Height to the apex of the roof, . _ _ 86 Height to the top of Western Turrets, - - - 102 Nave.— Length, - - - -- - - 104 Breadth, - - - - - - 36 Height, 61 Breadth of each Aisle, - - - - - 17 111 a fine vault, under Henry VII's Chapel, is the burying- place of the Royal family, erected by George II, but not now used. The cost of Henry YII's Chapel was originally about X200,- 000 of the present money, but since then X 50,000 in addition have been expended in repairs. The roof is the most beautiful piece of work of its kind in the world, and is not excelled by any Saracenic or Moorish ornamentation known. No living being has ever computed the cost of the Abbey it- self, but the sum, altogether, since the foundations were built, must be very great. The "Lord Abbot of Westminster" was one of the most powerful barons in England, and sat in Parliament as a great spiritual peer. The Abbey Church, formerly arose a magnificent apex to a Royal palace, surrounded on all sides by its greater and lesser sanctuaries, (where no criminal could be arrested,) and its al- monries, where aprofusionof food was daily delivered to the poor, and raiment to the naked. It had its bell-towers, the principal one being 72 feet 6 inches square, with Avails 20 feet thick ; chapel, gate towers, boundary walls, and a train of other buildings, of which we can at the present day scarcely form an idea. In addition to all the land around it, extending from the Thames to Oxford Street, an^ from Vauxhall bridge to the Church of St. Mary-lc-Strand, in a demesne of three square miles, on what is now the most valuable part of London, the A WEALTHY SOCIETY. Ill Abbey of St. Peter's, Westminster, possessed bcsi(lcs,?«'rte/?/-serew toivns and villaf/es, seventeen hamlets, and two hundred and sixteen manors. Its officers fed liundreds of persons daily, and one of its priests, who was not an Abbot, entertained at liis Pavillion at Tothill, a King and Queen of England, with so large a reti- nue that seven hundred dishes did not suffice for the first table, and the Abbey butler, in the reign of Edward III, rebuilt, at his own expense, the stately gatehouse which gave entrance to Tothill Street, and a portion of the wall remains to this day. During the long ages, while men of noble Norman birth monopolized nearly every office of emolument and trust in the kingdom, nearly all the Lord Abbots of Westminster were of Norman birth or extraction. To be chosen Lord Abbot of Westminster, it was necessary for the Monks, headed by the prior, to select the Abbot "per Yiam Compromissi," that is, the Monks met in a body and selected a chosen few, who, in their turn, selected the Lord Abbot. Then there was the method "perViam Spiritus Sancti," which means by the special influence of the Holy Ghost, or all the Monks of the Abbey concurring unanimously in the election. After that the assent of the King had to be got, and the assent of the Lord Bishop of the Diocese, and even then all was not secure, for the newly elected Abbot was often forced to make the long and tedious journey to Rome and get the investiture of the Abbey from the Pontiff, in person, and sometimes this cost money, and trouble, that a person would hardly credit in these days. Abbot Richard de Kedyington, who had been prior of Sudbury, a cell subject to Westminster Abbey, on his election made the journey to Arignon, where the Pope was, for confirm- ation, an I was three years there before he obtained investiture, and then it cost him eight thousand florins, — a large sum of money in those days — to obtain it. In 1321, when 5,600 florins had been paid, Pope John XXII remitted the remaining 2,500 florins of the debt. Abljot Richard de Crokesley, together with a number of other nobles, and Poitevins, who had incurred the enmity of a pow- erful party who were opposed to court favoritism, were poisoned 112 Tilt: ABBKY-CIIUUCH OF WESTMINSTER. l»y the steward of William, Earl of Clare, and Crokeslcy died July 1258, of the effects of the poison. Phillip do Lewisham, who was elected to succeed Crokesley, was so ji-ross and fat that he procured a dispensation, so that he would not have to go to Rome to be confirmed. An able deputation of monks went in his place, and when they returned Avith the Pojio's confirmation, after having to pay 800 marks to certain Cardinals, who opposed it, they found that Abbot de Lewisham had died during their absence. Gislebcrtus Crispinus, a monk, of the abbey of Bee, in Nor- mandy, and belonging to one of the noblest families in that duchy, was chosen abbot in 1082. He was a very learned man, and held a great disputation at Mentz, in Germany, with a deeply versed Jew, on the " Faith of the Church against the Jews." Gervase de Blois, an illegitimate son of King Stephen, was made abljot in 1141. This man was not fit to be a priest, being insolent, arbitrary, and unjust, and, instead of attending to his duties as head of the abbey, he was often in armor, dep- redating, or hunting, or hawking. He dissipated the manors, livings, tithes, vestments, and ornaments of the abbey, and was finally admonished to behave himself by Pope Innocent, but the abbot disregarded the admonition of the Pope and was then deposed by King Henry II, in 1159. He died in a year after. The Lord Abbot Laurentius, his successor, was a wise, just, and prudent man, much trusted by King Henry II, and the Empress Maud. It was Abbot Laurentius who first obtained for himself and successors the privilege of wearing the mitre, ring, and gloves, until then the symbols of Episcopacy, and only allowed to the Bishops by tlie Pope. The wearing of these symbols gave the mitred abbots of Westminster, and other abbeys, the right to sit as peers in parliament, the same as bishops to whom the right belonged exclusively, before Ab- bot Laurentius ol)tained the grant. Simon Langham was one of the greatest abbots that ever wore the mitre in the abl)ey. He was made Lord Chancellor of England, anjl Archbishop of Canterbury, Bishop of Ely, and REVENUES OF ABBEY IN 1540. 113 Lord Treasurer of the Kingdom by Edward III. It Avas this prelate who deprived John Wickliffe of the mastership of Can- terbury Hall, Oxford, which was the first cause of Wickliffe's investigating the scriptures. On the 16th of January, 1540, the Abbey of Westminster, which had been established for more 'than nine hundred years, having been founded by King Sebert, a Saxon monarch, and his wife Ethelgoda, in honor of St. Peter who was said to have appeared to the King in a dream, was dissolved by order of Henry YIII, and the abbey was surrendered to the King by Abbot Benson and twenty-four monks. The annual revenue, which included the gross receipts, amounted to <£ 3,977, equal to twenty times the same amount of English money of to-day. Westminster was made a bishopric, the abbey was advanced to the dignity of a Cathedral, with an establishment of a bishop, (Thomas Tliirlcl)y, dean of the King's Chapel,) a dean, twelve prebendaries, and inferior officers. Abbot Ben- son, who was always oh the winning side, was made dean of the Abbey, five of the monks were chosen prebendaries, four other monks were made minor canons, and four more were elected to be King's students in the University. The other twelve monks who did not approve of the change were dismissed, with peiLsions of from ten pounds a year to five marks. A revenue of <£586 a year, and the Abbot's house was allotted to the Bishop. Dean Benson died in an un- happy state from the repeated attempts made liy tlie rapa- cious nobles and courtiers to deprive him of the lands of his deanery. He was buried in the abbey, but the inscription on his tomb was obliterated. The bishopric of Westminster lasted only ten years, and was then suppressed and reunited to that of London, to which it has since belonged. Numerous attempts were made by the partisans of the See of London to rob and deprive the abbey of its lands and revenues, and hence arose the saying of "robbing Peter to pay Paul," which is explained by the fact that the patron saint of the See of London was St. Paul, while St. Peter was the guardian of the Abbey of West- mmster. 114 Tii:': ai5b::y-ciiu;{Cii of Westminster. In looG, Queen Mnvy heing on the throne, the Clmrch of AVcstminstei- again became an abl)ey by order of the Queen, and Jolui Feckenham Avas made abbot of Westminster. He was held in general esteem for his learning, charity, and piety, and he was continually engaged in doing good offices for the Protestants who suffered by the laws of the realm fur their faith. Three years after, ^Mary having died, the monastery was again suppressed by order of Queen Elizabeth, and the abbot and monks were again turned out of the abbey. In 1560 the abbey, by enactment, was made a collegiate church, which it remains to this day, and was endowed with the lands which had belonged to the abbot and monastery. Since that time Westminster Abbey has been governed by a dean and chapter, and has had thirty-three deans in regular succession of the Protestant faith. Tlie Abbey has the following large clerical staff for its gov- ernment : One Dean, eight Prebendaries, one of whom is a Lord, and' another a Bishop; a sub-Dean, an Archdeacon, a Precentor, five minor Canons, eleven Lay Clerks, two Sacrists, a Dean's Ver- ger, a Prebendary's A''erger, a High Steward, who is a Duke, a Deputy High Steward, a Coroner, a High Bailiff, Searcher and Bailiff of the Sanctuary, a High Constable, a Head ]\Iaster of Westminster School, Second Master, forty Queen's Scholars on the Foundation, a Steward of the Manorial Court, two Joint Receiver's General, a Chapter Clerk and Registrar, an Auditor, a Commissory and OflTicial Principal, a Registrar of the Con- sistory Court, and a Dejjuty Registrar, an Organist and Master of the Choristers, twelve Almsmen, four Bell-ringers, two Organ- blowers, an Aljbey Surveyor, a Clerk of the Works, a Beadle of the Sanctuary, and last of all a College Porter and four Pro- bationary Choristers, in all a staff of eighty persons, a very slight reduction upon the old administration of the Abbots of West- minster. These different office holders, in all, receive salaries of about one Imndred tl\ousand pounds a year, and the cost of the school, and the repairs of the abbey, make the sundries amount to about twenty thousand pounds a year additional. I TOxMB OF SHAKESPEARE. 115 In the general plunder of monasteries and church property, which distinguished the reign of Henry YIII, Westminster Abbey suffered severely, but it was still worse treated by the Pm-itans in the great civil war, the abbey being used as a bar- rack for the soldiers, by the Parliament, who wantonly de- stroyed many of the tombs and monuments that adorned the various chapels, the altars in the chapels dedicated to the differ- ent saints being thrown down, the images broken, and the richly stained windows shattered into fragments. The restoration of the edifice was intrusted to Sir Christopher Wren, who built St. Paul's, but he made a very botching piece of work in the additions which he gave to the towers at the west end. The imitation of the Gothic style in Wren's additions are wretched and out of place in such an edifice as the Abbey. The front of the Abbey has no columns or pierced works of carving, to which the Gothic style owes so much of its lightness and elegance, and there is a mixture of orna- mentation such as the broken scrolls, masques, and festoons over the grand entrance, which gives it a very heavy, flat ap- pearance. The Abbey is very rich in monuments of all kinds, some of which are very fine works of art. All along the walls, in tlie transepts and aisles, in the Nave, in the chapels, in the flooring of the Abbey, and everywhere around me I saw tablets, tombs, inscriptions, and medallions. Among the most noticeable are those of Ben Johnson, John 8 SHAKESPEAKE S TOMB. 116 THE ABBEY-CHURCH OF WESTMINSTER. Milton, Geoffrey Chaucer, the father of English poetry and first poet buried in the Abbey, A. D. 1400, Dryden, Thomas Campl)ell, William Shakespeare, Oliver Goldsmith, Joseph Addison, Handel the musician, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, Dr. Sannicl Johnson, Sir William Davenant, and Robert Southey, in the *• Poet's Corner," which is situated in the south tran- sept. They are all richly ornamented with busts, effigies of the deceased, or allegorical designs in marble, or brass, or bronze. The tomb of Shakespeare is of marble, with a full length figure of the great poet leaning on his left elbow, and has the following epitaph written by John Milton, who was best fitted to write it : What needs my Shakespeare for his honored bones, The labor of an age in piled stones, Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid Under a star-y pointing pjTamid ! Dear son of IMemory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name, Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a live-long monument, For whilst to the shame of slow-endeavorino- art Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book Those Delphic lines with deep impression took ; Then thou our fimcy of itself bereaving Dost make us marble with too much conceiving ; And so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie, Tliat kings for such a tomb would wish to die. Milton's epitaph is as follows : " Three great poets, in three distant ages bom, Greece, Italy and England did adorn ; Tlie first in loftiness of thought surpass'd. The next in majesty— in both the last. The force of Nature could no farther go, To make the third, she joined the former two."— Jolin Gay, the author of the " Beggar's Opera," wrote his own epitaph, which is on his tomb ; " Life is a jest, and all things show it; I thought so once ; but now I know it." THE LAST CATHOLIC FUNERAL. ii: There is a sarcophagus to Major John Andre who was exe- cuted as a spy by order of George Washington. It has a rep- resentation of a flag of truce, and Britannia in tears. Mrs. Oldtield, the actress who coquetislily ordered tliat she should be buried in a fine Holland chemise, with a tucker, and a double ruffle of lace, and a pair of white kid gloves, has a monument with an in- scription by Pope. Isaac Newton has also a very fine monument, and Wil- liam Pitt's monument cost <£6,000. Henry Grattan, Robert Peel, Charles James Fox, William Wilberforce, George Canning, and Lord Palmer- ston also have monuments. Mary Queen of Scots, and the Queen who slew her, have magnifi- cent monuments near each other, and similar in style. The funeral of Queen Mary, sister of Queen Eliza- beth, was the last one which was cel- ebrated in theAbbey with the ceremo- nial of the Roman Catholic Church. She died in 1558, and her body was brought from St. James Palace with great pomp to the Abbey, on a splendid chariot. It was met at the great entrance of the abbey by four bishops and Lord Abbott Feckenham in mi- tre, robes, and with crozier. The body lay all night under the hearse, with a guard of nobles and pages to watch it. On the fourteenth day of December it was interred in the vault, and a plain black tablet was erected to be placed over it by King James I, with the inscription : TOMB OF 3IILTOX. ET MARIA SORORES IN SPES RESVRRECTIONIS. James II, who sought to re-establish the Roman Catholic Faith in England, (like Queen Mary,) died at St. Germain En-Laye, in 118 THE ACBEY-CHURCH OF "WESTMINSTER. France, and lias no tomb in the Abbey. His intestines were given to the Irish College, in Paris, the brains to the Scotch College, and the heart to the Convent of Chaillot. Admiral Kempenfcldt, who was drowned on the man-of-war Royal George, which smik with eight hundred men, all of whom were lost, off Spithead, in 1782, is also buried here, with the epitaph on his tomb, writ- ten by Cowper the poet : " Toll, toll, for the brave- Brave Kempenfeldt is gone ; His last sea-fight is fought; His work of glory done. His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfeldt went down, With twice four hundred men." — The Chapel of Edward the Confessor, who founded the Abbey, is full of dead Kings and Queens, so full that a poet has written of the commingled Royal dust that is here reposing : " Think how many royal bones, Sleep within these heaps of stones. Here they lie, had realms and lands, Who now want strength to lift their hands. Where, from their pulpit sealed with dust, They preach, ' In greatness is no trust 1' Here's an acre, sown indeed, W^ith the richest, royalest seed. That the earth did e'er suck in, Since the first man died for sin." Here lies buried Edward the Confessor, before whose tomb was kept continually burning a silver lamp. On one side stood an image of the Virgin, in silver, adorned with two jewels of immense value, presented by Eleanor, Queen to Henry HI ; on the other side stood an image of the Virgin, carved in ivory, l>resented l)y Thomas a-Bccket. Edward I offered the Scotch TOMB OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. INTERMENTS DURING THE MIDDLE AGES. ITU regalia and the antique stone on which the Kings of Scotland were crowned at Scone; this latter relic is still preserved. This slirine was composed of various colored stones, in Mosaic work; but it is so dilapidated that very little idea can be formed of its original beauty and grandeur. Queen Editha, Queen Maud, Edward I, Henry III, Elizabeth Tudor, daughter of Henry VII, Queen Eleanor, Henry V, the victor of Agincourt, Queen Phillippa, Edward IH — with his sword, seven feet long and weighing eighteen pounds, together with his enormous shield, hanging to his tomb, — Margaret of York, Richard II, and a host of others, are here buried. Their tombs are of magnificent workmanship, with full length figures lying recumbent and their hands clasped in prayer. The Abbots and Priors of the abbey are buried in the walks of the Cloisters, and I stood on three of these mural slabs, and looked at the worn, full length effigies of the dead abbots, in full abbatical robes, ring on finger, mitre on head, and crozier in hand, their Latinized names almost worn away by the foot- steps of the hundreds of thousands of men and women who had paced the Cloisters since they were interred, seven hundred years ago. And yet these tombs in Westminster Cloisters are but as yesterday, when compared with the Pyramids of Egypt, or a geological formation. It was in Westminster Abbey that all the Kings and Queens of England have been crowned, and when a monarch had been crowned previously, as in the case of Henry III, whose coro- nation took place at Gloucester, it was thought proper to have the ceremony again performed at Westminster, in the pres- ence of the nobles and the chief ecclesiastical dignitaries of tlje land ; the Archljishop of Canterbury always officiating in the august ceremonial. What wondrous scenes this proud old Abbey has witnessed ! I can but enumerate a few of these however. One day in the middle of Lent, 1176, the King and his son came to London, while a Convocation of the Clergy was being held in Westmins- ter Abbey. The Papal Legate was present, and the Archbish- ops of Canterbury and York were also present. Thomas a- Becket had been murdered by order of tlie reigning King 120 THE ABBEY-CHURCH OF WESTMINSTER. Ilenry II. Beckct had been Archbishop of Canterbury. In the Convocation the then Archbishop of Canterbury, as Primate of the Kingdom, sat on the right hand of the Papal Legate. The Archbishop of York seeing this, when he entered the Ab- bey, came in a rude manner and pushing between the Primate and the Legate, as if disdaining to sit on the left hand of any- body, thinist himself into the lap of the Primate in a swash- buckling manner. The Primate would not move^ and no sooner had the insult been offered than the Bishops and Chap- lains in the Abbey ran to the dais and pulled my Lord of York down and threw him to the ground, and began to beat him severely. The Archbishop of Canterbury then sought to save him, and when he, the Archbishop of York, got on his feet, he straightway went to the King whom he had advised to murder Thomas a-Becket, and made complaint of the outrage which had been offered him. The King laughed at him for his pains. As he left the Abbey the monks, and priests, and bishops, with a loud shout cried out at him, " Go, traitor, thou didst betray the holy man Thomas a-Becket ; go get thee hence, thy hands yet stink of blood." Wlicn the news reached the Archbishop of York (previously) that the Archbishop of Canterbury (Becket) had been assas- sinated on the steps of the Altar, he ascended his pulpit and announced the fact to his congregation as an act of Divine ven- geance, saying that Becket had perished in his pride and guilt like Pharaoh. In 1297, Edward I offered at the shrine of Edward the Con- fessor, the famous stone, crown, and sceptre of the Scottish Sovereigns, together with the Coronation Chair, now in the Aljbey, on which all English monarchs have to sit to be crowned. This chair was taken from the Abbey of Scone, in Scotland, by Edward, having been brought to Scotland by King Fergus from Ireland, three centuries before the Christian Era. Before that period, it is said to liave been used for many hundred years by the Irish Kings for a like purpose. Tlie Scots were very eager to get the stone back for the rea- son that a legend existed that whoever possessed the stone CORONATION OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR. 121 should rule Scotland. This old stone chair, or rather oaken chair with a stone seat, — twenty-six inches in length, sixteen inches and three quarters in breadth, and ten and a half inches in thickness — has seen many strange changes in dynas- ties, for every king since Ed- ward I, has sat in it on his coronation day. The ceremonies of coron- ation were very grand in the olden time and much of their splendor has passed away or has become obsolete. One of the grandest sights ever witnessed in the Abbey was when Aldred, Archbish- op of York, crowned Wil- liam the Conqueror, King of England. The mail clad bodies of Norman soldiery lined every part of old Lon- don to keep down the Saxons, while William, superbly mounted, and followed by a train of two hundred and sixty barons, lords and knights, entered the Abbey. When the multitude reached the high altar, Geof- frey, Bishop of Coutances, asked the Normans if they were willing to have the Duke crowned King of England, and the nobles, knights, and priests, among whom the English lordships and abljeys were already parceled out, cried aloud with one voice that they were. The Norman horsemen without the walls of the al^bey hearing the shout, fancied that the Saxons within had attacked their countrymen, and immediately they set fire to the houses around the abbey, and in a few minutes the abbey was deserted of friend and foe alike with tlie exception of William and a few priests who stood firm, although the Duke trembled violently as the crown was placed upon his head. He CORONATION CHAIR. 122 tiif: abbey church op Westminster. declared tliat he would treat the English people as well as the best of their kings had done, vowing by the Splendor of God, his usual oath. The coronation of Richard I, the Lion Heart as he was called, was attended with great pomp. On the third of September, 1189, the Archbishops of Can- terbury, Rouen, Treves in Germany, and Dublin, arrayed in silken copes, and preceded by a body of clergy bearing the cross, lioly water, censers and tapers, met Richard at the door of his privy chamber in "Westminster Palace, and proceeded with him to the Abbey. In the midst of a numerous body of bisliops and ecclesiastics, marched four barons, each with a golden candlestick and taper, then in succession — Geoffrey de Lacey with the royal cap, John the Marslial with the royal spurs of gold, and William, Earl of Striguil and Pembroke, with the golden Rod and Dove. Then came David, brother to the King of Scotland, and present as Earl of Huntington, and Robert, Earl of Leicester, supporting John the King's brother, the three bearing upright swords in richly gilded scabbards. Following tliem came six barons bearing a chequered table, upon which Avere the King's robes and regalia, and now was seen approaching the central object of this gorgeous picture — Richard himself, under a gorgeous canopy stretched by six lances, borne by as many nobles, having immediately before liim the Earl of Albemarle with the crown, and a bishop on each side. The ground on which he walked was spread with rich cloths of Tyrian dye. At the foot of the altar, Baldwin, Archbishop of Canterbury, admmistercd the oath, by Avhich Richard undertook to bear peace, honor, and reverence to God and Holy Church, to exer- crcise riglit, justice, and law, and to abrogate all wicked laws and customs. He tlien put off all his garments from the mid- dle upwards, like a modern prize fighter, except liis shirt, which was opgn at the sliouldcrs, and he was annointed on the liead, breast, and arms, with oil, signifying glory, fortitude, and wisdom. He then covered his head with a fine linen cloth and set the cap thereon, placed the surcoat of velvet and dalmatica THE MASSACRE. 123 over his shoulders, and took the sword of tlic Kingdom from the Ai'chbishop to subdue the enemies of the Catliolic Church, and then put on the golden sandals and the royal mantle, which last was splendidly embroidered, and was led to the altar, where the Arclibishop charged him on God's behalf, not to presume to take this dignity upon him unless he were resolved to keep in- violably the vows he had made ; to which the king replied : " By God, His grace, I will faithfully keep them all : Amen." The crown was then handed to the Archbishop, by Richard himself, in token that he held it only from God, when the Archbishop placed it on the King's head ; he also gave the sceptre into his right hand, and the royal rod into his left. At the close of this part of the ceremony Richard was led back to the throne, and High Mass being performed with grand pomp, Richard offered as was usual, a mark of pure gold to the altar. While the coronation was going on inside massacre and arson reigned outside of the Abbey. Before the ceremony, Richard, by proclamation had forbidden all Jews to be present at West- minster, either within or without the Abbey, but some members of that persecuted race had rashly ventured mthin the walls, and a hue and cry being set up at what was deemed a sacri- lege, the populace ejected a prominent Israelite and beat him with sticks and stones. In a few minutes a report spread that the King had ordered the destruction of the Jews, and the furious mob spread all over the city, burning the houses and destroying the lives of the miserable Jews. Men, women, and children of tender age were burned alive in their domiciles, where resistance was made to the mob, and the cries of the murdered children blended discordantly witli the sounds of the shaums, and jongleurs, and the shouts of the rabble, who were celebrating the coronation. The riot became so formidable that at last Richard, who was at dinner in Westminster Hall, ordered the Chief Justiciary of the Kingdom, Ranulf de Glanville, to go and quell it, but this was more easy to order than to per- form, and the King's officers were driven back to the Hall. Through all that night and day the pillage, arson, and mas- 124 THE ABBEY-CHURCH OP WESTMINSTER. sacre continued, and the next day the King hanged three of the ra])l)le as an atonement. At the coronation of Henry IV, Sir John Dymoke, the Champion of England, rode into the Hall of Westminster Palace, where dinner was being served to the King, on horse- back in complete armor, with a knight before him bearing his spear, and his sword and dagger by his side, and presented a label to the king on which had been written a challenge to any knight, squire, or gentleman, who dared declare that Henry was not rightful King of England. He then had a trumpet blown, and cried out that he was ready to fight in the quarrel. The label was then taken and cried by the heralds in six places in the town of Westminster, but no person seemed ready to fight although Richard H had been deposed by Henry IV and was then in a neighboring dungeon. That most atrocious medieval fraud, Richard III, when about to be crowned King, walked barefoot from Westminster Hall to the Abbey, a distance of about six hundred feet, to let the crowds witness his resignation and humility. When Edward VI, a boy of sixteen, was about to be crowned, he laid himself down upon the steps of the altar on his stomach while Cranmer, Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, opened his shirt and rubbing the oil between his shoulder blades, anointed him. James I, who hated tobacco and witches, forbade the people to come to Westminster to witness his Coronation, as the plague was then raging, and James did not wish to catch the distem- per. Charles I was crowned February 2, 1626, and his Queen, Hen- rietta, being a Catholic, was not a sharer in the Coronation, nor was she a spectator, and she would not accept the place fitted up for her in the Abbey, but stood at the window of the Palace gates to look at the crowd and procession, while her retinue of French ladies, nobles and servants, were dancing within. When Charles walked up to the altar to ascend the throne. Laud, who was Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Duke of Buckingliam, Lord High Constable of England, offered him their hands on I OxMEN OF ILL LUCK. 125 either side to ascend the throne, but the King smilingly re- fused their hands and said : " I have as much need to help you, as you have to assist me." Then Laud presented the King to the great crowd of Nobles and people, and said, in an audible voice, " My masters and friends, I am here come to present unto you your King : King Charles, to whom the crown of liis ancestors and predecessors is now devolved by lineal right ; and therefore I desire you by your general acclamation, to testify your consent and willing- ness thereunto." Not a voice answered, and there was a stillness as of the grave through the vast spaces of the Abbey. It was a bad omen of a reign, which ended so disastrously, for the listening monarch. At last the Earl-Marshal, Lord Arundel and Howard, said to the spectators present : " Good people, I pray thee, why call ye not right lustily, ' God save King Charles?' " Thus admonished, they with one voice exclaimed, " God save Charles, our King." In the adjoining hall, Oliver Cromwell was inaugurated Lord Protector of England, with a quiet cere- monial, attended by ushers, life guards. State coaches, the Long Parliament, and several troops of horse. When James 11 was crowned, the*Royal bauble tottered on his head, and this was supposed to be a prophetic omen of ill luck. When George III was made King, with great pomp and cir- cumstance, there was present, unknown to the crowd, a young man who must have witnessed the placing of the Golden Cir- clet on the brow of this fat, Hanoverian Prince, with strange emotions. He could have said with truth, "My place should have been by that chair ; my father should have been sitting in it," for it was the young Pretender, Charles Stuart; the last of his royal and unfortunate race. At all the late Coronations, the magnificent pomp and cere- monial of the Middle Ages have been omitted, and the last time that these Ceremonies were carried out was at the Coro- nation of George IV, when the Celebration was a very fine one. 126 THE ABBEY-CUURCH OP WESTMINSTER. The wood-work of the Choir was removed and boxes erected, afTording an uninterrupted view of the Nave and Chancel, show- ing the Peers and Peeresses in all their magnificence of robes, of satins and silks, and head-dresses of feathers and diamonds. To these were added tlie brilliantly illuminated surcoats of the Heralds and Kings-at-arms, while the King himself sat in the royal Chair of State, which is over two thousand years old, and there received homage from the great officers of State, and Peers of the Realm, the Crown on his head and Sceptre in his hand, the Garter and George around his neck, and the velvet robes enfolding his body, which was then scorbutic from dis- ease and dissipation. The challenge of the Champion of England was at this cere- mony delivered for the last time. After the banquet was over, at which seventeen thousand pounds of meat, three thousand fowls, one thousand dozen of wine, ten thousand plates, and seventeen thousand knives and forks, were among the items, came the challenge to all who dared to dispute the right of George to the throne of England. It was an imposing sight, as the Duke of Wellington, with his Ducal Coronet ornamented with strawberry leaves, on his head, and in his flowing Peer's robes walked down the hall, cheered by the officers o^ the Life Guards, who were present. He shortly afterwards returned, mounted, and accompanied by the Marquis of Anglesey, the one-legged cavalry officer of Wa- terloo, and Howard, Duke of Norfolk, the Hereditary Earl Marshal of England. The three Nobles rode gracefully to the foot of the throne, paid their homage, and then backed their horses down the lofty hall. Tlie hall doors of the Palace opened again, and outside, in the twiliglit, a man in complete armor of Milan proof, appeared on horseback, outlined against the shining sky. He then moved, passed into darkness, and under the mass- ive arch, and suddenly Howard, Wellington, and Anglesey, stood in full view of tlie vast assemblage, with the palace doors closed behind tlicm. This was the finest sight of the day, as the Herald read the challenge, a glove was thrown THE RANQUET AND CHALLENGE. 127 down by a gauntleted hand as a token of defiance, which was taken up instantly by Wellington, and then they all proceeded to the throne, trumpets blowing, people shouting, and flower- girls strewing the way with baskets of flowers. The funerals of Lady Palmerston and George Peabody were the last that have taken place in Westminster Abbey, and at the funeral of the former a London reporter, in his eagerness to get an item, fell into the grave of Lady Palmerston and nearly frightened a young lady mourner out of her senses. Such is the story of this Mausoleum of Royalty and Heroism. Westminster Abbey is only equaled for the antiquity and grand- eur of its mortal remains by the Abbey of St. Denis, in France, and those world-old cemeteries, the Pyramids of Egypt. CHAPTER IX. THE COSTERMONGERS AND RAG FAIR. HERE is a wide, short street, or rather road, in the heart of London. The buildings are mean, the people who cluster again their doorways and in the alleys and courts that branch from this short, wide street, are wretched in appearance ; their garments are patched and in piecemeal, and when untorn they are greasy and besmeared with filth. In this street, crowded at night — on Saturday night it is almost impassable — children of a tender age may be seen beg- ging for coppers and soliciting assistance from those of more mature years, but to the full as wretched as themselves. Vice is in every glance of their eyes. Crime has already made its graven lines in their young faces, and their language or dialect, (for it is not a language), is a combination of uncouth sounds, obscene imagery, and slang corruptions of the English tongue. This street, or road, is called the "New Cut," and is situated in Lambeth on the Surrey side of the Thames. It is reached from the City by Waterloo Bridge and the Waterloo road, and from the West End by Lambeth and Vauxhall bridges. Thou- sands are born, baptized, many beget children and die within the municipality of the Great Metropolis, and yet have never seen the New Cut — nay, have never even heard of it, or if they did, the word would have as much meaning to them as the plains of El Ghizeh, or the source of the Nile to a Bow Cock- ney. Yet there arc thousands who are born here in this New ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY'S GARDENS. 129 Cut who live and die in it and make a living for themselves, after a fashion, who, if not content with, are certainly unaware of any method of changing or bettering their lot in this life. Narrow, dark, and mean streets run contiguous to the New Cut, and branch from it in a winding, snaky way. A decently- dressed man is not safe in this street, and the only sound of civilization to cheer him, once lost in the mazes of these fester- ing lanes and alleys, teeming with low pot-houses, tai>rooms, and wild-looking children, bold, bad-looking desperadoes of men, and reckless, obscene women, is the low, rumbling sound coming like the approaching thunder to his ears every few minutes as the loaded passenger trains dash to and fro on the Northwestern and Southeastern Railways. The New Cut runs into the Lower Marsh and is flanked by Wooton, White Horse, Collingwood, Eaton, Marlboro streets, and the Broad Wall. To the west are Thomas, Isabella, and Granby streets, and from all this misery and destitution of a quarter where the inhabitants are packed like rabbits in a well- stocked warren, the road leads through the Upper Marsh down to the rare pleasaunce or garden of the palace of the Arch- bishop of Canterbury, one of the most sumptous ecclesiastical retreats in England. The Archbishop's gardens, although lo- cated in the heart of a populous city, cover as much ground, it is calculated, as gives sleeping and eating room to 11,000 hu- man beings in the New Cut district. It is true that the river rolls sluggishly five or six hundred yards below the New Cut, and those who are tired of dog's meat, rotten vegetables, and the offal of the street markets for their common food, and of sleeping eight in a room on straw which is not even clean, can at any time deliver their bodies from further pain and starvation, and their minds from a daily never- ending struggle as to how the dog's meat and decayed offal may be procured, by a quick plunge in the river, near by. This quarter is the principal resort of the " costermongers " of London. The word " costermonger " has an equivalent which is better known as '• peddler." All those who vend or hawk vegetables, fruit, carrion meat, game, fowl, ginger beer, 130 THE COSTERMONGERS AND RAG FAIR. nuts, or, ill fact, any of tlic numerous articles or commodities of refuse merchandise found on tlie barrows and wagons of the London jieddlers, arc called by the London term " costermon- gers." The word is an old one used by Shakespeare, and therefore has, if none other, the merit of antiquity of the most genuine kind. There are in London proper, embracing its suburbs, of both sexes — including men, women, and children — according to in- formation which I had procured from the police and physi- cians, who have means of knowing, about 23,000 costermon- gers. These people are from daybreak until midnight in the open air, I might say, for their marketing is done as early as four or five o'clock in the morning; and then, after an hour or so spent in marketing, comes the cheap, scanty breakfast, con- sisting of a pound of bread, a " saveloy," which is a sort of a sausage, at a penny a piece, about four inches long and two inches in circumference, quite succulent to the costermonger's palate, or perhaps a piece of beef or bacon of the kind that is vended from barrows in the London streets at two pence a pound, the refuse of the butchers' shops and pieces unfit for a ready sale. Among these refuse pieces are small portions of ham, shoul- ders, and pork, fragments of bacon, "snag" pieces, and mut- ton, and a very suspicious veal, which is often sold by these same hawkers in the suburbs to old maids for cats' meat. Sometimes the " coster" will take a pint of sloppy coffee, which he gets for three half-pence, with his brief breakfast; at other times he prefers a quartern of gin " neat," at two-pence ; and again he will be satisfied with a mug of beer at two-pence. As early as 7 o'clock in the morning the hideous noises, which can only come from the throat of a costermonger, are heard in the London streets, awakening those who wish to sleep late, and, to make matters worse, no person, unless the costermonger him- self, can by any application ever understand the exact words of their cries. They are only to be recognized by sound, and, therefore, it is always necessary to appear at a window or door- way in order to discover the precise article which the coster wishes you to buy. SALE OF WATER CRESSES. 131 I I visited the New Cut on a Saturday night, which is the great market night, when traffic is at its height in the neigh- borhood. The wide, short street, wliich runs into a half circle at its end, was filled Avith people. The noise was of that in- definite kind which is hardly to be described. Stands, barrows, and wagons, having ponies and asses attached, were placed along the gutters, with smoky lamps fed with a disagreeable smelling oil, from which a dusky flame was shed over the street, showing the faces of the venders as they gave tongue to many different cries. " Whelks," a small shell-fish, like the American mussel, were heaped in thousands on the heads of barrels and tables, and ham sandwiches, at a penny apiece, and boiled potatoes, witli sheeps' trotters, oysters, fried fish, oranges, apples, plums, and, in fact, every kind of fruit and vegetable were for sale. Little ragged boys and girls, their feet bare and dirty, ran hither and thither, importuning the passers-by to purchase their matches and water-cresses. Here water-cresses and radishes are sold together in bunches at a penny a handful. Some of these small children are up as early as five o'clock in the morn- ing, to purchase the water-cresses at Farringdon market, and from that time until midnight, or until the theatres close, they are crying their water-cresses, which they carry with them through the London streets in a basket. The whelks are sold at two a penny, and are accounted a delicacy by the poor of London, when properly seasoned with pepper, salt, and vinegar. They are very much relished in the pot-houses of the metropolis by hard drinkers when pickled in this fashion, and in any tai>room of a Saturday night it is not uncommon to find men or women peddling these shell-fish to those who have been drinking freely. The costermongers are universally great gamblers, and earning during the week from twelve to thirty shillings, as their luck may run with the pur- chasing community, yet it is not an uncommon occurrence for them to gamble away as much as fifty per cent, of their week's earnings in various games of chance. These people have no religious belief whatever, and do not 9 132 THE COSTERMONGERS AND RAG FAIR. know anything even of the rudiments of religious instruction. To them God is some indefinite being whose attributes are un- known, and whose immutable laws are disregarded simply from utter ignorance. They never darken a church door, and tracts arc received by them with the most supreme disgust. A number of missionaries have labored among them in vain for any great result, chiefly dissenting clergymen, and, although they will listen to them patiently enough, yet they look upon them as the representatives of wealth and intelligence, and tliey cannot tell the difference between a Wesleyan minister Avho holds forth on a Sunday morning, with a big banner, call- ing upon them to repent, in the dark alleys of Bethnal Green and Whitechapel, and the richly beneficed divine of the Church of England who rolls by in a carriage, totally heedless of their condition, bodily or spiritual. All men who wear white neck- cloths are called parsons, and are disliked by the " costers." Besides, they have not learned to read, and tracts are useless to them, were they willing to study tlieir contents. The marriage relation is utterly ignored among them, and, if what the police to'd me be true, not ten per cent, of the cos- termongers who live with women and vend their goods in com- mon are married. At fifteen years of age the young coster- monger leaves father and mother to cleave to a girl of his own age, also the child of a costermonger, bred in the gutters of the metropolis, and, having purchased a barrow for ten shillings, and an ass for perhaps X2, the pair begin the world practically man and wife, but without ever dreaming of calling in the as- sistance of the minister to bind them together in the bonds of lawful wedlock. A marriage certificate in a costermonger's den would, in- deed, be a curious and unusual relic, as would also the mar- riage ring, which is looked upon in civilized society as the seal and confirmation of the wedding ceremony. They say that they cannot afford to pay a minister's fee, and as their code of morals is beneath mention they do not see the neces- sity of the expenditure. Their children grow up in the same way, bred, as their parents have been, to hawk and cry from HEATHENISM OP THE COSTERS. 133 dawn until darkness, and thus the costermongers increase, more savage in their usages than the American aborigines. Mind, I am now speaking of the English costermongers, for, with the Irish costermongers, both male and female, who are still lower in the social scale as far as the goods of this world go, it is different. While the English coster cares not for the visits of the minister of the Protestant faith, the Catholic priest is ever welcome among his wretched and degraded flock in Whitechapel, in the New Cut, in St. Giles, or Lambeth, and he is beloved by them in their own rude, reckless way. The Irish costermonger believes most firmly in the sanctity of the marriage ceremony. With a few exceptions, their children, however wretched and miserable their lot may be in the future life, are born in wedlock, and the slur of illegitimacy cannot be thrown up at them. They will always have a few coppers to give their priests to help those more miserable than them- selves, and, though these children but rarely receive the bene- fits of a common English schooling, they are more eager to learn and more ready to seek instruction than the children of their English neighbors. I inquired of one of these costermongers, who had a fricd- fish stand in the New Cut, and sold sprats all cooked and ready for eating, if he could read. He seemed rather an intelligent fellow, in his way, and had by no means the uncouth, ruflfianly look that I noticed in many of the men's faces who were engaged in selling vegetables, fish, whelks, and periwinkles in the street. He had a little smoky lamp depending from a sort of gallows over his cart, and he spoke cheerfully : " Well, I'm not much of a reader, like you gentlefolks be ; but I picked up a little book schoolin' at the Ragged schools by night, when I had four puns saved, last winter. The letters wor a cruel bother to me at first, and I most guv it hup at the beginning, sort o' faint-hearted ; but the teacher, as wos a ]\Iiss Spencer, she wos a good gal, and she says to me (about Christ- mas it wor), ' Jimmy, you'll never learn to read hif you don't persewere, and I know, Jimmy, you can persewere hif you want to.' Ye see, sir, I had just gived the blessed book a kick 134 THE C0STERM0NGER3 AND RAG FAIR. into a corner of the room, like mad ; cos vy, the blessed letters ■wor so cranky and they wor all so mixed hup together tliat I lost my 'ead as it wor, and I couldn't make nothink hout of their shapes. But that gal. Miss Spencer, she wor a topper and no mistake. She guv me a kind of a smile, and bless me hif she didn't go to the corner of the room and she takes hup the book as I had flung down, with 'er pretty little fingers, and vith tliat she puts hit into my 'and, hand then I 'adn't the 'art to refuse the gal ; and that wos the way as I larned to read ; and now I reads Reynold's Weekly hevery Sunday mornin' to my maty, the boiled potato man, which is 'ere to speak for issclf, sir." The boiled potato man was advanced in years — a hardy, rug- ged-looking fellow, who seemed as if he would like to read like his " maty," but could not muster up courage to begin so late in life. I mentioned casually to him that a great Latin gram- marian had, at an early stage of the world's history, made the attempt to learn Greek, being then seventy years of age. His characteristic reply made me see that my remark had struck him in the wrong place. " Well," said he, "hif that blessed hold Latting, as ye calls 'im, had to 'awk biled pertatcrs from mornin' till night in the New Cut, and go 'orae to three kids vith, maybe, honly seven- pence for 'is day's vork, I'm blessed hif 'ee'd a-bother'd 'is precious hold soul a-lcarnin' Greek, or hany other lingo. I finds lienufF to do vith the mealys, vithout a-troublin' myself hal)out the books as I see hevcrywhere I goes. N-i-c-e 'ot per- taties — hall smokin' 'ot — a-penny apiece !" I bought a hot potato and a sprat, and left the two wonder- ing if I had been "gafiing " or " larkin' " on 'em ; and passing through the crowded street, past butchers standing at their doors in dirty aprons, sharpening their knives in a business like manner ; past water-cress and match girls, who seemed to spring out of the gutters, so thick were they ; past drunken, noisy women, staggering home to their miasmatic dens, with bunches of vegetables or chunks of meat in their arms, wrap- ped in coarse brown papers, dirty children following their foot- THE NEW CUT. 137 steps, gaunt and shadowy-like ; past reeking, greasy coffee-shops, the very sign-boards of which were redolent of eel pics, kidney stews, and all the abominations which are devoured in this neighborhood daily and nightly, by the poor people Avho are fcrced to eat this food, the refuse of the slaughter-houses of mighty, populous London, from that stern, blind necessity which knows no law, and I came upon a crowd of the working peo- ple — costermongers, peddlers, match-women, and young lads and girls — who find habitations in the dusky lanes and fright- ful courts of the neighborhood. I stood before a large, dark- looking building, which seemed like a prison, its frowning, dirty facade being no evidence that it was a place of amusement. But it was a place of amusement, or, rather, a place of torture. This was the " Royal Victoria Theatre," New Cut, Lambeth. The Victoria Theatre, or the " Vick," as it is called by its patrons, is one of the most democratic places of amusement, if not the most democratic in London. In another place I will attempt to describe the strange sights which I saw inside of its walls, but at present I shall confine myself to giving my readers a view of the '• Old Clothes " district, which is chiefly inhabited by the lower class of the London Jew peddlers or hawkers. Dick Ralph was a patrolman bold, who did duty in tlie " H," or Smithfield Division of the City of London police, and was rewarded for his vigilance and attention to duty by being pro- moted to the office of " special," under probation, in the old Jewry squad of detectives. Dick had lately married and was the proprietor of a fine chubby boy of fifteen months old, who resembled his father in every respect, having the same red flush in the cheeks, the same black eyes, which sparkled like diamonds, and the same little chubby nose. The family lived back of St. Paul's tow- ering pile, in a little lane or court which ran around the old sheds that formed a part of the Old Market or Newgate sham- bles, and was the principal fresh meat mart before the New Smithfield Market had been built. Ralph had been detailed by Inspector Bailey to visit Petti- coat lane, Houndsditch, Bcvis Marks, and the Minories with 138 THE COSTERMONGERS AND RAG FAIR. me, and we were to go together to the Sunday market in this district, which is almost entirely inhabited by Jews, although a greater i>art of the out-door trade and costermongering is done by Christian Cockneys. I found Ralph living up a two-pair back, in one of the queerest, old-fashioned wooden houses in the Newgate shambles. Directly over my head was the dome of St. Paul's, with the morning fog clearing away from its peak, and the sun was gradually appearing to gild the tall cross on the apex, and tlie tower of St. Faith's, under St. Paul's. The stairs were rick- etty and dark, and the wainscotting quite fanciful. A woman of twenty-five or six years of age, rather tidy in appearance, I saw holding the big chubby baby, the pride of the Ralph family. The family were at breakfast, and had l)cen busy discussing fresh plaice and soles from Billingsgate. The baby was allowed to tumble all over the floor and bite its fingers. " How are you this morning, sir," said patrolman Ralph ; " it promises to be a pertickelerly fine Sunday does this, and a nice one for stroll to see the sights." Ralph took down his hat and overcoat from a nail, and bidding his wife good-bye affectionately, we strolled out into the streets. We took a walk up Newgate street to Cheapside, through the Poultry, through Cornhill, passing the Bank and Mansion House on our way, and finally 0})posite the Aldgate Church, with its curious old Sir Christopher Wren spire, we found our- selves standing against the railing which encloses a little green square of grass belting the church. " Now, sir," said Dick Ralph, "we are just going into one of the worst places in London. There's a regular mob here all the time, and hits just as much as a man can do to pass the peddlers without liaving his 'at and coat taken hoff him by the Sheenies who are selling of hall sorts of tilings on the Sunday market. You can buy hanything from a gimlet here in Petti- coat lane to a suit of clothes in Rag Fair." Houndsditch is a wide street which runs down from the Aid- gate High street to Bishopsgate street. At the other end is the street called the Minories, going in the direction of the PETTICOAT LANE. 139 Tower, which frowns upon the river. Here, also, is the district called " Petticoat lane," which embraces a number of short streets, courts, lanes, and filthy alleys, with such characteristic names as " Sandy's Row," Frying Pan alley," " Little Love court," " Catharine Wheel alley," " Hebrew Place," "Fisher's alley," "Tripe yard," "Gravel lane," "Harper's alley," " Boar's Head yard," " Stoney lane," " Swan court," and " Bor- er's lane." These are only a few of the choice thoroughfares in this lo- cality, and all of them are dirty and swarming with a class who ol)tain their living in the streets. There are, it is calcu- lated, living and doing business in Petticoat lane and its lesser triljutaries of streets and alleys, about six thousand men, women, and children who profess the Jewish faith, and are in humble circumstances, who have to struggle and compete with the Irish of the poorer class in the street trades, though the Jews have a monopoly of the old clothes' trade. Houndsditch is in every way superior to the other streets which surround it. It is wider, the shops are of a better or- der, and it is noticeable that very few of their doors are open on a Sunday morning. As the detective and I passed through the street I noticed such names as " Abrams & Son," " L. Benja- min," " Isaacs & Co.," " Moses & Son," " Hyams & Co.," and other like names over the doors of fruit shops, jeweller shops, mercer shops, clothiers, and in one or two instances, over the doors of small publics. It is, however, not a common thing to find a Jewish name over a liquor shop door in London. " We are in the very nick of time to see the show," said Ralph to me — it was nearly nine o'clock of the Sunday morn- ing, and we had gone down Houndsditch about three of our New York blocks. " The market is from eight o'clock Sunday morning until about two in the hafternoon, and the business is as brisk as can be all that time," said Ralph. The houses were all old, and all of them had a slouching, mean look, with funny gables, grimy windows in the upper sto- ries, and qucerly peaked and stunted roofs, overhung by tubular 140 THE COSTERMONGERS AND RAG FAIR. rcfl chimneys, which stood up like rows of corn in a field when seen from a distance. The people whom we met in the streets had an Eastern look, with peculiarly brilliant, almond-shaped eyes, and prominent noses. Some others had the Celtic features and spoke to each other with the unmistakable brogue. The policemen that we met, too, seemed to partake of the characteristics of the place, and I fancied that I could trace a resemblance in their faces to those by whom they were surrounded. Crossing the street, we went through a court about a hund- red feet wide, that seemed to lead into a covered shed, from which came a din and clamor of voices that was almost deafen- ing. There was a wooden building like a market covered over, to to which we ascended by a flight of three steps. " This is the Rag Fair, sir ; I suppose you heard on't before. It's a werry strange place, Rag Fair. But don't stop to look at anythink, or them as keeps the stands will tear you to pieces to make you buy." Although I took as much heed as possible of the injunction, it was impossible not to look. It was a very queer place in more senses than one. To get an idea of it take a section of Washington Market, New York, with its stalls and blocks, and buyers and sellers ; and on the walls where the pork, mutton, and beef are hung to be inspected and sold, and, instead of the flesh of the cow, pig, and peaceful sheep, hang hundreds upon hund- reds of pairs of trousers — trousers that have been worn by young men of fashion, trousers without a wrinkle or just newly scoured, trousers taken from the reeking hot limbs of navies and pot boys, trousers from lumbering men-of-war's men, from spruce young shop boys, trousers that have been worn by criminals executed at Newgate, by patients in fever hospitals ; waistcoats that were the pride of fast young brokers in the city, waistcoats flashy enough to have been worn by the Marquis of Hastings at a race-course, or the Count DOrsay at a literary assem- blage ; take thousands of spencers, highlows, fustian jackets, some greasy, some unsoiled, shooting-coats, short-coats, and A CONGRESS OF RAGS. 141 cutaways ; coats for the jockey and the dog-fighter, for the peer and the pugilist, pilot-jackets and sou-westers, drawers and stockings, the latter washed and hung up in all their ap- pealing innocence, there being thousands of these garments that I have enumerated, and thousands of others that none but a master cutter could think of without a softening of the brain , take two hundred men, women, and children, mostly of the Jewish race, with here and there a burly Irishman sit- ting placidly smoking a pipe amid the infernal din ; and shake all these ingredients up well, and you have a faint idea of what I saw in Rag Fair. Take five thousand pair of shoes, boots, gaiters, bootees,' bro- gans, watermen's boots, shoes of criminals, and suspicious- looking boots, taken from the feet of thieves, flashy-looking women's gaiters and cordovans purchased from prostitutes and wretched women in garrets, who had sold them to buy food or a drink of gin. Take all these articles, scatter them around, hang them on nails and hooks depending from greasy stalls ascending to the old tumble down roof, and then the reader will have a dose offered to him such as I got when I fell on Rag Fair, Petticoat lane. It was by far the strangest scene I had ever looked upon. London has nothing like it elsewhere, and New York, which is really destitute of any specially salient characteristic, could not in fifty years' time organize and bring together such a mass of old clothes, grease, patches, tatters, and remnants of decayed prosperity and splendor. In every old tattered trousers there was an unwritten epic; in every gaudily fashioned waistcoat there was a tale perhaps of sorrow and sadness and want, if any one could but point it out. The patches and rents that were botched up and mended, showed the hasty repairs in the old coats that hung in ])latoons and files from the niches-, the jagged sewing and frayed edges in each of these old garments, could they speak, would tell an astonishing tale, or furnish the groundwork of a plot for a popular drama. 142 THE COSTERMOXGERS AND RAG FAIR. The stalls were in rows, and the men and women and boys who did bnsiness tlicre kept running about all the time I re- mained in the fair, shouting and screaming like possessed be- ings. Their great aim and object was to catch some unfortu- nate visitor by the lappcl of his coat or snatch his elbow, his coat-tail, or any other available part of his clothing, hold on to liim, shake an old waistcoat in his face, and if he didn't Avant a waistcoat, shake a dirty old ])air of trousers in his face, talk- ing all the time in an imploring, or may be a trembling tone, BAO FAIB. until the man would be compelled to break away by sheer force or call the police, who seemed to have enough to do in this place. I stopped fpr a moment to look at a stall where about a hund- red pairs of boots and shoes were displayed in rows, the thick- soled heavy-looking brogans of the laborer ranged next to the nicely-fashioned gaiter of the elegant, with their well-turned MODUS OPERANDI OF SELLING. 143 toes and arching insteps, and the man, a sliaq>featurcd Hebrew, who was proprietor, seized me and thrust a second-hand pair of boots in my face, saying at the same time : " You wan'sh a nish pair o' bootsh ? S'help, I shells you tliish pair for two shillings, and they wash never made lesh than a guinea and a half ! Don't you want to buy these sphlendid bootsh ; s'help me, I only makes'h two pensli ?" I tried to get away, but he held to my arm and kept shaking the boots, while his sharp, black eyes glittered like sword points at the prospect of losing a sale. At last the detective, losing patience, jerked him away, and we passed on to the next slop stand. This was kept by an old Irish woman. The Jew was all mercantile acerbity and sharpness. This old humbug of a female Celt was all treacle and lioncy. " Ah, then, it's the foine gentleman that ye are. It's easy to see the good dlirop is in ye. May be it's a likin' ye'd be taking to this splilindid waistcoat ; that's all the fashion now, and it's well it 'id look on yer fine figger. And don't ye want nothing at all to wear ? And shure ye wouldn't be afther goin' naked like an omaudhaun in the streets and havin' the people shoutin' after ye ?" " How much rent d'ye pay for this stall," said I to her, to get her off a topic by which she made her living. " Is't the durty rint ye mane ? Well, it's enouff for the ould hole. I pay sixpence a day in advance, and tlie devil resave tlie penny I've turned yet, tliis blessed mornin. " Have you any one to support beside yourself?" " Well, indade, I have two childhcr, and its small comfort they are to me. One of thim, the eldest, is down wud scarlet favir, and the docthor says it tin to one if she'll ever recover." " You see sir," said the detective, "the people who rent stands from the men as own this place, they liave to pay six- pence a day to 'old the stand. But those fellows as you see running around like lunatics, and a borin of every one, they pays two pence a day rents — cos why they 'ave no stands and honly walk liabout with tlie clothes hon their harms." 144 THE COSTERMONGERS AND RAG FAIR. " Yis, and I wish you'd sind them to the divil, the haythens — they iiiver give an lionest woman a chance to make a penny be hook or be crook, wud thim runnin all over the fair." " Halso, we never allows the 'awker as has no stands to stay in one place," said Dick Ralph, "cos hif we did, that would ruin the business of the people as pays rent for the stands. So we keeps them a movin' lion, and they doesn't like it, but we have got to do it, or else they would have rows hall the Sun- day through with the nobs as keeps the stands. You see, the wery minute one of the 'awkcrs gets hopposite a stand, he col- lects a crowd and — now, there goes one now ;" and he pointed to a fellow Avith a pair of trousers, who was bawling his- goods out while a policeman had him by the neck shoving him along by main force. " Oh, some of these lads are precious 'ard coves, I tell you, to manage. Some of tliem will fight and curse at you like as hif they wor made of l)rass. But we never talks long to them, 'cos hif we did Rag Fair would be too much for the force." " How much a day do the hawkers make on an average ?" I asked Ralph. " Well, I can't tell, because they are sich werry 'ardcned liars. I axed one the werry last Sunday as I wos 'ere. Says I, 'old Benjamin, how much do you take in on a day's work on a have rage ?' " "Oh ! blesh your 'art," sez he, "some days I hash two pounds profit, and some days I makes a shillin' by 'ard vork." " Now ye see," said Ralph, " I knew he was of gaffin me, for he was not worth two pounds, body and soul, and I don't sup- pose he never made more than half a crown in a day and do his best. Then Old Benjamin spends it hall in fish. The Jew peddlers here are wery fond of fish on Saturdays. They would go without a meal in three days to have a fresh mackerel on Sunday. And they are werry pertikler as to who kills the meat Ijefore they buys it." Determining to make another attempt to see Petticoat Lane on a week day, I bade the polite policeman and the highly odorous quarter of the Old Clothes sellers, a very good day. CHAPTER X. FROM NEWGATE TO TYBURN. ET us look at Newgate. This stern old pile of stones heaped upon stones, grey and grim, the burden of wliose sighs af- flict the weary skies above. Tlie strangest kind of a fascination hung over me as I looked at its Gate, cut in the deep wall like the entrance to a rocky cave. The spiked sill spoke of gibbets, the bars and locks and bolts of a felon gang, who drag- ged their blind life away, day following day, for them without hope, the outside world vacant, dumb and blank as the Ages, to their crime begotten souls, whose only music was the clank of fetters and the hoarse grating of iron hinges. The building itself, covering half an acre, seemed scaled like a sepulchre. There was nothing to be gotten out of it, one way or the other. No one can have even looked at this terrible prison of Newgate without a shudder of despair for his kind. Only on certain recurring Black Mondays did it yawn like a grave in the face of a great swearing mob, to put forth some- thing into the open in the shadow of St. Sepulchre's, that was half dead ; to take it back after an liour quite dead; and then it relapsed into its old, inscrutable dumbness. Now Gate of Ivory, now Gate of Horn — now a porch above which might be inscribed the despairing legend of the Inferno, now a wicket at which the charitable might tap gently, fraught 1-iG FROM NEWGATE TO TYBURN. with messasres of mercy to tlic fallen creatures within — the portal of Newgate could assume chameleon hues, not always hopeless. Next to the spikes of Newgate, the visitor must always mark for lasting remembrance, the stones of Newgate doorsteps. They are not perhaps more than eighty years old, but they look more worn than the jambs of Temple bar — more decayed than the wheel windows of the Cloisters of Westminster Abbey. They arc ancient through use, and not through time. The Hall of the Lost Footsteps at Versailles is but an empty name, l)ut the millions of footste})S that have worn Newgate stones, must make it an abiding reality. Here have united all the crooked roads. Here have fallen the last steps on the stones of the ford of the Black River. Beyond the steps has loomed the City of Dis. How many footsteps ! how many ! Lord George Gordon, after the riots and burnings of 1780, wrecked and crazy, totters feebly up Newgate steps to die in the prison which his murderous associates had attempted to burn. Desperate Thistlewood, fresh from the loft in Cato street, where his fellow conspirators were dragged — reeking from the mur- der of Smithers, whose ghost followed him to the gallows, is brought here heavily chained from the Tower Dungeon, in which the ministry with frantic fear had at first immured him. He and his gang will leave Newgate no more save by the Debtor's Door, where the Man in the Mask — one of the few unsolved mysteries of the Nineteenth century — will do his hor- rible office ujKjn them and hold up to the populace-five severed heads, Avho at first shudder, but growing hardened by the drip- l)ing sight of blood, will cry as the clumsy butcher lets the last head fall — " Hallo, butter-fingers ! " Down Newgate steps at dead of night, how many corpses of uncoffined wretches have been borne in sacks, to be dissected at Old Surgeon's Hall, over the narrow causeway which skirts the prison. EXECUTION OF BARRETT. 147 The dread gaol keeps its secret Letter now. No grapnel hauls forth the dishonored carcass of the dead criminal for ex- position at the Gemonian steps. The place is doul^ly a Golgotha, and murder is buried on the spot where it has been slain. Here died brave hearted Michael Barrett, the victim of the last public execution wliich will ever take place in Newgate, just tlirce short years ago. How the huge metropolis seethed and boiled like a world-cauldron that day of days ! Condemned to die as a Fenian conspirator, lie gave his life gallantly for his native land, and in his last hour frightened England more than a hundred living Barretts could have done. 1 stood before Newgate with a member of tlic Old Jewry force who had seen the execution of Barrett. From the fact that the government, after that day, has prohibited any more public executions, his description of the scene will be worthy of recounting to my readers, Tlie detective was a young man, and intelligent beyond his class. We were standing outside of the prison gate. The lane or street of the Old Bailey, which begins at Lud- gate Hill, one block below St. Paul's Catliedral, runs toward Newgate street, parallel with Giltspur street which it enters, and forms before ending a triangular space of about two acres square measurement. At the angle, formed by the Hol- born Viaduct, which ends here, (Giltspur street and Newgate street,) is the old Church of St. Sepulchre. To the right and behind us, we could just trace the ornamented and beautiful facade of Christ Clmrcli Hospital. To our left and below us was the Sessions Court in the Old Bailey, a i)lace in some re- spects like the Tombs Court and the Court of General Sessions in New York, were botli courts to be combined. I am thus particular in order to show my readers where and how Michael Barrett, the last Newgate Aictim, died. " Well, you see. Sir," said my Old Jewry friend to me, " the "week as Barrett wos Inmg wos a busy week with us. Up all night sometimes and all day, searching the holes and corners 148 FROM NEWGATE TO TYBURN. and dark places of the city for Fenians. We got information that tliey wos going to blow up St. Pauls, one day — another day we lioars that they had a plot to bust hup the Bank of Hingland — then they were to burn down the Tower and the 'Oss Guards, and tlicn somebody told us tliat they meant to send West- minster Ilabbey and Buckingham Palace sky high — and tliis ■way and that way we wos worrited to death with hinformation. One night 1 was detailed to St. Paul's to watch the crypts or vaults under the Cathedral, where the Fenians intended to put a lot of gunpowder to blow it hup. I staid there all night with some more of the men detailed, and a precious cold job it "WOS, we liiding among the vaults snapping our fingers and shivering like geese in a pond, and not a Fenian -within three miles of us. That wos a lark, and the newspapers laughed at us, and had comic picters of us standing in the cold, for their hedification." " Another night "we hexpected them to set fire to the 'Ouscs of Parlyment, and a blessed shame it would have been to have destroyed sich a fine hcdifice, and there I wos night after night, a-playing hide and seek among the galleries and Towers of the 'Ouse, watching for Fenians and hexpecting to get a stab in the back, and all the time I avos wishing as how I could get relief, so as to get a pot o' beer in the King's Arms in Par- lyment street." " Well, Sir, at last came the busting and blowing up of Clerk- enwell Prison, and a nice row that made all through England — and wliile the fellows as did it walked oif quite cooly — Bar- rett and a few more who wos suspected, and who wos as 1 be- lieve really hinnocent — of the Clerkenwell afiliir — wos taken and tried right over here in the Sessions Court (pointing with his hand over the wall of the Old Bailey Court), and he stood up in the dock that day as he wos found guilty, and I must say he was as brave a man as I ever saw — and defied the big wigs and all on them, and said he was not afraid to die, and then he told them that if it was twenty lives he would give it for " dear Ireland," — thems just the words he said, and although I don't like Fenians or Fenianism, I must say for him that he was no DYING FOR AN IDEA. 149 more afraid tlian I was, that is if you can judge from a man' is face at such a hawful minute. • " The night afore his execution I was in his cell ; I was let in by a friend of mine the turnkey, and I spoke to him kindly, cos you see I didn't feel exactly like as if he wos a man who had committed a common murder or robbed for a living, cos why, you see, a lawyer told me as how he was dying for an idea, like Russell or Hampden or some others of them Big Guns. " I sez to him : " How do you feel Mr. Barrett ? " " I feel well, thank you said he ; " one of the turnkeys wos watching him, sitting up with him, and he had a light in his cell — he was ironed. " They are putting up the scaffold," said he to me without a bit of fear. ^' Yes, and I'm sorry for it," said I, " Mr. Barrett — is there anything I can do for you." " Nothing," says he, standing up and turning down the book which he was reading, his chains clanking around his legs — " Nothing — but you sec me the night before I die — tell those who employed you that Michael Barret has made his peace with God — and is not afraid to die. Tell them," and he commenced reciting poetry like, with his eyes on the ceiling of his cell : " ^Vliither on the scaffold high Or hi the battle's van ; Tlie fittest place for man to die Is where he dies for man." " Them's the lines as near as I can remember, for I saw them in a book after, and tliat made me recollect them. " During the night they were busy in putting up the scaffold, and three or four thousand special constables were sworn in by the magistrates, cos why, they were afraid that the Fenians would rescue Barrett, and I, as well as every other man, wos armed with a six-barrelled revolver. When the morning came there must have been a hundred thousand people in the streets 10 150 FROM NEWGATE TO TYBURN. and all around here. Ilundrcds staid up all night to get a chance for a good place to look at him, and there was more than three thousand women, and as many children in the cro^\;d around the scafTold. The top of the scaffold, I mean the frame, was about twelve feet above the street, and the platform was about six feet high, so that hevery one was able to see him. Fifteen hundred police in uniform were drawn hup around New- gate, and to prevent the crowds from pushing or rescuing the prisoner, a barricade of trees was built at a distance of two hundred feet from the scaffold hevery way. Five hundred po- lice in })laiu clothes were among the crowds armed with revol- vers, and troo})s were stationed at all the barracks in the city so as to be ready for any attempt to save his life. The crowd Sir, was for all the world like a surging sea, and people were buying and selling of histers, and liquors, ginger beer, whelks, fruit and cigars, just the same as if they were at a fair, and men and boys were crying l)allads and singing, and some of them were peddling Barrett's printed confession. Now you see, Sir, that was a humbug, becos Barrett never made no con- fession, but they sold just as well as if he had made one, at a penny a piece. " Well, when St. Sepulchre's bell struck eight, which is always the signal, they brought him ought, and although the air was cold and some of us were shivering from standing up so long without anything to eat or drink, he never trembled at all, but looked at every man and woman of all that wos there with a smile, and a steady look. " ' He's a game un,' I heard many a man say, and our fel- lows who had such hard work watching the Fenians by night and by day, had no hard feelings agin the brave fellow then. The women around the scaffold waved their handkerchiefs to him, you see, Sir, the women, bless them, are always up to such blessed games, and there was some man in the crowd when the rope was put around his neck, who wore a fur coat, and seemed like an American, who cried out as loud as he could — " Good heart— ^Michael Barrett — this day. All is not lost while one drop of Irish blood remains." THE PESTIFEROUS PRISON. 151 " I saw the man, and I made a jump for him with two of my pals, but tlie crowd opened and let him pass tlu'ough, — it seemed a purpose like, and just then I heard a roar and a great convulsive sob, and the crowd pushed this way and crushed that way, almost smothering me, and I nearly fainted from the awful squeezing I got, and I picked up a little girl from atween my feet, and when I looked up Barrett's body was a swinging to and fro from a rope, and all was over, and believe me, Sir, I was glad of it when it was over," THE LAST EXECUTION AT NEWGATE. It was high noon when I arrived at Newgate, and my visit was paid chiefly to that part of the prison devoted to the sub- sistence of the prisoners. I passed through the corridors and passages, and door after door, and hinge after hinge grated as I advanced with a companion. All around the prison are the liigh walls of the neighboring Iniildings, and attached to them are precipitous sheds Avith spikes to prevent the escape of pris- 152 FROM NEWGATE TO TYBURX. oners Avlio may succeed in getting as far as the yard. On top of the prison is a huge circular fan which revolves and gives ven- tilation to the interior of the jail. This improvement was the result of the labors of the great philanthropist John Howard. In the old days Newgate was a hell upon earth. During the Eighteenth century jirisoners endured the tortures of the damned here. Jail birds were shackled to the floor to prevent their escape, and mouldy bread and stinking water was given them to drink until their stomachs loathed the appearance of food. Their beds were of stinking straw, the rain from the heavens dripped through the roof upon them, the frost and cold eat into their bones ; they festered in dirt, disease, and destitu- tion, till their limbs broke out in horrible blains, and ulcers and all kinds of agues and dysenteries swept down upon them. Then in this terrible state, after rotting for months awaiting a trial, they came into the dock at the Old Bailey with the jail fe- vers upon them to slay with the pestiferous miasma which exhaled from their bodies, judge, jury, and pettifogging attorneys. The prisoners were so crowded together in dark dungeons, that the air becoming corrupted by the stench, occasioned a disease called the " goal distemper," of which they died by dozens every day. Cartloads of dead bodies were carried out of the prison and thrown in a pit in the burying-ground of Christ's Church without ceremony. The effluvia in the year 1750 was so horrible that it -made a pestilence in the whole district. Four judges who sat in the Session, a Lord Mayor, several aldermen, and other civic dignitaries were carried off by the distemper, together with a number of lawyers and jurors present at the trials of Newgate criminals. Then at last the prison was cleansed, and a system of venti- lation introduced, which made some improvement in the con- dition of the prisoners. Still, Newgate was a disgrace to Cliris- tendom, and just one hundred years ago Parliament made a grant of £50,000 to construct a prison. Beckford, author of Vathek, and then Lord Mayor of London, laid the first stone. Li 1780, Lord George Gordon, witli his No-Popery rioters, burned down that part of the prison which had been constructed, and GETTING WEAK IN THE BACK. 153 set at liberty three hundred of the prisoners confined there. .£■10,000 in addition had to be granted before the building was completed. On an average there are between two and three Imndred prisoners held in durance in Newgate, and twelve sessions arc held during the year at the adjoining Old Bailey Court for their trial. This is called the Central Criminal Court, and it is here, in this very court, that Jack Sheppard, Dick Turpin, Claude Duval, Sixteen String Jack, Tom King, and all the other heroes of the yellow covered literature, were tried, con- demned, taken in fetters to Newgate, and from thence to Ty- burn Tree to hang by the neck until they were dead. The Judges of tlie Old Bailey Court are the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, Recorder, and Common Sergeant of London, and the Judges of the Courts at Westminster Hall, avIio sit here by rotation to assist, by their superior legal knowledge, the in- ferior local magistrates. The prison is divided into a male and female side, but be- yond this there is little classification ; the pick-pocket, the swindler, the embezzler, the murderer, are all associated to- gether ; while the hardened offender and the one who is merely suspected of crime, but too often share the same cell, and feed at the same board. There are separate cells, so that every one averse to society may dwell alone if he or she chooses, but in conversation with the turnkeys, I learned that the privilege was rarely claimed. " Why, Lord bless your lieart. Sir," said a turnkey to me, " there isn't one of the birds in this ere cage that wouldn't go down on his blessed knees and beg hoff if he was to be locked up alone for forty-eight hours. Ye see, sir, it sickens them, it does, to be alone and hear no one's voice but their own. There's a few of the high 'uns at first, when they come here, are worry hoffish and have a sort of a " how-dare-you-look-or-sj)eak-t(>me- air," but before three days they gets weak in the back and then they '11 give a guinea a minute to look at a face if it only wor a monkey's dirty mug." When prisoners become refractory, solitary confinement, for a 154 FROM NEWGATE TO TYBURN. few days, is the pnnisluncnt, and it never fails to tame the most intractable. The beds of the prisoners are in tiers one above the otlicr, like the berths on an emigrant ship, only that they are clean almost to painfulness. The beds consist of a hard mattress and coarse coverings, snfficient in all seasons to keep them comfortably warm. A plain deal table and bench constitute the only furniture of the place, and these, with the floor, are daily scrubl:)cd into a state of scrupulous cleanliness by the inmates of the cells. There are paved court yards in which the prisoners may walk and breathe the small quantity of pure air that can circulate between those high and gloomy walls, surmounted by formidable spikes to impede the climber. I went into the kitchen of Newgate and found it to be a com- modious and Avcll-fittcd apartment, very like the kitchen of the Reform Club, only not so luxurious, from its want of French dishes, and I found here boilers, stoves, ranges, saucepans, ket- tles, and all that a chef could need for his cuisine. This Avas not the kitchen of the Old Newgate of which iVinsworth de- lights to tell, where the hangman used to seethe in a cauldron of molten pitch the heads and quarters of victims executed for treason, whose several members were afterwards affixed to the spikes of Temple Bar or London Bridge. I saw the rations of each prisoner served out in tin pani- kins and platters, and the bread served was as white as any I ever ate. There were three large and beautiful potatoes allot- ted to each one, and three ounces of boiled beef, good and tender and free from bone, just of the same quality which I had seen served a few days before in the barracks of the Grenadier Guards down in Westminster. The meat might not have all the accessories and sauces which a Delmonico or a Blanchard could provide, but it was palatable and tender to the taste. On "off" days they have soup and thick gruel for breakfast, and sixteen ounces of bread per day. They never get beer, butter, milk, cheese, cabbage, tea, coffee, or eggs. So, after I had seen all this "bee bread," the hunks of meat duly weighed out, the potatoes and lumps of bread packed in their panniers and delivered out from door to door — the chief HOTEL REGULATIONS. 155 warder and I began to ascend a very Mont Blanc of iron stair- cases, and visited, one after the other, the cells of the wicked hive ; in which, God knows, there was no honey making, but only wax, bitter as the book which the Apostle swallowed. The original " comb," many stories high, had been built in one of the former yards of the gaol. The space between the different tiers of cells was quite sufficient for ventilation ; but the architects had of necessity trusted more to height than to breadth, and this increased the hive-like appearance of the place. But when I came down again, the remembrance of what I had seen fresh upon me, all these iron staircases and galleries, all these shining locks, bars, numbers, plates, and " inspection holes," all these recrossing and crossing pillars, trusses, and girders, made me think that I had just left some great, bad exhibition of products of the devil's industry. One cell was, in all save its occupant, twin brother to its neighbor on either side ; and so on, tier above tier, until the whole nest had been explored. I forgot to ask how many feet broad, by how many feet long, was each dungeon. But here is one — the type of all the rest. It is as large say, as a cabinet pa)-ticulier,to hold four, at Vachett's or the Moulin Rouge ; but it is given up to the occupancy of one man. It is a hundred times cleaner than ever was cabinet in Paris restau- rant; and here the lodger eats, reads, and sleeps. His bed- ding lies on a shelf on the right corner as you enter the cell. It is a pile of rugs, matting, mattress, or some other kind of bedding, packed and folded up with mathematical accuracy, with an assortment of straps and hooks disposed in correspond- ing order. These hooks will, by and bye, at eight o'clock, be inserted in rings in the whitewashed cell, when the prisoner will make his bed and sleep athwart his cell. There are his gas-pipe, his basin, and mug; there is a little desk-formed table, which he can prop up with a wooden sup- port, to eat his meals upon ; there are his tin panikin and wooden spoon, his Bible, prayer-book, and hymn-book, his comb, his salt-cellar, with a neat cover of blue paper. Every- thing shines, glistens, sparkles, almost as bravely as the gew- loG FROM NEWGATE TO TYBURN. gaws in Mr. Benson's shop outside. Tlie floor is of sliining asplialtc. The covered ceiling is without a flaw. The walls are luisniirchcd. A neat copy of the regulations enforced in this "hotel" — the code of discipline framed by the Sherifis — are hung up for the prisoner's guidance. He has a ventilator, by means of which lie can regulate the temperature of his cell ; and I noticed that the chief warder had to tell almost every prisoner that he was keeping his cell too warm. Among the many afflicting scenes that have taken place in the vicinity of Newgate, was that of February 23, 1807, when two men, named Haggerty and Ilolloway, were hanged for the murder of Mr. Steele, on llounslow Heath. The greatest in- terest had been excited by the trial of these two men, and an immense crowd assembled to witness their execution. By five o'clock in the morning every avenue was blocked up ; every window that commnnicated a view of the place was crammed, and wagons, arranged in rows, groaned under the weight of the eager multitude. The pressure of the assemblage was tremendous ; and when the criminals had been turned off — when they had given their last death struggle — the mass of the people began t(j move. But there was no room for them to move in. Lnmcdiatcly rose the shrieks of affrighted women in the crowd, wliieh but increased the alarm, and made each individ- ual struggle to get out of the multitude. Hundreds were trod- den under foot, and the furious and frightened crowd passed over them. At last the confusion ceased a little, and the ground became comparatively clear. Some who had been tin-own down arose but with little dam- age, and went home, but forty-two were found insensible, of this number twenty-seven were quite dead, of whom three were women. Of the other filtecn many had their legs or arms br(jken, and some of them afterward died. Since that occur- rence barriers have been erected and executions have taken I)lace without loss of life. The system of hanging in chains lias also been abolished, and Newgate may one day hope, like its brother of the Bastille, for the light of freedom to break in DRINKING FROxM ST. GILES' BOWL, 157 upon its licU-holcs, and show to humanity how like devils are men clad with a little hrief authority. Eighty-three years ago, the last victim, taken from Newgate to Tyburn Tree, was hung there upon the gallows in cliains. The name of the criminal was John Austin. Tyburn was an- ciently a manor and village some miles west of London, and on this fated spot, in 1330, Roger de Mortimer was lianged, drawn, disemboweled, and quartered, for high treason. The gallows was a triangle upon three legs. Long years ago, when Dan Chaucer wrote his lays, criminals were taken to Tyburn, and hung from a lofty elm tree, wliich overshadowed a brook or "burn," hence the term of "Tyburn Tree." The gallows, in after years, stood on a small eminence at the corner of the Edgeware Road, where a tool-house was subsequently erected. Beneath this spot, where the gallows formerly stood, the bones of Bradshaw, Ireton, and otliers, who had voted for the death of Charles I, re pose, their remains, having been taken from their graves, after tlie Restoration, and thrown here. Around the gibbet were erected 0})en galleries, like tliose at a modern race-course, from whence many thousand people, of both sexes, were -wont to feast their eyes on the dying strug- gles of the condemned. " Mamma Douglas," an old toothless woman, held the keys of these seats, and she was, facetiously, called the Tyburn "pew opener." Prices of seats to witness the sport, varied from one and sixpence to three shillings, and in one instance, a reprieve having arrived for the prisoner in time to save his life, the mob became enraged at their disap- pointment, and tore up the benches. The criminal was con- veyed in a cart to Tyburn, the parson chanting prayer and hymn on the route, and in passing tlu'ough the quarter of St. Giles, a bowl of ale w^as always offered to the condemned to drink, the procession of Sheriffs, Stavesmen, and Constables, lialting on the way for the purpose. Among the famous crim- inals executed here were Perkin Warbeck, for plotting his es- cape from the Tower, 1534 ; tlie Holy Maid of Kent, and lier associates, 1535 ; the last Prior of the Cliarter House, same year; Southwell, the poet, 1615; Mrs. Turner, hanged in a 158 FROM NKWGATE TO TYBURN. yellow starched nifT, for the poisoning of SirTliomasOvcrhury, 1G28 ; John Fcltou, assassin of Villicrs, Duke of Buckingham, IGOO ; and in 1662 five persons who had signed the death war- rant of Cliarlcs I ; 1G84, Sir Thomas Armstrong (Rye House Plot); 1705, John Smith, a burglar, having been hung for fif- teen minutes, a reprieve arrived, and he was cut and bled, which saved his life. Jack Sheppard was hung in 1724; Jona- than Wild, the thief taker, in 1725, and Catharine Hayes was burnt alive here in 1726, for the murder of her husband, as the indignant mob would not suffer the hangman to strangle her, as was usual, before the fire was kindled. In 1760, Earl Fer- rars, who had murdered his stcAvard, rode from the Tower to Tyburn, in his open landau, drawn by six horses, and was hanged with a silken rope, the hangman and the mob fighting for the rope, while the latter tore the black cloth on the scaf- fold to pieces. Oliver Cromwell's body was taken up and here, long years afterhe had died, hung from the tree, while his head was set on a spike of Westminster Hall. The other famous hangings were as follows: 1767, Mrs. Browning, for murder; 1774, John Rann (Sixteen-Stringed Jack), highwayman; 1775, the two Perraus, for forgery ; 1777, Rev. Dr. Dodd, forgery; 1779, Rev. James Hackman, assassination of Miss Reay: he was taken from Newgate in a mourning coach. 1783, Ryland, the engraver, for forgery. 1783, John Austin, the last person executed at Tyburn. CHAPTER XL DOCTOR'S COMMONS. NE of the queerest old rookeries in Lon- don is the little old edifice in Great Kni gilt-Rider street, just hack of St. Paul's Churchyard, with its nest of courts and its ancient quadrangle, where people go to get licenses to many — or to have divorces granted them, or to exam- ine or prove wills — or perhaps to have a suite entered for salvage or flotsam, or jetsam, — where David Copperfield paid a thousand pounds to receive his matriculation as a proctor. This curious old relic of Roman Catholic England, where the wills of the British nation are preserved, is known as Doctors' Commons. It is a college of civil, canon, and maritime law, and here all cases that belong to these three divisions of English law, as also divorce suits, are entered, argued, and decided. The lawyers who practice here are all well to do, snug, aris- tocratic old fellows, and enjoy good living and nothing to do as no other disciples of the legal profession can. It is called Doctor's Commons because the doctors or stu- dents at law used to eat in common, or dine together in a hall in the old days when the Archbishop of Canterbury acknowl- edged the supremacy of the Sec of St. Peter. In the Doctors' Commons are — the Court of Arches, named from having been formerly kept in Bow Church, Ciieapside, originally built upon arches, and the Supreme Ecclesiastical Court of the Province of Canterbury — the other English Ecclc- 160 doctors' commons. siastical Province being tliat of York ; tlic Prerogative Court, ■where all contentions arising out of testamentary causes, are tried ; the Consistory Court of the Bishop of London ; and the High Court of Admiralty ; all these courts hold their sit- tings in the college hall, the walls of which are covered with the richly-emblazoned coats of arms of all the doctors who have practiced here fur two hundred years past. The Court of Arches has a jurisdiction over thirteen parish- es, or " peculiars," which form a " Deanery," exempt from the authority of the Bishop of London, and attached to the Prov- ince of the Archbishop of Canterbury, who is Primate of Eng- land. This court decides, as in the days of Wolsey, in all cases of usury, simony, heresy, sacrilege, blasphemy, apostacy from Christianity, adultery, fornication, bastardy, partial and entire divorce, and many exploded offenses, which in the Nine- teenth century become farcical when tried in an ecclesiastical court. Fighting or brawling in church or vestry arc also offen- ses under the jurisdiction of this absurd old court, but they arc seldom or ever brought uj) in these days, as the newspapers are sure to seize upon such trials as subjects for derision and satire. Still the statutes are in existence and will probably never be repealed until the Established Church of England is abolished. There are several Registries in Doctors' Commons, under the jurisdiction of the Archbishop of Canterbury and the bish- ops. Some of the very old documents connected with them arc deposited for security in St. Paul's Cathedral and Lambeth Palace. At the Bishop of London's Registry, and the Regis- try for the Commission of Surrey, wills are proved for the respective dioceses, and marriage licences are granted. At the Yicar-General's Office and the Faculty Office, marriage licences . are granted for any j)art of England. The Faculty Office also grants Faculties to notaries public, and dis])ensations to the clergy ; and foryierly granted privilege to eat flesh on prohibited days. At the Vicar-General's Office, records are kept of the confirmation and consecration of bishops. Marriage licences, when required by persons who profess the MARRIAGE LICENSES. 161 faith of the Established Church of England, are always pro- cured in Doctors' Commons upon personal application to one of these old fogy Proctors, whom 1 saw running around the quaint quadrangle, like a hen on a hot griddle, with a roll of papers in his fleshy, fat hands. A residence of fifteen days is necessary to either bride or bridegroom, in the parish in which the marriage is to be solemnized, or not much longer than it takes a repeater to become a useful if not a legal voter in New York City. This little antique court of Doctors' Commons is in fine one of the pious swindles that the English people de- light in perpetuating and groaning under, while the sinecurists make pots of money, and laugh and grow fat on the pious plunder. There are all kinds of little dodges in Doctors Com- mons, so that when a suitor enters here it is like a dip into chaiiccry litigation ; the victim being plucked before lie leaves. Even to get married is very expensive in Doctors' Commons. The expense of an ordinary license is .£2 12s. 6d. ; but if either party is a minor, there is 10s. 6c?. further charge ; and if the party appearing swears that he has obtained the consent of the proper person having authority in law to give it, there is no necessity for either parents or minor to attend. A special license for marriage is issued after a fiat or consent has been obtained from the Archbishop, and is granted only to persons of rank, judges, and members of parliament, the Archbishop having a right to exercise his own discretion. Tlie expense of a Special License is usually twenty-eight guineas. This gives privilege to marry at any time or place, in private residence, or at any church or chapel situate in Eng- land ; but the ceremony must be performed by a priest in holy orders, and of the Established Church. With the marriages of Dissenters, including Roman Catholics, Jews, and Quakers, tlie Commons has nothing to do, their licenses being obtainable of the Superintendent-Registrar. A Divorce when souglit is carried through one of the courts in this profession (according to the diocese), and is conducted by a proctor; the evidence of witnesses is taken privately before an examiner of the court, and neither the Imsband, wife, nor any of the witnesses, need 162 doctor's commons. appear personally in court. A suit is seldom conducted at an expense less than .£200. Then there is the High Court of Admiralty, a " precious old swindle," as a sea-faring man told me it had proved to him. He was a seaman before the mast, and to get a sum of eight pounds six and four-pence, he was compelled to pay eleven pounds of costs and fees. It comprises the " Instance Court," and the " Prize Court," where the famous Lord Stowell, hi one year, adjudicated upon 2,206 cases connected with the high seas. DOCTOR S COMMONS. The Instance Court has a criminal and civil jurisdiction ; to the former belong piracy and other indictable offences on the high seas, which are now tried at tlic Old Bailey ; to the latter, suits arising from ships ruiuiing foul of each other, disputes about seamen's wages, bottomry, and salvage. The Prize Court applies to naval captures in war, proceeds of captured slave-vessels, posed to date back as far as the time of the Crusades, on ac- count of the portion of the cross which it is said to contain. The Royal Sceptre is of gold, ornamented with precious stones ; also with the rose, shamrock, and thistle, cmljlematical of England, Scotland, and Ireland, all in gold ; the cross is richly jewelled, and contains a large diamond in the centre ; the length of the Sceptre is two feet nine inches, and it is valued at X 40,000. The other jewelled articles of the regalia are valued at £300,000, and are as follows : The Rod of Equity is three feet seven inches in length, and is made of gold set with diamonds. The Orb at the top is en- circled with rose diamonds, and in the cross, which surmounts it, stands the figure of a dove with wings expanded. This is sometimes called the Sceptre with the Dove. Another sceptre called the Queen's Sceptre with the Cross, though much smaller, is very beautiful in design, and thickly set with precious stones. I70RY SCEPTRE AND SWORDS OF JUSTICE. 199 The Ivory Sceptre was made for Maria d' Este, and another sceptre, found behind the wainscotting in the apartment in which the regalia was kept, is said to have been made for the Queen of William III. 1. Imperial Orb. 2. Golden Salt Cellar of State. S. Anoiating Spoon. 4. AmpuUa. There are also two other Orbs, well worthy of observation, as arc also the Swords of Justice, the Ecclesiastical and Temporal ; and the Sword of Mcycy or the Curtana, as it is called. This is pointless, as so is its title, which could have no point when the sword was wielded by an English monarch. Then there is the Ampulla, to hold the Holy Oil for anoint- ing the foreheads and palms of the hands and necks of sover- 13 200 TOWER, PALACE, AND PRISON. eigns. It is said that Queen Victoria dispensed with the anointing of her royal neck, fearing that it might soil a very- costly lace chemisette which she wore at her coronation. The Ampulla is made in the shape of an eagle, and the base holds the oil. Besides the jewels already mentioned, there are sev- eral others, among which are the Armillae, or Coronation Brace- lets, made of gold and rimmed with pearls ; the Coronation Spoon, for pouring out the oil, wliich is very ancient ; and the Golden Salt Cellar, shaped like a castle, with Norman turrets, windows and doors. Then there are other salt cellars, a bap- STATE SALT CELLARS. tismal font, where the royal children are baptised, a silver wine fountain, and many other valuables which I have not room or desire to enumerate. Altogether, the crowns, dia- dems, sceptres and other articles of the regalia, arc worth about seven millions of dollars, and they are of no use what- ever, excepting for show. It must be remembered that hundreds of people die annu- ally of starvation in London, while these jewels, valued at seven millions of dollars, are growing rusty, and every shilling which A DESPERATE ADVENTURE. 201 bought these jewels was wrung from the blood, labor, and misery of the ancestors of the radical voters who compose the English Trade Unions, and follow the standard of John Bright. A just and honest Parliament would order the sale of these Crown jewels, and the sum realized might find many happy homes in the New World for those who now starve in the rook- eries and lanes of London. There is only one attempt to steal the English Crown Jewels, mentioned in history, and that was a most audacious one, and planned with a skill worth}'^ of the man who made the at- tempt. The robbery was committed by Col. Thomas Blood, in 1673. He was a native of Ireland, born in 1628. In his twcntictli year he married the daughter of a gentle- man of Lancashire ; then returned to his native country, and having served there as a Lieutenant in the Parliamentary forces, received a grant of land instead of pay, and was, by Henry Cromwell, son to Oliver, made a Justice of the Peace. On tlie Restoration of Charles II, the Act of Settlement, which deprived Blood of his possessions, made him at once discon- tented and desperate. He first signalized himself by his con- duct during an insurrection set on foot to surprise Dublin Castle and seize the Duke of Ormond, Lord Lieutenant of Ire- land. This insurrection he joined and became its leader ; but it was discovered on the very eve of execution, and was rend- ered futile. Blood, who was neither afraid of man or devil, escaped the gallows, the fate of some of his associates, and concealing him- self among the native Irish patriots in the mountains, and ulti- mately he escaped to Holland, where he was favorable received by Admiral do Ruyter, the Dutch Nelson. Always ready for battle and spoil, we next find him engaged with the Covenanters in their rel)ellion in Scotland in 1666, when being once more on the side of the losing party, lie saved his life only by stratagem. Thenceforward Col. Blood appears only in the light of a mere adventurer, bold and capable enough to do anything his 202 TOWER, PALACE, AND PRISON. a passions miglit instigate, and prepared to seize fortune where- ever lie might find her, without the slightest scruple as to the means employed. The death of his friends in the Irish insur- rection, seems to have left in Blood's mind a great thirst for personal vengeance on the Duke of Ormond, whom accordingly he seized on the night of December 6th, 1676, tied him on horseback to one of his associates, and but for the timely aid of the Duke's servant, would have hanged the astonished and paralyzed noble on Tyburn Tree, where he attempted to convey him. The plan failed, but so admirably had it been contrived that Blood remained totally unsuspected as its author, although a reward of one thousand pounds was offered by King Charles for the discovery of the attempted assassins. He now opcnpd to the same associates an equally daring but much more profitable scheme, had it been successful : to carry off the Crown Jewels. It was thus carried out — Blood one day came to see the Regalia, dressed as a parson, and accompanied by a woman whom he called his wife ; the latter professing to be suddenly taken ill, was invited by the keeper's wife into the adjoining apartment. Thus an intimacy was formed which was so well improved by Blood, that he arranged a match be- tween a nephew of his and the keeper's daughter, and a day was appointed for the young people to meet. At the ajjpointed hour came the pretended parson, the pretended nephew, and two others, armed with rapier blades in their canes, daggers and pocket pistols — a nice wedding party indeed. One of the number made some pretence for staying at the door as a watch, while the others passed into the Jewel house, the jjarson having expressed a desire that the Regalia should be shown to his friends, while they were waiting for the ap- proach of Mrs. Edwards, the keeper's wife, and her daughter. No sooner was the door closed than a cloak was thrown over the old man and a gag was forced into his mouth ; and thus secured they told him their object, telling him at the same time that he was safe if he kept quiet. The poor old man, hoAvever, faithful to the trust imposed in him, exerted himself to the utmost in spite of the blows they dealt him, till he was stabbed FAILURE TO GET A CROWN. 203 and became senseless. Blood now slipped the Crown under his cloak, another secreted the Orb, and a third, with great in- dusty, was engaged in filing the Sceptre into two parts, when one of those coincidences, which a novelist would hardly dare to use, much less to invent, gave a new turn to the proceedings. The keeper's son, who had been in Flanders, returned at this critical moment. At the floor he was met by an accomjjlice, stationed there as a sentinel, who asked him with whom he would speak. Young Edwards replied, " I belong to the house," and hurried up stairs ; and the sentinel, I suppose, not knowing how to prevent the catastrophe he must have feared otherwise than by a warning to his friends, gave the alarm. A general flight ensued, amidst which the robbers heard the voice of the old keeper once more loudly shouting, ''Treason! murder," which, being heard by the young lady, who was wait- ing anxiously to see her lover, she ran out into the open air, reiterating the same cry. The alarm became general and out- stripped the conspirators. A warder first attempted to stop them, but being very fat, at the charge of a ])istol which was fired, he fell down without waiting to know if he was hurt, and so they passed his post. At the next door, Sill, a sentinel, not to be outdone in pru- dence, offered no opposition, and they passed the draw-bridge. At St. Katharine's Gate their horses were waiting for them; and as they ran along the Tower wharf they joined in the cry of " Stop the rogues," and so passed on unsuspected till Cai> tain Beckman, a brother-in-law of young Edwards, overtook the party. Blood fired a pistol but missed the Captain, and was imme- diately made prisoner. The Crown was found under his cloak, which, prisoner as he was, he would not yield without a struggle. " It was a gallant attempt, however unsuccessful," were the witty and ambitious fellow's first words ; " it was for a Crown !" Not the least extraordinary part of this affair was tlie sub- sequent treatment of Col. Blood. Whether it was that Blood had frightened Charles II, by his audacious threats of being 204 TOWER, PALACE, AND PRISON. revenged by his numerous associates, in case of his death on the scaffold, or else captivated him by his brilliant audacity and flattery combined, it is certain that Blood, instead of being punished as he should have been, was rewarded with place, power, and influence, at court. Instead of being sent to the gallows, he was taken into especial favor, and all applications through him to the King, for favors, were successful. It is said that Blood had told the King that he had been en- gaged to kill his Majesty, from among the reeds by the Thames' side, above where Battersea Bridge now spans the river, but was deterred from the crime by the air of Majesty which shone in the King's countenance. What more delicate flattery could be administered to a King than this ? Blood died peaceably in his bed in the year 1680. It was not to be expected that the notorious favoritism of the King toward Blood should escape satirical comment, and the Earl of Rochester, a shameless scoundrel himself, wrote, on the attempt to steal the Crown : " Blood, that wears treason in Lis face, Tillian complete in parson's gown, How much he is at Court in grace For stealing Ormond and the Crown ! Since loyalty does no man good Let's steal the King, and outdo Blood." Edwards and his son were awarded ^300 by a not over gen- erous Parliament, l)ut the delay in payment of the sum was such that Mr. Edwards was compelled to sell his claim for <£120 to a Jew. In this case virtue had its own rcwai'd, but no other. On the neighboring Tower Hill, which is now covered by fme mansions, and where the shaft has just been sunk, giving admission to the Thames Subway under the River, in the old days of violence and blood, many a noble head was brought to be hewed off by the executioner's shining axe. Lady Raleigh lived here on Tower Hill after she had been forbidden to visit her husband in the Tower. William Penn was born in a little old house in a little old dusty court on Tower Hill, and it was RIRTH-PLACE OF WILLIAM PENN. 205 here that he first imbibed his horror of bloodshed and capital punishment. At the "Bull," a public house on Tower Hill, on April 14, 1685, died Otway the poet, of starvation, and around the corner in a cutler's shop, which is numbered with the things that were, Felton bought a large jack-knife for ten- pence, with which he assassinated the magnificent Duke of Buckingham. At No. 48 Great Tower street, is situated the Tavern called the " Czar's Head," built on the site of an old pot-house, in which the Emperor Peter the Great, and some low companions, used to meet to drink fiery potations of brandy and smoke clay pipes. In the very same spot, where the scaffold was formerly erected, and where the gouts of blood fell dripping from the severed necks of victims of the axe, marine stores are now sold, and sea-biscuits, pea-jackets, hour-glasses, and quadrants are offered for sale. The scaffold was generally built on four strong posts with a platform, five feet high, and in the centre of the platform was placed the block. The victim was generally bound, unless by desire the binding was omitted. For the gratification of those curious in such matters, it may be as well to give the bloody head roll of the most illustrious of the victims executed on Tower Hill, and the date of their decapitation. June 22, 1535, Bishop Fisher; July 6, 1535, Sir Thomas Moore ; July 28, 1540, Cromwell, Earl of Essex ; May 27, 1541, Margaret Pole, Countess of Shrewsbury ; Jan. 20, 1547, Earl of Surrey, the poet ; March 20, 1549, Thomas Lord Seymour, of Sudeley, by order of his brother, the Protector Somerset, who was beheaded Jan. 22, 1552 ; Feb. 12, 1553-4, Lord Guild- ford Dudley; April 11, 1554, Sir Thomas Wyatt; May 12, 1641, Earl of Strafford ; Jan. 10, 1644-5, Archbishop Laud ; Dec. 29, 1680, Wilham Viscount Stafford, " insisting on his innocence to the very last ;" Dec. 7, 1683, Algernon Sydney ; July 15, 1685, the Duke of Monmouth ; Feb. 24, 1716, Earl of Derwentwater and Lord Kenmuir ; Aug. 18, 1746, Lords Kil- marnock and Balmcrino ; Dec. 8, 1746, Mr. Radcliffe, who had 206 TOWER, PALACE, AND PRISON. been, with his brother. Lord Dcrwentwater, coimcted of treason in the Rebellion of 1715, when Derwentwater was executed ; but Radcliffe escaped, and was identified by the barber who, thirty-one years before, had shaved him in the Tower. JVIr. Chamberlain Clark, who died in 1831, aged 92, well remem- bered (his father then residing in the Minories) seeing the glittering of the executioner's axe in the sun as it fell upon Mr. Radcliffe's neck. April 9, 1747, Simon Lord Lovat, the last beheading in England, and the last execution upon Tower Hill, when a scaffolding, built near Barking-alley, fell with nearly 1,000 persons on it, and twelve were killed. CHAPTER XIY. THE CADGERS OF LONDON BRIDGE. FTER leaving the Old Jewry Lane and pass- ing up Cheapside, we came into the Poultry just as the rain had ceased, and as great rifts in the masses of fog were breaking through the opaque atmosphere. The Poul- try is a short street which runs up to the Mansion House, and during the noon of the day is nearly im- passable from the amount of traffic done there. Now the shops were all closed, and the bell of St. Paul's rang out for midnight, the echoes stealing over the city and the river in a ghostly way that thrilled through the hearts of the pedestrians wlio were darkness-bound in the streets. We passed through the Poul- try into King William street, and on past Cannon street, with its warehouses and retail stores, by East Cheap, until we could see London Bridge, in all its vastness, looming up like a sleep- ing giant, the dark arches girding the river in seemingly ever- lasting bands. The detective said : " Let's go down the stairs of the bridge and see some of the characters that find board and lodging down the steps. They're a hawful set, some on 'em." The Thames lay at our feet, spread out like a map. The sky was clearing, and the river was very quiet. Now and then the sullen waters, driven in an eddy against the huge piers, could be heard plashing in a secret, stealthy manner, and anon they would recede and come back again, plash ! plash ! jjlash 1 All about us was so still ; not a sound to be heard as we leaned over one of the alcoves in the bridge. Below us, to the left, 208 THE CADGERS OF LONDON BRIDGE. the Catharine Docks, full of shipping ; the London Docks, full of shipjjing ; Shadwell lined with lighter craft — all so still, and tlic million of masts looking ghostly in the holy light of the midnight. Over on the right, Bermondsey-way, more shipping — countless spars pointing up to the midnight skies ; the Pool choked with shipping — coal barges, eel-boats, East India vessels, brigs and schooners, barks and black-hulled packets, lying high in the water ; flat-bottomed bai'ges for carrying sand and for dredging ; the gray coping stones of the Tower hanging over the water, and the stillness of death on noisy Rotherhithe, and a pall over the immense West India docks. This great river, this river of all the nations of the world, with their tributes laid at her docks and their gifts on her broad bosom — how quiet it is just now. A matchless stream for its congregated wealth. Miles of warehouses, miles of stone docks, miles of shipping, and thousands of seamen. And yet a dirty and turbid and ungrateful river at times, when it over- flows the fish-stalls, when it overflows the high street in Wap- ping and drowns myriads of rats in Upper and Lower Thames street. We went down the " London Stairs." Every bridge that spans the Thames has four stairs or flights of stone-steps run- ning down to the water's edge. These stone stairs are gener- ally twenty or twenty-five feet wide, and they run down, for a hundred broad, massive and capacious steps, to where the tide comes in. There are turns in the stairs, and stone platforms — where the magnificent stone embankment has not been com- pleted, as it is at Westminster Bridge down the river — under whose vast arches hundreds of human beings find shelter from tlie inclemency of the weather. I may say here that there is not such a city in the world as London for vagrancy and vaga- bondism of the worst kind despite the fact that there are 7,000 l)olice in the metropolitan district ; and besides this force for jjrevention, the work-houses in the West District, composing Kensington, Fulham, Paddington, Chelsea, St. George's, Han- over Square, St. Margaret, and St. John, and Westminster, furnish in and out door relief to 18,000 persons. Marylebone, VAGRANCY AND PAUPERISM. 209 Hampstead, St. Pancras, Islington, and Hackney, in the North District, provide for 24,820 persons. St. Giles, St. George, Bloouisbury, the Strand, Holborn, and City of London, in the Central District, provide for 19,127 persons. Shoreditch, Beth- nal Green, White-chapel, St. George in the East, Stepney, Mile End Town, and Poplar, provide for 28,713 persons, in the East District. In the Soutliern District, St. Saviour, Southwark, Rotherhithe, and Bermondsey ; in St. Olave's, Lambetli, Wands- worth, and Clapham, Cambcrwell, Greenwich, Woolwich, and Lewisham, there is provision for 38,487 persons. Here we have a total of 128,880 men, women, and children, occupants of the union work-houses of the metropolis of London, with a population of less than three and a half millions. Besides this number, tliere are thousands of casuals who receive lodgings in the work-houses ; and outside this fearful aggregate there are roaming in and about London at least 15,000 vagrants — or, as they would be called in America, " bummers " — who do not frequent the work-houses from various reasons, and conse- quently have to " bunk out," as we would call it in New York. At the bottom of some of the bridges there are heaps of rub- bish and old rotting planking, some of which rubbish is carried off when the tide leaves the stones of the bridges. Then there are old boat-houses, and rows of long, stout-built boats for hire ; but at nio'ht there are no persons to watch these boats, and they are used as berths to sleep in by the vagrant vagabonds who haunt the recesses of the bridges. When the tide recedes in the Thames, it generally leaves a space of twenty to two hundred feet of the inshore bottom of the river bare on the Surrey side, and this is generally a soft, drab-looking mud, witlt a treacherous look, where man or beast might be swallowed up without any warning. When the detective and I went down into the dark recesses of London Bridge, that night, the river was at the flood, and the rub])ish was being carried away by the incoming tide. This was on the Surrey side of the river. There were about a dozen persons beneath the first archway, making, in fact, a perfect gypsy encampment. Eight of these persons were of the male sex, and beside these there were two 210 THE CADGERS OF LONDON BRIDGE. old haggard-looking women and a grown girl of twenty years or thereabouts, and a child of ten years, in all the glory of rags and destitution. The oldest man in the party might have been fifty years of age, and the others were younger, one of them being a stout, able-bodied young fellow of eighteen or nineteen. Some of the party were asleep, and were snoring most com- fortably, as the rain did not penetrate to their place of sleeping ; but every few minutes a gust of wind came howling down the river and burst through the arches with a mad fury, making the sleepers turn uneasily on the stone steps. THE cadger's meal. The old fellow, who seemed to be a confirmed vagrant, from his slouchy look and greasy, unpatched clothes, had built a small fire of the refuse which abounded in the arches, and lie was drying pieces of driftwood that had floated from the scaf- folding on the new Blackfriar's Brid-e down the river. He was warming his hands and slapping them, and the little girl THE LOST GIRL. 211 of ten years was stooped over the fire, toasting an enormous potato on the end of a splinter of wood. "What are you herding here for, Prindle," said the detect- ive to the old fellow, who looked up in a morose way and mut- tered something under his teeth which sounded like " D — n the bobbies." " I'm a trying to get somethink to heat. Vy vill yer foller a cove everywheres as wants to get a mouthful to heat, I haint done nothink as should bring you here arter me. I'm not hon the pad now hany more." " I don't want yer pertikler, I don't ; but stop yer jaw and keep a civil tongue in yer head, will ye," said the sergeant. " Whose gal is that ere a toasting the taty with the skiver ?" " I'm blessed hif I knows whose gal it his. Ye don't sup- pose that I'm the man as makes the Post-hoffice Di-rek-te-ree. She haint mine, I know, cos I'm not a fool, nor never vos, to have any children. I must say she is werry 'andy at the taties when a feller Avants to get some winks. But, I say, you got nothink aginst me from the Beak, 'ave you?" " No, I have nothing against you just at this partickler mo- ment, but I dunno how soon I'll have," said the sergeant. " But I have brought a gentleman here who wants to get some information about this 'ere precious family of yours, and how you contrive to live, and I want you to answer him civilly, or I may find something against you that would hurt your tender feelings, you know." " He Avants some hinformation habout me and my family, does he ? That's a precious lark, that is. Why doesn't he stay in his bleeding bed and cover his nose hup in the sheets. I never asked 'im about his familee, as I knows on. Wot a werry pecoolier taste he has, to be sure. Maybe he's one of them rummaging Paper chaps as is halways a torkin about the rights and dooties of the vorkin' classes, and is a-ruinin' of the country's blessed prosperity ?" " Father, answer the man civilly, will ye. Yer halways a- making trouble for yourself by yer bad tongue, and it docs 212 THP" CADGERS OF LONDON BRIDGE. other people harm as well as yourself. Tell him wot you have got to tell, and he'll go away." This was said by the young girl, who now came forward and stood looking at the old man eagerly. She was robed in an old calico gown, rather tattered at the bottom, and quite be- smirclied with the washings of the Thames mud Avhich had clung to the stone stairs of the bridge. The girl was well formed and tall, and her dress hung from a good figure. Her eyes were black and glittering, and her bold, coarse, handsome face was seared witli the traces of evil passions, hardship, and reckless despair. The girl's face told her story before she had spoken. Cliildhood and girlhood reeking with the foulness of the gutters, and then the matured woman a castaway in the deadly miasma of the London slums. " There, aint that a precious daughter for a loving father like me. Oh, she's a comfort to me in me hold hage, so she is. And she talks of wirtuc and gets on the 'igh 'orse with her poor old father sometimes, and makes him veep. Oh, vot an ungrateful family I've got, to be sure. She's no better than she ought to be, anyhow." " Oh, stop that bloody talk, old man," said the stout, able- bodied young fellow, who seemed to be a person of influence in the out-door establishment. " Wats the use of throwin' sich things in the gal's face. Molly's a gal jest like any one else's gal when she can't get anything to eat. I don't blame her a bit." "If I am bad, Jem," burst out the girl, raging with passion, and her eyes filled with tears, " who made me so ? Who kept chiming into my ears that I had a pretty face and that I ought to sell it? Who, I say? Who was it," continued tlie girl, clenching her hands, and her face blazing with excitement, " that struck me last Christmas night, come two years, and pitched me out of tlie hole that we lived in on Saffron Hill ? And then I had to seek a livin' in tlie streets, and when I was hungry I took money and sold myself to perdition ; and then I had a father who used to steal it from me when I'd come home to sleep, and he'd take the few shillings that I earned by my THE YOUNG CADGER'S ST0R\- 213 shame, to go and drink it, and none of ye were ashamed to live on the money that lost my poor soul. Not one of ye." Here the girl, utterly exhausted, sat down on the stones and wept as if her heart was going to break, while the ragged child, who had by this time succeeded in burning her fingers a num- ber of times, looked on in wonder at the sudden turmoil of vagabondism. The son, a powerfully built fellow, looked up and said : " Molly, I wish your devilish trap ud shut. Wot good does this do any of ye, I'd like to know. Here I've been hon the aggrawatin' tramp for two weeks, and I hexpectcd to see yes all comfortable like, when I kum home, in Saffron Hill, down St. Giles way, and here I finds yes hall a-living hunder London Bridge by night, and a-beggin, or doin' wuss, in the day time. Hits enuff to make a saint swear at his blessed liver." " Wuss luck, Jem ; wuss luck, Jem ; I halways knew as how it would come to this, a- sooner or a-later," said an old crone in the corner of the archway, who was smoking a pipe and whom I believed to be fast asleep. " Well, sir, if ye'v got no hobjection," said the stout young man, " I'll tell you our story. It isn't much of a story to tell, after all. The old man tliere went to be a navvy and got two shillings a day until he took to drink ; when he had work on the Great Western. Tliey used to swindle him in the Tommy shops. Them's the shops, you see, where a contractor wlio 'as the job to bulk it, keeps the groceries and grub for the navvies. They skin the navvies so terribly, do these Tommy shops, and when his week is up, a man has nothing left out of his vages, cos', you see, they halways manages to run up the bill as high as the week's vages. Oh ! they are precious scoundrels !" " Don't call them scoundrels, Jem. Hit's too good a name for them haltogether," said the old man, who was beginning to doze. " Will you shut up ?" savagely said the hopeful son ; and then he continued, when he had taken a wliiff at tlie pipe: " Well, by and by the old man got to drinking so nnich beer that the whole of the wages was drawn for lush, and he had 214 THE CADGERS OF LONDON BRIDGE. nothing to cat during the week excepting what the other men gave him for charity." " Hevery word of that's a lie, Jem. Wot a precious talent you have, to be sure, for habusin of your poor old fayther." " Will you vshut up, d — n you ?" said the dutiful son, who was fast losing his temper at being interrupted so often by his fond parent. '• I wos away at sea down on a Cardiff coaster, when the old man came home, and the gal, there, Molly, was a lace-maker, and wos making eight shillings a week, and the old woman used to make penny baskets to carry fish home from the markets, and she got, I suppose, as much as — how much did you make on them ere baskets, mother ?" " Two and sevenpence ha'penny a week, Jem, and some of the stuff wos rotten has an egg, Jem, and I halways had bad hies, Jem — you know I had — a-crying for you when you wos a blessed baby." " There, stop that bell-clapper of yours, will ye ? Yez are all crazy, I think. Well, the short and the long of it wos, that the old man came home and began to drink everything that he could put his hands on, and Molly lost her place because the old un tvou.'d come haround her place of business, in Totten- ham Court road, and lier hemployer as was said as 'ow he's blessed if he'd stand hit liany longer, 'aving such a drunken old Idoke a-comin around his shop ; and then the gal togk to the street, and she got two months in the Bridewell for wagrancy, and when she came hout she was wuss nor ever, and then the family got put hout cos' they could not pay the rent in Saffron Hill, four bob and a tanner a week ; and it all comes of that hold man a-drinking like a swine that we are here to-night hunder London Bridge." " How can you tell sich voppers, Jem, about yer poor old fayther ? Ven you was about two hinches 'igh I used to dandle ye hon me knee, and now look at yer hingratitude to the hau- thor of your beink." *" Guv us a taty, Jenny," said the son to the little girl, who was now engaged in pulling three or four from the dying embers of the fire ; and he snatched one and tore a piece out of it TWENTY-FIVE HUNDRED CADGERS. 215 eagerly, hot ashes and all. Just then a low steamer went past, with her red signal light shining like a huge glow-worm out upon the surface of the dark river, and as she went under the bridge her whistle shrieked out on the night air like a demon, and at the same moment the bell of St, Saviour's in South wark, on the Surrey side of the river, tolled in a brazen tone the hour of one o'clock, and Sergeant Scott suggested to me tliat wo might as well go about our business and leave the Cadgers to themselves. " Cadger" is a Cockney term for peo- ple who will not work and have no habitation, but go from one place to another, roaming loosely, picking up anything they can get, honestly if they can get it that way, and if not they will not hesitate to steal for a living, or beg when they find people charitable enough and willing to commiserate their su]> posed sufferings. There are about 2,500 of this class in and around London, continually changing their places of residence, and to this class the hopeful family under London Bridge belonged. 14 CHAPTER XV. THE LUNGS OF LONDON. HE Lungs of London, through which her large masses of population find respiration and ventilation, are her parks, gardens, and pleasure grounds. The city is admirably provided with these oases, which occur frequently in the great desert of brick and mortar. Nothing can be more grateful to the eye of the stranger sojourning in the English metropolis, than the frequent views which he encounters of smooth bits of lawn, upon which large numbers of sheej) browse peacefully; acres of flower beds, in the care of the most celebrated florists ; sheets of water in which nude bathers are disporting with perfect freedom; or long and wide expanses of green trees and shrubbery, enclosed by high iron railings, but free to all the citizens to enjoy and to hold forever. Beside the parks and gardens, London has an infinity of squares, commons, and crescents, which are surrounded by pri- vate residences and inclosed by railings and walls — such as Trafalgar Square (public), Bedford, Cavendish, St. George's, Grosvenor, Leicester, Soho, Bclgrave, Euston, Finsbury, Fitz- roy, Portman, Russell, Wellclose, Hanover, Brunswick, Eaton, Berkeley, Golden, Mecklenburg, Red Lion, Tavistock, and a great number of other squares which I do not now call to mind. The majority of these places have plots of grass and trees, with regent's and HYDE PARKS. 217 fountains and flower-beds, varying in size from a quarter of an acre to three acres in extent. Then again others have not a blade of grass or a single shrub to dignify their lonely aridness, and the hum of cartwheels and the noise of brawling men and ■women, are heard all day and into the night ascending from them. Half a dozen of them, like Belgrave, Grosvenor, and Berkeley Squares, are hemmed in on all sides by the gloomy and palatial dwellings of the governing class of England, who seek to absorb even a stray blade of grass, or the leaves of a scantily clothed tree, sooner than allow the poor and degraded to enjoy them. And so we have green spots, like Golden and Soho, and Wellclose Squares, exhibiting the various gradations from squalid poverty to shabljy gentility ; and in Belgrave and Gros- venor Squares we have all the indications of refinement, wealth, perfumery, silks, and satins, combined with a resolve which says to Golden and "Wellclose Squares, "You are of a different nature from us. We belong to a class which knows you not, and with whom you can never mingle — never. You are polluted and degraded. We are the salt of the earth. We lock the iron gates of our private squares, and you must not enter them ; and yet we have parks and pre- serves, and Swiss Chalets, and villas at Mentone and Rome, and spas at Hombourg and Baden." And accordingly and most dutifully misery shrinks by high iron walls in the heart of London, or at most will only peer furtively through the iron grating of Grosvenor and Belgrave Squares. But the public parks belong to the people, and by the people they are enjoyed most thoroughly. Children, old and young, gray-beard and adolescent, all flock to these parks ; and Re- gent's Park or Hyde Park, on a summer Sunday afternoon is a splendid sight, and a similar one cannot be obtained anywhere else but in Paris pleasure grounds, on a Sunday, and it was Paris that first taught London to respire through these public lungs of hers. 218 THE LUNGS OF LONDON. The dimensions of the public parks and gardens of London are as follows : Battersea Park, . - - Kensington Gardens, Finsbury Park (in progress), Green Park, - . - Regent's Park, . . - Victoria Park, . . - Primrose Hill Park (Cricket Grounds), St. James Park, - - - Hyde Park, - - - - Southwark Park (not completed), Kensington Oval, (for Cricket Ground), Cremorne Garden, Botanic Garden, Chelsea, Eoyal Botanic Garden (Regent's Park), Horticultural Gardens (Cheswick), Kew (iardcns, _ _ . Buckingham Palace Gardens, Temple Gardens, - - - Zoological Gardens, - - - Greenwich Park, - _ _ Richmond Park, - - _ 200 acres. 380 (( 300 a 71 a 450 u ■ 290 « 50 u 83 u 3D5 « 120 a 12 ii 10 (( 12 « 20 (( 35 a CO a 40 a 7 11 18 li 200 li 2,253 « 5,006 " Here are five thousand acres of parks, pleasure grounds, gardens, and cricket fields, all in fine order, and under careful and economical supervision. Surely London is well provided for in the way of open air amusement. Besides, bands play in the different parks and squares almost daily. In St. James Park, Regent's Park, and Hyde Park, bands play every after- noon in inclosures set apart for that purpose. Some of these bands are formed of old musicians and veterans who have served in the Crimean and Lidian wars. There is a body of men distributed over London, who wear a uniform of semi-mil- itary fashion, and are called the " Corps of Commissionaires," who can be sent on errands, with or for packages or letters, and from this body two full bands have been formed, who earn a decent subsistence by playing in St. James Park and Re- gent's Park, every pleasant afternoon during summer. WHAT THE PARKS CONTAIN. 219 In the inclosiires, where tliese bands furnish music, chairs are arranged, and all persons who enter and take seats arc ex- pected to contribute two-pence toward the musicians for the pleasure of hearing the music. BATHING IN HYDE PARK. There are also sheets of water in Regent's Park, Victoria Park, Battersea Park, St. James' Park, and Kensington Gar- dens. The sheet of water, or stream, in Hyde Park, is known as the " Serpentine River," from its sinuous course. This is quite a large sheet of water, and is much frequented for free bathing, on warm days in the heated term. Here, thousands of people may be seen on a sultry afternoon, plunging to and fro in the cool waters, and in case of any accident — for the water is deejD — the boats, ropes and drags of the Royal Humane So- ciety's Life Saving Apparatus, are always ready for immediate use, and numbers of people are rescued and taken from the Serpentine, and resuscitated. When the winter months come, and the Serpentine becomes 220 THE LUNGS OF LONDON. frozen over, the Londoners congregate there in great numbers to skate, or play at golf or curling. There is a large lake in the Regent's Park ornamented with small, -svcll-wooded islands, and in Kensington Gardens there is one of the finest museums of art, science, and curiosities, in the world. There are rocky dells, and grounds for sham fights, in Hyde Park, there are the rarest exotics in the Palm House at Kew, and every known species of bird, beast, reptile, and, fowl, may be found in the Zoological Gardens, which comprises eighteen acres of space in the Regent's Park. In Richmond Park, wliich is ten miles distant from the Lon- don Post Office Centre, there are two thousand three hundred acres of hill, dale, plain, and forest, and here are to be found deer-parks, rabbit warrens, romantic foot-paths, ancient oaks, horse-chestnuts, and thorny ridges, with a variety of sequestered spots for pic-nics and pleasure parties. This noble park can be reached by a sail of fifteen miles on the River Thames, which is skirted by Richmond Park for some distance. There is a grand Observatory for scientific purposes in Green- wich Park, which is noted all the world over for its correct calculations, and all the watches and clocks in Great Britain are set by Greenwich time. Bushy Park, at Hampton Court, where there is a splendid gallery of ancient and foreign paintings and sculpture, the property of the nation, and free to the people, was formerly the residence of Cardinal Wolsey. This royal palace and park is to London what St. Cloud is to Paris. The palace stands on the banks of the Thames, and when completed, in 1526, for the great Cardinal, it contained 282 apartments, and as many beds. The Great Hall is inferior to none in England, and is orna- mented with stained-glass windows, stags' heads, spears, flags, trophies, figures of men-at-arms, and other medieval ornaments, and the walls are hung with tapestry, depicting the story of the Patriarch Abraham's life. The largest grape-vine in the world grows in the park, and extends over a space of 3,000 feet. Tliis vine was planted one hundred years ago, and pro- duces, every year, about 2,000 bunches of black, sweet grapes, THE world's fair. 221 which are reserved for the Queen's private table. An attend- ant, showing the royal vine to me, informed the writer that it was high treason to steal the grapes, and I have no doubt that he be- lieved what he said. The Queen has, also, a bed-room here, which she wisely refrains from sleeping in, as, I have no doubt, she would catch influenza from the draughts. But the great curiosity of Hampton Court Park, is the " Maze," an intricate complication of pathways, that wind in and out, and which have served as a standing conundrum and riddle from time immemorial, for the amusement of the Cock- neys. Any one who enters this maze without a guide cannot leave it again, so intricate and puzzling are tlie foot-paths, which are overshadowed, embowered, and interlaced with young trees and umbrageous shrubbery. By fastidious Londoners this maze is called the " Labyrinth." THE LABYRINTH. One of the most popular places of rural resort in the vicinity of London, is the Crystal Palace at Sydenham, a suburb of the metropolis, and about ten miles from the city. It is no exaggeration to say, that next to St. Peter's, at Rome, this is the most wonderful structure in the world, and equals in point of magnificence, some of the creations of the Arabian Nights. When the great World's Fair of 1851 ended, there was a general desire among all Englishmen, that this magnificent structure, which had held the great cosmopolitan show, should not be destroyed. A committee of some nine gentlemen was formed, by whose direction it was taken to pieces for the pur- 222 THE LUxNGS OF LONDON, pose of reconstruction. This committee had purchased the building, and a company was chartered with a capital of <£500,- 000, in shares of £5, and so confident were the Londoners of the success of the new scheme, that the shares were quickly- taken up and the operation of removing the vast building to Sydenham, its ])rcsent site, was commenced. The new structure was begun, and the first column raised, on the 5th of August, 1852 ; and, immediately after, several gentlemen were despatched to the principal cities on the Con- tinent for the purpose of bringing to England casts of the finest pieces of sculpture in existence, and other specimens of the fine arts. The splendid Park, Winter Garden, and Conservatories were committed to the management of the late Sir Joseph Paxton, who invented the architectural part of the Palace of 1851. The arrangements of the various other departments were assigned to men of eminence and skill, in whose hands the structure grew, until it quickly attained its present splen- dor, and the New Crystal Palace was at length opened to the public on the 10th of June, 1854. Some idea of the magnitude and extent of the operations carried on in the fitting up of this enormous house of glass may be gathered from the fact, that at one time there were no fewer than 6,400 men employed in carrying out the designs of the directors. The edifice is com- pletely transparent, being composed entirely, roof and walls, of clear glass, supported by an iron frame-work ; and it is said that these materials are more durable than either marble or granite, and, if properly cared for, will utterly defy the ravages of time. The extreme length of the Palace, including the wings, is 2,756 feet; which, with the colonnade leading from the railway-station to the wings, gives a total length of 3,476 feet, or nearly three-quarters of a mile. The width of the great central transept is 120 feet ; and its height, from the garden front to the top of the louvre, is 208 feet, or six feet higher than the Monument on Fish Hill. It consists of a basement floor, above which rise a magnificent central nave, two side-aisles, two main galleries, three transepts, and two wings. In order to avoid same- ness and monotony in such an immense surface of glass, pairs THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 223 of columns and girders are advanced eight feet into the nave at every seventy-two feet. An arched roof covers the nave, and the centre transept towers into the air in fairy-like light- ness and brilliancy. There are also recesses twenty-four feet deep in the garden fronts of all the transepts, which throw fine shadows, and relieve the continuous surface of the plain glass walls; and the whole building is otherwise agreeably broken TUE CKYSIAL I'ALACE. into parts by the low square towers at the junction of the nave and transepts, the open galleries toward the garden front, and the long wings on either side. The building is heated to the genial temiDerature of Madeira, by an elaborate system of hot- water pipes, and the supply of water is drawn from an Artesian I well. The Tropical Department, once a great feature of the Palace, has ceased to exist ; having been dcstroj'ed by fire about three years ago. There are large and beautiful pleasure grounds all around the Crystal Palace, and all the great national fetes, concerts, 224 THE LUNGS OP LONDON. and open air demonstrations, take place here. Patti, Nillson, and Sims Reeves, sing here in benefits for charitable associations, and for a shilling, a person may listen to ballads on Saturday afternoons, at these concerts, sung by the greatest living Eng- lish tenor. Then there are acres of restaurants and dining saloons inside and outside of the Crystal Palace, and appai-atus and cooking utensils are on the premises, whereby ten thou- sand people may find dinner, all at one time, and sit down to tables in five minutes after dinner has been ordered. During the long summer evenings, promenade concerts are held at the Crystal Palace, and fire-works are let off in the presence of great crowds, who enjoy the sports and junketings much as a New York crowd may do on a Fourth of July night, in the City Hall, or Madison Park. The contents of the Palace itself are calculated to puzzle the brains of a philosopher. Everything wonderful, curious, pre- cious, or difficult to find at any other other place, may be found at the Crystal Palace. Specimens of architecture, sculpture of all ages, tombs, tem- ples, Ijusts, statues, capitals, hieroglyphs, from Greece, Rome, Egypt, and Italy, portions and entire courts from the glorious Alhambra, gigantic relics and ruins from the Palaces of Ba1)ylon, Susa, and Nineveh ; fragments of the Christian temples of Italy, the castles and churches of Germany, the Chateaux of Belgium and France, and the Cathedrals and Man- sions of England, from the earliest ages to the present time, all of which are arranged in "courts" in the most systematic order. Beside these there are many Industrial "Courts" contain- ing Ihe most wonderful and useful inventions of the genius and scholar. Then there are gigantic models of tlie tremen- dous animals who existed before the flood, with models of huge and hideous reptiles, and saurians, who did their level best in the same period. Some sunny Saturdays as many as fifty thousand people pay visits to the Crystal Palace, and to see and enjoy all these won- COST OF GROUNDS AND BUILDING. 225 ders, the charge is only one shilling, including concerts, music, fire-works, and flirtations. The last time I was there it was on the occasion of the Royal Dramatic Fete, for the benefit of the profession, and fully a hundred thousand persons were present, including the Prince and Princess of Wales, and many of the nobility. The entire cost of grounds and building, with works of art and curiosities, was seven million dollars. There were 15,000,000 of bricks, 6,000 tons of iron, 20,000 loads of timber, 300,000 superficial feet of glass, 1,200 iron columns, one mile and a half of clerstory windows, and other materials in proportion, used in the construction of the edifice, and the space of ground enclosed under the transparent roof is twenty-five acres, being one-fifth greater than the area of the base of the Great Pyramid. k &^\%^ -'^^^^ CHAPTER XVL THE RAKES OF THE ROYAL FAMILY. 'NGLAND has been singularly unfortunate in her Royal Families. York and Lancaster, Plantagcnet and Tu- dor, Stuarts or Hanoverians, tliey have been, with here and there an odd exception, a very ^S bad lot, morally speaking. It is a curious history of crime and blood- shed, of dislionor, perjury, and harlotry, this history of the Monarchs of England, since the days of William the Norman, who had three illegitimate children, and massacred thousands of his Saxon subjects every year, down to the days of George IV, the most gentlemanly blackguard of his time and of Europe. Roll back the hoary gates of the past, and look at Richard Crookback, who reveled in blood, and died in Boswortli Ditch, a death only a little better than that of Edward IV, whose children Richard basely murdered, and we find succeeding him a scoundrel like the Eighth Henry, a brutal fiend, with his six successive wives, all of whom perished miserably, but the first and last wives, Catharine of Arragon and Catharine Parr ; and then we find his two children — Mary, an honest fanatic, burn- ing human beings for the honor of God ; and next comes Elizabeth, who has been facetiously styled the Virgin Queen — with her paramours and favorites. Follow this liideous old spinster to the yawning verge of the tomb, and she is still to be seen with her parchment visage and grey hairs, seeking new VAGABONDS IN KINGLY ROBES. 227 lovers, or butchering the unfortunate Queen of Scots, until at last the dread moment of all approaches, when she tells her horri- fied chaplain that she will give millions of money for a moment of time. Then we have a pusillanimous monarch, James I, who spends his best years discovering ^vitches and writing fan- tastical and forgotten treatises against tobacco, or permitting a man like Bacon — whose life was worth that of a thousand Kings, to be degraded and made miserable, till at last his great, far seeing eyes are closed in a final sleep — his heart having broken to pieces in the meridian of his genius. Then comes Charles I, a good man in his mild way, a patron of the arts, a good husband and father, but withal he is doom- ed to the block. Yainly he endeavors, in battle and statecraft, to stem the onward march of the people who are determined to hurl all obstacles from their path which stand in the way of their new ideas. And now comes up the Brewer, Oliver Cromwell, one of Carlyle's heroes, (and by the way, all of Carlyle's heroes are dripping with blood,) a most accomplished and unrelenting butcher, one who thanks God for his "precious mercies" when a thousand men, women, and children are driven over a bridge into a deep river beneath, impelled by the pikes of his ruffianly soldiery. Then he dies, and Charles II, a dissolute royal scamp succeeds, and he of course has to dig up the crumbling skele- ton of Cromwell to hang it on Tyburn tree, that all men may see what manner of divinity it is that should hedge around a King. Think of this royal vagabond, who has for his mistress a Stewart, a Duchess of Cleveland, a Louise de Queroailles, who also becomes a Duchess of Portsmouth, and last but not least, poor simple, softhearted Mistress Nelly Gwynnc, who left to the nation Greenwich Hospital to atone for her lost soul. It might be expected that in these days of the daily news- papers and telegraph wires, of railroads, female suffrage and personal journalism, that royalty, and notably, English royalty. 228 THE RAKES OF TUE ROYAL FAMILY. ■ ■would improve, from a slight sense of decency and a proper regard for public opinion, if for no other cause. Let us see. Ten years ago I vainly endeavored to penetrate the dense masses who lined Broadway, New York, and filled the air with their shouts, as an open barouche, containing the then Mayor of the chief city of America, sitting on the back seat, and a fair faced youth with flabby skin and retreating chin, clad in a scarlet uniform and having an Order of the Garter pendant from his breast, passed up the tlironged thoroughfare between two lines of citizen soldiery, whose bayonets, bright as silver, reflected back the many hues of the excited and surging masses. Five hundred thousand people of both sexes had turned out in holiday attire, that ever memorable day, to do honor to a foreign prince, whose government, since that thoughtless hour, sought during the terrible confusion of a civil war, by every means in its power, by money, influence, by Alabama pirates, by unceasing and bitterly hostile journalistic attacks, by speeches in and out of Parliament — through the pulpit and tlic rostrum, to destroy the Republic of the West. In fact that government moved Heaven and Earth to annihilate and obliterate the liberty, union, and might of the American people. Such a reception had not been given, twenty-five years be- fore, to the gallant, noble-minded, and chivalric Lafayette, the companion of George Washington, one of the finest characters in all history, or the unwritten records of mankind. This fair-faced, flabby-skinned youth, in the lobster colored and laced coat, who stood up in the open carriage, (hired from the New York Corporation hack-driver-in-chief, and charged for in the bill afterward rendered, at five times the real price,) was no less a personage than Albert Edward, Prince of W^ales, Duke of Cornwall, Fellow of Trinity House, Colonel of a Regiment of Foot, a General in the British Army, (like Captain Jinks,) Baron Renfrew, Duke of Rothesay, Earl of Dublin, and eldest son of Queen Victoria that is, and in the future to be King of England and Defender of the Faith, by the Grace of God and the permission of the Radical English Trades Unions. r A CHANGE FOR THE WORSE. 229 He was not a very bad looking lad of nineteen or twenty, that sunny afternoon, as he bowed repeatedly and raised his Generals' chapeau, with its plume of feathers, and doffed it to the radiant republican female faces, and curtesied like a liack- ward school boy, in acknowledgement of the wild shouts which pealed upward in the clear atmosphere, although no spectator there could have accused him of having an intellectual or cul- tured face. How well we can all now remember, to our shame, the manner in which he was petted, and caressed, and toadied, and dined, and wined, until in the estimation of his toadies he had almost attained the stature of a God, this boy with the re- treating chin and imbecile face — this hope and pride of the Guelph family. Still with all the marked and inherent imbecility of a de- scendant of Gcoi'ge III in his features, the young scion of roy- alty had not, at that time when I first saw him, developed the seeds of immorality, want of honor, meanness, and utter sot- tishness wliich have since made his name infamous among his subjects, and despised by the princes of Europe. The young lad for whom America could not do too much honor in feteing and feasting, has since surrounded himself with pimps, panders, parasites, and blackguards, of the lowest kind. His name is a bye word of scorn in the British metropolis, and for a lady of rank or position to be seen three times in his neighborhood, is certain dishonor to her and her relatives. It was nearly ten years after that bright sunny day, in Broad- way, with its shouting multitudes and noisy cheers, bclbre I again saw His Royal Highness All)ert-Edward Prince of Wales. One night, in going through High Holborn, and being with- out any settled purpose as to where and how I should spend the evening, I accidentally noticed the blazing gas lamps of the " Casino," a well-known dancing hall, frequented by the loose livers and aristocratic idlers of the English Capital. After a moment's hesitation I entered and found the place — as is usual on summer evenings at all the London dancing halls — pretty well crowded. 230 THE RAKES OP THE ROYAL FAMILY. ■ Scores of couples, of both sexes, were wliirling frantically in the Old-World Teutonic waltz, and in the flushed faces and excited gestures of the gyrating dancers I could notice a total forgetfulness of modesty and decorum. From the alcoves came the sounds of the clinking of wine- glasses, the rattle of Mo- selle bottles, the pop, pop, of champagne corks, and songs, choruses, and loud shouts of laughter, to- gether with a Babel-jab- ber of many confused tongues. My attention was at- tracted while listening to the music from the fine band, to a group that oc- cupied a position which |)artially screened them from the glances of the larger portion of the au- dience and dancers, sitting and standing back as they did in an alcove. There were a dozen persons, perhaps, in the party, of both sexes, five or six men fashionably attired, and as many women, in all the grandeur and magnificence of harlotry — open and defiant — l)ut well-bred harlotry. There were two central figures conversing in this group, and I could see that they were listened to with attention while speaking, one of them, particularly, a slightly bald-headed man, having secured the cars of his audience. The other central figure was a woman, beautiful, but of that beauty which is leprous to tlic siglit, and fatal to those wlio encounter it as the shade of tlic Upas Tree. "Who is that man ?" said I to an usher, nodding in the di- rection of the bald-headed person. I'RIN'CE OF WALES. THE PRINCE AND HIS FRIENDS. 231 "That vian,''^ said the flunkey, "why, that's not a man, that's His Royal 'Ighness the Prince of Wales, — and long may he reign over us." And this worn, blase, sottish and almost brutally stupid-look- ing person in the Scotch tweed suit, with drooping eyelids and sore eyes, — as if he seldom went to bed, and then did not stay long in it, looking to be forty-five years of age ; prema- turely bald, and without a particle of that apparent divinity which, it is said, doth liedge a monarch, was the self-same young lad of twenty, whom I had seen environed by bayonets in Broadway, ten years before. But how changed he was ! Long nights of dissipation and debauchery had seamed the once youthful and unwrinkled features, and tlie under part of the face hung in heavy, adipose folds, like the dewlaps of a bullock. His figure was stout and without grace, and to me he seemed like a beer-drinking bag- man or commercial peddler, half John Bull, half Hanoverian. The tweed suit, a material which he affects very much, was not at all calculated to set off or adorn his figure, and the great grandson of George HI looked very undignified indeed as he leaned over (lie painted harlot resplendent in silks, and glistening with jewels, who is known to all wild London scape- graces, and young men about town, by the name of Mabel Gray, a name assumed for a purpose — to hide her identity with the gutters from wliich she has sprung. The Prince of Wales, despite all the counsels and admoni- tions of the Queen (of whom whatever may be said, tlie merit cannot be denied her of being a good mother), has, I regret to say, the reputation of being a very sorry scamp. His intimates are, generally, the worst and most aliandoncd roues of the Clubs, the lowest turf blackguards and swindlers, and when he chooses a companion who is not a swindler or a blackguard, a debauchee, or a decoy, he is sure to be a fool. H The young man standing by the side of the Prince of Wales when I entered the dancing hall, was Charles, Lord Caring- ton, wliose mother was of the great family of d' Eresby, the head of which is Lord Willoughby d' Eresby, Lord High Chara- 15 232 THE RAKES OP THE ROYAL FAMILY. berlaiii of England, to whom is entnisted the duty of looking after the morals of the English people and the sanctity of tlie British drama. It is he who gives passes to the House of Lords on Saturdays, on slips of blue paper which the unwashed are very eager to obtain ; and it is also the duty of the Lord High Chamberlain to watch every new burlesque Avhen pro- duced, in order that the skirts of the ballet girls and blondes may be of the proper length, and not too short for the pro- prieties. Lord Carington's grandfather was a rich man named Smith, who was ennobled for some reason or another, and his large for- tune and title has descended to the present possessor, who is known to be one of the wildest and most rakehelly young noblemen in London. He is a lieutenant in the Guards of the Queen's Household Brigade, and one of the boon companions of the Prince of Wales. The latter is constantly to be found in company with this " Charley Carington," as he is called, who was the perpetrator of a most cowardly outrage upon the person of Mr. Grenvillc Murray, an aged gentleman who was supposed to be proprietor and editor of the " Queen's Messen- ger," a satirical weekly journal, in which Mr. Murray was said to have written several scathing articles upon the " Hereditary Legislators " of England. In one of these articles a sketch was given of Lord Carington, under the title of " Bob Coach- ington, Lord Jarvey," in which the practice of driving a mail coach and four horses to and fro between London and its envi- rons and taking up passengers for money, a favorite pastime of Lord Carington, was referred to in no very flattering terms. For this supposed affront, without any positive proof to war- rant the outrage, the gallant Lord Carington, aged 25 years, set upon Mr. Murray, as he was coming out of the Conservative Club, of wliich he was a member, and beat him badly. Mr. Murray is about 60 years of age, and was of course not able to defend himself, and when he sought justice in the usual way at the Marlborough Street Police Station, of the magistrate, Mr. Knox, he found the Prince of "Wales and a number of titled ruffians sitting on the bench along side of the dispenser of justice ! TWO IMBECILES. 233 Of course Mr. Murray received no justice in that Court, and not only was he refused satisfaction, but in addition an attack was made upon the person of liis counsel, when a libel suit had been preferred against the " Queen's Messenger," by the aris- tocratic friends of Lord Caringtoii and the Prince of Wales, who did this to intimidate him from writing farther in his journal of the scandalous conduct of the Queen's relations and the rottenness of the higher nobility. In addition to this Mr. Murray was expelled from the Con- servative Club by a ballot of one hundred and ninety votes, only ten members of the Club having the personal courage to withstand the influence and threats brought to bear against them by the Prince of "Wales, Lord Carington, and their minor satellites. Lord Carington is fond of driving his coach and four and taking up passengers in the outskirts of London, charging them a nominal fare. While sitting on the box or seat of the coach he usually holds to his lips a huge horn, which he toots like a raving maniac, much to his own satisfaction and the ed- ification of the floating community, who with the fondness of all Englishmen for a live Lord, smile benignantly if not affec- tionately upon this imbecile young nobleman. In the words of the song, the " Prince of Wales goes every- where to see the sights of town " -with Carington, and at the Dramatic fete at the Crystal Palace in 1869, while his beau- tiful, good, and neglected wife sat on a dais and received the donations for the Dramatic College, the Prince manifested in public his intimacy with Carington by laughing and conversing with him, arm-in-arm, much to the horror of all the pious old dowagers who were present and had heard wild stories of Lord Carington. Mabel Grey, who has ruined scores of young aristocrats and brought them to beggary, is the reputed mistress of Lord Car- ington, and has made several visits with him to Paris, Baden, and other places on the Continent. It is said that he has already squandered twenty thousand pounds upon this well-bred harlot, and it is the current talk in London that the Prince of Wales has also been on terms of an improper intimacy with Mabel 2C4 THE RAKES OF THE ROYAL FAMILY. Grey. At all events he is not ashamed to be seen speaking to her in Casinos or addressing her in public places, and the dear Prince has on several occasions been seen drinking cham- pagne -with her in the music halls and dancing rooms of the English capital. This is a very bad business for a bald-headed father of five children. PRINCE AND CABMAN. The Prince of "Wales, with all his immense riches, is mean and very penurious in money matters. He will argue for fif- teen minutes with a cabman in the street about an over-charge of a sixpence, and has been known to get into an altercation with ticket sellers in the box offices of places of amusement for the sake of a shilling or half a crown, in a most undigni- fied way. One night when getting out of a cab at Cremorne the driver attempted to charge the Prince four shillings for a ride when he should have charged him but two-and-sixpence. The Prince, who was a little intoxicated, refused to pay the over-charge. The London cabbies are the most imjmdent, INFAMY OF THE PRINCE. 235 brassy set of fellows I ever saw, and this cabman was more than usually pugnacious. The Prince attempted to go into the Garden, and had presented his ticket, when the cabman with a yell clutched his coat, and tore away the skirt in the struggle to get more fare. The Prince was recognized by some of the attendants of the place, and the horrified cabman was lianded over to the police for assault on the blood royal. Fearing the ridicule of the London press, the Prince told the policeman to release poor Cabby, who was only too happy to escape trans- portation for life. For the past seven years the Prince of Wales has been a prominent actor in almost every scene of aristocratic dissipa- tion and debauchery which lias been enacted in the English metropolis. He is well known in the coulisses of the Opera, and has openly maintained scandalous relations with ballet dancers and chorus singers. Even the shame of the thing would not restrain him from loudly and familiarly applauding and clapping his hands, whenever any of these female favor- ites of his came on the stage, while the strains of Beethoven or Rossini could not elicit from him as much as a smile of gratified approbation. The taste of the Prince for music may be imagined from the fact that " Champagne Charley," and " Not for Joseph," are his two most cherished melodies. His relations with Mademoiselle Helena Schneider, the opera bouflfe singer, were most notorious, and he has been known to leave the bed side of his wife in her illness to hasten to Paris at the summons of this notorious woman of Darkness, and Sin, and Shame. Among his special female favorites, are many of the better known soubrettes of the London and Parisian theatres, and notably he was an admirer of Finette, tlie famous Can- can danseuse of the AUiambra. He is flippant, shallow, and heartless, and the record of his life thus far has caused many a scalding tear to fall fnsm the eyes of his royal mother. The London Lancet, the highest medical authority in Eng- land, found it necessary, some eighteen months ago, to deny the 236 THE RAKES OF THE ROYAL FAMILY. charge that was made openly against the Prince, which if true, would stamp him with infamy. The Princess of Wales, who is a good and noble lady in every sense — and a long suf- fering one in some respects — during the summer of 1869, visited the baths of Wilbad, in Germany, for the benefit of her health, which had been sadly impaired. I dare not in these pages insult my readers by giving the cause of her ill-health, which is more than whispered about in English society. The Prince has, I believe, five handsome children — their good looks coming to them from their vigorous Norse mother, but it will not be from any precaution taken by their father, if they do not hereafter suffer from the results of liis early indis- cretions and follies, in the Haymarket and the purlieus of Paris. In a good many respects the Prince of Wales resembles an- other Prince of Wales — one who succeeded his father as King. I mean George IV. Like him, Albert Edward is already a broken debauchee, and like George IV Albert Edward has a yicious way of making his wife suffer through his follies and dis- graceful beliaviour. Unless the Prince is predestined to ex- perience a sudden and speedy conversion, it is more than prob- able that the next King of England will excel and put to shame the open acts of profligacy which made George IV so notorious. One thing could be said for George IV which cannot be said for the Prince of Wales. The former was a gentleman in man- ner if not one at heart — but this Prince, while being tlioroughly heartless and " stingy," has the breeding of a waiter in a lager beer saloon. He is heavy, slow, unready, hesitating, and flab- by, without a spark of culture or a trace of the refinement which belongs to his station. His Royal Highness has a great passion for running with the "masheen," as a New York rowdy would term it, and Captain Sluiw, of the London Fire Brigade, is greatly admired by the Prince for his gallant management of that very efficient Corps. The latter has often taken a ride on a fire engine through the Lon- don streets. The Prince, while on a visit to Brighton some years PRINCE AND BREWER AS FIREMEN. 237 ago, made the acquaintance of a rich young London brewer, who had more money than brains. This was just the sort of a man to suit the Prince, being very fond of rich young men, who in many cases are only too happy to have the honor of paying the bills contracted by his Royal Highness. This emi- nent young brewer had, with the Prince, a similar taste for fire engines, and it was suggested by the future King of England that the brewer, who had a fund of good nature, should send to London for a fire engine, at his own expense, and have it transported to Brighton, where in course of time the Prince hoped it might afford them much amusement. The brewer of course complied with the Prince's request, and before long one of those grotesque looking fire machines, that are every now and then to be seen darting through the London streets, made its apjDcarance at Brighton. Night after night the Prince and the brewer made the quiet villas and the Parade of Brighton re- sound with their shrieks and howls, as they drove at headlong speed through the watering place, the two maniacs sitting astride of the apparatus which was drawn by two horses ; and finally the thing became such a nuisance to the residents of Brighton, and so many complaints reached the Queen's ears of the Prince's riotous conduct, that at last he was sent for and severely repri- manded by her Majesty, and for a few days he kept on his good behavior, to relapse again like a fever patient. It is useless to conjecture as to the probability of the Prince succeeding to the throne, but if ever he does, he will no doubt revive the days of Charles II and his dissolute court. His beau- tiful and virtuous wife will perhaps fall into the place Avhich Catharine, of Braganza, was compelled to accept as the consort of that rakehelly monarch, and Albert Edward will, no doubt, find in Lord Carington material for a successor to Sir Charles Sedley, and in the Duke of Hamilton a scamp, worthy of the reputation borne by the Earl of Rochester. It is a mistake to think, moreover, that the Prince of Wales is alone among his family, in his vicious course, or that he has not numerous imitators among the no})les bearing some of the proudest names in England. Although he is yet but a 238 THE RAKES OF THE ROYAL FAMILY. young man of thirty years of age, he has those around him who ape liis immorahty and copy his disregard for the usages of society. Still, the Prince cannot be blamed for the follies of his rela- tions. The Duke of Cambridge, cousin to the Queen, and old enough to be tlie father of the Prince, has as bad if not a worse reputation, than the Prince of Wales. George Frederick William, Charles, Duke of Cambridge, Earl of Tipperary, and Baron of CuUoden, is a first cousin of Queen Victoria, a Field Marshal and Commander-in-Chief of the English Army. This Prince is about fifty years of age, and lives in an un- lawful way with a Miss Fairbrother, by whom he has had sev- eral children, I believe. It might be expected, of a prince so closely related to the Queen, and occupying such a high posi- tion as chief of the British Army, that he would set a good ex- ample to the younger branches of the royal family. On the contrary, the Duke is well known, everywhere, as a royal rake, and his shameless amours are beyond number. The old prince is slightly bald from his course of early piety, and suffers so dreadfully from the gout, the result of early dissipation, that he is nothing but a wreck, being compelled annually to pay a visit to the mineral baths of Germany, and American travelers upon the continent at Baden, Ems, and Hombourg, will occasionally encounter an old, broken, and bloated personage, limping on a stick, who will quarrel with a waiter, in Hanoverian Deutsch, for the sake of a kreutzer, and when once excited it is very difficult to calm his rage, which, sometimes, degenerates into a hel})less imbecility. This is the Duke of Cambridge. From his illicit connection with the lady to whom I have re- ferred, the mock-title of "Duke of Fairbrother," has been given to this illustrious Commander-in-Chief of the Army. Fancy such a Duke of Cambridge holding the baton of Wellington, and lead- ing such soldiers as Havelock, Outram, Colin Campbell, and Napier of Magdala. And this very same imbecile Duke has had command of the English Army, and notably at the Alma, in the Crimean campaign, his conduct was such as to make A MAD KING. 239 the spectators doubt whether he was a madman or a coward. In the heat of the fight, the Duke h)st all management of him self, and began to make strange noises, and to act in a strange manner, until he was carried from the field, kicking and biting in a maniacal fashion. For the taint is in the blood of the English Royal Family, and may never be eradicated. The Duke of Cambridge is a lineal descendant of George III, who, by his inherent madness, lost half of the British Empire, and who was in the habit of answering reasonable questions, with such replies as, — "What, what, who, who, where, where, why, why — BLIM!" Should the Prince of Wales hereafter behave himself in an unseemly fashion, his tainted blood may, to a certain extent, be blamed for the outbreak. ' ^^o.-f^' CHAPTER XYII. FAST YOUNG ENGLAND. HY Londoners slionld presume to sneer at the morality of the volatile Parisians, has always been a sore puzzle to me. During the past fifteen years, sharp observers of society in the English Capital have been appalled by the visible and marked progress of moral and social deterioration among the people who affect to give tone, and breeding, and refinement, to all that they do or say, as leaders of society. Polite London Society has always plumed itself upon being superior, in a moral sense, to the corresponding class in the French Capital, but it must strike those who have held such views, that there is no basis for the belief any longer, when the notorious fact is offered to them, that two of the highest per- sonages in England are men who lead lives of immorality — I refer to the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Cambridge. I have however said enough of those two loose gentlemen, and I shall proceed to consider the subject in its larger bearings. I boldly assert, that English Society, of the highest class, is to-day as rotten in every sense, as were the French nobility, with their mistresses and their "little establishments," before the whirlwind of the Revolution of 1793 swept away all that was of hideous corruption and infamy, never to rise again. Tlic proudest names among the English nobility are those which have some moral or dishonorable taint afiixcd to their titles, by their conduct in life. MISS HARRIET MONXRIEFFE. 241 Many of my readers must recollect the termination of the famous Mordaunt case, in which the Prince of Wales was im- plicated, and it will also be remembered that the few facts which were developed on the trial, despite the attempt of Lord Penzance, (acting under pressure of the Throne,) to hush them up, had the effect of shaking England to the centre, socially speaking. Miss Harriet Sarah Moncrieffe, now Lady Mordaunt, is a daughter of Sir Thomas Moncrieffe, a baronet of one of the oldest families in Scotland. The family seat is at Earn, in Perthshire, and the mansion and grounds are among the finest in North Britain. The family was a large one, four sons and six daughters being born to Sir Thomas and his wife, who was a daughter of the Earl of Kinnoul. Lady Harriet's eldest sister is married to the Duke of Athole, one of the richest and most powerful of the Scotch nobles. Then she has a sister married to the Earl of Dudley, and another to a Mr. Forbes, of a wealthy Scotch family, into which, if I be not mistaken. Lady Douglas-Hamilton, a sister of the Duke of Hamilton, is married. One of the sisters — the Duchess of Athole, has for her mother- in-law the Dowager-Duchess of Athole — who is a tried and trusted friend of Queen Victoria, being, as I believe, a Lady- in-waiting, or a Lady-of-the-bcd-chamber to the Queen, or some- thing of that sort. Altogether the family and its connections are among the very thickest cream of English aristocratic society. In December, 1866, Lady Harriet Sarah Moncrieffe, then eighteen years of age, and surpassingly beautiful in person, and most graceful in manner, was married to Sir Charles Mordaunt, of Walton Hall, Warwickshire, who was then twenty-nine years of age, and a very wealthy bachelor, possessing one of the finest country seats, with mansion and grounds, in all England. The main buildings alone were erected at an expense of over $350,000 of American money, and to this most delightful and picturesque spot the young bride was taken to spend the honey- moon. Everything that the heart of a fashionably bred woman could desire was hers, she had troops of servants, a fine old 242 FAST YOUNG ENGLAND. baronial mansion, a large stable full of horses, a yacht, a gal- lery of paintings, a villa on the Continent, equippagcs, dia- monds, ladies'-maids, and a town house in London. And be- side her lightest word was law to her loA'ing husband. She had been presented to the Queen, and in her life-pathway sun- shine fell and gladdened her young spirit. But there was a canker in the bud — a skeleton in the closet — as there always is. Lady Mordaunt had loved below her station before she married Sir Charles, and had sought to marry the object of her affec- tion, but her mother, who was a very worldly minded woman, was determined that she should marry the rich Sir Charles Mordaunt, who had houses and lands, while "poor Robin Adair" had to go about his business. Of course the natural consequences had to come. Sir Charles had a yacht, and now and then went on cruises to Norway and up the Baltic, and ran his craft from Erith to the Nore, and on naany a sunny day the snowy jib-sail of his boat was seen from afar by those nautical minded people who frequent the break- water at Cherbourg. When he was at home he was either hunting with the Warwickshire hounds, or looking for plover and grouse on Scotch moors. Any other spare time he had was taken up in his parliamentary duties, for he had the inef- fable honor of signing "M. P." after his name. And the young, gay, beautiful, and high spirited Lady Mor- daunt — how was it with her ? Being left very much alone, she developed herself. She delighted in balls, the Italian — yes, and the Bouffe Opera, she liked Croquet parties, garden parties. Crystal Palace concerts, and flirtations, and one evening, in company with Captain Farquhar, an officer of the Guards, she visited the " Alhambra," a celebrated dancing hall, which is supported by the London demi-monde. She was young, thoughtless, and very beautiful, and to be brief, she fell among wolves, as many a woman has before. She had for escort to different places, the Prince of Wales, Sir Frederick Johnstone, Viscount Cole (eldest son of the Earl of Enniskillen), Lord Newport, Captain Farquhar, the Marquis of Blandford, and among her acquaintances were the Duke of IN BAD COMPANY. 243 Hamilton, the Earl of Jersey, the Marquis of Waterford, and other young gentlemen, Avhose company or friendship alone would be enough to destroy the character of the most spotless married Avoman. And by the by, all these fast young noblemen are friends and boon companions of the Prince of Wales. Lady Mordaunt also knew Lord Carington, although his name did not appear in the trial for divorce. All of these titled gen- tlemen -whom I have mentioned, are of that class which is denomi- nated " fast young men" — in England. They arc all of good families, and are of the salt of the earth, being hereditary legislators for the Eng- lish people. They gam- ble, own fast horses, make tremendous bets, keep mistresses, and yachts, and among this set to dishonor a young and unsuspecting mar- ried woman, and cover with disgrace an old family name, is indeed an achievement of Avliich they feel very proud, a woman's weakr.ess and folly lieing a subject for joking in their clubs, and affording much amusement to the young blackguards at covert side and in many a yacht cruise in the Mediteranean and the Baltic Seas. Lady Mordaunt had fallen among a pack of masculine wolves. Her two sisters, the Duchess of Athole and the Countess of Dudley, vainly endeavored to save their foolish sister, and her mother. Lady Louisa !Moncrieffe, and her young LADY MORDAUNT. 2i4: FAST YOUNG ENGLAND. sister, Avho -was engaged privately to Viscount Cole — ( Miss Frances Moncrieffe), and Miss Blanche Moncrieffe, used all their powers of persuasion, but Lady Mordaunt had met already with the fate of all those who frequent had company. She was corrupted, and her only desire was now to become deserving of the title of " fast." Lady Mordaunt soon became the leader of the " fast " feminine set in London. No lady could drive such " fast" ponies as she. None could equal her for " fast" or " slangy " talk. Her highly colored attire was voted the " fastest" in London. Her male companions who were in her company and who escorted her, were all " fast," particularly the Prince of Wales, who enjoys the proud distinction of being " fast." Lady Mordaunt never accompanied her husband anywhere — he being very often absent, and besides, he was not " fast." And Lady Mordaunt is not alone among her aristocratic sis- ters of London. She has a number of imitators, who talk "fast," ride "fast" horses, frequent the company of "fast" men, and visit with these last, " fast" places of amusement. This " fast " woman has now become typical in England. She dyes her hair, she paints her face, she wears flaunting and un- becoming costumes after the style of the loose living blondes who appear in burlesque ; in short, she apes the manners and the attire of that hapless class of women of whom she once spoke, when she spoke of them at all — with a shuddering thrill of mingled horror and pity. A famous female English novelist — whose heroines, by the way, are all of the light-hair-dye and " fast " type — speaking of these " fast " society-women, per- tinently asks : — " Who taught the girls of Englaud this hateful slang ? who showed them — nay, obtruded upon and paraded before them these odious women ? who, indeed, but the men, who recoil from their own work of their own hands, and cry out upon the consequences of their own conduct ? It was not till the young Englishman learned to ridicule everything virtuous as " spoony," and everything domestic as " slow," that the Avomen took pains to master the slang of the race-course, and to model their dress upon the costumes of the women whom they saw from their carriage Avindows dimly athwart the mists of midnight Hitting across the Ilaymarket, as they were driven away from the SLANG WOMEN AND " MRS. JOHNSON." 245 Opera-house. Be sure society decayed, like the tree to wliich poor Swift pointed witli sad prophetic certainty, "/rst at top." It was not till the moral deterioration of the modern young man had become a fact but too obvious, that any fotal change was perceived in the modern young woman ; it was not until a contemptuous and disrespectful demeanor to parents, newly de- nominated governors, relieving-officers, paters, maters, maternals ; a scorn- ful avoidance of sisters as muffs and dowdies ; an utter irreverence for age, and a disdainful treatment of all woman kind, — had become distinc'uishi no- characteristics of young Mr. Bull, that poor, giddy, mistaken Miss Bull, too anxious to please the young cub, whose moral being and real interests had best been served by a judicious course of cat-o'-nine-tails, began to dye her pretty hair and paint her fresh young cheeks ; it was not till the British lords flocked to the sale of a bankrupt courtesan's effects, and gave unheard- of sums for the tawdry crockery-ware of a courtesan's bedchamber, that British ladies began to slide downwards upon that fatal incline wliich their masters had smoothed for them." " In the early days of the music-halls, before the nameless Captain had begun to cultivate his too flimous whiskers, or the insatiable thirst of tho convivial Charley had become a fact so painfully notorious, — when the pru- dent Joseph Avas yet unknown, and the Strand not yet renowned as the dweling-place of Nancy, — there was sung a song called " Mrs. Johnson," in which the singer, in a tipsy solemnity, bewailed the fact that the tastes and manners of his amiable wife were but too identical with his own. " And so does Mrs. Johnson," — that was the ever recurring refrain. " I drink, I smoke, I swear, I stop out to unholy hours of the night," sings this Mr. Johnson of the music-halls, " and so, unhappily, does Mrs. Johnson. I am altogether a fast and disreputable individual, and I consider it ver}'^ de- lightful to be fast and disreputable ; but — and here, I confess, the shoe pinches — so does ^Irs. Johnson. This midnight rioting, this hunting up of dancing-gardens and quaffing of perennial champagne, is my very ideal of man's existence : but I recoil aghast with horror before the idea of the same predilections in Mrs. Johnson." It is only a vulgar music-hall ditty; but I think there is a moral hanging to it, which our modern Juvenals would do well to consider " It is the story of Adam and Eve over again — " the woman tempted me, and I did eat." Tlie historian of the future, studying the social aspects of this century from a file of Saturda)/ Reviews, would have fair ground for believing it was because of modest women that outraged Englishmen fled to the denizens of St. John's-wood ; that it was the slang and fastness of our girls that drove our men to the race-course and the betting-ring; the Avomen tempted them. What cowards and hypocrites men must be, when they can turn upon and assail the helpless woman who has meekly and dutifully copied the model they have set up before her eyes, and at whose shrine she has seen them prostrate and worshipping I 24G FAST YOUNG ENGLAND. Mjj^l The modern young man, with a selfishness as short-sighted as — selfish- ness, which is always shortsighted, has desired all the delights of life. He likes the society of the venal Cynthia of the minute, as his forefathers have done before him, but it has seemed too him too much trouble to disguise that liking, in deference to the feelings of purer Cynthias, as his foreHithers did before him. When Junius wished to brand the Duke of Grafton with inef- fable shame, he charged him with having flaunted Miss Parsons before the ofiended eyes of royalty ; nowadays such a reproach would seem the emp- tiest oratorical truism. Tlie royalty of virtuous womanhood is ofiended every day by a procession of Miss Parsonses. Everywhere Miss Parsons is fol- lowed and worshipped. At covert-side, on parade of Brighton, or in lamplit fravdens of Scarborough, in opera-house and on race-course, abroad or at liomc — the Parsonian worship is still going on. ]Miss Parsons has her matins and her vespers, her choral services at five o'clock, her gatherings at all hours and all places. The bells are always pealing that call the faithful of the Parsonian creed. And woman's poor little stock of logic only enables her to frame one fatal syllogism : ^liss Parsons is admired ; ]\Iiss Parsons is beloved ; Therefore to be like Miss Parsons is to be admirable and loveable." When the season ended it was customary for Sir Charles Mordaunt to rejoin liis wife at Walton Hall, and it might have been believed that after the gaieties of the winter revels, the mis- tress of the mansion would seek a little rest and the quiet of the country. But no. The country seat was always full of " fast" ladies and " fast " gentlemen. Sporting men and people of loose characters, whom no scnsi))le man would admit to the presence of his wife, became the intimates of Lady Mordaunt. In fine, tlic Coles, Farquhars, Johnstones, Watcrfords, Ilam- iltons, and the like, were "doing Lady Mordaunt's business for her," as I heard a London barrister express it. People began to talk about her, and she lost the respect of her friends, who dropped off one by one. Her poor old father, Sir Thomas Moncrieffe, while sitting in White's Club (the only club of Avhicli the Prince of Wales is an active member), hears his daughter's name mentioned in a very odious manner, and that of the Prince of Wales occurs in the connection. The " Pwince," says one of these small wits, " is A'ery devoted — ah — Lady Mowdaant — I heah," and so the scandal flies. Sir Thomas is enraged, threatens the puppy, and tells Sir Charles A GIDDY WOMAN. 247 of the thunder in the air. Poor old man ! It is openly stated in the club that Viscount Cole and Sir Frederick Johnstone, — the former twenty-two, and the latter thirty-two years of age, are constant visitors to her boudoir, — as often as three times in a day — so says Madame Scandal. Sir Frederick Johnstone is known to be the greatest libertine in England. He is rich, of a good family, and yet no woman will marry him, for it is whispered in society, — even among ladies — that he has become so enervated and palsied from his long course of de- bauchery, as to be unfit for the marriage bed — and Lord Cole is a fit rival to Lord Carington for wildness and blackguardism. I saw this same Sir Frederick Johnstone slapped in the face a dozen times at the Cremorne Gardens one night, by a fashion- ably attired Cyprian who had been his mistress, and wiio had been deserted by him, but not a blush warmed his cheek under the stinging slaps of her hand. Luxury and debauchery had emasculated him. He was no longer a man — he was a frame covered over by a handsome evening dress. During all this time, while Lady Mordaunt was sowing the wind to eventually reap the whirlwind, her husband was ignorant of these most damnatory facts against her reputation, — which after- ward became known to him. At last the scandal was bruited about so much that Sir Charles Mordaunt found it necessary to enter proceedings in the Divorce Court, at Westminster, for a separation from his wife. All England was, socially, turned upside down with amazement, when it was ascertained that the Prince of Wales was implicated. The Queen sent for Sir Charles, and begged of him to Avithdraw from the case, in order to secure her son's reputation from the contempt which was sure to fall upon his Royal Highness when the developments were made public. The entreaties of the Queen did not avail, however, with Sir Charles, whoT with a dogged English pluck, was resolved to have justice. Then an attempt was made to bribe him, and a peerage was offered him to keep him quiet, but this did not serve, as Sir Charles refused to compromise with dishonor and shame. Lady Mordaunt's husband had ordered her not to receive the 16 248 FAST YOUNG ENGLAND. Prince of Wales at his house wliile he was absent, or at any other time, but the unfortunate woman had disobeyed him. She also refused to accompany Sir Charles on a fishing excur- sion to Norway, as she preferred to stay at home and asso- ciate with disreputable characters. He also ordered her not to receive Viscount Cole, or Sir Frederick Johnstone, but, as in the other case, the husband was disobeyed, and his house was used by them against his will during his absence. On the 27th of February, 1868, Lady Mordaunt was prematurely con- fined of a child which was afflicted in the eyes with a hideous disease. The first question asked by Lady Mordaunt immedi- ately after her confinement, was of the nurse. She asked, " Is the child diseased?" The nnrse answered, "My Lady, you mean deformed;" and Lady Mordaunt answered, "No, you know what I mean." This question was repeated five or six times, and, during the night, she said to her sister, Mrs. Forbes, "If yon do not let me talk I will go mad," meaning thereby that she desired to make a confession. The nurse asked if she should fetch Sir Charles to her, and she said "no," but added, "This child is not Sir Charles's at all— but Lord Cole's." She then stated that she had behaved improperly with Lord Cole in June, 1867, at her husband's house. This was testified to by the nurse, and the occurrence took place at Walton Hall. She was afraid that the baby would be blind — the disease being an incurable one. The suit for divorce was opened in the Westminster Divorce Court February 16th, 1869, and some of the most eminent and aristocratic personages in England attended. The Prince of Wales was ashamed to be present until sent for, but as he was very anxious about the result he sent his private Secretary, Sir W. KnoUys, to watch the case. That gentleman was present every day, and manifested great interest in the testimony, which was very filthy, but not so filthy but that the Pall Mall Gazette and London Times, with other leading journals, should print every line of it, day by day, as it transpired in the Court. The trial continued seven days, Lord Penzance presiding, and it created as great an interest in London as the McFarland and A TREACHEROUS WIFE. 249 Richardson case did in New York. No ladies were admitted to the Court, but two thousand, the majority of whom were of the cultivated and respectable class, sought admission during the first three days of the trial. All the relatives, of both par- ties, who could attend were ])resent. The Dowager-Lady Mor- daunt, mother of Sir Charles, testified strongly against her daughter-in-law, whom she accused of shamming insanity to hide her crime and dishonor. The plea of insanity was the defence set up by Sir Tliomas ]\Ioncrieffe, father of Lady Mordaunt. The testimony was very contradictory. Some of the physicians swore that Lady Mordaunt was perfectly sane, but that she feigned insanity to screen herself, while others testified that she was not in a sound condition of mind. But the evidence was very clear against Lady Mordaunt de- spite of all endeavors to save her, or rather to save the Prince of Wales, through the unfortunate lady. Testimony was ad- duced, that, one evening in November, 1868, Lady Mordaunt absented herself from Waltoii Hall and went to London in company with Captain Farquhar, one of her "fast" young male friends, and that while there she stopped a whole night with him at the Palace Hotel. To blind her husband she wrote the following note to him : Palace Hotel, Buckingham Gate, Nov. 8. My Darling Charlie — One line to say I shall not be able to reach home by twelve o'clock train, but will come by the one which reaches at 3.50. Send carriage to meet me. I felt liorribly dull by myself all yester- day evening. I have not had much time as yet to-day. I have seen Priestly and will tell you all about it when I come home. Your affectionate wife, HARRIET ]\IORDAUNT. Frederick Johnson, a footman of Lady Mordaunt, testified as follows : Frederick Johnson testified : — T was formerly footman to Sir C. ^lor- daunt. While Captain Farquhar was staying at Walton, in the autumn of 1867, I took a note, I believe, from Mrs. Cadogan, into Lady Mordaunt's sitting-room. The captain was there. They had carving tools before them. The rest of the party were out shooting. I did not knock befinxi entering. Lady Mordaunt told me I ought not to come in without knocking. She had 250 FAST YOUNG ENGLAND. not told me so before. I went with Lady Mordaunt, in the spring of 1868, to the Alhambra. Captain Farquhar was there. Lady Kinnoul (with whom Lady Mordaunt was staying) went, too, in her own carriage, and Lady !Mordaimt in a hired one. Lady Mordaunt left about twelve. The Captain rode part of the way home with her. I have posted three or four letters ft-om Lady Mordaunt to him, and have also delivered a letter to him. The Prince of Wales called once in 1867 ; I did not see him at the house aEAR Lady Mordaunt, — I am sure you will be glad to hear that the Princess was safely delivered of a little girl this morning and that both are doing very well. I hope you will come to the Oswald and St. James's Hall this week. There would, I am sure, be no harm your remaining till Saturday in town. I shall like to see you again. " Ever yours most sincerely, "Albert Edaa'ard." SAM BUCKLEY IN HIS KILT. 255 m. — She Brings Him an Umbrella. "Marlborough House, May 7, 1867. " My dear Lady Mordaunt, — Many thanks for your letter, and I am very sorry that I should have given you so much trouble looking for the ladies' umbrella for me at Paris. I am very glad to hear that you enjoyed your stay there. I shall be going there on Friday next, and as the Princess is so much better, shall hope to remain a week there. If there is any com- mission I can do for you there it will give me the greatest pleasure to carry it out. I regret very much not to have been able to call upon you since your return, but hope to do so when I come back from Paris, and have an opportunity of making the acquaintance of your husband. " Believe me yours very sincerely, "Albert Edward." IV. — Hamilton's Wife is Good Looking. "Marlborough House, Oct. 13. "My dear Lady IMordaunt, — Many thanks for your kind letter, which I received just before we left Dunrobin, and I have been so busy here that I have been iniable to answer it before. I am glad to hear that you are flourishing at Walton, and hope your husband has had good sport with the partridges. We had a charming stay at Dunrobin — fi-om the 19th .of September to the 7th of this month. Our party consisted of the Sand- wiches, Grosvenors (only for a few days), Sumners, Bakers, F. Marshall, Albert, Ronald Gower, Sir II. Pelly, Oliver, who did not look so bad in a kilt as you heard ; Lacelles, Falkner, and Sam Buckley, who looked first- rate in his kilt. I was also three or four days in the Reay Forest with the Grosvenors. I shot four stags. ]My total was twenty-one. P. John thanks you very much for your photo ; and I received two very good ones, accom- panied by a charming epistle, from your sister. We are all delighted with Hamilton's marriage, and I think you are rather hard on the young lady, as, although not exactly pretty, she is very nice looking, has charming manners, and is very popular with every one. From his letter he seems to be very much in love — a rare occurrence now-a-days. I will see what I can do in getting a presentation for the son of Mrs. Bradshaw for the Royal Asylum of London, St. Ann's Society. Francis will tell you result. London is A'ery empty, but I have plenty to do, so time does not go slowly, and I go down shooting to Windsor and Richmond occasionally. On the 2Gth I .^hall shoot with General Hall at Newmarket, the following week at Kiiowlsley, and then at Windsor and Sandringham belbrc we go abroad. This will be prob- ably on the 18th or 19th of next month. You told me when I last saw you that you were probably going to Paris in November, but I suppose you have given it up. I saw in the papers that you were in London on Saturday. I wish you had let me know, as I would have made a point of calling. Tlierc 256 FAST YOUNG ENGLAND. are some good plays going on, and we are going the rounds of them. My brother is here, but at the end of the month he starts for Plymouth on his long cruise of nearly two years. Now I shall say good-by, and hoi)ing that probably we may have a chance of seeing you belbre we leave, " I remain, yours most sincerely, " Albert Edwaud." y. — Don't Ivnow the Height of the Ponies. "White's, Nov, 1. My dear Lady Mordauxt, — Many thanks for your letter, which I received this morning. I cannot tell you at this moment the exact height of the ponies in question, but I think they are just under fourteen hands, but as soon as I know for certain I shall not fail to let you know. I would be only too hapjiy if they would suit you, and have the pleasure of seeing them in your hands. It is quite an age since I have seen or heard anything of you, but I trust you had a pleasant trip abroad, and I suppose you have been in Scotland since. Lord Dudley has kindly asked me to shoot with him at Buckenham on the 9th of next moiith, and I hojie I may, perhaps, have the pleasure of seeing you there. " Believe me, yours ever sincerely, " Albert Edward." VI. — The " Great " Oliver is Coming. " Sandringham, King's Lynn, Nov. 30. "My dear Lady' Mordaunt, — I was very glad to hear from Colonel Kingscote the other day that you had bought my two ponies. I also trust that they will suit you, and that you will drive them for many a year. I have never driven them myself, so I don't know whether they are easy to drive or not. I hope you have had some hunting, although the ground is so hard that in some parts of the country it is quite stopjjcd. We had our first shooting party this week, and got 809 head one day, and twenty-nine woodcocks. Next week the great Oliver is coming. He and Blandford had thought of going to Algiers; but they have now given it up, and I don't know to what foreign clime they are going to betake themselves. I saw Lady Dudley at Onwallis, and I thought her looking very well. I am sorry to hear that you won't be at Buckenham when I go there, as it is such an age since I have seen you. If there is anything else (besides horses) that I can do for you, ])lease let me know, and " I remain, yours ever sincerely, "Albert Edward." VII. — Sorry to Hear That She Has Been Seedy. " Sandringham, King's Lynn, Dec. 5. "My dear Lady !Mordaunt, — Many thanks for your letter, which I received this evening, and am very glad to hear that you like the ponies, THE PRINCE HAS THE MEASLES. 257 but I hope they will be well driven before you attempt to drive them, as I know they are fresh. They belonged originally to the Princess ^lary, who drove them for some years, and when she married, not wanting them just then, I bought them from her. I am not surprised that you have had no hunting lately, as the frost has made the ground as hard as iron. AVe hope, however, to be able to hunt to-morrow, as a thaw has set in. We killed over a thousand head on Tuesday, and killed forty woodcocks to-day. Oliver has been in great force, and as bumjjtious as ever. Blandford is also here, so you can imagine what a row goes on. On Monday next I go to Bucken- ham, and I am indeed very sorry that we sliall not meet there. I am very sorry to hear that you have been seedy, but hope that you are now all rif'ht again. " Ever yours very sincerely, "Albert Edward " VIII. — He is Anxious. " Tliursday. " My dear Lady Mordauxt, — I am sorry to find by the letter that I received from you this morning that you are unwell, and that I shall not be able to i)ay you a visit to-day, to Avhiuh I had been looking forward with so much pleasure. To-morrow and Saturday I shall be hunting in Notting- hamshire, but if you are still in town, may I come to see you about five on Sunday afternoon? And hoping you will soon be yourself again, "Believe me, yours ever sincerely, "Albert Edward." IX. — He Had the INIeasles. " Sunday. " My dear Lady Mordauxt, — I cannot tell you how distressed I am to hear from your letter that you have got the measles, and that I shall in consequence not have the pleasin-e of seeing you. I have had the measles myself a long time ago, and I know what a tiresome complaint it is. I trust you will take great care of yourself, and have a good doctor with you. Above all, I should not read at all, as it is very bad for the eyes, and I suppose you will be forced to lay up for a time. The weather is very favor- able for your illness , and wishing you a very speedy recovery, "Believe me, yours most sincerely, "Albert Edward." X. — Anxious Agaix. " Sundny. "My dear Lady Mordauxt, — Many thanks for your kind Utter. I am so glad to hear that you have made so good a recovery, and to be able soon to go to Hastings, Avhich is sure to do you a great deal of good. I hope that perhaps on your return to London I may have the pleasure of seeing you. " Believe me, yours very sincerely, "Albert Edward." 258 FAST YOUNG ENGLAND. XL — The "Great" Fraxcis is to Arrive. Sandringliam, King's Lynn, Nov. 16. "My dear Lady Mordaunt, — I must apologise for not having an- swered your last kind letter, but accept my best thanks for it now. Since the lOth I have been here at Sir William Knollys' house, as I am building a totally new one. I am here en garcon, and we have had very good shoot- ing. The Duke of Cambridge, Lord Sufiield, Lord Alfred Paget, Lord de Grey, Sir Frederick Johnstone, Chaplin, General Hall, Captain (Sam) Buckley, Major Grey, and myself, composed the party ; and the great Fran- cis arrived on Saturday, but he is by no means a distinguished shot. Sir Frederick Johnstone tells me he is going to stay with you to-morrow for the AVarwick races, so he can give you the best account of us. This afternoon, after shootin;;, I return to London, and to-morrow night the Princess, our three eldest children, and myself, start for Paris, where we shall remain a week, and then go straight to Copenhagen, where we spend Christmas, and the beginning of January we start on a longer trip. We shall go to Venice, and then by sea to Alexandria, and up the Nile as far as we can get ; and later to Constantinople, Athens, and home by Italy, and I don't expect we shall be back again before April. I fear, therefore, I shall not see you for a long time, but trust to find you, perhaps, in London on our return. If you should have time, it will be very kind to write me sometimes. Letters to ]\Iarlborough House, to be forwarded, will always reach me. I hope you will remain strong and well, and wishing you a very pleasant winter, "I remain, yours most sincerely, "Albert Edward." On the afternoon of the fifth day of tlie trial, the Prince of "Wales, wlio had been driven by his royal mother to take the step, much against his will, appeared in court to testify, nomi- nally at his own request, but really from a fear of public opin- ion. The presiding judge of the Divorce Court, Lord Penzance, when he heard that the Prince desired to testify in his own be- half, exerted himself in such an extreme fashion, as to call down the ridicule and scorn of the London press for his servile proceedings. Having been informed that the Prince was about to ap])ear in court, this flunkey judge, who had been created a peer for something that he had done as a lawyer, was most eager, painfully eager, in fact, to accommodate his Royal Highness. The latter was treated by the judge with a respect which was a combination of profundity, enthusiasm, and excitement. One journal suggested to the learned judge, that while the SIR FREDERICK JOHNSTONE TESTIFIES. 259 Prince was in attendance on the trial, it was the duty of the magistrate to have a smoking room fitted up for the special use of the Prince, while another claimed that a billiard table should be provided for the amusement of the Prince between the in- tervals of the evidence, and asked Lord Penzance to be careful and open court daily at an hour to suit the convenience of the Heir Apparent, who is I believe, a late riser. It is a rule of British law, that the members of the Royal family cannot bo called upon to testify in any case, unless of their own free will, and then they are not asked to swear to the evidence which they may give, as their simple aflfirmation is deemed to be suf- ficient. The Prince of Wales on this occasion, however, thought it necessary to be sworn, and he testified that he knew Sir Charles and Lady Mordaunt, and that Lady Mordaunt had been an acquaintance of his before his marriage to the Princess of Wales. He also testified that he was fond of riding in han- som cabs, and lastly, he swore that there never had been any improper familiarity or criminal act between himself and Lady Mordaunt. This statement, in open court, was a great relief to the Queen, who it is said, at once upon hearing of it sent for the Prince to come to Buckingham Palace, and on his arri- val he was welcomed warmly by his mother. The next witness examined was Sir Frederick Johnstone, who testified that he had gone to dine with Lady Mordaunt at the Alexandra Hotel, in obedience to a request which she made by letter, to that effect. The dinner was a tete-atete one, (no one. being present but Sir Frederick and Lady jMordaunt) in a private room, and it lasted from four o'clock in tlic afternoon until twelve o'clock at night. Sir Frederick acknowledged that the dinner took place without the knowledge of Sir Cliarles Mordaunt, and that he never told the latter of the circumstance afterward, although a visitor at Walton Hall. This closed the case on evidence. A paper had been found in Lady Mordaunt's handwriting, with the memoranda " 280 days from June 29 — April 3d," referring, as it was supposed, to her first meeting with Viscount Cole. Sir Charles Mordaunt^ in his afiidavit, alleged the marriage on the Gth of December, 1866, at St. 2G0 FAST YOUNG ENGLAND. John's Episcopal Church, Perth ; cohabitation at Walton Hall, and at 6 Bclgrave-square ; and adultery with Viscount Cole in May, June, and July, 18G8, at Chesham-place, and in July, 1868, and January, 1869, at Walton Hall ; and adultery with Sir Frederick Johnstone, in November and December, 1868, at Walton Hall, and in December, 1868, at the Alexandra Hotel, Knightsbridge ; and adultery also with some person between the loth of June, 1868, and the 28th of February, 1869. The English aristocracy never have liad such a blow dealt at their corrupt social system, as the developments of this suit impelled against them. "Reynolds' Newspaper," a London journal with a circulation of 280,000 copieS-Hveekly, spoke in thunder tones as follows, to its readers,*fte workingmen of London : . "the prince of wales ix the divorce court. The great social scandal to which we have frequently alluded, has now become blazoned to the world through the instrumentality of the Divorce Court. Nothing was left imdone that might hush it up, so that the Prince of AV ales' name should not figure in so discreditable a business. Every ef- fort was made to silence Sir Charles Mordaunt. A peerage was, we believe, offered him. Any place of emolument he asked for would willingly have been f^iven him. All the honors and dignities the crown and government have it in their power to bestow would readily have been prostituted to in- sure his silence. Lord Penzance, at the last moment, earnestly strove to keep the name of the Prince from coming before the public. Sir Charles ]\Ior- daunt, however, was deaf to every persuasion, and, like a noble minded man and high spirited gentleman, scouted all attempts to shut his mouth ; and, with contemptuous indifference to the entreaties of the judge, and disre- garding the course adopted by his own counsel, at once told the whole story of his supposed dishonor, without blinking facts of concealing names. He told the court that he forbade his wife continuing her acquaintance with the Prince of Wales on account of his character. He intimated to the Prince that his visits should cease. lie, however, alleges that, despite this intima- tion, they were surreptitiously continued ; that letters of a compromising character were found ; and that other circumstances occurred leading him to sup[)Ose that an improper intimacy existed between the Prince and his wife. It should be borne in mind that when all this is said to have occurred the Prince of Wales was a married man himself, and the fiither of a family. Tlie question, therefore, remains to be solved, is he an adulterer or not ? Can he disprove the apparently damnatory allegations of Sir C. Mordaunt ? Of course we do not wish to prejudge the case. We hope, for his own and for his THE FASTEST MAN IN ENGLAND. 261 wife's sake, that he can completely refute the heavy accusation laid to his charge, and that he will do so at the earliest opportunity. But we have no hesitation in declaring that if the Prince of Wales is an accomplice in bring- ing dishonor to the homestead of an English gentleman ; if he has deliber- ately debauched the wife of an Englishman ; if he has assisted in renderin"' an honorable man miserable for life; if unbridled sensuality and lust have led him to violate the laws of honor and of hospitality — then such a man, placed in the position he is, should not only be expelled from decent society, but is utterly unfit and unworthy to rule over this country or even sit in its legislature." I don't sec how any writer could make a stronger case against Royalty, (however hostile his spirit,) tlian this fearless expo- sition hy the English journal of wide circulation, to which I have referred. The evidence of Sir Frederick Jolmstone, wliich I have omitted, was too disgraceful to appear in this work, al- though the English papers printed every line of it. "Well, the case went to the jury at last, after Lord Penzance had properly and carefully manipulated them, and a verdict was brought by them "that Lady Mordaunt being of unsound mind, was totally un- fit to instruct her attorneys," and thus Sir Cliarles Mordaunt, having been dishonored and his domestic happiness destroyed by a conspiracy of titled persons, had to be satisfied witli the verdict. In these days the plea of insanity is always a con- venient one, and is very useful in a desperate case. Sir Charles was not daunted, however, and appealed his case, but met with defeat again, and thus the matter rests, and Avill rest. It is the intention of the injured husband to visit America, as he is an admirer of our institutions. I do not wish to offer any com- ment whatever on the state of society in which such corruption exists. The facts must speak for themselves. The " fastest" young man in England is undoubtedly, William Alexander, Louis, Stephen, Douglas-Hamilton, Duke of Hamil- ton, ^larquis of Hamilton, Marquis of Douglas, Earl of Angus, Earl of Arran, Earl of Lanark, Baron Hamilton, Avcn, Pol- mont, Macansliire, Inncrdale, Abernethey and Jcdltui-gli For- est, and premier Duke and Peer in the Peerage of Scotland, Duke of Brandon (Suffolk), and Baron Dutton in tlie Peerage of Great Britain, Duke of Chatherault in France, Hereditary, 262 FAST YOUNG ENGLAND. Keeper of the Ilolyrood House, and Deputy Lieutenant of some county with an unpronounceable name in Scotland. Possibly some of my readers, in going over this long line of titles, will recall the days of Bruce and Douglas, of " proud Angus," whom Marmion bearded in his hall, and of that Doug- las who carried the heart of Bruce, like a Paladin, amid the lances of Spain ; or perhaps the picture of Chevy Chase, and Douglas, and Percy, in armed fight, will be evoked with thoughts of the greatest historical House in Europe. Nobler descent, or more genuine historical honor, cannot be claimed by the holder of any lordly or royal title, than that which be- longs to the present Duke of Hamilton, who is as yet only twenty-seven years of age. He i.s a first cousin of the Emperor of France by his mother, Stephanie, Duchess of Ba- den, a noble, beautiful, and good woman, — who married the old Duke of Hamilton; and one of his sisters is married to the Prince of Monaco, a sov- ereign in his own right. Two other sisters of the present Duke are nuns, having been educated in the Roman Catholic faith by their mother. The fourth sister is married to a private gentleman of large fortune. The old Duke was in every sense a gentleman and a man of honor, but his two male descendants, the present Duke of Hamilton, and his brother, Lord Churchill Hamilton, are sad scapegraces — indeed I doubt if a rougher name would not be more appropriate. The young Duke, as soon as he came of age, fell heir to an income of £300,000 a year, and eight or nine country scats and residen- THE DUKE OF HAMILTON. INSULTS THE EMPEROR. 263 ces. He had no sooner entered into possession of his estate, than he was surrounded by betting men, turf blackguards, spendthrifts, abandoned women, and dissolute noblemen of his own age. Every shilling of his gigantic fortune was squan- dered in three or four years, and his proud old name became a by-word of scorn and reproach when it was found that his debts amounted to £130,000. He had for his associates the Earl of Jersey, the Marquis of Waterford, the Prince of Wales, Lord Carington, the Duke of Newcastle, the Earl of "Winchel- sea, the Earl of Westmoreland, and other bankrupt and disso- lute nobles. For a long time polite society tolerated the Duke of Hamilton, because of his family, birth, and fortune, but when he lost the latter, those who formerly laughed at his wild actions and peccadilloes, now began to frown upon him as an enfant perdu. He was sowing too much wild oats, and his friends be- gan to desert him in disgust. A bad set of men who had control of the Duke, did not hesitate to drag his proud name and title through the gutters. At last his fellow noblemen, thoroughly ashamed of him, determined to give him a lesson. His name was put up for membership in the Jockey Club, and he was black-balled with great unanimity. The Duke of an almost royal famil}^ was treated in this ignominious way by the fathers of families, and brothers of girls of stainless birth, as a caution to him. The Duke being both bankrupt and disgraced, left England for the Continent, to avoid his thousand and one credit- ors, who cursed him bitterly when he departed. Passing through Paris, his cousin, the Emperor, invited him to dine at the Tuilleries. The Duke returned a curt verbal answer to his imperial relative, that he could not accept the invitation, " for he had neither clothes nor manners in which to appear at the Emperor's table." That same evening he appeared in a pri- vate box at the opera, dressed in a short double-breasted slioot- ing jacket, in company with two or three of the turfites (broken down betting men, who hung on to him for what they could get), and afterwards presided at a supper of which the less that is said the better, concerning the " ladies," who composed one-half of the twenty-four persons who sat down to table. 17 264 FAST YOUNG ENGLAND. After the Duke left England for the Continent, a sale of his effects was had. Hundreds of purchasers attended the sale out of curiosity, as they had attended the sale of " Skittle's" furniture, or as the Parisian dandies and lorettes attended the sale of the household gods of Marguerite Gautier, afterwards known as the " Dame aux Camelias." Every article belonging to the Duke realized a value of more than two or three hundred per cent, over its original value. Crowds of " snobs " and " cads " bought whips and pipes, riding jackets, cigar cases, canes, gloves, and boots, pictures of French dancers and German sou- brettes, as well as articles of crockery, at the most extravagant prices, simply because they had once been in the possession of a real live Duke, although he was a scamp. One miserable little tea-broker gave twenty-five pounds for a worn, poorly bound copy of the " Kisses of Johannes Secundus," with the idea that he was getting something very immoral — but he was disappointed of course. I saw him twice, this Duke of Hamilton, once in a low cabaret in Paris, which had for a name the strange and I thought very inappropriate title of the " Groves of the Evangelists." It was in a little street, or rather lane, called tlie Rue Belle- Cuisse, which is in the Quartier Breda. It was a low dingy little hole, this " Groves of the Evangel- ist," and the people present were chiefly infantry privates of some of the line regiments, who serve as a part of the garrison of Paris. They were a hard-drinking, ruffianly lot, and the women who sat on their laps were of all the obscene birds of night that I encountered in Paris, the very worst and most abandoned. A little girl, with a bold face and wearing a slatternly, torn dress, with a brazen pair of steely blue eyes, acted as bar-girl in this place, and measured out to the customers, petit verres of fiery Nantes brandy. Two men, young, and fashionably dressed, sat at a table, who appeared to be strangers in Paris, although they conversed fluently enough, in French, with each other. One of these was a fair, girlish-faced, young gentleman, with VILLAINY OF THE MARQUIS OP WATERFORD. 265 liair which is always termed auburn by the poets, while, as a contradiction it is generally denominated, in police returns — "red hair." This was the Duke of Hamilton. The second person at the table was a tall, athletic, and hand- some-looking fellow, of twenty-four or five years of age, with a smooth face, daring, black eyes, and a massive head well set upon a pair of broad shoulders. This individual was John De La Poer Beresford, Marquis of Waterford, Earl of Tyrone, Viscount Tyrone, and a Baron five times over in England and Ireland, a relation of the Archbishop of Armagh, Protestant Primate of Ireland, and having an in- come of about half a million dollars, annually, in his own right. This young Marquis of Waterford, did a most dastardly thing when he seduc- ed the wife of his bosom friend, the Hon.J.C. P. Vivian, M. P., a Junior Lord of the Treasury, who had placed the ut- most confidence in the Marquis. He took Mrs. Vivian with him to Paris, and there lived with her in open adultery for some time until he became tired of liis victim and then he ordered her with great coolness to re- turn to her dishon- ored husband. To make the matter worse she was the mother of two lovely chil- dren. Her married sister, the Honorable Mrs. Somebody, went to Paris to attempt to reclaim her, held an interview with her, and begged of her to return to her husband. She blankly re- MARQDI8 OF WATERFORD. 266 FAST YOUNG ENGLAND. fused to do SO, giving as her reason that she loved "John" too much, — " John," I need not saj, being the Marquis of Wa- terford. Mr. Vivian having commenced a suit for divorce, tlic utter' villainy of the Marquis appeared when the letters of that no- bleman to his quondam friend Vivian were read, in which the great trust reposed by Mr. Vivian in Waterford was most pub- licly made manifest. This young nobleman is a grandson of the second ]\Iarquis of Waterford, who was distinguished as a companion to the Prince Regent, and as well for breaking olf door-knockers and bell-handles — a complaint that was chronic with him, and that seems to run in the family. The Marquis of Waterford is not quite so impoverished through his excesses as some of his friends, but 1 understand that his debts at one time amounted to X 60,000. My readers may recollect that, during the visit of the Prince of Wales to America, he had in the suite which accompanied him, a certain Duke of Newcastle, a young nobleman, who mar- ried, some years ago, a daughter of the great banker, Hoi)e. who brought licr husband an immense fortune. Beside these advan- tages there were few noblemen in England as highly connected, or as wealthy, as the Duke of Newcastle. Well, Miss Hope only served to stay tlie waning fortunes of this spendtln-ift for a short time, as he is now a bankrupt, and has to reside out of Eng- land to avoid tlie Sheriff's officers. While the execution was being levied in the magnificent mansion of tlie Duke, and be- fore his wife could leave the premises, the Duke liad gambled away thirteen thousand pounds, tlie last remnant of liis once princely fortune. This liopeful Duke has always been very intimate with the Prince of Wales. Another of the same reckless unprincipled set is the young Earl of Jersey, who was left an income of <£ 50,000 a year, every shilling of wliich is gone. Tliis young fool, who is en- dowed with the manners of a cabman, and who has a pot-house air in everything that he says or does, was deeply in debt at sixteen years of age, and before he left school he had borrowed THE MARQUIS OF HASTINGS. 267 ^25,000 from the Jews, who now own him body and soul. His grand-motlicr, the Countess of Jersey, was, I believe, a mistress of George IV. The Marquis of Hastings, who died about two years ago, was also one of this same set of spendthrift, young harum-scarum, unprinci- pled scions of the Bluest Blood of which England can boast. All his mag- nificent fortune went in horses, and women, and yachts, and at last, wlien he died, at the age of 26, he had squandered some three or four millions of dollars, and, I lx4icvc,the title created as far back as 1389, became in the direct line, extinct. The Marquis lost one day at the Derl)y race on Lady ™= marquis of Hastings. Elizabeth, a favorite horse of his, the enormous sum of $150,- 000 in gold. He married a beautiful and wealthy girl, and her fortune went in the general crash after liis death. He owned a magnificent yacht, and was in the habit of cruising in the Mediterranean with a coterie of dissolute young aristocrats like himself, and on board of this yacht scenes took place that might have made the cheek of Sardanapalus to blush — that is, provided that that bloated Assyrian ever blushed. Prince Christian of Schleswig, a beggarly little German kinglet, who was allowed to marry the Princess Helena, a daughter of Queen Victoria, and a very good girl, is said to be rather wild in his ways, but his allowance, X 10,000 a year from Parliament, lias to satisfy him whether he likes it or not. But in 1869 Prince Christian and the Duchess of Mccklcnburg- Strclitz had occasion to journey from Dover to Calais, and the 268 FAST YOUNG ENGLAND. little German liad the impudence to send a bill of sixty eight pounds expenses to Parliament, despite tlie fact that lie received his allowance regularly. Professor Fawcett, a liberal member of Parliament, who brought in bills to abolish religious distinctions in Dublin University, and in favor of woman suffrage, de- manded the items of the bill, and failing to get them, moved that the Prince Christian's bill be struck out of the estimates. To show what is thought of such unbridled extravagance — the fare being only about two pounds from Dover to Calais — ^I give the satire and comments of the Queeii's 3Iessenger of August 5, 1869, upon the matter. This paper is a weekly organ, pub- lished in London. " Happily there are always two ways of looking at a question, else the following bill, which was presented last week to Parliament, might have sug- gested puzzling reflections : DUE FROM BRITISH TAXPAYER TO BRITISH GOVKUXMEXT : For cost of presents made by Duke of Edinburgh during voy- age to Cape and Australia, £3,374 14 For conveyance of Prince Christian and Duchess of Mecklen- burg-Strelitz from Dover to Calais, _ _ . 68 For royal present to Peter, king of Congo, as reward for act of Christian charity, - - - - - - - 0126 For luncheon to Prince AVilliam of Ilosse, - - - 13 For providing food for inhabitants of Cephalonia after the island had been injured by earthcpiake, - - - - 10 9 6 For rigging-out a pier at Ant werp for reception of Prince of Wales, 2 10 For robes, collars, and badges for certain persons who had re- ceived honor of knighthood, ------ 1,000 For maintenance of Congo, pirate chief, at Ascension, - 38 3 Cost of presents to King of Masaba, by Captain of H. M. ship Investigator, -------., 204 £4,509 4 Tlius it costs 13/. to give a luncheon to Prince Wilham of Hesse, and only 10/. to relieve an island full of people who are dying of famine. It requires 2/. to lay down red cloth for the Prince of Wales to walk on, and only 12s. Q(L to reward King Peter for an act of Christian charity. These are facts •worth knowing. The only thing we regret is that Government should have •withheld information as to the precise nature of the gift with which King Peter was gratified. Did this mighty Empire present him with six pairs oi LORD ARTHUR CLINTON. 269 cotton socks, or request him to accept a gingham umbrella secondhand ? And the King of Masaba, who figures anonymously, what did he get for 21. Os. 4.d. ? Was it a pair of boots and some pocket-handkerchiefs, or a few pots of Scotch marmalade and a dozen pints of Bass? As to the other items of the bill, it is so obviously right that the country should be made to pay GSl. eveiy time Prince Christian crosses the Channel, that we can only wonder anybody should ever have thought otherAvise, and moved, as Mr. Fawcett did, that the sum be struck out of the estimates. We live in strange times, forsooth, when a prince cannot charge the cost of his railway-tickets on to the national purse without being made the subject of unmannered comments I " And now having given as brief a resume as I possiblj^ could of the salient characteristics of the "fast" young English aris- tocracy — having shown how extravagant, useless, dishonorable and unprincipled many of them arc, I will close by mentioning that it is not long since the English journals were filled with the e\idence on the trial of two young men who were arrested in London for dressing and appearing in public as females. They were frequently seen at the Opera, the race course, and in other public places, in company with Lord Arthur Clinton, a well- known young nobleman. Their apartments were searched, and waterfalls, chignons, puffs, and all the articles of the female toilet and female wearing apparel, were found in tlieir posses- sion. Brought before a magistrate, they manifested a strange and unmanly behavior, and bore without shame the details of the medical examination. Lord Clinton, in company with some otber friends, had been paying their addresses to these hybrid creatures, and following in the footsteps of some of the disgusting court favorites, of Avhich Juvenal and the Satirists of the Lower Empire speak, he was jealous of another young Lord, the cause being a rivalry for the affections of one of these hybrid things iu a woman's clothes ! CHAPTER XYIIL LORDS AND COjMMONS. HY, Sir, I do tliink the times 'ave changed a great deal, but I am afeered they will change wiiss nor ever agin. They do say as how Gladstone has, wen he likes, a will of his own to overturn the Crown itself. And I know 'is son — 'a past eight-and- twenty years the young one is. He is just a hit of a curate iu yon church of St. Mary's, Lamhith ; and I can say for 'im as* he is a hard-working man — it's no bed of ease, the parish — and 'is father, who is now more than the Queen herself, might haA'e given young Gladstone the richest living in Ingland, and no- body to say boo to him for the favor. Yisar, I'm sixty past, last Miklemas, and man and boy I've lived in Lambeth ; and now I'm broke down with the parlyatics — but I once was a good man on the river, and could pull a wherry or waterman's tub with the best on 'em." The murky beams of an August sun were falling slantingly on the muddy waters beneath my feet as I leaned over the stone balustrades of Westminster Bridge, which connects the ancient borough of Westminster with the Surrey side of the River Thames. Far down the river, I could see craft of every de- scription lying in the stone docks, the pride and boast of all Englishmen. Bridge after bridge loomed up in the sun's hazy beams. Waterloo, Charing Cross, Blackfriars, Yauxhall, and Lambeth Bridges, crowded with traffic and swarming with the wild, heedless, ever-bustling life of the greatest city of the I c^ k^. ^^ 4 w4 'w VIEW FROM WESTMINSTER BRIDGE. 273 modern world. Under the piers of this grand bridge, nearly a thousand feet long, swept coal barges, wherries bearing noisy cockney watermen, who halloed to each other from roast-beef stomachs and brown-stout lungs, and every minute the paddling, roaring steamboats, peculiar to the Thames, — each boat about sixty feet long, their clean black hulls set off to advantage by the narrow streaks of red paint that served as an ornament to their keels, dashed to and fro, in and out of the bridge, con- veying homeward clerks, shop boys, barristers, solicitors, M. P.'s, business men from the city, physicians, and here and there a stray white neck-clothed curate of the Established Church, disgusted with the latest work of Parliament, while, within a few feet of him, scarcely conscious of the visible tri- umph that shone over his face, sat a Dissenting preacher read- ing Bright's last effoi-t in the Commons on behalf of Disestab- lishment. On either side of the Thames, beginning at one end and ceasing at the other end of the Houses of Parliament, the mag- nificent embankment of hewn granite stone stretches, thirty or forty feet in width, for a mile each way, thousands of foot pas- sengers traversing its massive blocks, each man and woman busy with his or her thoughts, or preoccupied with the passing vagaries of the hour. On my right is Westminster Palace and the Houses of Par- liament, the finest modern gothic buildings in the world. The dozen towers and belfries of this truly glorious edifice, gilded over with brass, glisten with the refulgent hues of the dying sunset, — for nine hundred and forty feet on the river, these mass- ive, brown buildings, (that, on the first view, bring up memories of some grand, old Gothic Cathedral,) stretch away with tower, buttress, and pinnacle, presenting a river facade which cannot be equaled by any other edifice for legislative purposes in tlic world. Beyond, to the left, on the Surrey side, I can see Lambeth Palace, with its faded reddish-brown brick piled up to the clouds, where resides his Grace, the high and puissant spiritual prince, tlie Archbishop of Canterbury and Primate of England. The feverish broil and confusion of the great city are all round 274 LORDS AND COMMONS. me, and arc present in, and to an extent pervade, the air above me. The whistling and puffing of the locomotives may be heard night and day as they sweep to and fro, conveying pas- sengers and freight to and from all parts of England and the Continent, over Charing Cross Bridge. The old man by my side on the bridge, with whom I have been conversing for half an hour, is an intelligent artisan of the conservative class, benumbed and enfeebled by illness, and his poor old watery, dazed utteran- ces confess to his aston- ishment at. the marvelous rapidity with which one of the great strongholds of every Englishman's belief, — the Established Church, has been over- turned by the now forem^>st man in Britain — William Ewart Gladstone. The old man has relations in America, somewhere, — he thinks, near Cincinnati, and he asks after their health and well-being with the most implicit trust that I should know all about them, believing that the Queen City is only a few miles distant l)y rail from New York. Yet the relatives of his youth and manliood have been absent over twenty years, and are pos- sibly all dead and dust by this time. As I have a desire to pay a visit to the House of Commons, and be a witness of the ])roceedings of that dignified body of legislators, I bid the Old Man of Lambeth a very good day, which he acknowledges in his own fashion, and I stroll across the Bridge and down Bridges street toward the Commons. As I pass the huge and massive Clock Tower, said to be four hund- WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE. ''bobbies" and "cabbies." 275 red feet in height, and of most beautiful design, I am warned by what I see all around me, that I am in the close vicinity of that edifice which contains within its walls annually the chosen wisdom and supposed best talent of England. Directly before me is the magnificent fane of Westminster Abbey, holding within its thousand storied urns, the ashes of the bravest, most intellectual, and most renowned, as well as the most wretched and unfortunate of Britain's dead. I can see, as I cross the bridge, the back portion of the Chapel of Henry the Seventh, with its superb and intricate net-work of tower, cornice, but- tress, groined and fillagree stone-work. Cabs, four-wheelers, and open carriages, with coachmen and footmen attired in gorgeous liveries, their wigs powdered and frizzed, are driving hither and thither, the occupants of some in full dress going to dinner, or to listen to the debates which are to take place to-night in the Lords or Commons. These magnificent flunkies wear a contemptuous look of ennui on their faces, and they survey all foot-passengers with blase glances of indifferent serenity, which I find almost im- possible to describe justly. The court-yard directly opposite St. Margaret's, of Westminster, is in a hollow below the grad- ing of the approach to the bridge, and is surrounded by a very handsome gilded iron railing, which is in turn surmounted by a row of lamps which encircle the House of Commons at night like a belt of fire. Within this enclosure are continually station- ed fifty or sixty hansom cabs for the convenience of the mem- bers who may need them in the intervals of debate, and on top of these cabs are to be found the cabbies who delight to bark and bite at the unsophisticated and verdant stranger. There are half a dozen of policemen, or "bobbies," as the cockney, in his refined slang, chooses to term tliem, wearing dark blue uniforms with silver gilt buttons, and the letter and number of their division on their close coat collars. The thick cloth-board hats, of a helmeted shajjc, that these poor fellows are compelled to wear, even in hot weather, are heavy enough to excite the compassion of the most hard-hearted person, ^n inspector of hacks, always on duty in the Palace Yard, may be 276 LORDS AND COMMONS. seen moving to and fro, giving instructions to tlie malicious cabbies, who are listening to his scoldings with the most pro- voking indifference, real or assumed, as the case may be. Not being aware of the regulations, which do not permit a stranger or visitor to enter the House of Commons without being possessed of the written order of a member, I find myself notified at the splendidly arched gothic doorway that I cannot pass. Here is a difficulty I had not counted on. A friend from America, however, shows an order, which I afterwards discover only admitted one person. We pass in under the groined roof of one of the finest halls, architecturally consid- ered, in Europe. In this hall, over six hundred years ago on a New Year's day, a monarch of tlie Plantagcnet line fed six thousand poor people, and one may well believe the legend of old prosy Abbot Ingulph, of Croyland, as he looks around and above him at the grand dimensions of the stately hall. On either side as one enters are marble statues, life-size, of Hamp- den, Falkland, Walpole, Fox, Pitt, Burke, Grattan, and others, — the work of England's greatest sculptors, placed on pedestals of stone. "We are told by the policeman who attends at one of the in- ner doorways to seat ourselves on a stone bench in an alcove, and wait our turn as is the custom here. The Stranger's Gal- lery will not hold more than a hundred persons when crowded ; and when a heavy debate is in progress, on a great public measure, the gallery is sure to be full. Five persons are ad- mitted to the gallery at a time as soon as a gap is made in the benches by the departure of an equal number of spectators. Should a man leave his seat in the alcove for an instant he is certain to lose his turn, and he will be compelled to go to the bottom place and begin over again. As soon as there is room, the policeman makes a sign to those in waiting, and he mar- shals the five persons who have tickets, and they follow him through several passages and halls to the Lobby of the Com- mons — a large, square hall, beautifully decorated, and, turning to the left, they all ascend a winding stair to the ante-room, where the tickets are examined by an old, white-haired gentle- BILL OF FARE. 277 man -^ho sits in a chair in evening dress, and, if correct, the batch are admitted to the Stranger's Galler}'', which is on the same floor, at the end of another dark passage. Before I leave the Lobby of the Commons, let me describe it briefly together with the Luncli Counter of the house,*'which even the greatest public men find it necessary to visit occa- sionally. It is a large square hall of lofty proportions, almost every inch of the walls and ceiling being ornamented in relief with the insignia of the Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. A score of the members are in the Lobby talking with one another, in an animated but not loud tone, or mayhap to some of their favored constituents who have admission. To the right is a counter running across an angle of the Lobby, at which ices, sandwiches, a glass of sherry, a glass of port, or a glass of brandy — all of a good quality, can be obtained by those of the members who do not wish to spoil a dinner by a hearty luncheon," or who do not wish to spend the time in going down stairs into a cosy suite of rooms, which I almost fancied were carved out of the beautiful oak paneling, and where a dinner nearly as good as may be found in England can be obtained at the prices and at the hours which I give in the Bill of Fare : One o'clock — Soups: Jardiniere, Is.; Calf 's Tail, Is. Joints: Shoulder of Mutton, 2s. ; Steak, stewed, 25. Entrees : Hashed Venison, 3s. ; Filet Bceuf au Vin, 2s. ; Mutton Cutlets piquante, 2s. ; Lamb Chop, Is. Sd. Five o'clock to 6.30 — Salmon, Is. 6d. ; Sole, Is. ; White Bait, Is. ; Saddle of Mutton, 2s. ; Cold Roast Beef, Is. M. ; Cold Boiled Beef, Is. M. ; Cold Lamb, 2s. ; Cold Ham, Is. M. ; Lobster, Is. 3(Z. ; Ribs of Beef, 2s. At 7 o'clock, same prices. Puddings, 6d. ; Tarts, 6d. ; "Wine Jelly, 6d. ; French Beans, Qd. ; Green Peas, 6d. ; Salad, 6d. ; Cheese, Ad. This is the bill of fare, for one day only, of the steward, Mr. Nicoll, who purveys for the Lords and Commons of England in both Houses. I give the prices as a curiosity, showing on what nutriment heroes, statesmen, and orators are fed while attending St. Stephens, and how much they are taxed for their food. This may be trivial to some persons, but I contend the sum of hu- 278 LORDS AND COMMONS. man existence is made up of trifles, and in England, particu- larly, of such substantial trifles as I have given above. Wel- lington gained the battle of Waterloo because his troops were well fed, while the raw levies, and even the Old Guard of Na- poleon, had been fighting for three days at Ligny and Quatre Bras, and had to lie the night before Waterloo in a wet morass, hungry and exhausted. The articles of food that I have named are to be procured here at a cheaper rate and of better quality than anywhere else in London, only that to enjoy the luxuries, wliich I have enumerated at moderate prices, it is first neces- sary to gain admittance to the Houses of Parliament, which can only be done tlirough a member's order. The chops and steaks here are truly magnificent, and on a scale of grandeur commen- surate with the architectural pretensions of Westminster Palace. Besides all this, away down below the bustle and eloquence of the Commons, in those dark, quaint oak passages enclosed by marvelous paneling, the visitor is certain to find one of the most beautiful bar-maids in London to wait upon him — and hand him cold sherry at sixpence a glass. This comely damsel liad some tickets to sell. Her uncle — I tliink it was her uncle — it was who had broken his leg. He belonged to the Noble Order of Foresters, and it was necessary that the public should be called upon to make up a purse to have the uncle's leg set. I had a benevolent American along with me wlio knew not what to do with liis newly cashed sov- ereigns, and he listened with a compassionate ear to the tale of distress. The result was a small contribution of a half sov- ereign to the uncle. The bar-maid said, in presence of two of her country friends — they came from Ilfracombe, down in the country: "I am so much obliged to you, sir. My uncle is very bad. Will you have soda and brandy, sir, or will you have a little bitter beer ? The bitter beer is very good after a mutton-chop and potatoes. Mr. Bright always prefers a glass of sherry when he comes down here, but Mr. Disraeli takes brandy and soda. Tlie Hirisli members, they are so jolly, and they do carry on so, and they make such jokes with us girls. I likes Lord Stanley, the mem- MR. BRUCE AND HIS STEAKS. 279 ber for Lynn, least of tliem all. Somehow, you can't joke with him. He looks awfully sewere, and whenever he speaks it's just like a father for all the world. You know, sir, he's got the hold Darby blood hintoo 'im, and lie is a great man." " Who do you like best in the House of Commons, sissy ?" said my frolicsome American friend to the joyous bar-maid. " Well, sir, I likes Mr. Bruce, tlie 'Ome Sekretary, the best of hall of them. He hassich ahinfluence. When he comes down here he always takes a steak, and he is hawful pertikler ha- bout it as how it is to be cooked. He halways likes to have one side raw and tlie other side burnt. Oh , I have been so worri- ted about Mr. Bruce and 'is steaks — the waiters always conies to me and says, 'I say, wot kind of a man is this 'ere 'Ome Sekretary, he ought to get some silk binding on to his steaks, he is so werry pertikler.' But he al- ways drops 'em a sixpence and that makes it hup." The door of the members' entrance to the Commons is guarded by two persons in evening dress, who are dignified enough in presence and feature to sit in the Senate of tlie United States. At each side is a handsomely carved, oaken box, shaped like a sentry's hut in camp, and in the sides of these boxes are placed notches or racks where all messages and letters for the members are left in the charge of the doorkeepers, as no out- siders whatever are permitted to penetrate this euti-auce except- THE LEGISLATIVE BAK-MAID. 280 LORDS AND COMMONS. ing the Lords or distinguished foreigners, and the latter only by invitation of the House itself. There are also telegraph offices in the corners of the lobby, with stained glass windows, from whence telegrams can be sent without delay to the Mediterranean, to Paris, St. Peters- burg, New York, Washington, San Francisco, Madrid, Pekin, or any place in the bounds of civilization. As I turn from the contemplation of these offices, and from the benches where a number of messengers and smart-looking and handsomely-uni- formed pages are in readiness to rush to the clubs in Pall Mall, to the Opera, or to the private residences of the members of the House, in obedience to the beck or nod of the "whip" of the government, (Sir Henry Brand,) in case of a division,! see before me in the doorway a magnificently attired gentleman, in black silk stockings, buckled shoes, and powdered hair and ruffles, wearing a bright sword at his hip. He looks like a picture stepped out of a frame of the period which Thackeray loved to dwell upon — when George the Third was king. This gentleman is none other than the Sergeant- At-Arms of the House of Commons, Lord Charles James Fox Russell, a scion of the great house of Bedford, of which Earl Russell is a member. How different he looks from the sergeant-at-arms of some of our State Legislatures, or even of the National Houses of Congress. Here is no promoted bar-keeper or re- formed rowdy, but a gentleman bearing one of the proudest names in England, and befitting by position and character the elevated office which he holds. It is more than easy to believe that a slung-shot or revolver could not be pulled upon this gor- geous and venerated being while in the performance of his august duties. The most malicious derringer would be silent in his aAvful presence, and no slung-shot, however moulded, could ever impinge that hereditary forehead. A story is told of a man who once penetrated even to the floor of the House itself, and sat there on the benches, being taken for some new member by his colleagues wlio was yet to be sworn in. But before the morning broke, the House having sat all night, the horror of his position had so paralyzed him I THE GREAT COMMONER. 281 that his jetty hair had turned white. Stay, as I have no ticket I will throw myself upon the country and abide the issue. I sent in to the Hon. John Francis Maguire, M. P., my card, with the written desire that I should be admitted to the gallery, and then I awaited the issue, whether for the Tower or the House. While I waited, strolling about the gallery, a gentleman came out of the door of the Commons, upon whom every eye was turned, and walked in an upright, John Bull fashion towards the refreshment comiter. A whisper went round the lobby, "That is John Bright," and then I knew that for the first time I stood in the presence of England's greatest Commoner, the apostle of the Manchester school and Tribune of the people. I who had seen so many caricatures of the great orator in Punchy which has always depicted him as a fat, pursy, A^lgar- looking person, sans breeding, sans cercmonie, failed at the first glance to identify the noble-looking old man in evening dress, with an irreproacha- ble white necktie, and a decidedly polished exterior, who halted at the refreshment bar to slowly sip a strawberry ice after the heat of the debate. Every inch this was a man, as I looked at him, and a king among men, if the outward shell can serve at all to indicate what is con- cealed within. And he has a [)rinccly follow- ing too. For around him I can see a num- ber of men whose names are known wherever the English lan- guage is spoken, and wherever English newspapers are printed and read, — eager to get a word or a look from him, plain John 18 JOHN BRIGHT. 282 LORDS AND COMMONS. Briglit, once the best hated man in England, and now, by sliecr force of will and dogged pluck, enshrined forever in the admiration, if not the love, of his countrymen. I have as yet only been waiting a few minutes when I see approaching me a messenger of the House, who points the writer out to a stout, compact-looking man in evening dress, of advanced years, fair complexion, and with a keen look in his face which seiwes as a front to a large, solid head, well set on strong shoulders. This is the Hon. John Francis Maguire, M. P. for Cork, author of " Rome and its Rulers," " The Life of Father Matthew," "The Irish in America," and editor of the Cork Examiner, a man well known in Ireland and America, and one of the Irish lead- ers of the Liberal side in the House. Mr. Maguire has taken the trouble to leave his seat in the House during debate to oblige the writer of tMs book, and I must here make my acknowledgment for the courtesy done. Mr. Maguire hands me a slip of paper which he has procured for me from the Right Honorable John Evelyn Denison, Bart., Speaker of the House, and this order entitles me to a reserved seat on the front bench of the Gallery. I now pass the digni- tary in the black stockings and buckles, who smiles most gra- ciously at me out of the respect to the Speaker's order, and, after traversing a narrow stair, emerge into the Speaker's Gallery, and find myself at last inside the English House of Commons, of which I have heard so much and so often. It is now after dusk, and I can hear the silvery chime of " Big Ben " in the huge clock tower of St. Stephen's, as it peals the hour of eight through the corridors and galleries. Tliere is just now a recess among the members for consulta- tion, and but few are on the floor of the House, the majority being in the lobby button-holing each other, and the rest, with the exception of fifteen or twenty on the seats behind the Treasury Bench, are at dinner. There are fifty or sixty persons in the Gallery, behind and above me, the place where I sit being reserved for those whose names have been inscribed on the list of the Speaker. The Commons' Galleries run lengthwise on either side of the House, HALL OF THE COMMONS. 283 for nearly a hundred feet, having an upper and lower bench, covered with green leather. The House is about forty-five feet wide, and one hundred feet long, and the ceiling is over forty feet from the ground floor, where the debates are held. It is impossible for me to convey an idea of the richness and splen- dor of this Hall of the Commons. Suffice to say that there is nothing to compare with it in America for architectural effect and compactness. From above in the ceiling a flood of mellow liglit ix)urs through sixty-four stained glass windows, and on either side of the House the windows are gorgeous in their designs of shields and coats of arms, indicating the living presence of the monarchy of Great Britain and Ireland. The numerous gas jets are concealed at the top of the glass panelling of the ceiling, throwing a brilliant but subdued light upon the Speaker as he sits in his high, overhanging oak chair ; on the members; on the spectators, and on the ladies who are assembled behind the glass screen at the back of and above the Speaker's chair. Beneath the Ladies' Gallery, and also behind the Speaker's chair, is the Reporters' Gallery, so arranged that each member, as he faces the Speaker, shall also face the numerous corps of reporters who are in attendance to note down whatever wheat may develop itself in the wilderness of chafi" spoken in this House. The lowest bench on the right hand of the Speaker is de- voted to the Ministry, and on this side, immediately above, the supporters of the government congregate within hearing dis- tance of the Premier, night after night, during the sessions. Whenever the Ministerial side is thin of speakers, Mr. Glad- stone simply turns around, and a nod or look will bring upon his feet whatever member he thinks will best fill the gap. Un- derneath the Strangers' gallery is placed a special seat for the august Sergeant at- Arms or his deputy, who is, if I mistake not, a baronet. The walls and ceiling all round are of stone of a peculiar color, which is neither brown, white, grey, nor yellow, but is a combination of all four ; and I can best describe the tone of color by likening it to the hue of the bronchial 284 LORDS AND COMMONS. troches or lozenges that are sold in the druggists' shops in America. Otherwise I might call it a brownish-grey, of which John Ruskin has examples enough and to spare in his " Stones of Venice." It is certainly a very rich color, and admirably adapted to the damp and foggy atmosphere of London. Wherever the eye may choose to rest in the Houses of Parliament, it is sure to be confronted with the emblazoning of royal and princely cognizances. On both sides of the House are the Division lobbies, where the members go to be counted by the tellers, when a division is called for. Tliat on the west side is for the " ayes," and on the opposite side is the lobby for the " noes." There are also libraries, residences for all the officers of the House, on a scale of the most princely magnificence, and more than a score of committee-rooms abutting oif the longest corri- dors of any public building in tlie world, not excepting tlie Escurial in Spain. Everywhere you may see acres of polished oak above and around you. CHAPTER XIX. LORDS AND C OMIH ON S.— CONTINUED. IRECTLY in front of tlie gallery where I am sitting, is the Reporter's Gallery. There are fifteen boxes for their use to take notes in, each reporter sitting separately from his comrade, and writing char- acters for dear life. These boxes resemble private boxes in our New York Opera House, with the difference that they have no roofs above tliem, and are open to the public gaze. Behind these fifteen boxes are seats for twenty more reporters, to take the place of those in the boxes in turn. Each reporter takes short-hand notes for a space of ten to fifteen minutes time, and is then relieved by his colleague, waiting above ]iim,who steps into his place as the other retires to the Reporter's Room, in the corridor, to write out his notes, and thence to take them to the newspaper office, or else, if he chooses, he may send them by the small boys waiting in the gallery, who are em- ployed by the newspapers at a salary of from eight to twelve British shillings a week to act as messengers. Late at night, it is customary for the reporter who has notes of a very impor- tant speech — which he desires to get to the composing-rooms of his journal, to take a cab from the Palace Yard, where tlierc are dozens of them always waiting, and thus dash off to be in time for the press. The Times keeps thirteen reporters con- stantly in the gallery during the session, and the Standard as many more, if I am not mistaken. These men are all expert short- liand reporters, and receive from five to eight guineas per week, according to their capability. There is also a man who re- 286 LORDS AND COMMONS. — CONTINUED. mains late to get the gist of what is said and done in debate, and from his notes he makes up a clear and comprehensive summary for the morning edition. Then there is the "leader- writer," "the editor" proper, and a "special reporter," who receive cards of admission to that part of the house under the Reporter's Gallery, and consequently on the floor of the House beliind the Speaker's chair. Tliis is a high favor, and only granted most sparhigly, and with discretion. There are generally to be found about twenty reporters in the gallery, but this number is greatly increased on a " field night," when it is usual to find as many as thirty-five or forty journalists in the gallery. From what I have seen of these parliamentary reporters they seem to be very deliberate in their movements, and they do not allow anjihing to hurry them. They are nearly all, however, very pleasant gentlemen, and with few exceptions, men of experience and scholarly attain- ments, two-thirds of them being men who have taken honors at the universities, or at Harrow, Eton, or Rugby, and in not a few instances they have begun life by taking minor orders in the church, and having toyed with journalism for some time they were unable at last to resist its feverish fascination. Some few of them are in the Inns of Court — embryo barristers during the day, and at night they practise short-hand, earn a respectable living, and gain experience from England's chosen representatives up in their secluded nooks in the gallery of the House. It was not always that the press and its reporters had such privileges as they now possess in the House of Commons. Before the administration of Sir Robert Walpole, there were no satisfactory records of the debates in the House. The fierce contests between Walpole, "Windham, Pulteney, and others had, indeed, for some time before 1740, attracted attention to the proceedings of the House, and they had been regularly reported in a confused long-hand sort of fashion every month in the Gentleman'' 8 and London Magazine, the former publication com- mencing the debates in January, 1731, the latter in xVpril, 1732, but no attempt can be said to have been made to convey more than the substance of the speeches until that department DR. JOHNSON TAKING NOTES. 287 of the G-entlemarCs Magazine was intrastcd to grufif old Samuel Johnson, in November, 1740. This is the commencement of the era of parliamentary reporting in England. Short-hand before that time is involved in chaos, and it is doubtful if John- son knew anything more than tlie rudiments of the then crude system of stenography. Indeed, Johnson appears to have given more of his own elo- quence than of what had actually been uttered in Parliament; but still, what he did was, in all probability, only to substitute one kind of eloquence for another — a better for a worse ; or, it might be, sometimes, a worse for a better — and therefore, on tlie whole, the speeches written by him, though less true to the letter than those given by his predecessors, may be received as a more living, and, as such, a truer representation of the real debates than had ever before been produced. He would not take the trouble to or be guilty of the ab- surdity of expending his lofty rhetoric upon the version of a deljate or speech which had not really attracted attention by that quality, but I suppose he reserved his strength for occa- sions on which those who had heard, or heard of, the original oration, would look for somethings more brilliant tb.an usual. It was not, however, until after a long and severe struggle, witli a desperate fight at the close, that the right of reporting tlic debates of Parliament was gained by the English press of tliat day. It is only about one hundred and thirty years ago, (in the old days of the Hanoverian and Pretender's troubles), since anything spoken in the House was allowed to be printed until after the session was dissolved. The House, in its wisdom, denounced any earlier pul)lication of the eloquence of the hon- orable memliers as a daring act of illegality. On the 13th of April, 1738, the House resolved " that it is an high indignity to, and a notorious breach of the privilege of this House, for any news matter or letters, or other papers, as minutes, or under any other denomination, or for any printer or pu))lisher of any printed newspaper of any denomination to presume to insert in the said letters or papers, or to give therein any ac- count of, the debates or other proceedings of this House, or any committee thereof, as well during the recess as the sitting of 288 LORDS AND COMMONS. Parliament, and that this House will proceed with the utmost severity against such offenders." The House of Commons, it is needless to say, has progressed somewhat since that day. The monthly magazines, notwithstanding the resolution of the House, still continued to print the debates, although for some time thoy took the necessary precaution of indicating the speakers by fictitious names, to which they furnislied their readers with a key when the House became dissolved. But it was not until the year 1771, nearly a century ago, that the de- bates began to be given to the public day by day as they occur- red, and then the attempt gave rise to a contest between the House and the newspapers, which occupied the House, to the exclusion of all other business, for three weeks, when a com- mittee was appointed, whose report, when it was read two months after, suggested whether it might not be expedient to order that the offending parties should be taken into the cus- tody of the Sergeant-at-Arms. Edmund Burke compared the decision, in his own brilliant manner, to the resolution of the bewildered convocation of mice, — that the cat, to prevent her doing future destruction, should have a bell hung to her neck, but forgot to say how the rash act was to be performed. Well, that is all past and gone now, and the only complaint made in these busy days by members of Parliament against the score of daily newspapers, published in London, is tliat they err in not printing enough of the speeches to satisfy each individual representative. I noticed that the majority of the parliamentary reporters in the Gallery were consideralily advanced in age, many of them wearing gray hairs, and fully sixty per cent, of tlie whole num- ber that I saw were above forty years- of age. Some of these gentlemen, by careful saving and strict attention to their ardu- ous professional duties, have amassed comfortable competencies, and some of them own, in the environs of the city, snug little houses, with snug little libraries, and in some of them, I can certainly say, are to be found pleasant tables and home-comforts rarely possessed by their brethren of the note-book, and pencil in America. There are, to be sure, many improvident ones in THE CLERK OF THE HOUSE. 289 Louden, as elsewhere, and here Bohemiaiiism lias a lower depth than it ever was known to have in America, for it is here that the really depraved and abandoned Bohemian confines liimself exclnsively to the consumption of gin — raw and simple gin. A low London Bohemian is a mere animal, and will beg a copper from you in the same breath that he professes his willingness to translate a Greek tragedy— to oblige the giver of the copper, or else he will favor you with an account of his days at Oxford or Trinity, when he was a "first honor" man or a B. A. But one thing I have not found as yet in London on the press, and that is an illiterate or badly taught man, such as can be met with by the score on the American press. The House to-night is in a Committee of the Whole on the Scottish Education bill. The Ministerial benches are pretty well filled, while the Opposition benches, to the loft of the Speaker's chair, are but thinly populated. Fronting the Speaker's chair of state is a table of polished mahogany, the surface of which is about ten feet wide by fifteen feet long. Directly before the chair of the Right Honorable Speaker are two low-seated chairs of less pretension, occupied by the Clerk of the House of Commons, Sir Denis Le Marchant, and his as- sistant, Sir Thomas Erskine May, K. C. B. The former is a smooth-faced man, haviiig the inevitable wig upon his head, which gives him a much older appearance than his years would warrant. His shoulders are enveloped in an ample black silk gown, and a blank book of large dimensions is open before him upon whose leaves he is supposed to enter the minutes of the House. This person has a magnificent suite of apartments in a ^\ing of the Parliament House, beside a very large salary, and is as comfortably lioused as if he belonged to the royal blood of Britain. Sir Thomas Erskine May, K. C. B., seated upon his left, is a clean-shaved gentleman in evening dress, who also has apartments in tlie palace, and a good salary. He has nothing remarkable about his jx^rson or manner, with the exception of a very drawling voice and a hesitancy in announc- in"- motions made by the members, or in calling a division when the House so wills it. He is the author of tlie eontinua- 290 LORDS AND COMMONS. tion of Hallam's Constitutional History of England. Beside these high officials there arc four " Principal Clerks," one of whom, like Sir Thomas May, enjoys the high dignity of a Knight Companion of the Bath, &c. Then there are twelve " Assistant Clerks" and twelve "Junior Clerks," with an "Accountant," an "Assistant Accountant," a "Private Secretary to the Chair- man of Ways and Means;" a " Sergeant-at-Arms," who is a Lord ; two "Deputy Sergeants;" a "Chaplain," no less a man than Canon Merivale, the accomplished Roman historian, who has the good sense to make his prayers at the c »mmcncement of the proceedings very short; a "Secretary to the Speaker;" a "Librarian," a poor cadet of the great overshadowing family of Howard; an "Assistant Librarian," with an Irish name ; two " Examiners of Petitions for Private Bills," one of whom is Mr. R. D. F. Pal- grave, of whom Americans have heard, and finally a "Taxing Officer," be- side innumerable ser- vants, of superfine bearing, correct even- ing dress, and con- summate self-posses- sion. I asked one of these ponderous ser- vants, whom at first sight I took to be the "Juke of Linsther," as an Irisli reporter pronounced it, if he was not awed by the dignity of the house. "Aw," said he, in a gracious manner, "youer, I precszhume, en Eemircken. Tliis sawt of tiling boaws me 'orrid ; it docs. I hcv dun hit for licit yeers. I wish they wud adjoan, and I wud go to my club.'' COULD YOU MAKE IT A TANNER'? THE SPEAKER AND HIS WIG. 291 Timidly I offered this gorgeous being fourpence, expecting to be rebuked in a dignified manner for my presumption by the personage who talked so fluently of " 'is club." He never turned around, but, gazing steadily at the Speaker's chair, as if he was desirous of catching the Right Honorable Gentle- man's eye, thrust his hand behind him, counted the pennies with his fingers, and said to the writer in a stage whisper : "Would your 'onor pleese to make it a 'tanner'? We 'ave no perkisites in the Commons, pleese." Let me here state that a "tanner" is the slang term for sixpence, and a "bob" is a shilling among the London cockneys, servants, bar-boys, and wild children of the thousand streets and lanes of London. When the House is in committee it is not the custom for the Speaker to be present. When the House is in open session, then the Speaker is arrayed in wig and gown, and he sits far back in the recesses of his chair, like some dried-up mummy, so closely is he swathed and covered. It is pretty hard work for a member to actually catch his eye, being so muffled up as to defy recognition by a casual observer. Yet it is a part and parcel of the British Constitution, that this Right Honor- able John Evelyn Dennison should bo smothered in this huge box and gown and wig on a warm August night like this. During committee proceedings the Speaker may walk out, doff his wig and gown, and dine as he has done to-night, and then come back, and finding the House still in committee, he will seat himself in his chair without his legal vesture. 1 have been in this House four nights, and this is the first time that I have seen the Speaker's legs — palpably. He lolls back without any of that reverence that I have heard so much of, as Ijelong- ing to the Commons, and he has at last gone to sleep, like Mr. Greeley under Dr. Chapin's sermons. Li the meantime, the bill, which has twenty-five clauses or sections, is being can- vassed and considered by the members who stream in, now that the dinner hour has passed. While the Speaker slumbers in a quiet way, the chief and assistant clerks of the House conduct the business, the assis- tant taking up the bill, and repeating as he reads each clause 292 LORDS AND COMMONS. in detail : " It is moved," or " it is proposed that a substitute," or that the "word instead of ," and so on, in sopo- rific tones, for two long hours. A number of people in the gallery are gently dozing, aud visibly many of the messengers are relapsing into a blissful repose. The Speaker's table is covered with reports, large bound and gilt volumes, books of ref- erence, pamphlets, newspapers, costly ink- horns, and other cleri- cal paraphernalia of the state service. The huge guilded mace of the Speaker, which lies on the further end of the table below his chair, when the House is not in committee, is now pendant under the table on a rack, to show that it is not an open session for the intro- duction of new measures or for the making of set speeches. Out of six hundred and seventy or eighty members of the House, there are not present to night more than one hundred and fifty. Many of the remaining members are scattered all over the Continent in nooks and corners. A large number may be found on the Parisian boulevards ; some are at Fon- tainebleau ; some in the Pyrenees, swallowing chalybeate waters ; many are yachting in the Mediterranean, or wasting their time with the peasant girls in Isles of the Greek Archipelago; not a few are otT at the races at Goodwood or Brighton ; some are at Rome, burning, fuming, and cursing the garlic and salads ; dozens of them are at Constantinople, at St. Petersburg, or climbing the Alps out of a sheer love of THE SPEAKER OP THE HOUSE. DIGNITY OF THE HOUSE. 293 danger and the reckless fondness of physical excitement inborn in the Englishman ; and probably as many as could be numbered on the fingers of the hand are scattered over the American Continent in search of novelty. There are also a number of City members absent, in tlieir out-of-town residences, compel- led to forego forensic honors, at the command of wife and daughters who are packing and poking preparatory to a flight to the Rhine and Germany. The ministerial benclies show a good front for the late season ; first, because the government has a great deal of unfinished business on its hands, which must be transacted before Parliament is closed ; and secondly, because the exertions of the government whip have been most arduous in hunting up Mr. Gladstone's supporters, and com- pelling them to remain in their seats, while tliere is work to be done by them. With a great number of Americans, that have not visited England, there is in some way or another an abiding impres- sion that the House of Commons is the most stately and dig- nified legislative body in the world. To be disabused of this notion it is only necessary for an American to sit during a night session in the gallery of the House, with a proviso that he has been a visitor at some time or another to the Senate Chamber or the House of Representatives at "Washington. When a member of this House rises to claim the attention of the Speaker, it is common to find half a dozen of his fellow members rising also with him for the same purpose. A member of the government gets on his honorable legs with his face turned toward the Speaker. If on the lower bench, he will walk a little forward to the table, and if he is accustomed to speak from notes, it is more than possible that he will lay one hand on the table and with the other turn the leaves of his manuscript. If he speaks extemporaneously, he will probably lean in a loung- ing position forward, his two hands resting on the Speaker's table. Many of the members who are best known to the public have this fashion, and it is most unpleasant to hear them drawl forth sentence after sentence as if they were dragged from their 294 LORDS AND COMMONS. honorable throats by sheer force. It has often been reported by English writers that American legislators have a bad fashion of elevating their legs and laying back in an irreverent attitude while listening to a debate. Also, that they expectorate freely. Well, I have seen the most distinguished statesman at present in England — I mean Mr. Gladstone — lounge and disperse his limbs, while within ten feet of the Speaker, in a fashion that would bring shouts of laughter from a crowded theatre, were the same thing done in a farce or low comedy. Each member of the Commons, as he walks into the House, to-night, has his hat on his head. As he passes the Speaker's chair, he doffs it for an instant, but when he takes his seat the hat is replaced upon his head as before. As a general thing, a member who speaks without notes, addresses the Speaker, with his hat in one hand. They all seem to conclude whatever remarks they have to make with a jerk, and as soon as they sit down the hat is again replaced, or rather slapped on the head, with a vehement motion that seems impelled by some hidden mechanical power. Then they have a fashion of lounging in and out in a free-and-easy way during debate, that is highly suggestive of a bar-room in a frontier town. There is rarely, or never — in the House of Commons — an exhibition of the nervous, impassioned speaking which may be heard all over America or in the Corps Legislatif. When there is a clear or telling speech made, (as far as the manner of de- livery goes,) — mind, I do not speak of its effect practically — or if the eloquence is of a florid description, it will be surely spoken by one of the one hundred and five Irish members. Certainly, when Whalley or Newdegate get on their legs, to smash the Pope or to recount horrible but dramatic stories about the mysteries and child massacres of convents, there is no lack of vehemence and buncombe. But this style of oratory is confined to a few of the members who have hobbies to ride, and who cannot be driven from them even at the point of the bayonet. Pliysically speaking, a majority of the members are gallant- looking fellows, and they are all dressed simply, but with the AMBASSADOR LAYARD. 295 taste always observed by a gentleman in the selection of arti- cles of clothing. A small number of them wear white beaver hats, and their trowsers are cut widely at the bottom in the now prevailing fashion. With the exception of a few of the younger and more fashionable members, who frequent the race-courses, tlie Opera, — go to liear Schneider, lounge into the Cremorne after eleven o'clock at night, or frequent tlie society of such famous demi-reps as " Mabel Grey," " Baby Hamilton," " Baby Thornell," or other women who have beggared and ruined hundreds of those young men about town who have a dispo- sition to be fast, there is a total absence of showy or loud colors in their apparel. A great many of the "fast" young men attend the session — occasionally — for the sake of common decency, or because their constituencies compel it, as in the case of a City borough the other day, where a member was rebuked by a public resolution of condemnation and asked to resign, for al)sence from his seat. Younger sons of noble lords look upon the House of Commons as a necessary evil, which must be " done," like an occasional visit to church, or to Rich- mond, or Greenwich, to eat fish. As the members come in one by one and take their places on the benches, I find opportunities to observe and note their peculiarities and looks. That gentleman who comes in so slowly and so quietly, dressed in dark clothes, and having a head, whiskers, and general resemblance to our Longfellow, is the Right Honorable Austin H. Layard, Commissioner of Public Works, one of tlie Ministers, but not a member of the Cabinet, and lately appointed English Ambassador to Spain. You would take him for a literary man or a thinker, anywhere, by reason of his long, flowing, white hair and thoughtful look. Mr. Layard is the author of the celebrated book on Nineveh. He receives attention in the House always when he rises to speak of Eastern affairs. He was at one time an attache of the English embassy to the Porte, and was Under Secretary for Foreign Affairs in the administration of Earl Granville. Mr. Layard has the reputation of being rather hot tempered in debate, and at one time he earned the ill-will of the aristocratic 296 LORDS AND COMMONS. faction in the House by his persevering liberalism, but at pres- ent he is popular enough, and no one can look at his bright dark-blue eye and general appearance, without feeling that he is in the presence of a man who possesses a considerate and calmly philosophical spirit, broken at times by a sudden flash of the scholar's enthusiasm. That gentleman with the exquisitely carved face and very red hair, with a slight dimple in his chin, and clear, frank eyes, is the Secretary of State for War, the Right Honorable Ed- ward Cardwell, M. P. for Oxford City, and an old follower of Sir Robert Peel. He has in his time held various offices of trust under different administrations, and in June, 1866, when the forces of Col. William R. Roberts, President of the Fenian Brotherhood, invaded the Canadas, Mr. Cardwell, as Secretary for the Colonies, had his hands full of a rather difficult business, which he managed as well as the very annoying circumstances — for a British Crown Minister — would permit. I like to heg-r Mr. Cardwell speak. He is always ready, yet deliberate, and with these qualities he possesses a happy and easy manner in argument. The most difficult job of Mr. Cardwell's life was the management of the Governor Eyre-Jamaica business, which at its crisis covered the English administration with shame and ignominy. Mr. Cardwell had, while at Oxford, a very good reputation, which he has not as yet contradicted by his course in Parliament, of which body he was returned as a member as early as 1842. Thackeray once ran against him and was defeated. That really handsome young gentleman, who is said to have the best-shaped leg in the House, as well as the friendship of the most charming female members of the aristocracy, as he certainly is the owner of a most beautiful head of hair, of the hue of a new guinea, such as is seen in Carlo Dolce's Virgins — is the member for Argyllshire, the Marquis of Lome, heir pre- sumptive to George Douglas Campbell, eighth Duke of Argyll, the Liberal Secretary of State for India in the Gladstone Cab- inet, a Privy Counsellor, and a Knight of the Thistle. The young marquis, at twenty-five, has the face and skin of a LORNE AND CHILDERS. 297 maiden of twenty, and I could not but observe that his trow- sers were of a fashion superior to any otlier known trowsers in the House of Commons. I do not know whether the hand- some Marquis inherits the Covenanting piety of the Argyll- Campbells, his ancestors ; but he bears a wonderful resemblance to liis father, the Duke, and among the frescoes in the corridors of the House there is one by Copely, entitled the " Sleep of Argyll," and I was astonished to notice tlic strong likeness of the young Marquis — who passed the fresco at the moment — to the face of his illustrious ancestor of two hundred years ago, as it was depicted by the artist — lying on a prison pallet. The Marquis of Lome, while I was in the gallery, sat behind Mr. Gladstone, on an U2:)per bencli, as a Liberal, like his father who sits in the Lords. When the hereditary Campbell got up on liis well-shaped legs to speak as a Scotch member on the Pa- rochial Schools bill, he did it quietly, and in a clear, musical voice, tliat seemed to attract attention. The ^larquis of Lornc has a very ready delivery, though he is not as yet of great account in debate, and he is I believe, from all reports, a marvclously proper young man, compelled to exist upon about £25,000 a year, which amount "\nll be largely augmented when the present Duke is committed to the family vaults. That big, bulky six-footer, of great shoulders and massive limb, wearing tightly fitting clothes, his forehead overshadowed with dark, reddish-brown hair, and his whole manner indica- tive of pluck and a contest against life-long odds, is the Right Honorable H. C. E. Childcrs, member for Pontefract, and First Lord of tlie Admiralty, an office that in England somewhat resembles the position of Secretary of the Navy of the United States, having this difference only — that the First Lord, while in his place on the Treasury or Cabinet benches in the House of Commons, is compelled to reply to all attacks on the man- agement of tlie Navy, and to defend the expenditure and esti- mates of that department. He is noAV giving facts from a pam- phlet wliich lie liolds in one hand, while he rests his body on liis other hand across the table in a negligent manner, as if he 19 o , , 298 LORDS AND COMMONS. were more used to roughing it in the bush than supporting a minister by a recapitulation of dreary statistics in the House. Mr. Cliildcrs was at one time, I believe, a fellow-member with Mr. Robert Lowe, of tlie Parliament of Victoria, after both of them had exiled themselves voluntarily to the anti- podes. Mr. Cliilders only became a member of the House in 1860, and his rise to eminence was achieved with more than American rapidity, in a country where it is a cardinal prin- ciple that a man should not receive emolument, honor, or position, until he has grown the gray hair of sixty years. ^ Mr. Cliilders is the chairman and director also of at least threescore of corporations and foun- dations of charity of one kind or another, and is said to be very good in figures — a necessary gift in a Lord of the Admiralty . If his mind is half as big as his whiskers, he is certainly a genius. The hard work of defending ' the Gladstone administra- tion in detail is usually given to Mr. Cliilders, to W. E. Foster, M. P. for Bradford, or to Mr. Bruce, the Home Secretary. In all Irish matters, Mr. Chichester Fortescue, the Chief Secre- tary for Ireland, is expected to stand by his leader, Mr. Gladstone, and he has been of great service to him in the Irish Land Bill legislative measures. ^Mr. Cliilders, like the young Marquis of Lornc, is a Trinity College, Camljridge, man, but not an Eton boy like the former. The next noticeable person on the ministerial bench, and by all ackno-wlcdged to be one of the ablest men in Parliament, s riKST LORD OP THE ADMIRALTY. THE SATIRICAL LOWE. 299 is the Right Honorable Robert Lowe, member for London University, an Oxford man, and son of a Church of England clergyman. London University, which Mr. Lowe represents, is the most liberal educational institution in England, and grants University degrees to students, irrespective of their reli- gious belief. A short time ago the Queen opened tlie new London University buildings, which are, I believe, unequaled in the metropolis for beauty of design and commodious comfort. Mr. Lowe is now in his fiftieth year, and is a member of the Gladstone Cabinet, and Chancellor of the Exchequer — the office formerly held Ijy his illustrious chief, and one of the greatest trust and responsibility in England. As an orator Lowe has few equals, and stands in the follow- ing order of precedence: Gladstone, — Bright, — Disraeli, — Lowe, — according to the best judges. By many he is said to be superior to Disraeli in satirical power, although not his equal in vehement philippic, and not a few consider him equal in logical force to Bright. Yet, with all his al)ility and power, he is one of the best-hated pu])iic men in all England, and this is said to be the result of his unfortunate proclivity for satire, and for a certain unpleasant gruffiiess, that, spite of his educa- tion and inward natural courtesy, will break out, and in a min- ute demolish the labor of a year of statesmanship. I might call ^Ir. Lowe a pure-blooded Albino, as he is first noticeable by his bushy white eye-brows, white hair of great length, and rather pinkish eye-lids. He has a positive, firm chin, a clear eye, and, from tlic'abut- ment of his nostril to the corner of his lower lip on either side deep ridges extend, giving him in that part of tlie face the look of a bon vivant. The eye is very steady, and looks at a stranger of doubtful appearance with a sneering way that seems to say : " I have to be polite ; but if I choose to think you an idiot, it is my owli business." The ears are large, and seem to be buttoned back, as if ready for a row on the slightest provo- cation. Mr. Lowe is quite near-sighted, and it is said that to this defect he owed his release from holy orders, having studied for the Church at University College, Oxford. He certainly 300 LORDS AND COMMONS. 1 would have made a very unpleasant sort of a clergyman for some of the lax and rather immoral public men who illuminate the House occasionally. He is a man of many edges, bristling all over with sharp and hard angles, and is in every way an ag- gressive person. Lord Palmerston, who was with every other member of the House — on the footing of a jolly good fel- low, could never be brouglit to like Robert Lowe. Lowe never laughed at the veteran Premier's jokes. Mr. Lowe owes his first important ad- vancement from an ordinary station in life to the fact that when he returned to Eng- land from Sydney, he had the good fortune to contribute a smasli- ing article to the Times, and since that time Mr. Lowe, it is understood, has been a regular outside con- tributor of that jour- nal, witli great good luck to back him. Mr. Lowe has also the rep- utation of being a very quick and facile "leader" writer upon the topics with which he is best acquainted. Mr. Lowe once had liis head well smashed by the roughs at an election row, and it is said that the memory of it has stuck to him ever since, like the caning of Charles Sumner by Pres- ton Brooks, and, like that e])isode, it has served to keep old fires burning. Li the memorable debates of 1866, upon the suffrage question, Mr. Lowe shone Avith liis greatest force. With such rivals as Bright, Disraeli, Gladstone, Hardy, and Milner Gib- son, it was no joke to keep on the top of the tide, but Lowe II JCOBERT E. LOWE. THE MARQUIS OP HARTINGTON. 301 neyer faltered in Lis career. The more pitiless were his ad- versaries in argument, the more pitiless became Robert Lowe. The fancy, tlic vigor, the antithesis, the irony, wit, force, en- ergetic subtlety, and strength of his speeches during that stormy session of 186G, are not likely to be forgotten soon, by friend or adversary, in the House of Commons. Lowe is, I believe, the only instance of a man who has at one and the same time a dimpled chin and a bad temper. That mild-looking, dark-faced man, with neat attire and jeweled fingers, who comes in almost stealthily from behind the Speaker's chair, and takes his scat upon the Ministerial Bench, is Goschcn, who represents London, and is a member of the Cabinet, President of the Boor Law Board, and son of a Leipsic bookseller of moderate circumstances. Mr. Goschcn is evidently of Jewish origin, and his rise to power has been speedy. lie is still a young man — of polished 'manners, and more than any other member in Parliament repre- sents the moneyed interests of the great city for wliich he sits. He is a Rugby and Oriel College man, and was at one time Vice-President of the Board of Trade, and afterwards Chan- cellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. Yet he is scarcely develop- ing the statesmanlike power which was predicted for him by his friends who had watched his career as a Director in the Bank of England, and as the author of essays and treatises on some topics of political economy. The middle-sized gentleman, inclined to baldness, wearing a brown coat and a mixed trousers, with straps at the bottom of the latter, and who has a slight fringe of whiskers and a round bright eye, is no less a personage than the Manpiis of Ilarting- ton, Postmaster-General, a member of the Cabinet, heir pre- sumptive to the Dukedom of Dcvonsliire, the Eaiklom of Bur- lington, Baron Cavcndisli in Derbysliire and Baron Cavendish in York, chiefly celebrated for Ins advocacy of the Confederacy in Parliament, and a man of not exceedingly great calil)re as a del)ater or thinker ; but from the possessions which he will one day inherit in this broad and merry England, a man of most decided influence and power. He has for his family mot- 302 LORDS AND COMMONS. 1 to, " Secure in Caution," and generally sticks to it in the House. In his young days, it is liintcd that the Marquis of Harting- ton was in the hal3it of going home very late with his night key in his coat-tail pocket, and at one time it is said that the notorious "Skittles," (since dead,) had emblazoned on her hand- some brougham — presented her by the Marquis — the crest of the now steady and religicusly inclined Postmaster-General of Great Britain. He is just now conversing with a tall, black- whiskered man, of sharp features and equally sharp accent, in drab clothing. This is George Armistead, M. P. for Dundee, formerly a Russia merchant, and said to be a good man on committees. A medium-sized, dark-faced, and portly person in black clothes walks in slowly by the Speaker and seats himself, with his hat bent forward over his eyes, and having a book, whose leaves lie is cut- ting, in his hand. This is Alexander James Bcresford-Hope, one of the two M. P.'s for Cambridge University — the other being the Right Hon. Spencer Horatio Walpole, whose mother was Countess of Egmont. Mr. Beresford-Hope is part proprietor of that well known weekly and satirical journal, the Saturday Revieiv, and is or has been a writer for the same sheet. During the Civil War in America, ^Ir. Beresford-Hope spoke early and often in sui> port of the Confederacy while in Parliament, and also wrote a book favoring Jefferson Davis and his cause. In this course he had no more ardent colleague than the gentleman who now approaches him with his head moving from right to left, in a nervous fashion — I mean William Henry Gregory, member for Galway. Mr. Hope is no doubt a good liver, and is a member of the Carlton, Athenaeum, University, Oxford and Cambridge, and New University Clubs, where, possibly, he has a great oppor- tunity to study cookery as a fine art. His fellow member from Cambridge, who stands toying with his watch chain and drum- ming on the floor, bears tlie imposing name of Spencer Wal- pole, and has no decided individuality in the House. Both I PEERS IN THE GALLERY. 303 Hope and Walpole are Conservatives, and arc sadly shocked at the continued majorities of Mr. Gladstone. The man just now speaking from notes is Lieutenant-Colonel Sir Robert Anstruther, of the Grenadier Guards, member for Fifeshirc, a Harrow man, and an earnest liberal of the Scotch stamp. The little old man in evening dress, pale face, and having a circle of white beard around his throat, who is playing with his fingers nervously, is The O'Conor Don, member for Ros- common, who is looked up to by all the Irish members. The slender young gentleman, not yet in his twenty-fifth year, and very fashionably dressed, leaning up against the back of the Speaker's chair in conversation, is Henry George, Earl Percy, son of the Duke of Northumberland, who married the eldest daughter of the Duke of Argyll, and will one day be the proprietor of the second proudest title in England as well as of half a dozen castles, a score of manors, and three or four baronies. This young man was sent to the House of Com- mons by his father, the Duke of Northumberland, as a Con- servative, but it is rarely that he takes the trouble to open his lips in debate. He has a very great reputation for driving tan- dem, and is known to be a judge of boquets and claret — young as he is as a legislator in the House of Commons — but he bears a good reputation, and has not done anything to dishonor the proud name of Percy as yet. That young gentleman with tlie pointed yellow moustache and goatee of the Vandyke type, is Sir David Wcddcrburn, of an old Scotch family, and quite an active working young mem- ber of the opposition when led by Disraeli. Very often the peers of the Upper House may be found in the Commons, from motives of curiosity or to get intelligence of the birth of new bills before they are sent to the U})pcr House. They have a gallery of their own, these peers, and hardly ever trouble the floor of the House. Occasionally a prelate of the English Established Church may be found in the Peers' Gallery of the House of Commons, listening to the debates, and to-night there are two bishops in 304 LORDS AND COMMONS. the gallery, one of whom is Dr. Fraser, Bishop of Manchester, who is said to be the most practical minded prelate in England. Dr. Fraser has a well outlined face and a very compact head, with a clear, firm eye. He is big with a scheme for tlic educa- tion of the working classes, and looks to be deeply interested in the debate. His companion is the Bishop of Peterborough, who is acknowledged to be the ablest speaker and clearest tliinker in the Englisli Episcopate. Viscount Bury is now on his legs. The Viscount is of all tlie speakers I have heard, the very dul- lest. He reads from notes which he takes page for page from his hat, and I am certain that I never listened to such a dreadful monotone as his voice. The Viscount dresses plaiidy, and yet he has a Dundreary look, the light side whiskers which he wears giving him an affected appearance. The Vicountess Bury is a daughter of Sir Allan McNab, and in her younger days was a celebrated beauty, and was a toast in fashionable society. That young gentleman with the slight, downy moustache and gloriously handsome face, leaning over the side of the Peers' Gallery, is the Marquis of Pluntlcy, a meml^er of the House of Lords, and is the first Marquis in rank of tlie Scottish peerage. He is only twenty-three years of age, and was mar- ried a short time since in Westminster Abbey, the Prince of Wales acting as his l)cst man, and all tlie notabilities of the court attending. The old, soldierly-looking man wlio is con- versing with him and having a white rose in his button-hole, whose hair is cropped quite close, is the Earl of Fiiigall, who was formerly an officer in the 8th Hussars, and a hero of the Crimean war. The medium sized gentleman with the thoroughly English face, wavy hair, and plain and unostentatious attire, who passes behind the Speaker's Cliair for a moment, and then whispers to tliat awful dignitary, is the Duke of Richmond, the leader of the Conservative party in the House of Lords. The Duke is quite popular in England, and has a magnificent park and castle at Goodwood, where a race takes place every year, for a prize called the " Goodwood Cup." Under the administration I LORD STANLEY AND THE O'dONOGHUE. 305 of Mr. Disraeli the Duke held tlie position now occupied by- John Bright, who is President of the Board of Trade. There was for some time a warm rivalry between the Duke of Richmond, Lord Cairns, and the Marquis of Salisbury, as to which of the three should lead in the House of Lords, and at one time, I believe after the death of the lion-like Earl of Derby, Lord Cairns, who used to be an Irish lawyer before he was ennobled, had the best chance from his great ability, but the high position and family of the Duke carried the day. That plain looking man who with a slight inclination to the Speaker and doffing his hat, passes out to the Division Lobby, is Lord Stanley — now Earl Derby, since the death of his father. Lord Stanley, wlio is now in tlie House of Lords, was one of the ablest members of the House of Commons, a forcible de- bater, a logical reasoner, and a thorough gentleman in all re- spects. Lord Stanley entered political life very early, and has filled various offices of trust, being successively — Under Secre- tary of Foreign affairs in 1852 ; Secretary for the Colonies in 1858 ; Secretary of State for Lidia in 1858-9, and Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs in 18G6-8. The tall, dark-haired and handsome looking member who has followed Viscount Bury in debate, and who speaks so fluently without notes, and whose language and gestures are not with- out a certain grace and elegance, is The O'Donoghuo member from Tralee, who was going to marry an Earl's daughter in order to pay his debts — but didn't. The O'Donoghue chal- lenged Sir Robert Peel to fight a duel a few years ago, having been offended by some unparliamentary language of Peel's in the House, but the latter backed out of the row in a very un- dignified manner. Lord Stanley having forgot something, comes back to find' it, and searches the bench bcliind the spot where The O'Don- oghue is speaking from, which rather confuses the Irish orator a little — but Lord Stanley apologises at once. By the way, Earl Derby is said to be engaged to the Marchioness of Salis- bury, wliose husband died a year ago. Tliis will be a late mar- riage for both parties, the intended bride being forty-six years of 306 LORDS AND COMMONS. age with five cliildren, the youngest of w-hom is a daugliter twenty-two years of age, while Earl Derby is forty-four years of age, and very common-place and prosaic in his domestic habits. The Marchioness is, I believe, a daughter of Earl De La Warr. Three men now enter the House and take scats — two in the galleries, who are soon joined by a third. Tliis last man is the richest noble in England. He is an old man on the brink of the grave, and yet he could buy up a dozen of the members of Parliament who are fuming and fidgeting below in the fresh- ness of good health. It is the Marquis of Westminster, who owns half of the borough from which he takes his title, and his income I have been told is something like four hundred thousand pounds a year. The Marquis is very charitable, and has spent over .£100,000 in erecting model tenements for poor people in London. Beside the title of Marquis, he also bears that of Sir Richard Grosvenor, which is supposed to be derived from the French of Gros Yeneur — " Great Huntsman," — some of the ancestors of the family having acted in that capacity to the Norman Dukes at a remote period. The other gentlemen are irl Spencer, the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, a big man with a big head, a big whisker and a big look in the face, wearing a big tweed coat ; and the Hon. Robert Wcllesley Grosvenor, one of the members for West- minster, a Captain in the 1st Life Guards, and belonging to the family of the old Marquis of Westminster. He has for his colleague who now takes his seat, William Henry Smith, the other member for Westminster, who owns the largest news agency in the world, at No. 186 Strand. And now the Premier is on his legs at last. I had heard of Gladstone so often that I was curious to hear his voice and look upon his face. Imagine a tall man, six feet in his stock- ings, with a massive head, a good strong body, sparse side whiskers just whitening with years, a pair of dark eyes, deep as an abyss, with the thoughts and struggles of a mighty spirit welling up — firm lips and cavernous eyebrows, a massive and persistent under jaw, the lines of the face strongly marked I MR. Gladstone's early life. 309 and indicating by their rigidness the conflict that has been go- ing on inwardly for years, and dress that figure up in deep black upper garments and mixed trousers, and you have- something like the Premier of Great Britain as I saw him in his seat on the end of the Treasury benches in Parliament. One leg is tlirown over another in a negligent and thoughtful attitude, the head being bowed forward on the breast, while every few min- utes he raises his eyes with a wonderful mystery glittering in them, to the face of the member who lias the floor, as if he were taking the mental measurement of the speaker. The face represents a fierce enthusiasm which can kindle into great deeds, or express with a glance great thoughts. This wonderful man started in life as a High Churchman and Tory, believing that all bishops should know Greek and acknowledge the Apostolic Succession, and now he is an ad- vanced Liberal, but opposes woman's suffrage as a dangerous measure. In religion Gladstone sticks to his Oxford teachings, and this is best proved by his Episcopal appointments, nearly all of whom arc High Churchmen. How grandly the sentences roll from the lips of the schol- arly Premier, as he stands up to reply to some attack on the administration. Every sentence is rounded, full, concise, and flowing, and every phrase seems chosen with elegance. He is a marvelously brilliant speaker, but it is better to hear him than to read his speeches, which though perfect literary com- positions, are yet, in type, brilliant and dry abstractions, while tlie contrary may be said of Bright's speeches, whose produc- tions sound better in a report than they do when they are de- livered. And now he has done, and sits down, slamming his hat on his head, and reclining back, with his eyes glued on his shirt bosom ; and from the Opposition benches at the other side of the House, a tall, massive figure, which is radiant with jewelry and surmounted by a poll of black curly hair, rises to answer Mr. Gladstone. The face is corrugated, the nose like an eagle's beak — curved — like those on Roman coins, or just such a nose as Titus encountered by the thousand, under piercing, almond- 310 LORDS AND COMMONS. shaped black eyes, in the Court of tlic Holy of Holies, when the Chosen People fell in heaps behind their shields, only glad to die for Jerusalem. Yes, licre is one of that same wonderful, plucky race, which has survived hundreds of years' of war, pestilence, famine, per- secution, and contumely, and now finds its best representative in Benjamin Disraeli, the author of" Tancred," " Coningsby," " Henrietta Temple," and "• Lothair," that book of books. This is the same Jew whom O'Connell thundered at thirty years ago, and whom he denounced as the lineal descendant of the impen- itent thief who died upon the Cross. Thirty-three years ago this man entered Parliament and made his maiden speech, or attempted to make it, — as a member from Maidstone. The crowded House laughed at him tliat night, — men who were used to Canning, and Henry Brougham ; to that consummate orator, Daniel O'Connell, and to the brilliant fireworks of Richard La- lor Shiel, — laughed at the young member with the Jewish beak and profile, and he sat down discomfited, but not beaten, cry- ing out to the House, which was indulging in cock-crowing and geese-cackling at his expense, " You will not hear me now, but you shall hear me yet." He is an older man now, and success in everything he has attempted, such as has never been given to any living man but Louis Napoleon, has rewarded his efforts. Hear liow he dashes into Gladstone's eloquent sentences with his biting, withering words of sarcasm, — how he overthrows the airy edifice which the Liberals were just now contemplating, — listen to the fiery words of this master of wit and trenchant, cutting invective — invective that spares no feeling or cherished opinion, but bares the breast of the Minister like the surgeon's hand to plunge still deeper the scalpel in the roots of the wound. Now he has done, and he sits down, and members crowd around him and congratulate him, but he receives their incense with a wearied, indifferent air, that seems to say, " I have been Premier myself, and I think it to be a small place for a man of ability." And so the night passes on in the House, member after DANIEL O'CONNELL. 311 member getting upon his honorable legs, and the small hours come on apace, and the small tallc continues, and the Speaker comes in and goes out, yet still the House remains in Com- mittee — a very wearisome night it is, and hot and close in the galleries, and many sleep the sleep of exhaustion in the legis- lative arena — while off in green fields and on grassy meads, by lakes and rivers, the dew falls heavily, and the English Moon shines with a soft light all over the broad land. It is amusing to see the Speaker of the House settle a point of order wlien members become obstreperous, with his little cocked hat in liis hand, or to see him reprimand a member who crosses the horizon of a member who is addressing tlic House. This last offence is considered a great breacli of etiquette, and the Speaker always instructs tlie offender that he should have made a tour around the House to avoid giving offence to the orator. Sometimes a tired member will notice tliat there is not a sufficient number of members in the House to transact busi- ness, and if he wishes to escape a threatened monstrous de- bate, he must notify the Speaker that there is not a quorum present. Perhaps the Speaker may desire to rush some busi- ness through, and he will therefore have to be notified several times before he will take warning to count the members, which he does at last with slow reluctance. It has been the privilege of any member (from time immemo- rial,) to inform the Speaker that there are strangers in the gal- lery, meaning ladies, reporters, or any one who is not a member of Parliament. When so notified, the Speaker, by tliis musty old rule, is compelled to order tlie strangers to leave the House. Thirty years ago Daniel O'Coimcll quarreled with the London Tiynes, and that paper in revenge would not print his speeches. O'Connell determined to be even with tlie journal, and when- ever he saw a Times' reporter in the gallery, he would cry out, " ]\Ir. Speaker, I beg to call your attention to the fact that there are strangers in the gallery." Then the Sj>eaker would order the galleries cleared, and the Times' reporters had to take their note books and marcli off disgusted. It was not long before the Times gave in and stop^^cd the fight, and O'ConncU's 312 LORDS AND COMMONS. speeches were reported with fidelity. This has always been re- garded as a joke of O'Connell's, but I see that lately a Scotch member named Craufurd, who represents the town of Ayr, and is also editor of the Legal Examiner, has been putting O'Con- nell's joke in practice. --'' Miss Florence Nightingale, Miss Lydia Beckett, and MissB Harriett Martineau, as well as many other well known ladies, have been for some time working with great zeal for the repeal of the act which licenses prostitution in garrison towns. Many members of the House are opposed to the repeal of the act, and consequently when the question of repealing it came up in the House, and just as the debate had opened, the member for Ayr, Mr. Craufurd, rose and said, " Mr. Speaker, I beg to call your attention to the fact that there are strangers in the gallery," pointing to the gallery where a few ladies had placed themselves, for the purpose of hearing a question of so much moment to their sex, discussed. The Speaker and many members urged Mr. Craufurd not to look that way, and to per- mit the obnoxious persons to stay where they were ; but with Scotch obstinacy he insisted, and Mr. Bouverie upheld him in it, saying, " 1 believe it is an undoubted rule of the House, sir, that if an honorable member does notice the presence of strangers, the galleries are cleared." Accordingly they were cleared ; the reporters, as well as the ladies, were put out, and then the debate went on for several hours. At the close of this, the Prime minister, Mr. Gladstone, got up and lectured Mr. Craufurd for his ill timed modesty, telling him that the feeling of the whole House was against him. The del)ate was therefore adjourned, by a strong vote of 229 to 88, to come up again in the presence of reporters, and most likely, of such strangers of either sex as may choose to come in. The House of Lords is the Upper House of Parliament ; in England all bills that are born in the Commons have to be con- firmed by the Lords and signed by the Queen, l)cfore they be- come part of the statutory law of the land. There are about four hundred of these legislators in the House of Peers, for it must be understood tliat every nobleman does not sit by right DUCAL HOUSES. 013 ill the House of Lords. In many families the privilege is hered- itary, and generation after generation a family is i*e})re8eiited by the oldest son, who, on the death of his father, takes the scat made vacant in the Lords. The highest rank of noljility in England is that of Duke. There are eighteen nobles wlio ei> joy tlie Ducal dignity in England, two in L-eland, and six in Scotland, They are as follows : English Dukes. — Norfolk, Somerset, Richmond and Lennox, Grafton, Beaufort, St. Al])ans, Leeds, Bedford, Devonshire, Marlborough, Rutland, Manchester, Newcastle, Nortlmmber- land, Wellington, Buckingham and Cliandos, Sutherland, and Cleveland. Irish Dukes. — Leinster, Abercorn. Scotch Dukes. — Hamilton and Brandon, Buccleuch, Argyll, Atliole, Montrose, and Roxburghe. There is only one Duchess in her own right — the Duchess of Inverness, wliich is a Scotch title. On state occasions Dukes wear velvet robes and ducal caps of state, with strawberry leaves in gold. A stranger addressing one of these Dukes, has to begin his letter as follows : " My Lord Duke, may it please your Grace." And in state proceedings a Duke is styled "High, Puissant, and Nolile Prince." There are Dukes and Dukes. Dukes of tlie royal blood are still higher in rank than the noble Dukes. Tlie eldest son of the reigning monarch always bears the title cf "Prince of Wales." The eldest daughter is called the "Prin- cess Royal." This princess is married to the Crown Prince of Prussia. These two dignitaries, according to court etiquette, are served by tlie attendants, wlien at table, on bended knees with uncovered heads. Those admitted to kiss their liands must also kneel. In the House of Lords, when the Queen is present, the Prince of Wales, as heir apparent, sits on the right hand of Her Majesty, while Prince Albert always sat on her left hand. Tlie younger sons of the Queen, when they are Peers, sit on the left hand of the throne, but after the father dies, they sit below the Wool Sack, (a huge fiery red bed-tick 314 LOllDS AND COMMONS. n full of wool, on whicli the Lord Cliancsllor takes it easy when the Lords are in session,) on the bench assigned to the otlier Dnlvcs. Tlie Prince of Wales, when on his throne, wears a rolie of ermine, a cape of ermine, and a red velvet cap, with a gold tassel over a gold crown, ornamented with pearls. The younger sons and daugliters have no diamonds, pearls, or crosses surmount- ing their diadems — unlike the Prince of Wales. The three highest subjects after the Queen and the Royal Family in England, are : First, The Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. Second, Tlie Lord High Chancellor of England. Third, The Lord Arclibishop of York. The Archbishop of Canterbury, wlio is Primate of England, is styled in public documents, and he also writes himself, "The most Reverend Father in God, the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, by Divine Providence." The Archbishop of York signs himself, "By Divine Permission," as do all the other Bisliops. There are only two Ecclesiastical Provinces in England, those of York and Canterl)ury, and two Archbisliops. Li the House of Lords the Archbishops and Bishops, (excepting the Irish Bisliops now disfrancliised,) sit as Spiritual Peers, and the two Archbishops wear Ducal Coronets — tlie Bishops wearing fillets of gold on their heads, with pearls and jewels. The Bishop of Sodor and Man, and • the junior Bishops have no scats in the House of Lords. A Bishop ranks next to a Viscount. The nobility of Great Britain own three-fifths of the landed property of the Kingdom, while starvation and want run riot in the land. England is studded with parks, villas, castles, game preserves, rabbit warrens, trout streams and deer parks, all of which are held by right of primogeniture. No poor man can enter these beautiful ancestral domains, and the severest penal punish- ments are meted out to those poor wretches who dare to in- fringe on the game laws. The English nobility are not cowardly or treacherous, but many of the younger members are very corrupt, extravagant, and reckless, and no dcmbt in time their order will pass away, for they are out of place in this century. PRIVILEGES OP THE PEERS. 315 England has nineteen Dukes, seventeen Marquises, one hundred and three Earls, one Countess (widow of an Earl), nineteen Viscounts, one Viscountess, and one hundred and fifty-two Barons. Ireland has two Dukes, twelve Marquises, sixty-four Earls, and sixty Barons, besides twelve Viscounts. When three Irish Peers die in succession without issue, one other Irish Peer is created to fill the gap. Scotland has seven Dukes, four Marquises, forty-four Earls, five Viscounts, and twenty-five Barons. The wife of a Duke is entitled "Duchess," the wife of a Marquis "Marchioness," the wife of an Earl is a "Countess," the wife of a Viscount is called a " Viscountess," and the wife of a Baron enjoys the title of " Barf)ness." The better-half of a Baronet, which is a title bestowed upon fat aldermen and rich manufacturers — being a cheap order of knighthood, conferred by the Queen, is called *' My Lady This," or " My Lady That," as the case may be. The people of England are heartily tired of their nobility, and the success of American principles upon this continent has a tendency to cause the destruction of this social outrage upon the Nineteenth Century. Peers, or members of the House of Lords, have many privil- eges which others of noble blood do not enjoy. A Peer can only be tried for High Treason or murder by his Peers, who com- pose the House of Lords, and the trial takes place in a session of that body specially convened for that purpose, after the fash- ion here described. The Peers having taken their seats in full, flowing robes, the Lord Chancellor seats himself on the Woolsack in the middle of the House of Lords, the Garter-King-at-Arms, in his gorge- ous surcoat and tabard, makes proclamation of the offences against the culprit Peer. The Lord High Steward puts the question to each peer in his seat, after the evidence has been heard ; " Is the prisoner at the Bar Guilty or Not Guilty ?" Then each Peer, rising, says, " Guilty," or, " Not Guilty upon my Honor," as the case may be. A Peer cannot be 20 316 LORDS AND COMMONS. be taken into custody unless for an indictable offence. This is also a parliamentary privilege of the members of the House of Commons, who cannot be arrested for debt while the House is in session, or while attending the proceedings, or going to or from Parliament. An old custom of England allows a Peer, gomg to or from Parliament, the privilege of killing one or two deer belonging to the Sovereign, after he has blown a horn. This is very seldom done now-a-days. A Peer cannot be bound over to keep the peace, excepting in the Court of Queen's Bench. Slander against a Peer is known in the courts as scan. mag. and is severely punishable. A Peer cannot lose his title of nobility excepting by death, or when he has been attainted for High Treason. He is allowed to answer to a bill in Chancery upon his word, aiid is not re- quired to take an oath. The Sovereign may degrade a Peer from his rank for wasting his estate, as in the case of George Neville, Duke of Bedford, who had led a dissolute life and had squandered all his fortune. He was deprived of his title, hon- ors, and possessions, by Edward IV, the latter being forfeited to the Crown. If that precedent was followed in these times, a great number of scampish young nobles would lose their titles and the remnants of princely estates. Lately, I believe. Parliament has ordered it so that a Peer may be proceeded against for debt, as in the case of the bank- rupt Duke of Newcastle. Besides all these manifold privi- leges, which exist for the benefit of the nobility, the Diplomatic Service is chiefly for their support, and here, as in the Foreign Office, fat sinecures are available at all times, for the improvi- dent and spendthrift nobles. Some idea of the rich prizes of the Diplomatic Service may be got from the following list of salaries of the different Ambassadors, Ministers, and Charges d'Affaires, at the principal countries with which Great Britain holds intercourse. The salaries I give are those of the Minis- ters alone, not including the salaries of attaches, and they are thus enumerated : France, <£10,000; Turkey, £8,000; Russia, X 7, 800; Aus- tria, £8,000; Prussia, £7,000; Spain, £5,000; United States, SALARIES OF AMBASSADORS. 317 .£5,000; Portugal, £4,000; Brazil, £4,000; Netherlands, £3,600; Belgium, £3,480; Italy, £5,000; Bavaria, £3,600; Denmark, £3,600; Sweden, £3,000 ; Greece, £3,500; Swit- zerland, £2,500; Wirtemberg, £2,000; Argentine Republic, £3,000 ; Central American Republics, £2,000 ; Chili, £2,000 ; Peru, £2,000; Columbia, £2,000; Venezuela, £2,000; Ecua- dor, £1,400; Coburg, £400; Dresden, £500; Darmstadt, £500; Rome, £800; Persia, £5,000; China, £6,000; and Japan, £4,000» CHAPTER XX. THE LONDON POLICE AND DETECTIVES. BOUT ten o'clock in the evening, the rain, which had been gathering all day, came down in bucketfuls. The gutters ran like little rivers, and on Lothbnry and the Poultry, and on all the buildings behind the Bank and ^«s^;l&'^^fe^^" over London Bridge there came down a hot steaming log that almost blinded, as the rain poured against the faces of those who had to encounter the storm. The rain was hot, and the fog had a fetid, sticky odor, that seemed like the breath of a graveyard, or a festering corpse in an old vault on a hot July day. Down below, on the river, all was quiet among the noisy Wapping boatmen, and the river below London Bridge looked gloomy and vast and dangerous as the entrance to the shades of the Inferno. Now and then, through the dense darkness and gloom which hung like a tissue over the river, came a whistle, eldritch-like, from the funnel of some Greenwich or Chelsea steamer, as she grated against the fishermen's barges, that lay like huge floating carcasses out on the bosom of the dark river ; and anon came the hoarse, drunken shout of some intoxicated oyster or herring navigator, who lay in the shadow of Billings- gate Market, returned from some Flemish or Scotch port with a precious cargo of eels or sprats. London, or the City, seemed deserted and lonely. The portal of the Bank was as solemn as a churchyard. The insurance offices in Bishopsgate and Broad streets, the money-changers' and money-brokers' haunts in Leadenhall THE OLD JEWRY. 319 street, and the merchants' desks in Cornhill and Gracechurch street, were forsaken. A footfall seemed like an echo of past years, and while the water ran in torrents in the gutters, and while misery haunted doorsteps and dark passages, seeking shelter with dripping rags to hide its shame, the stolid police- men walked their rounds and looked sharply through the thick fog as cabs dashed by, for the West End, and the noise of the horses' feet died away under the arch of Temple Bar. "Where the Poultry, Bucklersbury, and Cheapside, form a junction, just below the Mansion House, there is a little, nar- row, and short street. This street is called the " Old Jewry," and it has its outlet in Coleman street and Moorgate street, which run in the direction of Finsbury square. Behind the Old Jewry is Basinghall street, the Aldermanbury, and Fins- bury square. Then there are Milk street. Wood street, Botolph street, Pudding lane. Fish street, Mark lane, Lime street, and Love lane. In all these narrow causeways, dark passages, and crooked sinuosities of brick, stone, and mortar, untold and uncounted wealth is hidden away, safely behind bolts and bars. These tall, lowering warehouses, with their treasures of spices and silks, ingots and bars of yellow metal, where guineas are shoveled about all day as if they were plentiful as cherry-pits — have a dismal effect this sloppy, stormy night. Then the Old Jewry has its memories, some sorrowful and sad enough. Its very name a synonym for persecution and torture, a relic of steel-clad days and roystering and merciless nights, when the tribes of Israel were the playthings of the Gentiles and unbe- lievers. Here, in this narrow lane, stood the proudest synagogue in all England until the year of gi'ace 1291, when the Jews were, by edict, expelled the kingdom; and here came the Brothers of the Sack, a mendicant order of friars, to take possession of the deserted temple, one sunny May afternoon, when the orchards were blooming, and the linnets were sing- ing in Cheapside — now a mart of all the nations of mankind. And then, in the natural order of things, came Sir Robert Fitz- walter on another sunny afternoon, to dispossess the Brothers 320 THE LONDON POLICE AND DETECTIVES. of the Sack ; and this doughty knight, having the ear of the then King, turned the monks out, and they, invoking the dis- pleasure of the Maker of all things upon Knight Fitzwalter, banner-bearer to the city and the Lord ]\Iayor of London, left the convent and dispersed themselves severally and sorrowfully, all over the by-paths and sequestered roads and nooks of merry Old England. The Old Jewry is about two hundred and fifty feet long. Short passages, that cannot be dignified by the title of lanes, jut off this narrow street. High buildings loom up to the sky above the heads of the passers-by,, and the dome of mighty St. Paul's is hid away from the vision. In this Old Jewry is a couii>-yard hidden away. There are jewelers' shops, silk-mercers' sliops, and chop-houses of the better class on either side, and a man, in a blue cloth uniform of heavy fabric, walks up and down, day and night, with a pasteboard helmet on his head. His wrists are trimmed with bands of crimson and white flannel, and one row of gilt brass buttons bifurcate his blue, close-fitting coat, and meet to part no more at his throat and waist. The face of the man is homely, and his black eyes burn under his helmet of a hat, and in the glare of the street lamp. Not a soul stirring in the Old Jewry to-night but this silent patrol-man, who looks up and down the lane, now to Chcapside, now over the roofs as if he would like to get a glimpse of St. Paul's, whose bell booms with an affrighting suddenness and energy on the air, through the beating rain and blinding fog. " Is this the Central Detectives' Office?" I ask of the helmet- ed patrol. " Yes, sir. This 'ere is the Central Hoflfis of the City of Luniiun ; the bother hoffis is down Scotland-yard way in Par- liament street, hopposite the Hadmiralty and the 'Oss Gy-a-ads." I find my way past the patrol, and around me I can see a court-yard fifty by a hundred feet in size, and at either side a gas-lamp burns dimly, and the wind whistles down from above, and the rain patters unceasingly. It is like a play-ground or school-yard, but there is in it the RELICS OF CRIME. 321 quietness of a deserted church. Turning to the right, I as- cend two steps and enter a hall, where another morose-looking patrolman demands my business. "Who do you want to see, sir? Oh, Hinspector Bailey. Well, sir, he is werry busy just now; got a precious 'ard case to desect; but I'll take your card and I'll try wot I can do." In a few minutes I am usliered into the presence of the chief detective officer of the chief city of England. He sits in a room secluded from the main rooms, and as I pass through a number of these chambers a squad of men, who are sitting on chairs and lounges, look up at me quietly for a second, and, not recognizing any one whom they " want," drop their eyes immediately. The room in which Inspector Bailey sits is not a large one, and there is no superfluity of furniture, but the walls are covered with placards offering rewards for the appre- hension and conviction of criminals, murderers, forgers, and other runaways from justice. Some of these are so curious that I nmst give a few of them : RING STOLEN — £l REWARD. A reward of £l will be paid for information that shall lead to the discov- ery of a gold ring, the setting in which was originally arranged for a round stone, with about five small teeth or holders to fix the same ; the original stone having been lost it was replaced by an oval or pear-shaped rose dia- mond, which was loose in the setting. The said ring was stolen from a wai'ehouse in the city, on the 14th inst. ; and it is requested that any person hereafter ofiering it, for pledge or sale, may be detained until the police are informed. Information to Inspector Bailey, City of London Police, Detective Office, 26 Old Jewry : or to the officers on duty at any of the city or metropolitan stations. £l 10s. REWARD. TO CAB-DRIVERS, ATTENDANTS, AND OTHERS. INFORMATION WANTED. On Saturday, the 17th of April, 1869, about 4.45 in the aflernoon, a four- wheeled cab, took up at Messrs. Smith, Payne & Co.'s Banlc, at the end of King William street, near the Mansion House, a gentleman, 48 years of age, 5 feet S-\ inches high, dark brown hair, fresh complexion, scanty whiskers, square build, and moderately stout ; with a dark-brown portmanteau, which 322 THE LONDON POLICE AND DETECTIVES. 1 was put inside. He told the driver to take liim to Finsbury square and he ■would tell him the number afterwards. £l 10s. reward will be paid on the required information (as to his destination) being given to Inspector Bailey, City of London Police, Detective Department, Old Jewry, E. C. London, 8th May, 1869. £200 Reward, embezzlement. Absconded, on Friday, the 5th inst., from the emplojTnent of the Great Central Gas Company, 28 Coleman street, London, Benjamin Iliggs, late of Tide-End House, Teddington, Middlesex. Description. — About 35 years of age, 5 fpet 9 or 10 inches high, black hair, mustache, whiskers, and beard, pale complexion, slender build, gentleman-like appearance. Generally dressed in black or dark clothes and brown overcoat. Had a large-sized dark green-colored leather bag and a small black bag. \ The said Benjamin Higgs is charged on a wan-ant with embezzling a large sum of money belonging to the above company: and notice is hereby given, that a reward of £ 1 00 will be jsaid to any person who will give such information as shall lead to his apprehension ; and a further reward of £lOO on recovery of the monies embezzled. A photograph of Benjamin Higgs may be seen on application at the principal police stations. Information to be given to Messrs. Davidson, Carr, and Bannister, So- licitors, 22 Basinghall street, E. C, or to Inspector Bailey, City of London Police, Detective Department, 26 Old Jewry, E. C. London, 18th March, 1869. " So you ■would like to see London under its most unfavora- ble aspects. You would like to scour it by day and night, Sir. "Well, you have a big job on hand, let me tell you, Sir," said a cheery voice which came from behind a low desk. This -was Inspector Bailey, a very English-looking gentleman, with a ruddy oval face, reddish whiskers, — thick and neatly trimmed, and wearing a dark-mixed suit of clothes. He had clear blue eyes, this cheery-voiced inspector, and did not in any way give the idea of a detective, he looked so jolly and well-fed, and there was such a humorous, good-natured, twinkle in his eyes. "Well," said he, "let us see what's best to do for you, sir. I'll give you the best men I have, and I can do no more. I suppose you want to see St. Giles ? Well, St. Giles is not what it once was. You see they have been rooting up the worst holes, and the parish authorities are quite active, and MR. funnell's secret. 323 three new streets have been opened, and a great change has come over tlie place. But there's a terrible lot of destitution and crime and misery in the City of London still, and you can see it all if you have the heart for it. Send up Sergeant Moss," said the Inspector to a messenger. Sergeant Moss came up from below stairs, a dark-eyed, thick- whiskered, good-looking fellow of thirty-five years, dressed like a dissenting minister, and trying to look very meek. But- ter would not have melted in Sergeant Moss's mouth. He wasn't "fly" to what was going on neither. Oh, no ! " Sergeant Moss, you will take this gentleman through Rat- cliffe Highway and Wapping, and show him the sailors' dens and the thieves who haunt Lower Thames street. Give him the best chances you can, and look out for Bill Blokey. He's down that way to-night, more nor likely, and if you brought him in it would be no particular harm to him or you. We got the trunk that he broke open and left behind. That will be your detail. Send me Funnell up stairs." Mr. Funnell came. Mr. Funnell had a very huge beard, which hung down on his chest like a door-mat, and a sharp eye for business. In fact, he was all business, this cheerful Mr. Funnell. He was a first-class detective in London. But he had hard feelings against New York. It was no place for Mr. Funnell. Mr. Funnell confided to me a secret which I will now give to my readers. " I wos wonst over in New York. That's a good many years ago. That was a long time ago. Yes, a very long time ago, in Bob Bowyer's time, when Bob wqs the topper, as we say. He wos the 'Awkshaw of the period, wos Bob. I wos awfully innocent then, and Bob didn't take the right care of me, and I fell into the hands of the Philistines. I went down one day to Fulton Market ; I think it's just opposite some ferry where you go across, just like Southwark, and you can get very big oysters there. Well, as I wos saying, I wos worry innocent, and as I wos walking along, thinking of a good many things, when one of these fellows I believe you call the gentry on your side 'heelers' — dropped a big fat pocket-book at my feet. 324 THE LONDON POLICE AND DETECTIVES. " Now, mind you, I did not see him drop it, and that's where I was taken in. That made the trouble for me. I had never seen anytliing of that kind done in England, and of course the 'heeler' naturally insisted that the pocket-book wos mine. I tried to argue with him that the pocket-book wos not mine, but the more I argued that way the more he persewered the other way. Well, I wos perswaded against my own ideas that, per- haps, I might have lost a pocket-book, and the fellow wos so blessed positive about it too. So I fell a wictim to the infernal scoundrel, and gave him some money for the pocket-book, and, of course, the money wos worth nothink, and Bob Bowyer could do nothing for me. Ah, New York is a precious bad place. — So it is." THE POCKET-BOOK GAME. " Well, now, Mr. Funnell, as you have done relating your sad experiences, you will please do as I tell you. You will report to our American friend, or, rather, he will report to you early in the morning, and you will take him and show him Bil- "piping off." 325 lingsgate Market before daybreak. You are the best man for Billingsgate, I think, and you had better attend to tliat detail." "I will meet him there or at the Fish Hill monument, at 5 o'clock in the morning, if that will do, Sir." "That will do very well," said the Inspector. "And now we want a man for Smithfield. Who is a good man for Smith- field? Let me see," and the Inspector tapped his forehead. " I think Ralfe will do for that. He knows the Sraithfield Mar- ket best, and he will show you everything, with a knowledge of what he is doing. Let Ralfe come up, and Sergeant Scott and AVebb. I want to speak to them." Ralfe, or Dick Ralfe, as he was called, was a good-looking young Englishman, who had not been long on the force, and who was in capital health and spirits, having lately been de- tailed, for his quickness, to special duty from the patrol to the Old Jewry. " Mr. Ralfe, you are good on Smithfield Market. Take this gentleman there at 4 o'clock to-morrow morning. Meet him at the Smithfield Police Station at 4 o'clock in the morning, and time your inspection so that you will be able to catch Fun- nell at the Fish Hill Monument at 5 o'clock in the morning, so as to have him see the fish come in at Billingsgate. And now. Sergeant Scott, you will show this gentleman the Mino- ries. Petticoat Lane, Bevis Marks, Houndsditch, and the Jews' Quarters, but those you will have to take on another day, as you have already a hard day's work before you. You had bet- ter see the market on Sunday morning, one of the greatest sights in the world, sir, I assure you, and the Rag Fair is also a grand show of the kind, I also assure you ; and now. Ser- geant Webb, I will give our friend in your charge when he has got through with the rest of them, and you and he can work the City, I think. You will do the Bank and the Mansion House and Newgate ; and, let me see, — Funnell can take him to the Sessions and the Old Bailey Courts ; and he will have to go to Scotland-yard to do the Borough of Westminster, as that is not in our jurisdiction. And now. Sir, good morning, and don't carry a watcli with you in the places where you are going, 326 THE LONDON POLICE AND DETECTIVES. for some of the people are not very moral or very pious to get a look at. Good morning, Sir. Smithfield at 4 o'clock, Ralfe." Sergeant Webb was a tall, well-built man, in the prime of life, with ruddy checks, and a look that resembled the expres- sion usually worn by Mr. Seward before he lost all chances for the presidency. His face was smoothly shaved, and he looked as if he could assist with great dignity at a banquet. Sergeant Scott was a man just above the middle height, with light brown whiskers, and an easy, good-natured manner, who had a memory well stored with anecdotes of "blokes," and "wires," and "dummies." He had, also, choice stories of distinguished people who had, during their lives, been known in the " faking" line, and could have pointed me out a number of pals who were celebrated in the " kinchin lay " for snatching "wipes" and " grabbing tanners " and "browns" from little children when they were sent to the shops for bread or milk. At the back of the apartment in which the detectives were assembled to receive orders, stood a short, thick-set looking young man, with an amber moustache and goatee. His eyes were blue and his complexion very fair. He was dressed in a quiet manner, and nodded to each of the detectives as they passed out into the court of the Old Jewry. This was Jim Irv- ing, tlie celebrated American detective, who had apprehended Clement Harwood, the great forger, just as he was about to land in New York, and he was now waiting the trial of the accused which was to take place at the Mansion House. "Jim" was already quite familiar with the City of London, although he had been in it but a few days. He was, of course, rather astonished at the quiet, old-fashioned way, that the Eng- lish detectives had with them of waiting for a thief until he came and gave himself up. But he was very much charmed with a gorgeous seal-skin vest, for which he gave five guineas. Seventy-five years ago, London had not more than sixty-eight policemen or constables, and the present admirable system of Police is all owing to the clear head and sagacious mind of Sir Robert Peel, who first organized it about thirty-five years ago. The old local watch of the city consisted of the Bow POLICE DIVISIONS. 327 street force of sixty-eiglit men, and the parish beadles, consta- bles, headboroughs, street keepers, and watchmen, in the sev- eral wards of the City, and in many cases these so-called officers of the peace were rascals of the worst description, in league with thieves and prostitutes. It is said that a Mr. George Vincent Dowling, (who was edi- tor of " Bell's Life " at the time,) gave Sir Robert Peel the first idea of the present organization, which consists of a Board of three Police Commissioners, a chief Superintendent, 25 Sub- Superintendents, 136 Inspectors, 700 sergeants, and over 7,000 policemen. 4,000 men are on duty in the day-time and 3,000 in the night time. During the day they are never allowed to cease patrolling, being forbidden even to sit down. They wear dark-blue pilot woven short frock coats, buttoned up to the neck, ti'ousers of the same material, with brass buttons on tlie coat and a pasteboard helmet covered with black rough felt. ^ The Police Districts are mapped out into divisions, the di\'is- ions into sub-divisions, the sulvdivisions into sections, and the sections into beats, all being numbered and carefully defined. To every beat, certain policemen are detailed, specifically, and they are pro\'ided with little slips of pasteboard, on which are printed the routes they are to take. So thoroughly has this management been perfected, that every street, lane, road, alley, and court, within the Metropolitan District — that is, the whole of the metropolis — (excepting that part in a radius of three- quarters of a mile from St. Paul's, which is called the City of London Proper) — including the County of Middlesex, and all the parishes, 220 in number, in the Counties of Surrey, Kent, Essex, and Hertfordshire, which are not more than 15 miles from Charing Cross in any direction, comprising an area of about 700 square miles, and 90 miles in circumference, and with a po{> ulation of 3,500,000, — is visited constantly, day and night, by some of the police. Within a circle of six miles from St. Paul's, the beats are traversed in periods of time varying from twenty to fifty minutes, and there are some points, sucli as the Bank, the Mint, the Cathedral of St. Paul, the Abbey of Westminster, the Houses of Parliament, Buckingham Palace, the Horse 328 THE LONDON POLICE AND DETECTIVES. Guards, and the Inns of Court, which are never free from in- spection for a single moment. Tliere arc 130 police stations in the metropolis, and hy a telegraph signal a Police Commissioner at Wliite Hall, in Par- liament street, which is contiguous to Scotland Yard, — the head- quarters of the Metropolitan Detective force, who are sepa- rated in their duties from the Old Jewry or City of London De- tective force, — can concentrate in an hour and a half as many as 6,000 men for instant duty. This vast force, each man re- ceiving but three shillings to three and sixpence a day, is really under a wonderful control. Each officer has to walk twenty miles a day in his rounds beside attending the police courts, which is equal to five miles in addition. 98,000 persons were arrested in one year — 1869, of which number 40,000 were dis- charged. The cost of the Metropolitan Police for one year was about £525,000, and the City Police, for the same term, <£60,- 000 — the City Police numbering 700, the Metropolitan force nearly 7,000. The expenses of the Police Courts, for 1869, was £88,240, including the salary of one Magistrate at £1,500 a year, and thirty other Magistrates at £1,200 a year, each. Sixty pounds and six sliillings were expended for rattles, swords, and clubs, in the same time. The City Corporation are allowed, by act of Parlia- ment, to have their own Police and Commissioners in the licart of the metropolis, or City proper. There is, besides, a " Horse Patrol " for public occasions ; eight hundred of which were on duty on the day of the Oxford and Harvard race ; a "Thames River" Police, the ' Westminster Constabulary," and a "Police Office Agency," for recovery of stolen goods. Before the estab- lishment of the Thames Police, in 1797, the annual loss by rob- beries alone on the river, was £750,000 a year, the depreda- tors having various, curious names, such as " River Pirates," " Light" and " Heavy Horsemen," "Mud-larks," "Capemeu," and " Scuffle-hunters." They were frequently known to weigh a ship's anchor, hoist it with the cable into a boat, and when discovered, to hail the captain, tell him of his loss, and row. away cheerily. They also RIVER THIEVES. 329 would cut shipping and lighters adrift, run them ashore and then clean them out. Many of the "Light Horsemen" cleared as much as thirty pounds a night, and an apprentice to a "mock-waterman" often kept his saddle horse and covmtry seat. During the first year of the Thames Police, the saving to the West India merchants alone amounted to £150,000, and 2,200 river thieves were convicted during that time, of misdemeanor. In those days, the magnificent docks which are now the chief ornament of London, had not been built with their high walls to keep out the swarming thieves who hamited the sliipping. CHAPTER XXI. HUNTING THE SEWERS. IDDEN in the bosoms of the sewers of every Great City lies a ■world of romance. The secrets of thousands of human beings, with their hopes and aspirations, their de- feats and disappointments, are garnered, in the relics of myriad households, whose rubbish is shot through drains, to be im- bedded in the accumulated masses at the bottom of the soggy sewerage. London has two thousand miles of bricked sewers, and the entire metropolis is honey-combed by tliese effluvious passages. These sewers are, of course, choked with refuse and swarm- ing with rats and other pestiferous vermin, by night and day, and are pervaded with noxious gases, which, when inhaled, cause almost instantaneous death. The rats grow as big as kittens in the sewers, and will face strong, healthy men, and give them combat — in legions. The rats feed on offal from the butchel's' slaughter houses, which is poured into the sewers, and they also subsist on the grain which comes from the breweries, in different parts of the city. Twenty years ago, the main sewers of London, having their outlets on the river side, were completely open, and it was lawful to enter them to search for valuables, but since then so many people have died of the gases, or have lost themselves m their noxious recesses, that a law was at last passed, by which persons entering the sewers to explore them, unless tliey were employed as workmen, became amenable to imprisonment, and at present the law is strictly enforced. SEWER HUNTERS. 331 Formerly, when the spring tides in the Thames began, it was of common occurrence for the waters to dash into the sewers, sweeping everything in their way, and very often engulfing the workmen, or others engaged illegally in searching the sew- ers ; and days after one of these tidal floods had occurred bodies of drowned and disfigured men would be A-omited from the mouths of the sewers. Now, however, this is changed, and hanging iron doors, with hinges, are affixed to the mouths of the sewers, and arc so ar- ranged that when the tides are low the iron doors are forced open by the rubbish and wet refuse which is emptied into the Thames, and wlicn the tides rise the volume of water forces the doors back, and the river cannot enter the sewers. jk There are two or three hundred men in London, who earn a living by working in the sewers. These men, though there is a law against the practice, search the sewers, niglit and day, for old iron, rope, metal, money, or Avhatever is of value to the finder. They are called "Toshers," or "Shore-men," and are, in some things, very like the "mud-larks," who frequent the river sides. Some of these men are very fortunate at times, and succeed in obtaining good prizes from the black, stinking mud of the sewers. Gold Avatchcs, silver milk-jugs, breast-pins, bracelets, and gold rings, are obtained by them. These sewer hunters, liowever, do not trouble themselves to collect coal, wood, or cliips, j as is the case with the mud-larks. There are liettcr prizes for I them, and accordingly, they do not waste their time on such trifles. j The Sewer-Hunter, before penetrating a sewer, jirovides him- j self with a pair of canvas trousers, very thick and coarse, and a pair of old shoes, or high-top]X!d boots — the higlier the legs I the better. The coat may be of any material, only it must be j of heavy fabric, and there are large pockets in the sides, where I articles may be crammed at will. They carry a bag on their backs, these sewer-hunters, and in their hand a pole, seven or eight feet long, on one end of which is fastened a large iron hoe to rake up rubbish. 21 332 HUNTING THE SEWERS. Whenever they think the ground is unsafe, or treacherous, they test it with the rake, and steady their steps with the staff. Should a Sewer-Hunter find himself sinking in a quag-mire, he immediately throws out the long pole, armed with the hoe, and seizes the first object in the sewer, to hold himself up. In some places, had the searcher no pole, he would sink, and the more he tried to extricate his person, the deeper he would imbed his body. Use is made of the pole to rake the mud for iron, copper, or bones, and occasionally the rake turns up the remains of a human being, who may have perished in those fetid cells. Great skill is necessary in the hunter, to know always when the tide leaves and comes, so as to enable him to find articles at certain points. The brick work in many paiis is rotten, especially in old sewers, and there is great risk in traversing the channels, as sometimes, when the sewers are being flooded from the dams erected at stated intervals, the passage is flooded to a height of three feet, very suddenly, and if the Sewer-Hunter be not notified the first intimation of his danger is given by a thundering, rushing sound, and before he can escape the waters are upon him, and he is enveloped by them or hurled down with tre- mendous force, and swept along for miles in darkness, and filth, and despair, cut off from all human aid, no ear to hear his shouts, and no hand stretched forth to save. In some places where the arches are unsafe, he will not dare to touch any part of the roof of the sewers, or the sides, fearing that he may be buried beneath the ruins. The main sewers are generally five feet high from floor to ceiling, but the branch sewers are much lower, and it is necessary to crawl on hands and knees to proceed. In the main sewers, there arc niches built in the brick walls of some depth, with a raised platform, and the hunters always step into one of those when the sewers are being flooded, to clean them. Rats, unless in great numbers, will not attack a man if he passes them quietly, but if driven to a corner they will fly at the intruder's face and legs in hundreds. A bite from one of these rats will swell a man's face or arms to an enormous AN UNLAWFUL BUSINESS. 333 size. The men who arc employed as "flusliers" to clean the sewers wear leather boots, the legs of which come up to the liips, and of thick leather, and when the rats make an attack on these men, they always flash their lanterns, which arc fast- ened to leather belts around their waists, and this frightens the vermin away, as they are not accustomed to light, and will flee from it if not molested. The big leather boots of the '' flushcrs" cannot be bitten through by the rats. The trenches or water-tanks for the cleansing of the sewers, are chiefly on the south side of the Thames, and as a proof of the great danger incurred by sewer-hunters from these floods of water suddenly let in on them, I am told that when a ladder was put down a sewer from the street some years ago, on which a hod-carrier was descending with a hod of brick, the rush of water from the sluice struck the ladder, and instantly, ladder, hod-carrier, and all, were swept away, and afterward the poor man was found at the mouth of the sewer, all bat- tered, torn, bruised, and dead. Whenever a Sewer-Hunter passes through a sewer under a street grating, he is compelled to close his lantern, e]se the reflection of the light through the grating would call the at> tention ol the police, and he would be taken before a mag- istrate. Doga are never taken through the sewers, for tlic same reason, as their barking would be noticed, although they would be an excellent defense against the rats. Occasionally skeletons of unfortunate cats have been found in the sewers, their bones completely cleared of flesh, and notli- ing but a little fur remaining. I should pity tlie cat that strayed into a sewer, as they do occasionally from house-drains and cesspools. As the Sewer-Hunters go along in the sewers, they often pick money from between the crevices of the brick-work, and now and then a handful of sovereigns have been taken from tlicse crevices. Sometimes a small i)ick is needed to recover metals or money from the crevices where they are wedged. One man told me that he found a small leather bag with two hundred sovereigns and some shillings in it, that had no 384 HUNTING THE SEWERS. doubt l)ocn washed out from a drain. He said that he had often found money, and that he was well satisfied with his luck in THE SEWER-HUNTER. general. He had been for twenty years searching the sewers, and had amassed considerable property. He told me his story as follows : A RAT STORY. 335 " The first niglit, yc know, that I went into a sower, I had a pal witli me, as is dead now. Steve Williams was his name — God rest his soul. I felt afccred wlien I went in and got lost two or three times, but Steve allers found me agin by hollering at me. I got the greatest flight that niglit I ever got in my life. We were somewhere in a scAver in old Smithfield, and there must have been a distillery somewhere there, for when I turned out of the main sewer into a l)ranch one, I saw by the liglit of the lantern a thiciv steam beyond me. I was a little ajiptkl of Steve, who had just got a haul of two silver ta])le- knives and a wateh chain of goold, and he was looking at tlie liaul he made when I saw the steam a fillin of tlie sewer. I weftt lJ.ong, when I got near it my head begun to get dizzy, and I fell back on my shoulders into the sewer. I got drunk in tlie steam from tlie distillery, — that's what ailed me — and it was so sudden like, that I would have lost my life if Steve hadn't been there. " Well, Steve saved my life agin the same night. We vrere pretty near the mouth of the sewer on the Thames, near Wa})ping, where we had a boat to take us off, for in those times the peelers never meddled with us like they does now. " Well, there was one place very ticklisli in the sewer, tliat Steve had cautioned me about, and this place was all broken and in holes, and it was chuck full of rats. When we came by ^^ was foolish enough to turn the liglit of my lantern on tlie oroken place in the sewer, and sure enough, there was a reglar colony o' rats in a room — keeping house, — about two tliousand of them — with a hall-way and a room gnawed out of the bricks, as large as the room I live in at home. There they were, all stuck t^ogether, with their eyes a glariii at me Ifke Avinkin, and they all in a heap as big as a horse and cart. I never seed such a sight in my life. Steve told me to come on, and I was going, for the rats never said a word all tlie time, but looked at me and squealed — but just as I was turning around after Steve my foot slipped and I fell, and the lantern dropjicd into a pool and went out. " I must have frightened the rats, for there was an awful 336 HUNTING THE SEWERS. squealing and scampering — ^but they didn't all run away, for I found a hundred of them fastened on my hands, legs, face, and body, when I fell. You may be sure I hollowed and yelled, for I wasn't used to these vermin then, and the more I hollowed and beat them, the more they squealed and bit me. " In a few minutes Steve came running back with his lantern, and seeing I was down and couldn't get up, he drove at them with his pole and killed half a dozen of them, and then they left me and jumped at him. Then we went at it for a couple of minutes, battling for our lives, and when we did beat them off we were bitten all over our bodies. I am sure if it warnt for Steve and his lantern that time, I should have been eaten up by the rats. You see, Sir, they thought when I stumbled and fell that I attacked them, for I found out since that they never begin first if they can help it." CHAPTER XXII. BACCHUS AND BEER. . T is an undeniable fact, that the Eng- lish are the greatest beer-drinking people in the world. The assertion may be disputed in favor of the Ger- mans (and their beverage, lager bier,) but who can compare the thin resin- ous beer of Munich and Vienna with the heavy bodied, soporific, and sinewy London pale ale, Edin- burgh ale, or Guiness Brown Stout, that has ever drank the latter malt liquors. To believe in his native beer is a necessary part of the Eng- lishman's religion, and it is with the proverbial Briton a trite saying, when an exile at Chicago, New 0]'lcans, New York, Madrid, Constantinople, St. Petersburg, or Calcutta, " You cawnt get a glass of hale in this blessed country — you knaw. You hawvent got the 'ops you knaw, and ye cawnt make it ye knaw." English literature and English }X)etry are full of beer and re- dolent of malt and hops, from Chaucer and Shakespeare down to the present day. Tom Jones, Roderick Random, the Spec- tator, the Tatler, the Guardian, Fielding, Hume, Smollett, Pope, Addison, Dryden, Goldsmith, and Samuel Johnson, never let slip a chance to prove the virtues and efficacy of beer, and 'Alf and 'Alf. It was in a room in Barclay & Perkins' brewery in Soutli- wark, then owned by Mr. Thrale, that Samuel Johnson, (who, 338 BACCHUS AND DEER, if lie was an obstinate, dogged, and overbearing old rascal, — yet was the father of modern Englisli,) wrote the famous Englisli Dictionary, and when Mr. Thralc died, Johnson being one of his executors, tlic property was sold to the Barclay & Perkins of that day for the sum of .£135,000. The present brewery encloses fifteen acres of buildings and vats, and is the largest in the world but one. The triljes that came from India and settled in Germany, to which Tacitus refers, were the first to introduce beer into Europe. The descendants of these long haired, fair skinned tribes, were long after, (in tlic sixteenth century,) tlie first to teach the English brewers the use of hops, for the people of England, of that day, made their beer after the manner of the ancient Egyptians, by the admixture of herbs, broom, and berries of the bay and ivy. In lo85, there were twenty -six brewers in London and Westminster, who brewed in tliat year 648,960 barrels of beer, and, six years after, they exported 24,000 barrels of beer to the Low Countries and Dieppe. In 1643, the first excise duty was imposed on beer. In 1722, tlie brewers stored their beer to keep it mellow, for the first time, and sold it to all liouse- kecpers to be retailed at three-] icnce a pot — holding over a pint. In 1869, 500,000 barrels of beer, valued at c£ 1,800,000, were exported from London to foreign places, being one-fourth of the total amount that was exported during the same time from other ports in England. British India took 201,000 barrels, Australia and N.ew Zea- land, 148,000 barrels, China, 35,000 barrels. Cape of Good Hope, 15,000, British West Indies, 30,000 barrels, Spain took 209 barrels, Brazil, 15,000 barrels, Russia, 6^000, and France 7,000 barrels. Barclay and Perkins employ a capital of £2,000,000 annu- ally in their trade, and 300 huge horses, brought from Flanders, at a cost of from =£60 to £100 each. These horses consume 9,000 quarter hundreds of oats, beans, or other grain, 900 tons of clover, and 290 tons of straw for litter. The manure hops tjiat are spent, and other refuse, are taken by a Railway Company. CATS OX GUARD. 339 There are five partners in the house ; the firm behig worth £8,000,000, and the head brewer receives a salary of X 2,000 a year. The water used for brewing purposes is that of tlic Thames, pumped by a steam engine, on the same ground where Shakes- peare's Globe Theatre stood three Imndred years ago. One hund- red and fifty thousand gallons of beer can be brewed from this water, daily. There are two engines of 100 liorse power each, which are nearly a Imndred years old. The furnace shaft is 19 feet below the surface and 110 above it. The malt is carried from barges at the river-side, by porters, and deposited in enor mous bins, each of the height and depth of a three-story house. Rats are fond of malt, but to keep them off a staff of sixty large CATS RECEIVING RATIONS. cats are constantly employed on the premises, and all these cats are imder the su|3ervisi()n of a big-headed or chief cat, with a long moustache and Angola blood. It is quite a sight to witness the anxious solicitude of this 340 BACCHUS AND BEER. Chief Cat for the honor of the liouse of Barclay & Perkins, and for the discipline of his subordinate cats, the chief being a Thomas of the purest breed. Thirty-six tons of coal per day arc used here for brewing pur- poses, and the malt is stored in a huge room, with liglit win- dows, called the Great Brewhouse, built entirely of iron and brick. There is no continuous floor, but looking upwards, whenever the steaming vapor rises, tlicrc may be seen, at various heights, stages, platforms, and flights of stairs, all oc- cupied by the Cyclopean piles of brewing vessels. There are also huge buildings next to the brewhouse, with cooling floors, into which is pumped the " hot Wort," as it is called, or beer. The surface of the floor in one of these build- ings is 10,000 feet square, and I saw men witli gigantic wooden shoes swimming about in this beer, which looked like a vast lake. The beer is sometimes cooled by passing it tlirough a refrigerator which has contact witli a stream of cold spring water. The cold beer is then allowed to ferment in vast rooms or squares, as large as an ordinary block of houses, — wliicli are made to hold 2,000 barrels. It is a strange sight to look at one of these lakes of beer, the yeast rising in masses like coral reefs in a southern sea, — upon the surface of tlie water, and these rock-like elevations yield, after the force of the yeast is spent, to the slightest wind, giving it the appearance of a vast ocean of beer in a storm. There is one Imge vat for jwrter that will hold 5,000 gallons, which at selling price is worth XI 2,000. Tlie Great Tun of Heidelberg holds but half of this quantity. One thousand quarter-hundreds of malt are brewed daily by Barclay & Perkins. The great rival house to that of Barclay & Perkins, is that of Hanbury, Buxton & Co., in Brick-Lane, Spitalficlds, covering eight acres ; in which 275,000 gallons of water are used daily, obtained from a well 530 feet deep ; — 600,000 barrels of beer are brewed here annually. There are 150 vats, tlie largest of which contains 3,000 barrels, or about 100,000 gallons of beer. There are eight brewing copi^crs, three of which are capable of containing 800 barrels each. 700 quarters of malt can be THE GREAT POUTER TUN. 341 mashed at one time in six mash tubs; — 10,000 tons of coal are used annually, and there are 200 Imge horses, each horse consuming 42 pounds of food per day, or about 2,500,000 pounds per annum. There is a library with 5,000 volumes, a billiard-room, read- ing-room, and savings-bank, on the premises, with a benefit Club for the workmen, each member paying sixpence a week, and receiving fourteen shillings a week in case of sickness ; and on the death of his wife, <£8, and in the event of his own death the family re- ceives £18. Two companies of volun- teers were raised from the 800 em- ployees of the firm, and the men are allowed one holiday in a fortnight. The l)rcwery of Mr. Salt, at Burton- on-Trcnt, has been established for eigh- ty years, and brews annually 25,000 bar- rels of that peculiarly strong and bitter ale. In London it is calculated that about 6,500,000 barrels of ale, beer, and porter, are brewed annually, valued at about £20,000,000, and I think I am therefore correct in calling the English a beer-drinking people. Everybody drinks beer in London. You can sec laborere and dockmen sitting on benches outside of puljlic houses, swilling what they call swipes, at two pence a pot. So if you drink at a Club you will see men as eminent as Mr. Bright, or Mr. Disraeli, calling for a " pint of Bass' East Lidia Ale," or " a bottle of Stout." Even in workhouses beer is kept on tap, TUE GKEAT I'ORTER TUN. 342 BACCHUS AND BEER, and were the paupers to 1)C deprived of their beer, they would, I believe, rise and annihilate their masters. A quart Itottle of good beer or porter can be got anywhere in London for six- pence, and of all the beverages that I have ever tasted, I never foiuid anything to equal in fragrance a drink of good Lon- don " Brown Stout " on a warm summer day. A man may })rocurc as much good V)ccr as lie can drink at a drauglit, for three pence, in London, at any public house or restaui-ant, and it is the common custom with tlie Cockneys to have it at every meal, and also between meals. Tlicy have also a fashion in large parties among (he work- ing and middle classes, of ordering what is called a '" Queen Ann," which is simply three pints of beer in a large, i)rightly burnished metal pot with a handle, and the man who calls for it having paid, takes a drink, then wipes the edge of the pot with the cuff of his coat-sleeve, to remove the foam from liis lips, — then passes it to his wife, sweetheart or his eldest child, who each in turn drink and wipe the edge of the measure ; then it is passed to the stranger, and all around the board, each person being careful to wipe the " peA\i:cr" in the same fashion, 'i his custom seems rather strange and savage at llie first siglit to an American, but it is the custom of the country, and therefore cannot be quarreled with. Benjamin Franklin, as we learn by his diary, was disgusted by the beer-swilling Londoners. When a journeyman printer in London before 1776, he says — " I drank only water ; tlic other workmen, near fifty in number, were drinkers of beer. We had an alehouse boy who attended always in the house to supply workmen. My companion at the press drank every day, a pint before breakfast, a pint at breakfast with his bread and cheese, a pint between ])reakfast and dinner, a ])int at din- ner, a pint in the afternoon al)out six o'clock, and another pint when he had done his work. I thought it a detestable custom, but it was necessary, he sn])posed, to drink stro7u/hccr, that he might be s^ro/ig- himself. ITc had four or five shillings to ])ay out of his wages every week for the detestable liquor." Tliis is pretty strong testimony from Franklin, and 1 find QUANTITY DRANK IN LONDON. 343 tliat although lie frequented alehouses in London, where all the men of wit and learning of the time were to be found, yet he never indulged in beer. Any foreigner passing through a London street which is in- liabitcd by working men and their families, or in the neighbor- liood of factories or other industrial establishments, if the period of the day be between twelve and one o'clock, or just after twelve, cannot fail to notice a sudden commotion and rush of men, women, and half naked children, with jugs, pewter measures, tin cans, and earthen vessels, to the ncigliboring ta}>room or beer-liouse. All this large multitude are in quest of beer for the noonday meal. At noon and night the pot boys of the imnnnerable becr- sliojjs may be seen carrying out the quarts and pints daily re- ceived by those families who do not choose to lay in a stock or store of their owji beer, or the mothers and cliildren of the same families, to whom the lialf-pcnny given to the pot l)oy is a matter of consequence, may be seen journeying to tlie beer- conduits themselves, and the drinking goes on from morning initil night, among truckmen, coal heavers, street jiavers, me- chanics in the " skittle grounds," medical students in the hospitals, law students in the Inns of Court, and " swells " in taverns. From the gray of the morning until the hour of dark, you may see in the London streets those large drays, larger horses, huge draymen, and large casks of beer, ever present and never absent from the Londoner's eyes. Go down to the Strand, that street which borders the river, and you will see tlie same drays and Flemish horses emerging from the huge brewery gates, preparatory to carrying barrels of beer to tap-houses, and nine- gallon casks, the weekly allowance of a private London family, to dwelling-houses. A eomi)etent authority has estimated that each and every inhabitant of London will drink, averaging young and old — 80 gallons of beer in the year. The population is 3,500,000. Therefore, Great is Beer, and Barclay and Perkins are its prophets. CHAPTER XXIII. ' HARVARD AGAINST OXFORD. ELDOM — perhaps not twice in a hundred years, had such a night of excitement been known in London as that which ushered in the morning of the Twenty - Seventh of August, 1869, the ever-memorable day on which a million of half-crazy people were to witness the Great University Boat Race between Oxford and Harvard. This race, it was universally declared, would for- ever settle the mooted question of British pluck and American endurance, by twenty-five minutes hard pulling in two four- oared boats on the River Thames, between Putney and Mort- lake. The boasted phlegm of the English race had, as it were, dis- appeared before the touchstone of national rivalry, and prince, peer, peasant, and cabman alike felt that the honor of England was in the hands of Mr. Darbishire's Oxford crew. For weeks before the race came off, the London shopkeepers, mercers, haberdashers, and drapers, had illuminated windows and doorways with neckties, scarfs, shoe-buckles, ribbons, silks, and hosiery, and with the greatest commercial impartiality, these articles that I have named, with a hundred others that I cannot recollect, had been made to assume the modest hues of the Oxford Dark Blue, and the blazing brilliancy of the Har- vard Magenta. The merits of the men of l)oth Universities had undergone the severest mental and conversational scrutiny in every part of the metropolis. POLICE ARRANGEMENTS. 345 In a great city with a population of over tlirce millions of Englishmen, it was but natural and just that Oxford should hold high ascendancy, and that Oxford favors should be worn almost exclusively, and that the superiority of Oxford rowing, should be with high and low a question of orthodoxy. Night settled down on the myriad roofs and church steeples of Lon- don, and ten young lads, down at the little village of Putney, with its narrow streets and old-fashioned church, braced them- selves, before going to sleep, for the greatest athletic conflict that the Ninteenth century has known. The sun broke over the London house-tops on that eventful Friday morning, the Twenty-Seventh of August, with unusual brilliancy for an English sun. The weather had not been of the most promising kind for some days previous, and it was feared that the day might turn out a foggy or a rainy nuisance, and thus interfere with the pleasure which so many countless thousands had promised tliemselves in witnessing the race. London was astir at an early hour, and great crowds filled the streets in the direction of the railroad stations on the Surrey side of the river, and in the vicinity of the numerous steam- boat wharves, for the purpose of securing an early transporta- tion to the scene of the conflict. At 9 o'clock the stations of the Northwestern, the Metro- politan, and the London and Northwestern Railways — at Wa- terloo, Vauxhall, Clapham Junction, Wadsworth, Putney, Lud- gate Hill, London and Blackfriars Bridges, Euston, Chalk Farm, Hammersmith, Paddington, and Westminster — were swarm- ing with masses of men, women, and children, vainly endeav- oring, struggling, pushing, and trying to obtain precedence of each other, in order to get tickets to be carried to the boat race. The different railway companies of London, in order to accommodate the tremendous number of spectators, had sus- pended their regular traffic and agreed to run excursion trains all day steadily until an hour before the race. The Thames Conservancy Board, which has the power to clear the river and prevent obstructions from delaying tlie race, had worked manfully, and by great exertions had succeeded in 346 HARVARD AGAINST OXFORD. making every steamboat captain and owner on the river know* that he would be compelled by force to remain above Putney Bridge, where tlie race was to begin, on penalty of £20 fine ; and if rash enough to run the risk of fine, the police were to seize the offending steamer and quench her fires, and thus pre- vent further locomotion. One steamboat speculator had been selling tickets at two guineas a head for the steamer Venus, and had declared openly that he would pay the fine of <£20 and run the boat anyhow, desjute the authorities of the river and the police who swarmed, in hundreds of small boats and tiny steam launches, all over the broad surface of the Thames. When the steamer Venus came down to Putney Bridge, how- ever, she was stopped very quickly, and her cheated passengers were forced to remain on board and witness the start, but the steamer was fastened at anchor and could no farther go. Pas- sengers by this unlucky boat, who were unable to stand the broiling sun for four or five hours, debarked at Putney, and consoled themselves with mutton chops and bitter beer at the Star and Garter. Formerly, at the University races between Oxford and Cambridge, there was not only danger that the race itself would be interrupted, or perhaps lost, by the reck- less rushing to and fro of the innumerable steamers that were sure to follow the progress of the boats towards ]\Iortlake. but it was also very unsafe for passengers in small boats, wherries, or launches, to venture on the river, owing to the manner in which the steamers dashed to and fro at the bidding of the eager captains. But the assertions in some of the American newspapers, that the Harvard crew would meet with foul-play from some scoundrel or other who might employ money to influence a master of one of those vessels, liad aroused a determined en- ergy among the members of the Thames Conservancy Board, and the result was a clear river, in one sense, from Putney to Mortlakc, for the two crews. When I say in one sense, I mean that the channel of the river was kept clear of steamboats and skiffs alike ; but, while THOMAS HUGHES, M. P. 347 the steamers we^e not allowed inside of the chains stretched across at Putney and Mortlake, thousands of every description of small craft lined the river for a space of five miles on both sides, on the Surrey and Middlesex shores, — but out of the path where the race-boats were to make the essay for supe- riority. But two steamboats were allowed to follow the crews, and one of these was the steamer Lotus, engaged to carry the referee, Mr. Thomas Hughes, M. P., author of "Tom Brown at Ox- ford," "School Days at Rugby," and other well-known and popular books — Besides the umpire for each crew, the judge of the race, Sir Aubrey Paul, and a number of ladies and gen- tlemen specially invited. Besides this boat there was also the steamboat Sunflower, chartered for the use of the press of Lon- don and for the benefit of American correspondents in London, by one of the editors of BelVs Life. These two boats were never more than fifty yards to the rear of the Oxford and Har- vard shells during the progress of the race. At half past 1 o'clock the press boat had been advertised to leave the Temple Pier for the scene of the race. Taking a cab at the head of Regent street, I had a good opportunity to oljserve the streets and shops and numerous vehicles. Of the six or seven thousand cabs which are to be found at the differ- ent stands all over London, hardly one this morning but is in some way decorated for the festival. These sharjvcyed, cun- ning-looking cabbies, in their careless attire, each with a brass medal depending from his breast, giving his number and license, have an eye to the main chance. Their long whips are tipped with short bows of blue ril)bon in the greater number, while a few have magenta ties. Out of respect for the Yankees, they will charge them to-day a shilling a head more than they dare ask from an Englishman. The great clumsy busses, that look more like advertising vans than vehicles for the purpose of carrying passengers, are splendid this day with decoration. They are made, as the sign above each tells you, to carry twelve inside and sixteen outside. The drivers of the busses have a more respectable 22 348 HARVARD AGAINST OXFORD. look and are more profound in their wit than the cabbies. They have a soHd British look that tells plainly of roast beef and careful usage. The cabbies are to the buss drivers a sort of gypsies, and are looked upon by them witli suspicion. Every omnibus is crowded with passengers tliis cheerful, sunny day. All London seems going to the race. Dry goods clerks, licensed victualers, " cads," grocers, public-house keepers, bar- boys, stable-boys, bar-maids, servant-maids, well-to-do trades- men and their wives and children, apothecaries' assistants, golden-haired milliners nicely gloved, dressmakers' apprenti- ces, pickpockets, peers of the United Kingdom, University men in cap and gown. Charter House boys with yellow stock- ings on their legs, and dark-blue frocks fastened at their waists with leather straps, wandering Americans displaying large diamonds and shocking bad hats, Westminster schoolboys on tlie foundation of Elizabeth, the Dean of St. Paul's in his shovel hat, city men, brokers and bankers, watermen from the Thames, professional oarsmen, Jew and Gentile ; — they are all interested and will all see the race or a part of it. I never saw anything like this great crowd before. It is believed that two hundred and fifty thousand people is tlie aver- age number that are in the habit of witnessing a Cambridge and Oxford boat-race, but Cambridge has been beaten so often that the interest does not compare at one of these races with the tumultuous, all-pervading feeling that is borne in every man's bosom as he hurries along to-day. It is not so very cer- tain that Harvard will be beaten, although it is rumored here and there tliat Loring, the stroke of the crew, is unwell, which rumor only tends to increase the odds on Oxford. The Temple Pier is reached at last. We pass through an arched gateway at tlie bottom of a narrow street opening on the Thames. This spot is more historic even than Westminster Abbey. There Ijefore us is the Church of the Temple, seven hundred years old and black with time. All tlie ground around us belonged, in the old bygone days, to the Knights of the Order of the Temple. Now the place is the resort of attorneys and barristers, and in it legal people have chambers. Right DARK BLUE AND MAGENTA. 349 in the shadows of the old Norman towers and battlements of the ancient church, Jack Cade's followers rose from a swinish, drunken sleep to turn their weapons against each other, hund- reds falling in the conflict. Here in these chambers resided Chaucer, Gower, Spenser, Clarendon, Coke, Plowden, Selden, Beaumont, Congreve, Wych- erley, Edmund Burke, Cowper, Samuel Johnson, Oliver Gold- smith, Pope, Eldon, Erskine, and others equally famous. Here tliey slept, joked, read, ate, and drank. Surely, if this ground be not hallowed, none other is. In company with a well-known American journalist, Mr. George Wilkes, I find my way to the Press "boat, which is lying at the foot of the Temple Pier, off the Embankment. She is a long, double-ender, with a red streak on the upper part of her keel, and a black hull. Her steam funnel is made to be lowered at the base, worlcing on hinges, when going under a bridge. Like all Tliamcs boats to-day, there are two flags hoisted on her twin flag-staffs — the American and English. There is no awning, no upper-deck, to shade us from the August sun, whicli is now beginning to burn with ati intensity peculiarly un-English. There are, perhaps, about fifty persons on the boat, of whom two-thirds are English ; the remainder Americans. They are not all newspaper men, though it was understood, before the tickets were sold, that none but newspaper men would be al- lowed on board. The Englishmen wear blue scarfs and bows ; the Americans sport the magenta all over their clothes. The sun falls on tlie broad, muddy river in slanting beams of kindling gold, making the old warehouses on both banks of the stream, witli their yellow brick gables, to stand out in bold relief. Above us is London Bridge, lowering in its immensity, and to tlic right is Billingsgate Market and Paul's wliarf. Close upon our stern is Blackfriars Bridge, the Temple Gardens, Kings College — a massive, dirty gray stnicture, running along the river bank ; Somerset House, the government building where all the clerical work of the administration is done, and where well-fed and well-paid clerks enjoy sinecures of the kind 350 HARVARD AGAINST OXFORD. which the Barnacle family were so fond of. Before us is Waterloo Bridge, Cecil, Duke, Salishury, Surrey, Bucking- ham, Villiers, and otlier streets called after the mansions once inhabited by the favorites of Charles, James, and William of Blessed Memory. At a little before two o'clock the Sunflower steams off on her journey up the river. The course of the steamer is impeded at almost every foot by small craft of all descriptions, en route to Putney and the race. We pass, on our way down, Waterloo Bridge, Charing Cross Bridge, with its huge railroad trains thundering over our heads, bound to Dover, with passengers for the Continent ; West- minster Bridge and the Houses of Parliament, with their gilt vanes, towers, and battlements glistening in the sun ; Lambeth Bridge and Lambeth Palace, the residence of the Primate of England, with its gardens and red brick towers ; St. Thomas Hospitals, in process of construction ; Millbank Penitentiary, a gloomy, six-sided fortress of crime ; Vauxhall Bridge ; Pim- lico Pier, where we stop a moment ; the Nine Elms Road, Chelsea Bridge, and Clijclsea Hospital, where a number of frisky, one-legged and one-armed veterans are disporting themselves on its smooth, grassy lawn ; the Botanic Garden on the right, and the green fields and trees and silvery lake of Battersea Park on the left ; Albert Bridge, Cadogan Pier, Chelsea Pier, Battersea Bridge, and the Cremorne Gardens, with its kiosks, captive balloon, statues, shady walks, fountains, and flower beds ; and now we are opposite Fulham and Brompton, where the splendid and extravagant Formosas of the metropolis en- joy their ill-gotten gains in pleasant villas and cozy little houses. We are now getting away from the thickly populated districts of London, and the bridges that cross the river are fewer and farther between, and, being generally of wood, are more rickety. During the entire passage we are continually stopped by small craft of all kinds. The river is alive with tliem. There are huge yawls, of broad bottom and clumsy construe- ON THE TOWING PATH." '351 tion, containing family parties, with their provender — bread, cheese, and beer, ham pies, and beef pies, kidneys and tongues — spread out in the bottom of the boats on white cloths or in open baskets ; there arc long shells with crews of eight and four, carrying coxswains ; single sculls, double sculls, wherries, watermen's boats, small steam launches, lighters, watermen's barges, small sloops and schooners with dirty sails and un- seemly rudders, pleasure yachts, and craft of such queer shape and rig as are never seen on our American rivers. All are bent on pleasure, and in many of the boats they are singing the slang songs of the London streets; and now and then are warbled the cheering chants of the boatmen immor- talized by Dilxlin and Taylor, the water poets. A couple of miles more and we are in sight of Putney Bridge, which towers aloft, rickety, worn, and decayed, thousands crossing to and fro on its frail planks to get positions for the race. And now the full grandeur of a sight such as is seldom or ever seen bursts upon every one on board the Press boat, and even the Londoners admit, in an easy way, that the Derby Day is eclipsed by the great number of people who line the banks of the river for miles on the Surrey and Middlesex shores. To the left, above the old bridge, is the village of Putney, with its narrow streets and noisome lanes, its green fields, fes- tering pools, eccentric-looking mansions and houses of an hum- bler kind, the steeples of St. John's and St. JMary's, with their quaint clock-towers; and to the left, on the Middlesex bank, are Fulliam and the Bishop of London's palace, the long grass on the Bishoi)'s lawn waving in the breeze, and uj)on whose surface were stretched pic-nickers eating and drinking. The Star and Garter at Putney, a famous hostelry, where the crew of Harvard had lodged when they first came to Eng- land, was covered nil over its surface toward the river with the flags of America and England. The old wooden balconies were crowded with ladies wearing favors in their bosoms; the passages and lanes leading to the towing-path on the river swarmed with foot passengers, all having one determination and one sole object. The " Bell Inn," a rival to the Star and 352 HARVARD AGAINST OXFORD, Garter, was also glorious with colors, and all the house-own- ers for miles along the river had let their windows and seats on their roofs for various sums, varying from five shillings to five guineas per head. One generous American "lady" had advertised in the Times that she would let seats in licr windows to her countrymen at the modest price of two guineas per head, and she found that she had not half room enough for her compatriots. An inn keeper on the towing-patli had let the front of his house for <£40 to a speculator, who realized a profit of £25 on the venture. The Leander Boat-house, belonging to a well-known boating club, had a scaffolding erected fronting the river for the mem- bers and their ladies, whicli was covered with Union Jack bunt- ing, the structure lacing the place where the Oxford crew had housed their race-boat. Close to it was the boat-house of the London Rowing Club, an association of four hundred gentlemen, who had proved them- selves warm and steady friends of tlie Harvard crew since their arrival here. The Harvard boat was housed here, and the staging and platform were decorated with American colors. A number of ladies, wearhig red rosettes, were seated upon this balcony. A few yards below was the modest stone house where the Harvard crew were sleeping two hours before the race. This place was enclosed by a stone wall, breast high, and shaded by green trees. Platforms were erected behind tliis wall, and on them I noticed seated the American Minister, Mr. Motley, the Hon. S. S. Cox, " Tom Hughes," Charles Reade, the novelist — a bluff-looking, hearty Englishman, in gray clothes — and a number of ladies, just before the race began. Back from this house ran the High street, and, I believe, the only street of Putney, and in this street was located the unpre- tending place of residence of the Oxford men. The towing- path on the Surrey side of the river runs along for miles away beyond Mortlake, and on the Middlesex bank there is also a path, and on both of these paths it is customary on a race day for thousands of harmless maniacs to run along, hats and coats TUE UAKVARD CREW. A FRIGHTFUL JAM. 355 in hand, vainly endeavoring to keep up with race-boats going at a speed greater than a mile every five minutes. Of course, they soon lose sight of the boats after the start ; yet they will still run, hallooing, cheering, and shouting like madmen. To furnish sport and amusement for the myriads of Cockneys who come by rail, steamboat, or on foot, from Lon- don and its environs, there are not wanting sharpers, players, peddlers, fighting-men, showmen, venders of all kinds of fruit, vegetables, meats, pies, drinks, ices, and all kinds of knick- knacks — things useful and useless; and these i)eo})le and their wares combined make up a kind of a Bartholomew's fair on a grand scale. The fair and its accessories covered the towing-path for three miles, and rendered the passage most difficult on this occasion for the many pedestrians. Dresses were torn, buttons pulled off, hats smashed, bonnets rumpled, hoops irretrievably wrecked, children trod on, women half suffocated and rendered faint and sick; yet, back from the river, for fifty or sixty feet, for a dis- tance of three miles, the uproar and sale of questionable mer- chandise and doubtful provender never ceased for an instant. It was a scene such as is displayed once in a man's lifetime, to remain indelibly engraved on his mind ever after. One thou- sand policemen lined both banks of the river to keep order, but most of them were on the Surrey, or most thronged bank of tlie stream. A large number of those were mounted on huge black horses, and but for them many lives would have been lost on this most eventful day of days. At the boat-houses, where the shells of the rival crews were concealed from the gaze of the crowds, outside, the jam was frightful, and very dangerous, as the police every few moments had to back their horses into the crowd to keep a passage-way clear, and on several occasions were compelled to charge the dense masses of men, women, and children. Some time before the race came off, I made my way along the towing-path as well as I could through the swaying, surg- ing crowds, for the purpose of taking a look at the amusements they were enjoying. 356 HARVARD AGAINST OXFORD. There was a large crowd around a man who stood before a circular table, the top of which revolved on a pivot. The sur- face was painted and divided into four triangles by colored lines. In each angle was painted the name of some famous horse, such as "Formosa," "Pretender," "Blue Gown," and "Lady Elizabeth." An indicator, lilcc the hand of an eight-day clock, swung on a i)ivot in the centre of the circle. A spectator being invited to place sixpence on the name of some favorite horse, the proprietor of the show gave the circu- lar board a spin, and if the indicator stopped opposite the name of the horse where he had placed his money, he gained a shil- ling. The fellow who had this machine in operation was a hard-looking case, in a greasy cutaway velvet coat. His ora- tory was to the point and business-like. "Down vith ycr sixpence; and make yer bets, gentlemen. My hindicator is sure as the clock of St. Paul's and twice as waluablc ha liacquisition. I don't care vether it is Formosy or Purtendir that ycr bets ycr bob lion. Yer take Hoxford or ye take 'Avard — Hi gives 'er a spin Han lets yev vin ; vich is poetry, and if ye dosn't vin, I gits the tin ; vich is po-e- try agin, and is halso a favrite hexpression of the Chanselur of the Hexcheckever ven he piles hon the blessed taxis has 'as made me sell hall my property to liavoid a bust hup. Try yer luck agin ; thank ye sir. Formosy, sir, sure to vin or lose." Close by this amusing bhackgniard is the stand of the root- beer, ginger -beer, and bitter-beer seller, who is crying out from behind his little cart : " Yalk hup and try this ere de-lee-shus bewerage, honly tuppence a bottle. If ye don't like it I gives ye yer money back, and no 'arm done. The Prinse of Vales alvays buys 'is beer hof me ven 'e isnt travelin, for the good of 'is 'ealth. Valk hup and don't be ashamed ; the no-bil-e-tee and gen-te-ree hall pati'onizes me. Ginger-beer, ginger-beer, and may the best BOOTHS AND SHOWS. 357 man win, as my vife says, vcn she sees two pickpockets a fight- in' for a shilliu'." " Trick-liat-the-loop, ring the nail, and ye gets three h'apens. Ring tlie nail and ye gets three h'apens. And 'ow mnch does ye hiiivcst. Vy honly lia 'apenny. A man von two hundred pun hof me hast vcek, and tliere 'e his just now agoin to bet hit all on the Iloxford crew, and ef ye don't believe me just hax 'im 'isself," said a seedy looking wretch, with a handful of small iron rings in his hand, directing his index finger to some indistinct personage in the crowd, whom no one present could recognize. The number of apple, pear, goosberry, plum, pie, and ice- cream stands that line the path are almost incalculable to think of Pics square, round, and triangular of shape, in all the varied stages of decay, are for sale at a penny a piece. Tarts, cheese cakes, mutton pot-pies, ham pies, suet puddings, whelks, a sort of odorous shell-fish, at half-penny apiece, green gages, and "sandviches" are shouted on every side of us. There are all kinds of games in progress. There is the ancient and honorable game of "cockshie," and "cocoa-nut." The latter is curious. Three cocoa-nuts, hollowed out, are placed on the top of as many sticks, which are stuck ui)right in the ground, and the game, costing a penny, is to knock off those cocoa-nuts at three strokes, when you can claim three pence — providing, of course, that you knock off all three cocoa- nuts ; whicli, of course, can only be done by the princely pro- prietor himself after hard training. There is one noisy fellow on a little hillock, pockmarked and ferret-eyed, in a greasy woolen duster, who has drawn a large crowd around him by liis i:)eculiar and quack-like oratory. This fellow is a gem, in his way, of purest ray serene. He is a merchant of penny scarf and finger rings. "Now," says lie, elevating a scarf ring on one finger and a wedding ring on another, in sight of the wondering crowd, "hif hi was to tell you good people that these hcuty-fool rings wor pure goold, vot vould you say ? Vy, you vould say, in the 358 HARVAED AGAINST OXFORD. most hcxitibel and liunmistakabel langvidgc lias could come from your blessed traps, 'cc his a harraut liimposter. " Could hi blame yer for hcxpressing yer feelinks iu sicli langvidge ? No, Hi vould say to my disturbed conscience, has was at that very moment a tearing my hinsidcs to pieces, *you, Villiam Bowsley, have forsaken the good karraktir has was 'anded down to yer by hancestors who 'ad their hown hes- tates, 'osses, and kcrridges ; Villiam Bowsley, you 'ave been han harrant himpostor, and deserves to be 'ung.' Yell, does I tell ye that these ere rings is goold ? No ; on the contrcery, I says they are brass. Veil, may be ye don't care so much for brass harticles. Ham hi a friend of brass ? No, agin. But I ham a friend of Hart. I asks ye to look at this ere image of Mr. Gladsfwn, as is now hour blessed Fn-7)iee7'. Wos hevcr anything so beau-ty-fool ? Look at the insinivatin smile on 'is sveet feetyures. Ven I last dined vith Mr. Gludstun — ye needn't laff, cos ye knows, perhaps, the story in the Good Book of the bad children 'oo chaffed the old Profits and wus heat hup by bares — ven I last dined vith Gladstiin, hour blessed Trl-meer, he says, ' Bill ' — he calls me ' Bill ' ven 'ee his friendly — ' Bill, them pictures on them ere kam-e-o-s as you sells is my likeness just like twins. Cos, vy,' said he, 'my maiden haunt rcckignized them, and fainted avay ven she seed vun.' " Passing along a few feet I am attracted by tlie noise of a loud, rough voice, that is shouting over the thickly packed heads of another crowd : '' Step hup gentlemen and take a look hat the noble hart of Self-Defence has his practised in the Royal Tent, This vay gentlemen, honly tuppens. Brisket Bill and the 'Ackney Vick Cove is a goin' to set-too. Step hup." There is a large tent back from the path covered all over with representations of half-naked boxers in the act of defend- ing themselves, or mauling or beating each other to pieces, and the master pugilist stands on a high bench to attract the crowd, while at the same time he can look inside of the tent and direct the ceremonies by calling time and announcing the names of the combatants. Two wretclicd, miserable looking women, THE BOXING TENT, 359 their features furrowed with want, their eyes bleared with gin, and their general appearance indicative of hard luck, cruel treatment and filth, hold each a sheet of the tent in their hands, and one of them pnts out her hand to take the two pence wliicli is the price of admission. I pass in to the tent and find twenty or thirty hard-looking cases circling around "Brisket Bill" and the "Hackney Wick Cove," who are stripped to their waists, their features inflamed with passion, their hair cropped short, and boxing gloves on their hands. There are half a dozen burly, big soldiers in the tent belonging to different arms of the Queen's service, and two of them wear the red shell jackets and army fatigue caps of the Life Guards. Brisket Bill is a low-sized, compact, thick witted brute in corduroys and heavy ho]>nailed shoes, who has been probably "starring" in the provinces, and the Hackney Cove is a tall, well-made, fresh-faced-looking young fellow, who is quite lively on his feet, and seems to rather like the punishment which Brisket gives him every now and then in the clicst and face. A ruffianly faced scoundrel offers me a ticket to go to his box- ing benefit on the next Monday night, which is declined, and at the next moment the Hackney Cove knocks Brisket Bill, with a tremendous blow, kicking at my feet, while cheers greet the feat from the Life Guards, roughs, thieves, and clodhoppers in the tent, and the Master Pugilist cries from the top of the tent outside : " Vind hup. Brisket ; 'it 'im 'ard and be done vith your lark- ing. Give these gentlemen the vorth of their tupcnce. Yind hup, I say, and stop 'im." Going down the towing path I found the crowd increasing every moment, and all streaming from the direction of London. A great number of soldiers were present all in bright uniform, Avithout side-arms, and all carrying jaunty canes — lancers, foot guards, riflemen, artillery drivers, men of the siege train, heavy cavalry, dragoons, and light-infantry men. The majority of these warriors bold were accompanied by their sweethearts, pretty, clear-skinned English girls in tlicir best bibs and tuckers, 360 HARVARD AGAINST OXFORD. and of course they all wore the Oxford blue on their persons. Hundreds of small dirty-faced and ragged boys swarmed in and out of the numerous tents, and many grown men were en- deavoring by bawling loudly, to dispose of badges and rosettes. Some of them had pieces of wide dark blue ribbon with the words cribbed from the famous ballad of Tommy Dodd a little altered, inscribed in gilt type on them : "Now boys, let's all go in ; Oxford — Oxford sure to win, Tommy Dodd." Others sold small rosettes with the words "Oxford Laurels" engraved, and Harvard badges made of red, white, and blue lutestring, bearing the arms of the United States, the eagle ram- pant, and screaming fiercely, while one costermonger's cart had elevated on canvas in bold letters, the words of Nelson at Trafalgar, forever classic in the English tongue : "ENGLAND EXPECTS THIS DAY THAT EVERY MAN SHALL DO HIS DUTY." Almost every person who passed this costermonger cart cheered or approved of the legend in some way ,while as a counter irritant a party of Americans who had hired a whole house, had the Star Spangled Banner displayed with the following couplet underneath, in glaring type, and which attracted very consid- erable attention : "Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto : In God be our trust !" I saw numbers of Americans, during the great excitement of that memorable (Jay, pass and repass the sacred symbol of their country just for the sake of lifting their hats to the dear old flag. Blood is thicker than water — even if it was only a boat race. One young fellow who had been for four years studying his profession at Halle, in Germany, and had not seen the Gridiron during that time, doffed his hat twice and was cheered from the balcony in return ; and when he came to THE DEAR OLD FLAG. 361 me and spoke, his eyelashes were humid, and, when I asked him wliat was the matter, he answered in a polyglot of Deutsch and English : " Ach Gott! I've been having a blamed good cry at the sight of the Stars and Stripes." And thus the day passed, and the sun declined in force and fell in strips of silver and gold and purple on Putney church and steeple, and on all that mad, roaring, shouting, gambling, eating, and drinking multitude, that lined both banks of the river from Putney to Mortlake — a million human beings in all — to witness ten lads struggle for less than half an hour in two frail boats. 1 CHAPTER XXIV. STRUGGLE AND VICTORY. [s ^ S I passed down the towing path toward bK' the stone honse where the Harvard crew were resting, 1 saw the blue blades of four 2 Mr^-^'^ •-: xV slender oars elevated above the crowd, and y ^ i ^ ^-is'Ssrs^ passing through the closely wedged ranks. The men who carried them, the Oxford Four, appeared on the river's bank — four fine looking young fellows, with tlie cox- swain, a mere lad, in their rowing suits. They were going to take a paddle preparatory to the race, for half a mile up the Thames toward the Duke of Devonshire's. They looked well, and were loudly cheered as they got into their boat. They paddled up the river. As I passed the gate of the stone house I saw the Chevalier Wykoff and George Wilkes standing together and spoke to them both. Just at this moment the face of Loring, the stroke of the Harvard crew, appeared looking out toward the river, which was packed witli boats full of people. There was some- thing in the man's face that I did not like. I had not seen liim for a few days previous. He had a huge boil under his right chin in his neck, with a white crust on the top of it ; his eyes seemed wild, his manner anxious and hurried, and alto- gether he seemed very unsteady. I shook hands with him and asked him how he felt. He said slowly, " Pretty well," and after we talked a few minutes he went in to prepare for the struggle. I stepped back to the towing path and spoke to Mr. Wilkes, who asked of me. ON BOARD THE PRESS BOAT. 363 "Who is that? Is not that Mr. Loring, the Stroke of Harvard?" I answered in the affirmative. Mr. Wilkes then asked mc, " What did he say ? Does he feel well ?" I an- swered, " He says he feels pretty well ?" Wilkes burst out, " Pretty well ! He doesn't look like it. That man's sick." and in an instant he dashed into the crowd to find some one and I lost him for the time being. I walked down to the " Star and Garter" inn slowly, think- ing of the last look I had at Loring, and I felt astonished that lie should be ready to pull a race in his condition. The man was evidently in a state of exhaustion ; he looked overworked, overstrained, and out of condition for a four mile and three fur- long i-acc — he who had, when at his best, only been used to pull a three mile race, turning at a stake of a mile and a half distance. Warned by the noise and rapid movements of the crowd that something was astir, 1 made my way by the Star and and Garter, out of whose windows men were handing porter bottles to their friends beneath, and, walking to the river's bank, I hailed a boat with two Thames watermen in it, who pulled me tln-ough the line of Police boats to the Press boat Sun- jQowcr, which had her steam up and was getting ready. Getting on the deck 1 took a look around me. Above and at our back was the old Putney Bridge, thick with human beings of both sexes. Beneath were countless steamboats and small craft, wedged together in a dense mass, covering tho river behind the bridge for acres, and at our stern a huge iron chain of Vulcanic links stretched from the Star and Garter to a point off Fulliam on the Middlesex shore. The chain in tho middle of the river "v^'as under water, but near both shores it was visible to all the passengers on the steamboats behind Put- ney Bridge, but also impassable to them, however they might rage, fume, and curse at their ill-luck and guineas thrown away. By the side of the Press boat, the Umpire's boat — a craft similar in build and appearance — was anchored, many of the passengers wearing the rival colors ; the Americans drinking 364 STRUGGLE AND VICTORY. brandy and soda to refresh themselves, and the Englislimen giving odds on Oxford with great good will and humor. The picture on the river was a most striking one, and worthy of a master's brush, witli its vivid color, the striking dresses of the crowds, the flags and bunting from housetops and steam funnels ; the green-leaved trees, their branches covered with human fruit, and the hot August sun, just losing its intensity, as a cool breeze came down from the direction of Mortlake to ruffle the surface of the river, its eddies and wavelets sparkling and dancing like diamonds of price. It was now within a few minutes of five o'clock. There was a sudden hum above on the river, at a place called the Crab Tree, as the Oxford crew got into their boat, and the hum be- came distinct and swelled into a pronounced noise, and the noise became a great solid, full cheer from a hundred thousand throats, as the briglit blue ))lades of the Oxford Four were dipped in the water, and they came paddling down the stream in their narrow shell to take position by the Umpire's boat near the bridge. They paddled easily, and took position with a quiet look in their fair English faces that impressed every American favorably. Then there was another hum as before, when tlie Harvard crew came down from the boat-house of tlie London Rowing Club, and a tremendous cheer as their boat came up to the Middlesex shore — in among the seedy long grass. And now let us look for a moment at the two crews as they sit there passively awaiting the order to "go." The Har- vard boat is long, narrow, and the frail cedar wood timbers that compose it are polished like a steel mirror. Its nose and bow are sharp as a lancet, and amidships it is but a few inches out of the water. So frail, and yet to carry the good or bad forlTine of a mighty nation's hci)e. The Harvard crew wore white flannel shirts, the sleeves cut away at the shoulders, with white drawers shortened above the ankles, and white fillets bound around their temples to save their heads from the sun's rays. To a spectator tliey looked magnificent — all of them brcnzed as they sat well forward in LORIXG S CONDITION. 365 tlic Ijoat, their skins like a new guinea. Burnliam, the cox- swain, liad his back to the steamer and faced the stroke, Mr. Loring. Bnrnham looked stout, massive, and in good condi- tion. His l)road Lack, rather too broad for a coxswain, gave an idea of endurance and "staying" more useful in a stroke than a " cox." His face was tanned, and his quick, rest- less eyes scanned the broad Thames with a short, momentary glance, and then they rested on Simmons, the hope of the Amer- ican boat. Burnham wore a Vandyke tuft at his chin, and a stiff, brist- ling mustache of sandy hue. He looked old enough to be father to the Oxford coxswain. Loring sat with both hands grasping the stroke-oar on the right side of the boat. His face was turned also, and his dark eyes had something nervous and flitting in tliem that I did not like. His body was as lean as a greyhound\s — in fact, he was too lean for a long race. But tlie nuisclcs and sinews stood out in bold relief, and the cords of flesh between tlic shouldcr-l)lades wore hard, and, Loring being slightly round in the shoulders, it gave him a look of great strength, more fictitious than real. He wore a mustache and goatee — not quite so artistic in shape as Burnham's — and the hair was cropped close to his ears. His face, however, did not satisfy the Americans, who watched him closely. There was something that was indefi- nite, something unstrung, in the lines that should have been set and hardened like steel bars. He had a feverish look as he sat forward, with his long, massive arms, grasj)ing the oars. Simmons, the pride of the crew, sat beliind Loring, his per- fect physical form astounding the Englishmen by its massive and beautiful outline. The face was gravely handsome, the cliin round yet firm, the shoulders grand in their proportions, and the loins like the waist of an oak trunk. His naked arms were marble for their shape and purity of skin, and the neck, proudly resting upon his shoulders, could not have disgraced the Sun God. Take him altogether, I never saw such a perfect specimen 23 366 STRUGGLE AND VICTORY. of manhood and physical beauty as lie looked that day in the Harvard boat. And yet his eyes, usually intense and piercing, and bluish gray, which always looked a man in the face, were to-day yellowish and overcast. That lion heart, which could hardly think of defeat, was torn in a struggle to maintain composure. He and Loring for four days had been gradually weakening almost to the point of exhaustion, and these two men, upon whom the race principally depended, were per- fectly aware that their form was not good, and they were well aware, also, that without their strength and health the race was lost before it began. Simmonds towered above all his companions, and he held the wrist of his oar calmly as he could, while behind him sat Lyman, a grave, austere looking young gentleman, with a well cut face, mouth, and chin, dark hair, a resolute look, and a well shaped body ; of modest, but athletic look and determi- nation. Lyman seemed in very good shape, though a little anxious — as was no more than natural — about Loring and Simmonds, while the most insouciant, daring looking man in the boat to- day, is that haughty, imperious looking fellow who sits in the bow, Joseph Story Fay, a man of proud will, self confidence, and great endurance. He sits seeming a careless observer of the preparatory and technical part of the programme, but those keen, watchful eyes, that seem to stab like a knife, are bent with no little solicitude on the Oxford boat, which is almost stationary a few yards distant. The Harvard crew had a manly, bold look, taking them in a mass, and a sombre, matured appearance, their bodies and faces stained deep yellow, like a crew of Indians, and they also sat, if I may use the word, taller in their boat than the Oxford crew did in theirs. The Oxford crew were boyish, fresh-faced fellows, compared with them, their light skins and hair making them look more juvenile in appearance, and beside, they had not such an ascetic look as the Harvards, who had lived more like monks than athletes, without any amusement or even beer — for weeks CONDITION OF THE MEN. 367 training themselves to death, and working body and mind too much. The Harvard crew seemed anxious and careworn, when their faces were studied, and they were certainly not in good training condition for the race. Loring had worked like a horse, pulling long distances in broiling suns ; and the crew when together had a bad fashion of rowing the whole course, while the Oxford men contented themselves with a pull of a couple of miles at a time, being careful not to overdo the business. Then, on Sunday the Oxford men always went down to the sea-shore at Brighton, and drank beer moderately and ate fruit in a jolly sort of a way, and plenty of roast meats, while the Harvard men lived to some extent on farinaceous food and porridge and figs and mutton, a favorite dish of theirs when roasted — and to be brief, they were too anxious to win, and the consequence came in the shape of a fidgctty, nervous, and overtrained condition. Besides, the stroke ot the Harvard crew was too labored and fiery and energetic to last, for tlie amount of powder be- longing to them. The arms were with them the great impell- ing power, and the recover was too high up in the chest, while the Oxford men recovered a little above the pit of the stomach, which is less wearisome and distressing. In catching the oar forward they ex|:)ended too much force, and spent a great deal of strength in dropping it, while their strength would have been better used in holding the water just before the recovery. The coxswain, too, was naturally uncertain of liis Stroke and Simmonds, both men being in poor condition ; and Loring told him before the race, in case that he flagged to sprinkle his face and that of Simmonds, with water. This alone was enough to make Burnham rather shaky, and not a little doubtful of his crew. A few lengths lost by wild steering or nervousness, and it would be of course impossible to win in the case of two crews so very closely matched otherwise. I say all this ad- visedly, and I am sure the conclusion will bear out my prem- ises. In addition, they had tried half a dozen boats while in training, and displaced two of their crew. Whether it was 368 STRUGGLl'] AND VICTORY. wise to make this change or not, 1 liave no means of knowing, and cannot say. The Oxford crew having paddled their boat a little nearer the Press steamer, I now had a good look at them. They all had a fresli, fair, English look, and were not, as far as I could see, at ail fagged before going into the race. Darbishire, the Stroke, was the first man who caught my eye. He did not look at all burly in frame, and his figure was lower in the thwarts of the boat by a head, tiian that of the gigantic-framed Cornwall Celt, Mr. Tinne. Darbishire had a merry blue eye and a turn-up nose, indicat- ing good humor. His body was well set, his shoulders compact, and his hair, though short, had a proclivity to curl and kink. He had a broad forehead, a mouth a little turned down at tlie corners and arching, and his chin was moderately firm. Yarborough was far more determined in his look, and sported a pair of thin, mutton-chop whiskers. He was the darkest-skinned and darkest-eyed man in the Oxford boat, besides being a fine oarsman and a victor of many college matches. His nose was of the snub order, and the chin dim- pled, the forehead being broad and white, and the hair, like Darbishire's, inclined to curl. He was what would be a " big small" man, and was as compact and tough as a hickory nut. Tinne was, however, the giant of the crew. I never saw a more glorious looking fellow than this clear-skinned, handsome Cornwall lad, with his splendid clearly cut profile, frank, merry face, laughing eyes, and thoroughbred look. It was worth a day's walk to see Tinne pull. He was a man a good deal after the style of our own Simmonds, but not so gravely reserved. He was not as tall as Simmonds, but a great deal heavier, and looked as if he could pull a man-of- war's gig in a race, with those grand shoulders and hips broad ai a barrel of beer. Yet, with all his great physique, his gait was as light as a girl's, and the feather of his oar Avhen taken from the water was artistic in itself. This huge fellow, weighing 192 pounds on the day of the race, was formidable enough to intimidate the boldest betting THE OXFORD CKKW HALL, THE COXSWAIN. 371 American of us all. Tiniie, like his friend Willan, the how oar, liad heen president of the Oxford University Boat Club, and had never known defeat. Willan, the Bow, looked as if the matter was mere play, while he amused himself with tlie oar and watched Walter Brown, who held the nose of the Harvard boat from a launch, with a keen alert look. His wliite Guern- sey shirt was open at the neck, and it showed a wonderfully muscular but white throat. His shoulders were broad across, and his fingers grasped the oar as if they were riveted with steel nails to the frail shaft. The most innocent looking boy I ever saw in a boat was Hall, a slight, frail, girlish looking lad, and coxswain of the Oxford crew. Weighing one hundred pounds on the day of the race, and being about seventeen years of age, he was the last person that a man would choose for a coxswain, who knew nothing of the mysteries and science of the art of rowing as practiced in England. His skin was light and almost transparent, the blue veins in his face being very prominent. His hair was very light, and his eyes blue as the sky. A handsomer lad could not be found, but he seemed delicate enough to Ije blown away with a breath. The face was weak, and the mouth of a curious shape, the corners being drawn down, and giving him a soft, credulous look. Looking at him there in his dark-blue jacket of thin flannel — all the rest of the crew were in white shirts cut away at the elbows, and white drawers shortened at the ankles — he looked so innocent and lady-like, that it needed Init a crinoline and silk skirt to transform him into a pretty English girl of the period. And yet that delicate boy had a great trust, and " Little Corpus," as he was called from his college at Oxford, well de- served it all, for his knowledge of the river Avas unrivaled, and his steering was simply perfection. Notliing could be finer. A New York betting-man, who lost heavily, declared that he was a " young weasel" for sagacity and cool nerve. By the time I had taken a good look at botli crews, the ar- rangements had all been made, and the two boats had been 372 STRUGGLE AND VICTORT. ^ brought by their coxswains up to a line stretched across the river, and the crews now lay in their boats, with bodies bent forward, their faces set, their oars grasped with energy, the coxswains with the ropes in both liands, and the stroke of each boat having liis oar blade poised a few feet above the water. Walter Brown held the nose of the Harvard boat, and John Phelps, a ragged looking Thames waterman, had his grip fast- ened on the Oxford boat, waiting for the word to go. Loring's eyes arc blazing with unwonted fire ; Darbishire seems confident and easy, with his ears dilated like a pointer, and a death-like silence reigns all over that swarming river — -just now the noise was deafening ; the Americans have ceased to drink any more brandy and soda ; Tom Huglies looks up the river to see if all is clear ; Mr. Lord, of the Thames Conservancy, reports all clear — and the bulky figure of Blakey, the starter of the race, is seen to ascend the paddle-box of the Lotus steamer, and his voice rings over the water, and is lieard with a thrill, for the decisive moment lias come at last. " I shall ask," says Blakey, " are you Ready — are you Ready ^ and if you do not stop me I shall give the word Go, after which God speed you both." " Are you ready ?" " No !" shouts Darbishire. " Are you ready ?" " No I" again, distinct and clear, from Darbishire. " Are you Ready T"* No answer this time from either crew. "GO!" A hundred thousand throats, as if made of cast-iron, bellow forth : a hundred thousand eyes are dazzled for a moment as the diamond drops fall from the upraised blue blades of Ox- ford and tlie white blades of Harvard. Walter Brown executes a war dance in an instant after he lias sent the Harvard shell a full length on its way. The 'Rah, 'Rah, 'Rah, of Harvard pierces the air; the masses on the banks of tlie river begin to show incipient symptoms of madness. Both boats are off, Harvard pulling like demons, and Oxford lias just got into her careless, easy swing, pumping away like machines. The harvard's lightning stroke. 373 two steamers start on a helter-skelter race, and the greatest boat race the world ever saw has just begun for better or for worse. No man that day who witnessed the start of the two boats — the terrific spring of the Harvard crew, and the cool, rythmi- cal measure of the Oxford stroke — can ever forget that mo- ment of moments, unless, indeed, his blood be thinner than "water and his pulse of ice. The Harv^ard crew caught the water first, and were well on their w\ay before the crowds were recovered from the shock. Loring swept away like a tiger after his prey, and Buniham — who had won tlie toss for choice of position, steered in on the Middlesex shore, the Oxford crew having won a blank, and having to keep in, consequently, on the Surrey side — showing very good judgment at first, and keeping his boat well under way. It was but a miiuito, and Harvard was a full length clear in the water of the Oxford boat, Loring pulling forty-two strokes a minute, and Simmond's elbows going backward and forward like a steam engine. The Oxford crow, after a pause, recovered from their slight surprise, and fell into stroke as if a piece of mechanism were propelling their narrow shell. Darbishire is now rowing beautifully, and has settled down to hard work, while Tinne's great shoulders, bob up and down with superhuman energy, his glorious chest expanded to its full power, and he pulls with the magnificence of incarnate force, while " Little Corpus," the coxswain, is as quiet as a mouse, watching every stroke of the Harvard crew, as he sets in the stern sheets of tlie Oxford shell. Oxford has started with thirty-eight strokes, and now, when Mr. Darbishire sees oring putting on the steam at forty-four, he quickens his stroke to thirty-nine, and Hall gets the boat headed a little toward the Middlesex shore. The Star and Garter is fast disappearing from the stern of the Press boat, and the Umpire's boat follows closely, neck and neck almost. The crowds at a place called the " Creek," where a little stream runs tributary to the Thames, are shouting " Oxford " all their might and main. Fay, in the bow of the Harvard boat, seems to hear the taunt, and begins to show 374 STRUGGLE AND VICTORY. evidence of his strength, by pulling the bow-side fyound slightly, which compels Burnham to put his rudder down and keep off from the Oxford boat. At Simmond's boat-liouse the jam is tremendous, and the crowd cheers Harvard as she sweeps by a length ahead ; and Oxford going a few feet wild at this point, the Harvard men on the two steamers shout themselves hoarse, and one man with a Magenta-ribbon takes off a new hat, carefully inspects it for a moment, and then in a delirium of frenzy kicks the crown of it in, and presents it skyward as a peace offering. The people on the Surrey towing-path seem all mad, Oxford is not showing speed enougli for them, and the stands and shows and bootlis are deserted as if they had never been in existence, the crowds pressing forward to the bank of the river wildly. Passing the "Willows," a pleasant little grove of trees, with a quaint stone house nestled in their bosom, a loud cheer is given as tlie Oxonians spurt a little, while at the same time the water falls, or rather daslies from Loring's oar with in- creased vehemence, for Harvard is now pulling at the tremend- ous pace of 45 strokes a miinite, a thing unheard of before in an English boat race. At " Craven Cottage" Oxford gains slightly, but the fact is hardly noticed by tlie Harvard men, who can see but one thing, and that is the Harvard boat, now ahead by a length anj:l a half. I never imagined that Loring could do the work he is now doing, which is superhuman, and therefore cannot last. At the "Soap "Works," a crazy old place, Darbishire seems to be creeping up, and his stroke is most assuredly telling on the Harvard energy and fire. Oxford is now pulling 40, and the cheers are deafening from the shore, while cries and exclama- tions and yells of encouragement come from the countless wlierries, stationary barges, and craft of all kinds that line the Surrey side. " Well pulled, Willnn. Nobly done for Exeter," shouts an excited Oxford University man from a small boat. " You are sure to win." burnham's bad steering. 377 "Oh, go it Harvard; go it Harvard. 'Rah — 'Rah — 'Rah — 'Rah. Hit her up, Loring." " Keep your steam on, Burnham. Don't get frightened." " What's the matter with Harvard, now," says a Harvard man to a dignified English gentleman on the Press boat. " Wonderful stroke, sir ; 'fraid it can't last. Great power, sir, in the Oxford crew," says the old gentleman rather curtly. " Well done, Simmonds, you are the man for my money," cries a Western man who has a bottle of soda water in his hand, and has been betting heavily all the way down the river on the boat. Opposite the " Doves," Harvard goes away splendidly from Oxford ; but now the Harvard men on the steamboats begin to notice something queer in the steering of Burnham. Briefly, he is steering wide of his race, and very badly, and his nerve seems to be going, for the boat looks quite unsteady and veers in the water more than she ought to. Now we are rounding a bend in the river, and the great, single span of Hammersmith Bridge looms up before us. Every coigne of vantage on this immense pile, from one side of the river to the other, is cover- ed with vehicles, broughams, carriages, 'busses, and at least thirty thousand people are clustered and hanging on to the structure in a most astonishing manner. It was a mad sight, that bridge, with the great swaying masses, pushing, shouting, and fighting to get a look at tlie boats. Cries of "Hoxford," "Hoxford," come down from above our heads as we near the bridge, and the excitement is perfectly terrific. We have nlready passed a quarter of a million of people, to estimate tlicm in the rough, and still they line tlie banks above us in impenetrable masses. The waving of hand- kerchiefs and shouting is enough to make a man lose his senses, if the race did not claim so much attention from the si)ectators. Harvard prepares to shoot under the liridge, l)cing still a length and a half ahead, but Loring is not doing his work so stoutly now, although the HaiTai'd boat glides through the 378 STRUGGLE AND VICTORY. water at 46 strokes a minute. The pace is too hard and it will not and cannot last five minutes longer. Oxford steers out from the Surrey bank to shoot the bridge, and "Little Corpus" makes a circuit to avoid an eddy where the tide is bad, while Burnham is mad enough to go away from the race by giving room to Darbishirc's boat, whose coxswain never loses an inch by weak or ill-judged steering, Burnham going out of his way too much to accommodate Oxford, in- stead of keeping on and taking Oxford's water in a direct line. It was at this place that Harvard lost the race, wholly by Burn- ham's bad steering and Loring's nervousness. "Oh, my God! what are you doing Burnham, why do you steer so ?" shouts an excited Yale man in the Press boat think- ing vainly that Burnham will hear him ; but Harvard is too far on our bow to hear the warning voice, and here she loses a full half length. The excitement is now beyond description. From all the vast stagings that are erected on the Surrey side, decorated with English bunting and covered with thousands of people, comes a glad swell of triumph, borne on the breeze, and striking despair to every American heart. Now, at this moment, after shooting Hammersmith bridge, Loring's oar seems to hang loosely from the gimwale of the boat, and his head is bent forward as if he were al)Out to faint. In an instant the coxswain, Burnham, dashes water into his face and chest, and repeats the ablution five or six times, throw- ing the water also on Simmonds, who is weakened from the pace he has been pulling. The Harvard stroke now goes down to 42, to 41, and to 40 ; for Loring is knocked up, and the pulling is being done by Fay, on the bow side, in despair. Elliott, the boat-builder, stand- ing on the paddle-box of the Lotus, is black in tlie face from shouting, " Harvard ! Harvard!" "Pull up Harvard!" There goes that same steady, wonderful, glorious stroke of Oxford, like the knell of doom, not to be stopped until victory perches on her gallant crew. At Chiswick Island Loring spurted and made a despairing effort ; but the man is sick and gone for the race, and it is no use hallooing now, for Oxford I oxford's vengeance stroke. 379 forges past the Harvard boat with a will and power that calls forth a shout from the assembled multitude, which rings in the ears of Loring's crew like a sentence of death. Still the gallant fellows struggle on, inspired by an agony which none may describe in such a race, and they never falter for an instant, but pull as if they were determined to win. During the first mile and a half of the race, Burnham received the back wasli of the Oxford boat, by keeping all the time in a line behind Darbishire's crew with a seeming blunder that ac- tually called tears of rage to the eyes of Americans on the steamboats. Getting along by Chiswick Church, which was crowded with people, the Oxford crew pulling 40, their boat was a length ahead of the Harvard bow oar, and Hall, the cox- swain, took care that no ground should be lost by his steering. Then Darbisliire spoke the word to his crew, and throwing all the powder they could into their backs, they gave Harvard only the alternative of pulling to Barnes's Bridge for an honorable defeat. Never for a moment did Oxford flag, but kept the stroke as if grim death was at their heels, yet all the time throughout the race they seemed easy in their style, and regular as the pendulum of an eight-day clock. The want of time and catch in the Harvard stroke was very noticeable at Barnes's Bridge, and here the same immense crowds were gathered as at the bridge at Hammersmith, and now the Oxford boat being positively a length and a half ahead, and no mistake, the cries and shouts were most appalling. Past the green fields in the Duke of Devonshire's meadows a large crowd was gathered, who hailed the appearance of the Oxford crew with great and significant pleasure. The race was now lost, virtually. Harvard was out of time — knocked u}3 — and the men in her boat were laboring like oxen in chains. Tlic morale of the Harvard crew was gone a mile below Barnes's Bridge, when Loring's oar hung loose for the first time, and nothing human could now give old Massa- chusetts a victory. It was a gallant struggle, too, and nobly waged. Passing the " White Cottage " and the " White Hart " in tlie race for the Ship Tavern at Mortlake, the Harvard crew, 380 STRUGGLE AND VICTORY. in tlie last quarter of a mile, put on a desperate spurt and row- ing for a minute and a half" at 44 strokes, they gained ground on Oxford, whose crew seemed as fresh as when they began. Now is the last desperate struggle. Pull, Harvard ; you can- not hope to win. Pull, Harvard, and pluck the sting from de- feat ! Both crews go at it for a minute, and Loring's last spark of fire is given to drive his boat through the water. There is a shout from the Ship Tavern, where the American flag is dis- played. Oxford comes by with tliat terrible vengeance stroke, the terror of many a gallant Cantab oarsman. There is a shout which splits the clouds almost, a report of a gun, and Oxford has struck the tow line, a boat and a half's length ahead, (not three lengtlis ahead as was reported,) the race is lost and won, by about 65 feet, and the most gallant display ever seen on the Thames is over, and the dark blue swarms go home .triumphant at heart. Bridges, river bank, and church steeple are deserted, as tlie Oxford crew paddle their boat along side of the Harvard crew, and, raising their hands in air, give the defeated oargimen a hearty English cheer and shake hands with them, and the Harvard boys cheer back, and Charles Reade, who stands on the deck of the steamer Lotus, lifts his straw hat in respect to Loring, who smiles back sadly at him, and all is over. The children's children of those two crews will yet tell of that day's struggle, which for one hour served to call back tlie Homeric days of Greece. The distance pulled by the Harvard and Oxford crews was four miles and three furlongs, without any turning at a stake boat. The day was a very warm one, the thermometer being at 87° Fahrenheit — in the shade. The names and weight of the crews were as follows : OXFORD UNIVERSITY. HARVARD UNIVERSITY. 1. Darbishire, (stroke) 160 lbs. 1. Loring, (stroke) 154 lbs. 2. Yarborough, 170 " 2. Simmonds, 170 " 3. Tinne, 192 " 3. Lyman, 155 " 4. Willan, (bow) 166 " 4. Fay, (bow) 155 '* Hall, coxswain, 100 " Burnham, coxswain, 112 " 788 746 BEATEN BY EIGHT SECONDS. 381 The time occupied by both crews in pulling tlie race was as follows : Oxford, ... 22 minutes 20 seconds. Harvard, . . . . 22 " 26 " Both crews did tlieir best, but the Oxford style of rowing, and their form, was superior to that of Harvard. Rowing with a coxswain will one day supersede the Harvard bow-steer- ing. The Harvard crew received perfect fair-play and courtesy, and all the stories to the contrary which have been circulated are untrue. CHAPTER XXY. THE CURIOSITIES OF L( .'fDON. MOST venerable relic — none more bo in London — is the Domesday Book, which I was allowed to inspect one day while saun- tering through the Chapter House of West- minster Abbey. This hoary volume is called the "Domesday Book," or, "Register of the Lands of England," and was made in the year 1086, almost in the morning of English history. There are two volumes of the " Domesday Book," one being a folio and the dther a quarto. A fee of a shilling is charged strangers, to inspect the musty old tomes, with their illuminated characters, which detail the various "messuages," " folkmotcs," " carucates," and " hydes," of land, which were divided among Norman "William's mail clad barons, by right of conquest, nearly a thousand years ago. These volumes are the oldest in England, although I have been informed that tliere are, in the Bodleian Library, at Ox- ford, two books, in Greek characters, which were saved from the destruction of the Alexandrian Library in the Ninth Cen- tury. One of the Domesday volumes is a very large folio, the other is a quarto. The quarto is written on 382 double pages of vellum, in one and the same hand, in small but jilain cliarac- ters, each page having double columns. Some of the capital letters and principal pages are touched with black ink, and others are crossed with lines of red ink. The second volume, THE DREADNOUGHT. 383 in folio, is ■vn-itten in 450 pages of vellum, but in single col- umns, occupying each page, and in a large, fair character. At the end of the second vohmie is the following memorial, in capital letters, of the time of its completion : "Anno Millesimo Octogesimo Sexto ab Incarnatione Domini, vigesimo vero regni Willielmi, facta est ista Descriptio, non solum per hos tres Comitatus, sed etiam per alios." These books, until the year 1G96, or for over six hundred years, were carried innumerable times from place to place, tlirough England, under strong guards, within the jurisdiction of the various Lord Chancellors, and Courts, to settle disputes and verify local records and documents, in regard to the trans- mission of real estate, for every acre of land owned to-day in England is held by the original tenure, given in Domesday Book. Since 1696 the book has been kept with the King's Seal, at Westminster, in the Exchequer, under three locks and keys in the charge of the Auditor, the Chamberlain, and Deputy Chamberlains of the Exchequer. It is kept in a vaulted porch never warmed by fire. For eight hundred years it has never felt or seen a fire, and yet the pages are bright, sound, and per- fect as ever. In making searches, or transcripts from the vol- ume, the text must not be touched, and this has always been the rule from forgotten days. All the cities, towns, and villages of England are recorded in this book, with their value, location, and boundaries, their castles, fortresses, marches, and the religious houses of the Kingdom, as they stood twenty years after Duke William, of Normandy, reined in his war horse from the slaughter of Hastings' dread field. Tlie Hospital Ship " Dreadnought," (soon to be broken up and sold,) which lies moored off Greenwich, in the dirty Thames, is another of the curious sights of London. An hospital for the sick and diseased seamen of all nations arriving in tlie port of London, was establislied on board of the " Grampus," a 50 gun frigate, in 1821, l)ut the "Grampus" did not prove large enough for the purix)se,and the next vessel chosen was the 104 gun three-decker " Dreadnought," which was fitted up in 1831, as an Hospital Ship. This old hulk has glorious memories for 384 THE CURIOSITIES OF LONDON. all Englislimcn, who, as tlicy look at licr rotting timbers, can imagine that they see her coming out of the smoke of Trafal- gar fight, after capturing tlie Spanisli three-decker, " San Juan," which had, two hours before, beaten off the English frigates, "Bellerophon" and "Defiance." HOSPITAL SHIP, DREADNOUGHT. The establishment on board of the "Dreadnought" consists of a Superintendent, two Surgeons, an Apothecary, Visiting Physicians, and a Chaplain. The ship is moored contiguous to the bulk of the shipping in the docks, and in the river, and is tlie only place in London for the reception of sick seamen arriving from abroad, or to whom accidents may happen be- tween the mouth of the river and London Bridge. Sick sea- men of every nation, on presenting themselves alongside, are immediately and kindly received without any recommendatory letters, and shii>wrecked sailors, and vagrant seamen, are ad- mitted, if deserving. In 1869, 2,463 patients were received on board, and 1,836 seamen were attended to as out patients. The Emperor of Russia subscribes annually <£ 150, the Queen of Spain £100, the King of Italy XlOO, the Emperor of France A GAUDY SHOW. 385 £200, the Sultan of Turkey £100, the King of Denmark £50, and the King of Prussia X100. I heard nothing of a contri- bution from the American Government, but it is probable that the American Consul may, in some way, provide for the desti- tute seamen of his country. The patients are ranged upon the lower decks, the portholes affording a sort of ventilation, such as it is — the breeze com- ing in from the putrid Thames' river, and in the cabin are all the implements of surgery, so that a leg or arm can be whipped off at a moment's notice, or an abscess, or ulcer, may be punctured equally quick. Visitors can inspect the " Dreadnought" on any day of the week, excepting Sunday — between the hours of eleven and three. The number of seamen cared for in this floating hospital, for the past thirty years, with their different places of nativity, is as follows : Englishmen, 84,600 ; Scotchmen, 18,960 ; Irishmen, 17,325 ; Frenchmen, 3,911 ; Germans, 2,800; Russians, 2,230; Prus- sians, 1,840; Hollanders, 480 ; Danes, 1,600; Swedes, 2,117 ; Norwegians, 1,604; Italians, 1,208; Portuguese, 706; Span- iards, 801; East Indians, 2,014; West Indians, 3,212; British Americans, 1,582; United States, 3,316; South Americans, 712; Africans, 1,200; Turks, 174; Greeks, 295; New Zea- landers, 98 ; Australians, 307 ; South Sea Islanders, 80 ; Chi- nese, 347 ; born at sea, 206. Generally there are about two hundred patients in the float- ing Hospital at a time, and it is kept pretty full, from the fact that a poor sailor will jierish afloat sooner than enter a land hospital, and seamen often travel from the most distant parts of England, Ireland, and Scotland, to be received in the Dread- nought. One day, while standing on Cheapside looking at the busy thoroughfare, which much resembles Broadway, New York, in its main features, I saw a queerly-shaped, but magnificent vehicle dash by, embellished in gold and silver, and hung with crimson velvet. 24 386 THE CURIOSITIES OF LONDON. I asked a bystander Avliat it was, and he answered with projxjr British pride : "Why, don't you know? That's the Queen's State Kerridge a-goin to tlic Tower to he repaired." I afterward saw tliis vehicle in all its glory and detail, and for the benefit of Americans who may desire to get up a gorgeous equipage, I will do my best to describe it. The carriage is composed of four Sea Tritons, who support the body by cables ; the two placed on the front, as it were, bear the driver, (a most magnificent flunkey in powder and velvet,) and arc sounding shells, and those on the back part carry the bundles of Lictors rods which are seen on Roman monu- ments and medals. The foot board on which the driver rests his noble feet, is a large scallop shell, supported l)y marine plants of different kinds. The pole resembles a bundle of lances, and tlie wheels are made in imitation of the war chariots which once rolled around classic arenas in the Games. The body of the coach is composed of eight palm trees, which, branching out at the top, sustain the roof, and at each angle are trophies of English battles by land and sea. On the top of the roof are three little figures of fairies rep- resenting England, Ireland, and Scotland, supporting a golden crown, and holding the sceptre, the sword of state, and insig- nia of knighthood, and from their bodies fall festoons of laurel to the four corners of the roof. On the right and left doors, and on the back and front pan- ncls, arc painted allegorical designs in splendid style, repre- senting Britannia on a Throne, Religion, Wisdom, Justice, Valor, Fortitude, Commerce, Plenty, Victory, and all the otlicr virtues and acquisitions which all Englishmen flatter them- selves can only be found in " Britain ye knaw." Inside the State Coach it is simply magnificent. Tlie body is lined, with S3arlct embossed velvet, superbly laced and embroi- dered with the Star, enameled by the Collar of the Order of the Garter, and surmounted by the crown with tlie George and Dragon pcddant. St. George, St. Michael, and even St. Pat- THE queen's state COACH. 387 rick, get a show here, althougli the latter has very litQc show from the Queen in his own country. The hamracr cloth is of scarlet velvet, with gold badges, ropes, and tassels. The length of the carriage and body is 24 feet,width8 feet 3 inches, height 12 feet, length of pole 12 feet, weight four tons. So that the Queen, when she desires a state airing, is carted around for the amusement of her subjects, in a four-ton vehicle. The painting of the panels cost X800, or about $4,000 greenbacks. The eight liorscs which are em- ployed to draw this magnificent carriage on state occasions, arc valued at .£2,000, and the expense for grooms, drivers, coachmen, and boys, of this equipage, which is not used more than once in five years, (and when not used being chiefly of ser- vice in showing off the manly proportions of John Brown,) is for every year over $25,000, or as much as the salary of the President of the United States. Tlic Queen's coach is one hundred and eight years old, and is kept in the Royal Mews or Stables at Pimlico. The bill which a loyal peo})le had to pay when it was sent in for this coach, was as follows : Coachmakcr (incliuling ^Vllcebvrigl^t and Smitli), Carver, . . _ . . Gilder, ---__- Painter, - - - - - Laceman, ------ Chaser, Harnessmaker, - - - - - Mercer, - - _ - _ Belt maker, - - - . . Milliner, - - - - _ Saddler, ------ Woollendraper, . _ . . Covermaker, - - - _ - £7528 4 3} There was an awful row about the size of the bill, which was at first £8,000, but after a great argument it was cut down to the amount paid, .£7,528 4 3^. The maker refused to take off the three-half pence, and declared tliat he had been " skinned and £1C37 15 2500 935 14 315 737 10 7 GG5 4 6 385 15 202 5 10^ 99 6 e" 31 3 4 10 16 G 4 3 6 3 9 G 388 THE CURIOSITIES OF LONDON. robbed," but I imagine it was the poor miserable wretches who died of starvation and cold and exposure in the London streets that had the best right to complain. The Lord Mayor's State Coach, which was built in 1757, is almost as magnificent as the Queen's, and is designed in fully as good or bad taste. I do not know which to call it. To show how the people of England tolerate the most out- rageous humbugs on the face of the earth, I will give some of the items in regard to tlie cost of the Lord Mayor's coach. When the coacli was built, one hundred and thirteen years ago, each alderman in the city subscribed <£60 towards its construc- tion ; then each alderman who was afterward sworn into ofhce, was forced to contribute <£60 on taking the oath. And each Lord Mayor also gave XlOO on entering his office, to keep the coach in order. In 1768 the entire expense of keeping the coach fell on the Lord Mayor, who had to pay X 300 during that year, and twenty years after its construction, the coach cost in 1787, £355 to keep it in order for that twelve months. During seven years of this present century, the cost for repairs was per annum — £115, and in 1812 it was newly lined and gilt for the benefit of the gaping London crowds, at an expense of £600, and a new seat cloth was furnished for £90 ; and again in 1821, this costly vehicle devoured the bread which ouglit to have been eaten by the starving poor, to the tune of £206 for another relining. In 1812 a carriage-making firm agreed to keep the coach in order for ten years at an expense to the city of £48 a year, which offer was accepted. The real amount of money swallowed up in this old lumbering vehicle is incalculable. Six horses are required to draw it, valued at £200 a piece, and the coach weighs 7,600 pounds. A Lord Mayor, when well fed and taken care of, weighs, I believe, about 312 pounds. The harnesses for each of the six horses weighs 106 pounds, or 636 pounds in all. The State Coach belonging to the Speaker of the House of Com- mons, was built for Oliver Cromwell, and is drawn by two horses. The two sheriffs of London have also State Coaches, bur- nished and blazoned with gold, and hung with silks and vel- JONATHAN wild's SKELETON. 389 vets, and althougli they only receive X 1,000 for their year's services, the expense of state coaches, horses, liveries, and drivers, never falls below 2,500 guineas for their term. They are not allowed to serve if they swear themselves to be worth over £15,000, or $75,000. The ceremony of installing a London sheriff I am afraid would make a New York Sheriff howl, and much profanity would result were the ancient ceremonies to become necessary at the City Hall of New York. I give the curious form of in- stallation of a Sheriff of London. The sheriffs are chosen by the Livery Companies or Trade Associations of London, on the morning of the Feast of St. Michael, and are presented in the Court of Exchequer, ac- companied by the Lord Mayor and all the Aldermen, when the Recorder of London intro- duces the two sheriffs, one for London proper, and the other for Middlesex County, and the Chief Judge in his red robes, signifies the Queen's assent, handing the sheriff's" roll" — a sheet of paper which has had the names of the sheriffs pricked in by the Queen's own hand, tlie writs and appliances are read and filed, and the sheriffs and senior under-sheriffs take the oaths ; when the late sheriffs present their accounts. The crier of the court then makes proclamation for one who does homage for the slieriffs of London to " stand forth and do his duty ;" when the senior alderman below the chair rises, the usher of the court hands him a bill-hook, and holds in both hands a small bundle of slicks, winch the alderman cuts asunder, and then cuts another bundle with a hatchet. Similar procla- JONATHAN AVILD S SKELETON. 390 THE CURIOSITIES OF LONDON. mation is then made for the sheriff of Middlesex, when the alderman counts six horse-shoes lying upon the table, and six- ty-one liob-nails handed in a tray ; and the numbers are declared twice. The sticks are tliin peeled twigs tied in a bundle at each end with red tape ; the horse-shoes are of large size, and very old ; the hob-nails are supplied fresh every year. By the first cere- mony the alderman does suit and service for the tenants of a manor in Shropshire, the chopping of sticks betokening the custom of the tenants supplying their lord with fuel. The counting of the horse-shoes and nails is another suit and ser- vice of the owners of a forge in St. Clement Danes, Strand, which formerly belonged to the city, but no longer exists. Sheriff Hoare, in his MS. journal of his shrievalty, 1740-41, says, " where the tenements and lands are situated no one knows, nor doth the city receive any rents or profits thereby." In the Town Hall or Guildhall of London, some very strange relics are preserved, but none can be more strange than the yellow faded parchment shown me on which was written the humble petition of that notorious rascal and thief-taker, Jona- than Wild, who had first trained Jack Sheppard to thievery, after which he entrapped and hung him. "Well, this very vir- tuous old gentleman had the audacity to send a petition to the Court of Aldermen in the year 1724, praying for the free- dom of the City in view of the benefit he had conferred on it by the apprehension of so many thieves who had returned from transportation. One day while paying a visit to a celebrated surgeon, whose residence is at Windsor, I was invited to look into his closets, in whicli were stored a number of curiosities. Suddenly a door in a recess of the chamlicr flew open, and out popped a skeleton on wires, with a ghastly, grinning jaw, and its ribs all open like the timbers of a wrecked ship. " That's the skeleton of Jonathan Wild," said the surgeon, " It has been in our family for a hmidred years, I believe." CHAPTER XXVI. STREET SIGHTS OF LONDON. ERY strange sights are seen in London. No city tliat I have ever visited will compare with London for the number of its street peddlers, hawkers, booth proprietors, open-air perform- ers, ballad singers, mountebanks, and other street itinerants. From daybreak until dark, and long into the night, in the ramification of Streets and Lanes, Squares, Mews, and Ovals, the ear of the stranger is saluted with the harshest and most discordant sounds which emanate from the throats of a street-selling population of both sexes, large enough alone to make the population of a fifth-rate city. The London Cockney who has heard the , same grating sounds from tlie days of his earliest childhood, never stops in his walk to listen to the cries, but the stranger in London is com- pelled by the very want of melody or intelligibility in the hawker's cries to listen, yet it is useless for him to attempt to solve the meaning of their uncouth and barbarous gibberagc. For these seventy-five thousand men, women, and boys, as well as girls, many of a tender age — have their several dialects, and signals, and patois, which it would be madness to try to under- stand without a thorough schooling in the rudiments of their language and several occupations. Li another part of this work I have taken a glance at the London Costermongers and their habits and amusements, such as they are. •392 STREET SIGHTS OF LONDON. 1 Beside this, the largest and most hard-working class of street hawkers, there are a hundred other branches of street mer- chandise, and all these different branches have their followers, who navigate every quarter of the metropolis, trying to pick up a shilling here and there from the sale of their commodi- ties, as luck or energy may chance to send the shilling their way. It is calculated that the gross receipts of the street peddlers of London amount to as much as £5,000,000 a year. This would make an average of X 70 a year, or nearly $500 for each person engaged in street peddling. Of course in this aggre- gate I must include all those who keep stands or booths of a greater or lesser magnitude. Some of these poor wretches may earn in good weeks about fifteen to twenty shillings, while at other seasons when green stuff is scarce, it is rarely that they exceed more than eight shillings on an average for the same amount of labor and hawking. Ten shillings, however, is a fair week's earning if that amount be realized during the current year. It may be calcu- lated that the profits will average as high as <£ 1,500,000 where the gross receipts for sales are as high as .£5,000,000. A bitter hostility exists between the tradesmen who occupy shops and pay what they consider to be exorbitant rents, and the street sellers. No sooner has a street seller made a round of custom for himself and advertised his wares sufficiently, than the blue- coated policeman is sure to appear, armed with the authority which cannot be disobeyed, and he is compelled to move his stand or barrow. The hawker or peddler is forced to pay four or five pounds a year for a license to sell in this precarious way, and yet in London he has no legal right to occupy a stand or booth. He has always to move on, like the boy Joe in Bleak House. It is more than wonderful to think of the shifts made by the poor classes of London to make a living. The rich man passes by objects in the crowded streets every day with scorn or loathing, which serve to yield a sustenance SECOND-HAND BOOTS AND SHOES. 393 to the indigent population, and even the offal of the streets ■will bring a price when offered for sale. The work of the class who gather this material is generally done before daybreak, and in some cases their earnings are considerable. The second-hand metal and tool sellers are to be found chiefly as proprietors of booths or barrows in the vicinity of Petticoat and Rosemary Lanes. The street trade of the city is, to a great extent, done by those who have barrows, and as it is convenient for them to move their barrows from place to place, the costermongers are found all over the me- tropolis. I made it my business to go almost incessantly among those street hawkers, and I got from them a vast amount of useful information, and a great many statistics. Some of them tell curious stories, and have considerable wit of a coarse kind, but to the wandering American they are, with few exceptions, very civil, and will relate their checkered life-histories with great eagerness. Tliere are hundreds of old boot and shoe shops and stands, where a great business is carried on in the mending, patching, and vending of old shoes and boots. In one branch of the street trade alone, it will be interesting to give some statistics which may be deemed reliable, as liav- ing been collected by Mr. Henry Mayhew. There are shops and stands included in this trade alone — In Drury Lane and streets adjacent, Seven Dials, ^ " - . . Monmouth Street, " "... Hanway Court, Oxford Street, . , . Lisson-grove, " " _ - . Paddington, " « - . . Petticoat Lane, " "... Somerstown, . _ . . . Field Lane, Saffron Hill, - - - . Clerkenwell, - - - . . Bethnal Green, SpitalfieWs - - . Rosemary Lane and vicinity, . - _ 744 shops. 50 shops, 100 (( 40 .( 4 « 100 « 30 (( 200 n 60 « 40 (( 50 « 100 « 80 « 394 STREET SIGHTS OF LONDON. About two thousand five hundred men are employed mend- ing and patching shoes. Then there are hundreds of poor men and women who gain subsistence, but barely subsistence, by collecting the old material of all articles that are made of leather, and selling it to those who keep shops or stands. I visited the lodgings of a man, in Cutler street, who paid his landlord a weekly rent of Is. 8d. for the use of one bare room, which had no furniture with the exception of a three- legged chair upon which he sat — and a heap of straw and dirty rags, which served him as a bed. On the bare mantel-piece was a broken loaf of brown-bread, and a cooked kidney, with a broken mustard-pot. The man was named Ferguson, and had only one eye, the other having been obliterated by the small pox. He was a cheerful old fellow, tliis peddler of second-hand boots and shoes, and seemed to take the world as it came without thought of the morrow. I told him that I was in search of information, and statistics in regard to the working people of London, and he offered me very politely his only stool. I declined the cour- tesy and sat on the heap of rags while he told his story. "Ye need not be afeered of the bugs, yer honor, in the bed. The place is not warm enough for them to stay here. " Stistiks ye want is it ? Well, I don't know how I can give ye stistiks, but I can tell you my own story. " I began life a shoemaker's apprentice, in Edinburgh, al- though I am by birth an Englishman. My master's name was Mac Donald, and when he drank whiskey his temper generally ruz, and the divil could n't stand him or get the better of him. So I listed for a soldier and went to furrin parts, and after I sarved my time I came back a good deal wiser but not a penny richer of it all. " I had my ups and downs when I came back, but I didn't marry, as it was too bad to bring another person into poverty besides myself. I've smoked a pipe when I was troubled in mind and could not get a bite to eat, or a drop of gin to drink, but how would it be if 1 liad a young daughter? What good would it do to smoke if she wos hungry and I had notliing to THE DOG FANCIER. 395 eat for her. I used to sell cherries and strawl)erries, and then I gave that up and went into the old shoe trade. It paid het- ter, but sometimes I had n't a penny-piece for two days at a time, and I would have to sell my stock to get my grub. " The regular sort of men's shoes are not a werry good sale. I gets from ten-pence to five shillings a pair, but the high priced ones is always soled or heeled and covered with mud. I gets from one shilling to twa-and-sixpence for cloth in the shoes, when they are in decent trim. Blucher's brings two shillings and upwards, and Wellington's about the same. I have sold children's shoes as low as three-pence and as high as one and sixpence. I carry a wooden seat with me so that a man who wants to buy from me can sit down and try on a pair anywhere. People who havn't got any money to throw away generally likes to get their second-hand boots or shoes as big as you have tl:em, cos wy, when they take them in the rain if they are a tight fit they can't put them on." On an average the one-eyed boot and shoe seller informed me that he made about four to seven shillings a week, and he called it a very good week when he managed to make ten shil- lings profit. Dog-sellers, of whom there are about two hundred in Lon- don, always choose the most public places for their stations. Down in Parliament street, opposite the Horse Guards, in Trafalgar square, at the base of Nelson's Monument, in Upper Recent street by the Coliseum, on the steps of the Bank and the'^Royal Exchange, on Waterloo Bridge and along the Thames Eml)ankment, and in fact wherever a large open space may be found, or a well known public building located, the dog-fancier may be noticed with a poodle between his legs, a black and tan under one arm and a spaniel under the other, and by his side, it is more than probable that a basket will be placed full of live, kicking, and sagacious pups, of different colors and of as many breeds. These doo'-sellers arc the keenest street traders to be found in London, and dramatists and playwrights are never weary of making sketches and amusing characters of dog fanciers. 396 STREET SIGHTS OF LONDON. Some years ago, two rascals, bearing tlie names of "Ginger" and " Carrots," made themselves famous for the number of dogs stolen by them. At last it was impossible for any canine to escape these fellows, and so industrious did they become in the pursuit of them that they were arrested by tlie police and sent to the House of Correction for six months, wliich is the penalty for stealing one dog, yet "Ginger" and "Carrots" had, in their career, stolen thousands of unsuspecting yelpers from their owners. In one year GO dogs were reported lost, 606 stolen, 38 per- sons were charged with dog stealing, 18 of whom were con- victed, and 20 discharged. It is a fact worth noting, that, excepting in rare cases, the dog stealers do not affiliate with or frequent the com})any of house-breakers, or thieves of any other class. Dog stealing among professionals is looked upon as a noble science, and de- serving of long and arduous practice. On wet days, when pedestrians may be forced by the sud- denness of the rain gusts to seek refuge in some arcade or collonadc,like those in Piccadilly or the Regents' Quadrant, it is then that the dog fancier suddenly emerges from his hiber- nation, and knowing tliat he will have the attention of a group of people who are without occupation while in shelter, he may be certain to dispose of his dogs to advantage. It is upon old and timid ladies that these dog venders are sure to practice their tricks. Let an old maid but look longingly at some hairy poodle or woolly King Charles, — then woe be to her if she attempt to es- cape without buying. " Wot," said one heartless villain of a dog fancier to a spin- ster wearing gold spectacles, who was trying to make her es- cape from his alarming language, as he stood in the Strand with a pet poodle in his arms, " does ye keep me 'ere a torkin for three blessed hours and then ye goes hoff without buying this beutifool dorg as is dirt cheap at twenty pounds and I hoffers it to ye for five sovs. I say, do take it with ye and make a muff of hit, the precious dear. All ye have to do is to get its WHO KEEP BIRDS. 397 legs and tail cut off, and get its insidcs scooped out, and ye'll have a splendid muff. Wot, ye won't buy, hey? Pir-leece, Pir-leece," and tlie fellow began to scream for the police as if the poor frightened old maid had intended to rob him. Bird-Sellers frequent tlie New Cut, Lambeth, Bermondsey, Whitechapel, Billingsgate, and Smithfield, as well as the dif- ferent streets of Southwark and Blackfriars. There are hundreds of these bird-sellers to be found hawk- ing tlieir birds all over the city. They are shrewd, speculative men, and can tell a bird's age and power of singing almost at a glance. The smallest cage costs sixpence, and a tlu'ush and cage of a common kind is valued at 2s. Gd. A canary that sings well may fetch about 3s. The hens or female birds do not have a large sale, and the trade in pigeons is decreasing, OAving to the emigration of many of the Spitalfield weavers, who had a great love for pigeons and were the principal breeders of that bird in England. Tlie poorer the family, the more likely that a bird will be found in the house ; and stable boys, laborers, and the humbler class of artisans, are in the habit of keeping birds in their dwellings. It is also curious to notice the love formed by women who lead an abandoned life, for all kinds of birds, chiefly, however, for those that will sing. I noticed, in making a tour of inspec- tion with the police among the Slums of the Haymarket, that nearly every woman of foreign extraction and of dissolute life had a linnet, canary, or blackbird, in her room. Frenchwomen of tliis class are very fond of canaries. Poor, lonely, forsaken wretches, it is the instinct of deprived maternity which de- mands that they should have something to love and make a pet of. Sailors, who Imve returned from long voyages, will stop in the street when they see a bird-seller's stand, look at it for a moment with open mouth, and taking out a handful of silver, will give the bird-fancier any price he chooses to ask for a sweet singing bird. The bird will serve as a gift to some female 398 STREET SIGHTS OF LONDOX. relative, a wife, or as, in many cases, some woman of the town ■will receive the cage and its occupant as a gift from the drunk- en Jack-Tar. About five thousand parrots arc imported and sold annually in London. They are chiefly brouglit from Africa, and a fine parrot will bring as high as a pound. Quite a number of these birds die on the liomcward voyage, and this makes tlie price of parrots very higli. Birds' nests are also sold in the streets by Italian and Savoyard boys in great numbers. Squirrels, rabbits, and gold and silver fish may l)e also found for sale in the streets, the latter being bought to keep in glass globes as ornaments. At every railroad station, in and outside of London, a per- son can be weighed for a penny. A man named Read has at least one hundred weighing chairs, which he rents out to men and boys at a certain rate of the gross receipts. On the dif- ferent bridges cripples and retired soldiers may be found with brass instruments for testing the lungs and power of a man's arms, and also machines are to be found in front of well-known public houses, and in the parks and squares, for measuring the height of pedestrians. There was one old fellow with whom I became acquainted, who kept a measuring and a weighing machine. His station was on the Middlesex side of the Waterloo Bridge. He told me that he had been a pot-boy in a cheap eating house for five years, and then was a heli)er in a gentle- man's stable for six years. One of his arms was rendered useless from an attack of paralysis, and finding that he could not any longer work as a helper, he borrowed enough money to purchase the weighing and measuring machines. Having some curiosity to know the average weight and height of his many customers, I made a bargain with him, as he could read and write, to keep a record of his experience for three days of the physique of those who patronized his machines. His patrons were chiefly laboring men on the new Thames Embankment, boatmen plying on the river, clerks going and coming to their business over Waterloo Bridge, and soldiers. COKE SELLERS. 390 His largest income was on Saturday niglits, when the labor- ing people were flush of copjxir pennies, and as nearly every third man was sure to he drunk going over the bridge on Satur- day night, he was certain to reap a good harvest from their generous pockets. In three days he had weighed one hundred and thirty-two persons of the male sex, and eight women. The average wciglit of each person I found Avas, including the women, one hundred and fifty-five pounds. The number of persons meas- ured for their height was sixty -four, and the average tallness of each person, among which number was only one female, was five feet eight inches. The soldiers were of course the tallest. These figures speak well for the London Cockneys. One of the women, a cook, meas- ured six feet, and weighed one hundred and ninety-eight lbs. I gave the venerable statistician a shilling and bade him good- bye, but not before I had received liis bless- ing in fervent tones. The consumption of coke purchased from the various gas houses of the city by jxiddlers and hawkers is enormous. There are about two thousand j^ersons concerned in this street trade, one hund- red of whom are women, and the aggregate includes boys. The various gas companies realize a yearly sum equal to six million of dollars from the sale of the coke. The peddlers distribute the coke to their customers in large vans, wheel- COKE PEDDLER. 400 STREET SIGHTS OF LONDON. barrows, donkey carts, hand carts, and some of these strong limbed, broad chested fellows, carry the coke from door to door in large sacks. A few of the women own routes, and hire boys or men to sell the coke, giving them eight to twelve shillings a week, according to their merits and enterprise as hawkers. Coke is bought by tlicse hawkers at the gas liouses at from three to four pence per bushel, and is sold by them again at eight pence per bushel. In giving the rates which I will have occasion to quote from time to time in this work, I shall generally give the prices in British money. Salt is also vended in carts and wheel-barrows like coke, and some of the peddlers of that much desired article for seasoning and preserving food, sell in one day as much as five hundred pounds. The wholesale price to the hawkers is about 2s. 6d. per hundred pounds, and it is sold by them to the poor people in thickly populated districts, at a penny a pound, or sometimes cheaper. Sand is sold in large quantities to the keepers of publics and small shops, and to those keeping stalls in the old markets, at twenty shillings a load, and the sand peddlers pay a license of two pounds per annum. In fact all the London peddlers pay a tax or license of some kind or another. One of the strangest sights in London is the "Bum Boat" of a " Purl," or warm beer seller, who may be found now and then of a dark foggy day plying his vocation on the Thames. Formerly there were hundreds of these beer peddlers upon the river, but I believe that there are but a few, perhaps not more than five or six, who still follow this occupation. One day while pulling around the shipping below London bridge in a small boat, I came across one of the "Bum Boat" men, who might, I believe, be taken as a very fair specimen of his class, or calling, once numerous, but now only a scattered remnant of their former numbers. This fellow, a sun-browned-looking man of thirty years of age or thereabout, was impelling a craft, a strongly constructed, broad bottomed barge or yawl, in and out among the smoky STOCK IN TRADE 401 looking coal barges, fish and oyster craft and coasting steamers. He wore a dark blue guernsey shirt and a yellow oil-skin jacket, with heavy water boots which encased his large legs from the knees downward. An immense "Sou'-westcr" shaded his broad face, and he was trying to drive the fog away by smoking a dreadful black clay pipe. At the stern of the boat was a rough canvas awning, and under this the " Purl" man told me that he slept for weeks and months, while his boat lay at anchorage in some of the nooks of the busy river. BUM BOAT MAN. He seldom or ever went ashore, excepting when necessity compelled him to debark for the purpose of laying in beer and other stock for his customers. In the bottom of the boat were heaps of fresh onions, a bag of potatoes, a couple of bushels of Swedisli turnips, parsnips, carrots, some packages of tea and coffee in small square brown parcels, tied with white string, a tin box full of nmtton 25 . 402 STREET SIGHTS OF LONDON. chops and beef steaks, cut ready for sale, and other articles of food that would be most relished by seafaring men on their return from a voyage. There were also in the boat a small patent sheet-iron fur- nace, two little casks of beer, each containing about four gal- lons of tliat beverage, a can witli a gallon of gin of tlie cheap and fiery brand, and two tin pannikins in which he warmed the beer, or " Purl," as it is called, upon the small slieet-iron stove. This he sold hot to the sailors, oystermen, and coal bargees, at four pence a pint. It was most wonderful to see the dex- terous manner in which this Bum Boat man passed in and out between the numerous craft, paddling and ringing a hand bell the while, witliout any collision or trouble, and then to hear through the fog, the answering cries from the sailors who recognized his welcome bell ; " Boat ahoy !" "Bellah-o-o-y!" "P-i-n-t o' P-u-r-1 a-h-o-o y !'* Tlien for an instant the bell would cease, and the dark shapes of the "Bum Boat" and its proprietor would be seen, as the latter stood up to reach a noggin of gin to a bargee, or a pewter pint of foaming hot "Purl" to some thirsty soul of a tar just arrived from Greenwich, Glasgow, or Cork. The "Bum Boat" man is one of the most picturesque sights of that most picturesque of cities, London. The few who still ply their avocation on the river, are in pretty comfortable cir- cumstances, and their lives are as happy as can be imagined, much more so, I have no doubt, than they were when there were hundreds of them paddling about the river and impover- ishing themselves by a ruinous comi>etition. I have often noticed miserable, wan, and half naked looking little children, in and around the Regent's Circus, and in tlie neigliborhood of the Cafds and Pall ]\Iall, with small bags made from the material used in potato sacks, collecting cigar ends and crusts of bread from ash heaps and dust bins. Won- dering what use could be made of these disgusting fragments, I one day accosted a lad of twelve years or thereabouts, who HOW DICK GETS HIS PORRIDGE. 403 was busily engaged in searcliing a dust bin near Simpson's Tavern in the Strand, which is a resort for fashionable dinere out. I said to him, after giving him a penny, which will always unclose the lips of the sauciest London street boy : " Child, why do you collect these fragments of crusts and cigar ends ?" " Mister," said the half frightened child, who took me at the first glance for a detective in plain clothes — and by the way, it seems as if every poorly clad and hungry man and woman in London were suspicious of the police, for the reason that they are poorly clad, and for that reason alone — " Mister," said the hun- gry child, whose face was prematurely aged, "I aint doing nothink ; I was only grabbing the crusts for porridge." "For porridge, — how do you make the por- ridge, my lad?" "My mother — she is down in Milbank street, and has got the small pox, but before she was sick she used to bile the crusts in hot water and put a pcnnorth o' oat meal in the pot. She borrowed the pot from Mre. Clarke, she did." " Who makes the porridge now, boy," said I to him. " A gal — me big sister Mag — she makes ladies' shoes for a shop, and wacks me when she's mad and I aint got no money for gin. I likes porridge, and Mag she makes it so prcshis 'ot. My name's Dick." "l GETS IT FOR CIGAU STtMfS." 404 • STREET SIGHTS OF LONDOX. 1 " Well, Dick, how do you get the ' pennorth' of oat meal for the porridge?" " I gets it for cigar stumps. I finds a lot on 'em and sells 'em, and I gets ten browns for a pound on 'em. The tibbaccy man buys 'em, but he wont buy the short ones, cause he says they are all wet and the tibbaccy is all gone from them. I makes tuppence a day sometimes." There are, I am told, fifty or sixty persons, men and boys, some of whom are Irish, engaged in this branch of the Street Finders' vocation. It would be tedious to give an account of all the different branches of street selling and buying in London. Their num- ber is legion, and it would be the work of weeks to merely reca- pitulate all the strange ways and means whereby wretchedness exists in the heart of surrounding splendor, and what would seem to be, but is not — an all-pervading charity. But I cannot close tliis chapter without glancing at the street performers— street " Peep" Shows, Reciters, Showmen, Strong Men, Dancing boys and men, Tom Tom players, Street Clowns and Acrobats, Bagpipe players, Negro Serena- ders. Street Bands, Punch and Judy shows, and other street folk, who are almost if not as numerous as the hawkers and ■ collectors. There is to be seen on Saturday nights, in the vicinity of Farringdon and the old London markets, now and tlien a stray Peep Show man, who frequents the most crowded districts, where the poorer people have money to spend. These Peep Shows are conveyed through the streets on a low four wheeled wagon, sometimes by the performer or proprietor in person, at other times by a donkey. Donkeys cost from two to five pounds in London, according to their breed and tractability. On the wagon a square box is generally placed, having a large glass front, which is covered with green baize or a dirty velvet curtain. This screen conceals the automaton figures that are set in motion by the man in charge. Sometimes there is a hurdy gurdy, or hand organ, attached, and while the exhibitor turns STREET ACROBATS. 405 a crank to allow the spectators to look at the revolving pictures of tlie " Capture of the Malakoff," the " Death of Nelson," " Napoleon at Waterloo," or some other historic picture, the hurdjgurdj will plaj " Old Dog Tray," " The Lancashire Lass," or some other popular ditty. Representations of the most hor- rible murders, or executions of well known criminals, are much 6TBEET ACROBATS. relished by the London mobs, and are well patronized. One of these men told me that he was accustomed to take three and four shillings on Saturday nights in Farringdon market or the 406 STREET SIGHTS OP LONDON. New Cut, while during the week he might not make four shil- lings altogether. Street acrol^ats, or posturcrs, are often met with in Lon- don. They are to be found usually in streets which have one end closed, or near the river. Thus the traffic is not impeded, owing to the absence of vehicles ; and a street like those which run off the Strand toward the river will be quiet as the grave all day long until near the dusk, when all at once, as if by magic, a curious crowd of men, women, and children will col- lect around a man and boy or boys, who will in the most busi- ness like fashion proceed to divest themselves of their outward clothing, which of course is of a rather shabby kind, and in a few moments they will appear in all tlie glory of flesh-colored tights, just as they may l)e seen standing in the sawdust of a circus arena. Their foreheads are glorious with silver tinsel or silk riblion fillets, their loins girt with strips of velvet, and their whole rig of a theatrical character. Some of the children are really handsome, and most exquisitely shaped, the results of athletic exercise and free fresh air. But the men, poor devils, have all of them a haggard, worn, fretful look, with hollowed cheek and straggling gray liair. Having placed a piece of cari)et, rather threadbare in appear- ance, in the middle of the street, after selecting the cleanest spot for it, these fellows (who are soon in the centre of a ring of people, from whom coppers are collected while the acrobats are bounding in air), go to work, and for half an hour will amaze, delight, edify, and instruct the grown children, larking street boys, and nursery maids of the neighborhood, and having col- lected perhaps ten pence or a shilling, they will gather up the carpet, don their soljcr, shabby garments, and find anotlier quarter to do their trapeze, pyramid, and dancing feats. Nearly all these street acrobats arc bruised, or are in some way injured, and many die young from falls. Occasionally they will disappear from the crowded London streets, in search of a scanty existence in some miserable provincial barn of a theatre or music hall, and years may perhaps elapse before their pinched cheeks and hungry eyes I PUNCH AND JUDY SHOW. 407 will again be encountered in the shabby chop houses and dark . Ifines of London. Six shillings a week is as much as these poor wanderers, soiled by the glare of tallow candles in crazy barns and slieds, can expect to make in the provincial towns and villages. Therefore London, with all its misery, is very dear to them, for with much less toil and labor they can realize twelve to fifteen shillings per Aveek in the Capital. But the great and lasting attraction among the multifarious street scenes of London, is the Punch and Judy show, the de- light of joyous children, of the rich and poor, whether in Bel- gravia or St. Giles. And indeed, Punch and Judy shows reap more profit in a poor and squalid district than they will in the aristocratic quarters. It is rarely that the police will disturb these street shows, unless that house- holders should pre- fer a complaint that they were annoyed, and then of course they are driven away. I have myself looked and listened for many an hour to these absurdly hu- morous shows, to Punch and Judy, the Dog, the Clown, and some negro char- acters selected for the exhibition. Usu- ally there is a man, his wife, and a boy tocollectthe pennies thrown from win- dows or given by the crowd which assembles to witness the performance. The man plays the pipes, fastened at liis breast, and the drum with his elbow ; and the woman keeps the figures in mo- PUNCH AND JCDY. 408 STREET SIGHTS OF LONDON. tion on the miniature stage, the hack of -wliicli is hidden by a green curtain or tent, ])laced in the cart. Behind this screen the woman conceals herself and talks for the little automaton figures. There is a set dialogue in which the figures are sup- posed to converse, and as it is seldom changed, I give the fol- lowing portion of a comedy of conversation, as that chiefly used for many years by the London Punch and Judy shows : Enter Judy. Punch. What a sweet creature ! what a handsome nose and chin ! (He pats Judy on the face lovingly.) Judy. Keep quiet, do ! (Slapping him wickedly.) Punch. Don't be cross, my ducky, but give me a kiss. Judy. Oh, to be sure, my love. (They embrace and kiss.) Punch. Bless your sweet lips. (Hugging her.) These are melting moments. I'm very fond of my wife, I must have a dance. Judy. Agi'eed. (Dancing.) Punch. Get out of the way, you don't dance well enough for me. (Hits her on the nose.) Go and fetch the baby, and mind and take care of it and not hurt it. (Judy goes off.) Judy. (Coming back with the baby.) Take care of the baby while I go and cook the dumplings. Punch. (Striking Judy with his hand.) Get out of the way! I'll take care of the baby (and Judy goes out). Punch. (Sits down and sings to the baby.) " Hush a-bye baby on the tree top, AMien the wind blows the cradle will rook; When the bough breaks the cradle will fall, Down comes the baby, cradle and all." (The baby cries and Punch throws it up and down violently.) Punch. What a cross child ! I can't abear cross children. (Shakes the baby and pretends that he is about to kill it, and finally throws it out of the window.) Enter Judy. Judy. Where is the baby? PUNCH IS EXECUTED. 409 Punch. (In a lemoncholy tone.) I have had a misfortune ; tlie child was so terrible cross I throwed it out of the window, I did. (Lamentation of Judy for her dear child. She goes into asterisks, and then excites and fetches a cudgel, and com- mences beating Punch over the head.) Punch. Don't be cross, my dear, I didn't go to do it. Judy. I'll pay ycr for a throwin' the child out of the win- der. (She keeps a beatin him on the blessed head with the stick, but Punch snatches the stick away, and commences a smashin of her blessed head.) Judy. (Screaming like hanythink.) I'll go to the Consta- ble and have you locked up. Punch. Go to the devil. I don't care where you go. Get out of the way. (Judy goes hoff, and Punch sings, " Par Ex- cellence," or, "Ten Little Indians." N. B. All before is senti- mental, but this here's comic. Punch goes through his roo- too-to-roocy, and in comes the Beadle hall in red.) Then the "Clown" and "Jim Crow," the "Doctor," "Jack Ketch," the hangman, with various characters, follow each other in quick succession and enact their absurdities to the intense delight of the "juveniles," as the showman, in his printed book of the play calls the children. Punch is tried and con- victed of murder, and being sentenced to death, is finally hung by Jack Ketch, at Newgate, as a punishment for his crimes, and is then placed in a coffin and given to be dissected. All through these performances I have frequently noticed that the child spectators sympathized with Punch, — who is certainly a most notorious criminal if we are to judge by his actions on the stage of the Punch and Judy show, — and they always ai> plauded when the Beadle got the worst of the fight. It is a strange instinct, that which rises and glows in the breast of a child, — this resistance to the spirit or personification of authority. The same instinct in the full-grown man, draws a mob of ragged blouses after a Rochefort, in the streets of Paris, and builds barricades from which they fire upon the hireling sol- diery of a Bonaparte. CHAPTER XXVII. THE BRITISH MUSEUM AND NATIONAL GALLERY. N Great Russell street, Bloomsbury square, is the British Museum, one of the chief glories of the English metropolis, and an institution of which every Londoner is deservedly proud. There is, perhaps, no finer collection of curiosities and antiquities, and the nation has been for a century gathering the tributes of Science, Art, and Antiquity together in this vast building, which covers, with grounds and outbuildings, an area of seven acres. The first purchase for the collection was made in 1750, when Sir Hans Sloane, a great collector and scientific man, died, leaving a will, in which he suggested that his collection which cost him £50,000 should be bought by Parliament for £20,000. This offer was accepted, and an act was passed purchasing Sir Hans Sloane's " library of books, drawings, manuscripts, prints, medals, seals, cameos, and intaglios, precious stones, agates, jaspers, vessels of agate, crystals, mathematical instruments, pictures, etc." Thus was laid thefirst foundation of the nowworld famous British Museum. By the same act a purchase was made of the Harleian Library of about 7,000 rare volumes of rolls, charters, and manuscripts, to which were added the Cot- tonian Library, and the library of Major Arthur Edwards. A lottery was de%'ised, from which .£100,000 was realized, and the collections were paid for from this fund, as well as the sum of £10,250 which was paid to Lord Halifax 'for Montague House, in which the museum was then located, and on which THE READING ROOM AND ITS OCCUPANTS. 4ll site the present building has been erected. The additional sum of X 12,873 was paid for the repairs of Montague House, and a fund was also set apart for its taxes, salaries of officers, and Trustees, who were chosen from the best and noblest in the land, and in 1759 the Museum was opened to the public. The present lofty and imposing building was thirty years in construction, although the Museum was all that time open to the public, the building being erected piecemeal. The main buildings form a quadrangle with spacious and lofty galleries and courts. The entrances to the buildings are by magnificent staircases of stone, and the portico is adorned with giant figures and groups of sculpture. Even in the old Egyptian days, no greater masses of stone were ever used than those which have been placed in the grand flight of steps of the main facade. There are twelve stone steps, 120 feet in width, terminating with pedestals, on which are the groups of sculpture. There are 800 huge stones in the edifice, weighing from five to nine tons each. In the pediment, on the main front, are typified in storied stone, Man, Religion, Paganism, Music, the Drama, Poetry, the Patriarchs, Civilization, Science, Mathematics, and other allegorical figures. The entire buildings have cost upward of .£1,000,000. The principal doorway is really majestic, being twenty-four feet high and ten feet wide. The Reading-Room of the Library contains 1,250,000 cubic feet of space, the dome being 140 feet in diameter and 106 feet high. In this vast room an echo is heard like the sound of a trumpet, and on its shelves, and in contiguous alcoves, are 800,000 volumes of books upon every known subject and in every known language. This room cost <£ 150,000. 4,200 tons of iron were used in the construction of the dome alone. There is accommodation for 300 readers, each person having a desk and table In a space of four feet three inches. There is a great silence in this vast room where every one seems bent on study. The very door-keepers who take your hat and umbrella, have a studious look. Every visitor presents 412 THE BRITISH MUSEUM AND NATIONAL GALLERY. his ticket of admission, and is registered for the benefit of the statistics of the Kingdom. Scores of men who have a taste for literature and reading, and no money to buy Ijooks, come liere, and, during lunch-hours, those who are anxious to study, and do not wish to leave their seats, may be seen taking from under their tables light luncheons, kidney-pies, and sand- wiches, of which they partake with that peculiar shamefaced- ness which is always observable in people who eat in public places. There is a member of Parliament in his natty suit, and with a heavy watch-chain, who has gotten him down an old rusty tome, from which he is cramming with great earnestness for the next debate. Last night he had never heard of the subject of which he is reading, and just now he is full of it, and so puzzled with the wealth of the material before him that he does not know at which end to begin. There is an old gentleman, in thread-bare clothes, and worn cuffs, who has a very mild and placid face, and blue bulbous eyes. The table before him is strewn with old, worn volumes, bound with parchment and sheei>skin covers, and every time he turns a leaf a cloud of powdered dust ascends to his nostrils, and he is nearly suffocated. It is easy to see from this man's soft and fixed look that he is a monomaniac upon some subject, and that he is now settled for the day. Ah ! what a sigh of relief from the old codger. He has, after great trouble, secured in his mind the point in dispute, and now he is at work rapidly scratching away at his notes. Looking over his shoulder I can see that the old fellow has a number of works on the sub- ject of Heraldry before him, and he is, of course, tracing some mystic pedigree to the Flood, or further back, perhaps for the satisfaction of a butcher or tailor who may be in want of an escutcheon and a bar sinister in his shield. Li 1827, Sir Joseph Banks presented his botanical collection, and 66,000 valuable volumes. In 1837, the Prints and Draw- ings, the Geology and Zoology departments were formed, and in 1857, the Department of Mineralogy. The Museum is di- vided into departments of Printed Books, Manuscripts, An- THE MAGNIFICENT LIBRARIES. 413 tiquities, Art, Botany, Prints, and Drawings, Zoology, Paleon- tology, Mineralogy, and Sculpture, each under the charge of an "Under-Librarian." There are five Zoological galleries or saloons, embracing everything in the schedule of serpents, monkeys, lizards, tortoises, crocodiles, toads, antelopes, rhinoceri, elephants, and hippopotami, giraffes, buffaloes, oxen, lions, tigers, bears, otters, kangaroos, apes, squirrels, whales, sharks, porpoises, and all kinds of fish and moUusca. There is also a gallery of Fossils, Zoological and Geological, and a Gallery of Minerals. In these galleries are eight saloons. Then follow the Departments of Botany, and the Department of Antiquities, containing vases, terra cottas, bronzes, coins, and medals. There are also three saloons of Anglo-Roman An- tiquities, of Roman Iconography, three Greco-Roman saloons, the Greco-Roman Basement Room, the Lyceum Gallery, and the Elgin Rooms, in which are the splendid marbles collected by Lord Elgin at Athens, and which were bought for £35,000 by Parliament. There are also the Hellenic Galleries of Marbles, the second Elgin Room, the Assyrian Galleries, 300 feet in length, and thirty other galleries, and innumerable saloons crowded with the most wonderful and valuable objects of art and science. There is a Newspaper Saloon with the finest collection of newspapers in England. The catalogues of the libraries and collections of tlie Museum alone amount to 620 volumes. The collections are valued at X 15,000,000. By act of Parliament, a copy of every book, pamphlet, sheet of letter-press, sheet of music, chart, plan or map, issued in Queen Victoria's donnn- ions must be delivered to the British Museum. There are three libraries in the Museum: the King's Library, presented by George IV, consisting of 80,000 volumes ; the Greenville Library, 21,000 volumes ; and the General Library of 730,000 volumes, and which is inferior only to those of Munich and Paris. Magna Charta, if not the original, a copy made when King John's seal was affixed to it, was acquired by the British Mu- 414 THE BRITISH MUSEUM AND NATIONAL GALLERY. scum with the Cottonian Library. It was nearly destroyed in the fire of Westminster in 1731 ; the parchment is much shriv- eled and mutilated, and the seal is reduced to an almost shape- less massof Avax. The MS. was carefully lined and mounted; and in 1733 an excellent facsimile of it was published by John Pine, surrounded by inaccurate representations of the armorial ensigns of the twenty-five barons appointed as securities for the due performance of Magna Charta. An impression of this fac- simile, printed on vellum, with the arms carved and gilded, is placed opposite the Cottonian origi- nal of the Great Charter, which is now secured under glass. It is about two feet square, is written in Latin, and is quite il- legible. It is traditionally stated to have been bought for four- pence, by Sir Robert Cotton, of a tailor, who was about to cut up the parchment into measures ! But this anecdote, if true, may refer to another copy of the Charter preserved at the Brit- ish Museum, in a portfolio of royal and ecclesiastical instru- ments, marked Augustus II, art. 106 ; and the original Charter is believed to have been presented to Sir Robert Cotton by Sir Edward Dering, Lieut.-Governor of Dover Castle ; and to be that referred to in a letter dated May 10, 1630, extant in the Museum Library, in the volume of Correspondence, Julius C. ni. fol. 191. In the Museum, also, is the original Bull, in Latin, of Pope Innocent III, receiving the kingdoms of England and Ireland under his protection, and granting them in fee to King John and his successors, dated 1214, and reciting King John's char- ter of fealty to the Church of Rome, dated 1213. Also, the original Bull, in Latin, of Pope Leo X, conferring the title of Defender of the Faith upon Ileiuy VIII. The Reading Room is open every day, except on Sundays, on Ash Wednesdays, Good Fridays, Christmas-day, and on any Fast or Thanksgiving days ordered by authority ; except also between the 1st and 7th of May, the 1st and 7th of September, and the 1st and 7th of January, inclusive. The liours arc from 9 till 7 during May, June, July, and August (except on Satur- days, at 5), and from 9 till 4 during the rest of the year. To ADMISSION TO THE MUSEUM. 415 obtain admission, persons are to send their applications in writing, specifying their Christian and surnames, rank or pro- fession, and places of abode, to the principal Librarian ; or, in his absence, to the Secretary ; or, in his absence, to the senior Under-Librarian ; who will either immediately admit such per- sons, or lay their applications before the next meeting of the Trustees. Every person applying is to produce a recommendation satis- factory to a Trustee or an officer of the establishment. Appli- cations defective in this respect will not be attended to. Per- mission will in general be granted for six month.*, and at the expiration of this term fresh application is to be made for a renewal. The tickets given to readers are not transferable, and no person can be admitted without a ticket. Persons under eighteen years of age are not admissible. Tlie Reader having ascertained from tlie Catalogue the book he requires, transcribes literally into a printed form the press- mark, title of the work wanted, size, place, and date, and signs the same. Readers, before leaving the room, are to return the books or MSS. they have received to an attendant, and are to obtain the corresponding ticket, the reader being responsible for such books or MSS. so long as the ticket remains uncan- celed. Readers arc allowed to make one or more extracts from any printed book or MS. ; but no whole or greater part of a MS. is to be transcribed without a particular j ermission from tlic Trustees. The transcribers are not to lay tlie papers on which they write on any part of the book or MS. they are using, nor are any tracings allowed without special leave of the Trustees. No person is, on any pretence whatever, to write on any part of a printed book or MS. belonging to the Mu- seum. The persons whose recommendations are accepted are Peers of the Realm. Memljers of Parliament, Judges, Queen's Counsel, Masters in Chancery or any of the great law-officers of the Crown, any one of the forty-eight Trustees of tlie British Mu- seum, the Lord ^layor and Aldermen of London, rectors of parishes in the metropolis, principals or heads of colleges, emi- 416 THE BRITISH MUSEUM AND NATIONAL GALLERY. nent physicians and surgeons, and Royal Academicians, or any gentleman in superior position to an ordinary clerk in any of the public ofhccs. Some idea of the magnitude of this great Museum may he formed when I state that the clerical and literary force connect- ed with the institution is larger than that of any similar found- ation in Europe but one — the Imperial Library at Paris. There is first a Principal Librarian, a Secretary, fifteen keepers of departments, beside a little army of attendants, messengers, bookbinders, watchmen, and doorkeepers, num- bering over one hundred persons. Beside there are fifty or sixty persons of literary eminence and celebrity connected with the Museum, and employed to perfect the collection, to collate and arrange the books and to classify subjects. In this way alone the expenses of the establishment amount to X40,000 yearly. The average number of visitors to the Museum yearly is over one million, and tlie galleries are entirely free to the public. Next to the British Museum, the most frequented place in London is the National Gallery of Art, in Trafalgar Square^ facing Nelson's Monument. This lofty monument fills the eye of the spectator as it takes in the range of one of the finest squares in Europe. The column is a circular one, 145 feet high, and the figure of the great naval liero. Nelson, on the top, is 17 feet high. The monument was built in 1840-43, and is placed ^ on an elevated pedestal of gran- ite. The Emperor Nicholas of Russia gave X500 toward the erection of the monument, and nelson's MOKUMENT. , , . •11 IV 1 the rest was raised by pubhc sub- scription. The two immense lions of bronze who lie couchant m^ THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 417 at the base of the monument, were modeled in iron from visits made by Sir Edwin Landscer to tlie live lions at the Zoological Gardens. There are also statues of Sir Henry Ilavelock and of Sir Charles Napier, on each side of the inclosure which fronts the Nelson column, twelve feet high and of bronze, and just below in an angle of the square is a bronze statue of George IV, which cost .£10,000. These three statues, which are all equestrian, were paid for by public subscription. On one side of the square is the church of St. Martin, an imposing looking building, built by Wren, and on tiie lofty steps of this church the crossing sweepers and bootblacks of the Metropolis have their daily rendezvous, and here divide their earnings with each other. Tlie National Gallery is, therefore, in a most commanding site, and from its broad steps a very fine view can be obtained of the Strand, Charing Cross, Parliament Street, and the Houses of Parliament. The edifice was finished in 1838, and is 461 feet in length, and its greatest width across the saloons of painting is 56 feet. The stones were taken to construct it entirely from the King's Stables or Mews, and the building has a peculiarly sombre and solid effect. In it are a range of spacious galleries, whose walls are covered with the greatest works of the old masters and modern painters. It is the chief collection of paintings in the British Islands, and the numljcr of subjects amount to 1,600. The number of pictures in the National Gallery, as compared with the number in the Continental galleries, is as follows: National Gallery, 1,600; Dresden Gallery, 2,000; Madrid, 1,833; Louvre, 2,500 ; Vienna, 1,500; The Vatican, 37 ; the Capitol, Rome, 250 ; Bologna, 280 ; Milan, 503 ; Turin, 563 ; Venice, 688 ; Naples, 700 ; Frankfort, 380 ; Berlin, 1,350 ; Munich, 1,300; Florence, 1,200 ; Pitti Palace, 500; Amster- dam, 386 ; Hague, 304 ; Brussels, 400 ; and A'ersaillcs, 4,000. The pictures in the National Gallery are divided into the Britisli and Foreign Schools. Of the British School there are 26 418 TIIK BRITISH MUSEUM AND NATIONAL GALLERY. 795 paintings of various artists, and of various degrees of merit, in which the names of every English painter of conse- quence is inchidcd l)y his works. The chief collection in this division is that of Turner, the great colorist, and here are exhibited in a saloon by them- selves the finest specimens of that great painter's works, in all numbering over one hundred subjects, wliich, togetlier with a large collection of drawings and water colors, he bequeathed to the English people. Tlic Foreign School is sub-divided into the Italian, Spanish, Flemish, and French Schools, and these schools embrace 797 fine pictures, in which the old masters chiefly predominate. Bj Three of Corregio's pictures in this gallery cost .£15,000, and tlie latest acquisition is a Michael Angelo valued at £30,000. The Gallery is open to the public on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays ; and on Thursdays and Fridays to students only. It is open from Ten to Five from October until April 30, inclusive ; and from Ten to Six from April until the middle of September. It is wholly closed during the month of October. Daily this free gallery of art is thrown open to the working people who enjoy the paintings, excepting on the days specified. There is no charge whatever excepting for catalogaies of the British and Foreign Schools, which cost a shilling each. The question of opening the Galleries on Sunday lias been mucli agitated of late, but I question if the Britisli public, particularly the working or artisan class, care much for paintings. The lower classes of Englishmen are not, as a rule, very esthetical in their views or ideas, and I think the British masses are best calculated to shine at a cattle-show. There is nothing in this world so capable of striking an ave- rage Englishman's fancy as a Imge ox or a mountain of mov- ing beef. Corregio's master pieces. Turner's flaming colors, or Claude's landscapes do not move him at all ; but take him to a cattle- show, and behold he is all life and animation, and give him a WANT OF TASTE AMONG THE ENGLISH. 419 pot of beer in liis red fist, and he becomes positively witty, and capable of conversation. One tiling struck nic as I wandered hour after hour through these galleries, and that was the total lack of education in the commonest rudiments of art, and the complete ignorance mani- fested in the remarks of the boors who gave the greatest works of their countrymen but a passing glance, and walked on in stupid stolidity. At Versailles or Florence, there was life, en- thusiasm, and criticism of a very fair kind noticeable in the remarks of delight or disapproval which came from groups around a famous painting or a daub, but at the National Gal- lery the cattle-show and the pot of beer was still uppermost in all the looks and phrases of the spectators who used the place as a show room to pass an hour away. CHAPTER XXVIII. NAKED AND NEEDY. ^j NE hundred and thirty years ago, infanticide and desertion of children, were twin crimes, very pre- valent among Englishwomen of the humbler and lower classes. The dull, twaddling, gossijMnong- ing newspapers of that day were often the vehicle through which the public ascertained that infants were found in dust-bins and dark alleys, and on dung-hills, there exposed by their miserable and heartless mothers to starvation and storm. Twenty or thirty children per week were exposed, in London, after this fashion, and the evil grew to such an extent that it served to awaken the benevolence of God-fearing men and women, and among those was one Capt. Coram, a sea-faring man who, by his long and repeated voyages and wanderings over many lands and in many strange waters, had accumulated a large sum of money. I fancy I can see that brave old fellow now in his closely buttoned-up tunic, his three-cornered mariner's hat set askew, his eyes beaming with kindness and compassion, picking his steps through the worst holes and quarters of Old London, the London of Queen Anne and of Bolingbroke, of conspiracies, of Hanoverian Successions, of Highwaymen and Newgate, and of all the faded memories of that olden time which enthrall sense and memory, when we try to recall that which we can only see as Macaulay saw it by the light of old newspaper scraps, chronicles, and by the memoirs and diaries, of the then insignifi- cant but to-day useful people, like Evelyn and Pepys. Who will not bless that noble old sailor, as I did, the May THE FATHER OF THE FOUNDLING. 421 evening I stood in the principal dormitory of tlie Foundling Hospital, in wliicli were comfortably housed over fifty of tlie devoted lambs, sleeping with warm clotlies covering their little bodies, and their infantile cliirpings seeming like a chorus of angels, whose visits are alas — few but far between. NUKSERY IN THE FOUNDLING HOSPITAL. There was the row of cots, and the kind-hearted women at- tending to their wants, and when I gave one of them an orange, the little twelve-pounder seemed as glad as if it had de- scended from the loins of a Tudor or a Stuart, instead of be- ing, as it was, both fatherless and motherless. I can see him who was to be father of the first Foundling Hospital in England, losing his way purjjosely, night after night, among those dark and badly lighted and unpaved streets and lanes that fringed the Thames River in those days, and from which issued nightly shouts of nuu-dcr and rapine, and the boisterous but less deadly revelry of bacchanalian seafaring men, in trunk liose and canvas tunics. I can see the link 422 NAKED AND NEEDY. 411 boys with their smoky torches passing to and fro as in a fevered dream and the bearers of sedan chains, — tlie porters shouting at the brave-hearted grim seaman, who turns his kindly old eyes aside from the flashing glance of beauty shot at him in dumb wonder by the damsel on her way to Vauxhall, Ranelagh, or a Rout, and Captain Coram the meanwhile chatting and bestow- ing pennies upon the beggar's offspring or forsaken child. His heart was large as the seas which he had sailed over, and his happiest moment was when he had rescued from the gutters and death some poor foundling who had been thrown on the world to make its way. He had first embarked in the Newfoundland trade, and after some time spent in ploughing the Avaters between England and the Colonies, he set up at Taunton, Massachusetts, as a ship- wright, where he prospered apace. Then we find him, after some years, in Boston, where, by his enterprise, the manufacture of tar was established in the then infant Colonies. Home to Old England again after thirty years of wandering, and on landing at Cuxhavcn the brave old man was set upon by thieves and ruffians and plundered of all his earnings. Then the Govern- ment, in 1732, appoints him as a trustee for the settlement of Georgia, and subsequently he is engaged in the colonization of Nova Scotia. Finally he came home to project and carry out the idea of his life, which was the establishment of a Found- ling Hospital in London. Never was there a more indefatigable or tireless philanthrop- ist than this bluff old sailor. Insult, contumely, and humilia- tion he cheerfully underwent to carry out his cherished plan. One cold, stinging, December day, in the year 1737, Thomas Coram, — who had been advised that the Princess Amelia was a charitable and well disposed lady, and would be, perhaps, fa- vorable to an application for the scheme he had in view — start- ed for St. James' Palace, the then residence of royalty — with his three-cornered hat well planted upon his head, and his coat buttoned up, and offered a petition for the formation of a found- ling hospital through Lady Isabella Finch, the lady of the Bed Chamber in waiting, who turned upon Coram when he presented ADMISSION OF CHILDREN — HOW OBTAINED. 423 her the paper, like a vixen, and bade him begone with cutting words and sneers. The poor okl fellow, with rage in his heart, strode from the doors of royalty and never troubled the Princess Amelia again. Fijially, George II became interested so far as to give a cliar- ter on the application of John, Duke of Bedford, the Master of the Rolls, the Chief Justice, the Chief Baron, the Speaker of the Commons, and the Solicitor and Attorney's General. Hogarth, who also became deeply interested in the charity, and ever afterward continued its benefactor, painted a shield for the Hospital, and on the 26th of October, 1740, tlie old house in Hatton Garden was thrown open to nameless and homeless children. The charter was signed by twenty-one ladies, of birth and distinction, and stated that " no exix;dient has been found out for preventing the frequent murders of poor infants at their birth, or of suppressing the custom of exposing them to perish in the streets, or putting them out to nurses, who, undertaking to bring them up for small sums, suffered them to starve, or, if permitted to live, either turned them out to beg or steal, or hired them out to persons by whom they were trained up in that way of living, and sometimes blinded or maimed, in order to move pity, and thereby become fitter instruments of gain to their employers. In order to redress this shameful grievance, the memorialists express their willingness to erect and support a hospital for all lielpless children as may be brought to it, ' in order that they may be made good servants, or, when qualified, be disposed of to the sea or land service of His Majesty the King.'" The children who are maintained by this charity are admit- ted on application of their mothers only, whose application to the governors must take place within twelve months of the birth of the child. The petition is read to the governors assembled in commit- tee ; and the petitioner is called in and examined as to lier allegations ; and then tlie steward of the hospital (with the pe- titioner's permission) is instructed to make secret inquiries as to the truth of the case. If tlic admission be ordered, it takes 424 NAKED AND NEEDY. place on the Saturday fortnight after the order (a small weekly allowance behig made in the interim, if necessary, to the mother), when the child is examined l)y the apothecary, and if found perfect in eyes, limbs, and health, is received into the Institution. Its mother is presented with a certificate of its reception — with a certain letter on the margin, by which her infant pledge may be subsequently identified if necessary ; but in all probability she never sees the child again. It has a particular number assigned to it, which is sewn to its clothes, and becomes a property and chattel of the hospital. It is at once sent to the matron's room, and delivered to a wet- mu'se previously engaged ; and on the following day, being Sunday, it is baptised in the chapel of the institution — some common name, such as Smith or Jones, being given to it out of a list approved by the committee. On the same night, or following day, it is sent with its nurse into the country, who carries it to her own residence — she being generally the wife of some agricultural laborer — and reared there, under the occasional supervision of inspectors, for five years, when it returns to town for its education at the hospital. The number attached to its clothes remains so attached thoughout that time. At fourteen, the boys, at fifteen, the girls, arc apprenticed, but still looked after by inspectors from the hospital until they are twenty-one years of age, when they are supposed to be able to take care of themselves. Deserving adults, however, arc not lost sight of by the governors, and in case of incurable infirmities preventing apprenticeship, the Hospital does not de- sert its cliildren to the end. That the child be illegitimate is of course the most essential regulation, but an exception is made if the father be a soldier or sailor killed in the service of his country. Immediately after the battle of Waterloo, it was enacted that fifteen children of each sex should be forthwith admitted, the offspring of those who fell in that action ; but to the honor of the soldiers' wives, it is recorded that only two mothers gave way to the tempta- tion, and accepted the offer. No legitimate child has been ad- mitted into the hospital for tlic last ten years. A RUSH OF BABIES. 425 The other conditions of admission are : that the petitioner shall not have applied for parish relief; that she shall have borne a good character previous to her misfortune ; and that the father shall have hond fide deserted his offspring, and be not forthcoming. The child acquires stronger claims for ad- mission, if, First : the petitioner has no relations able to main- tain the child; Second : if her shame is known to few persons (the express wish of the founder being that she might, if possi- ble, recover her lost position) ; and, Thirdly : that in the event of the child's being received, the petitioner has a prospect of obtaining an honest livelihood. The manner of admission was originally based upon that pursued " in France, Holland, and other Christian countries," as the wording of the quaint old charter went. The applicant came in at the outward door, rung the bell at the inward door, and presented her child ; no questions whatever were asked of her, nor did " any servant of the hospital i)resume to endeavor to discover who such person was, on pain of being dismissed." When the narrow limit of accommodation was reached, the notice, " The house is full," was affixed over the door. In October, 1745, the western wing of the present building was opened ; but so many more children were brought than the place could hold, that there were frequently a hundred women witli children at the door, when only twenty could be admitted. The ballot was then resorted to : all the women were admitted into the court-room, and drew balls out of a bag ; but it was still stipulated that if any desired to be concealed, the bag might be carried to them, or the matron was empowered to draw for them. In 1754, the hospital authorities had six hundred children to support, the cost of which exceeded their income fourfold. They therefore appealed to Parliament, who voted them ten thousand pounds on the condition that all api)licants under twelve months old should be received. This wholesale scheme of charity, which was largely assisted by more public grants, only lasted for four years. On the very first general reception- day, 117 infants were taken in, and 1,800 before the half-year 426 NAKED AND NEEDY. was out ; while in tlic ensuing year 3,727 were admitted. Tlie consequences arc described to be lamentable. Immorality was greatly encouraged by the unlimited facility for thus disposing of its fruits, and the children themselves — though " the Found- ling" had then branch establisliments in many country places — could not be supported in such vast numbers. Of the 15,000 children received in those fom- years, no less than 10,000 perished in their infancy. Parish officers, with local cunning, sent to the Foundling the legitimate children of paupers, in order to relieve their constituents ; parents brought their own children, when dying, in order that the liospital should pay for their interment ; and surgeons were even employed by parents to convey their children to this Alma ]\Iater, at so so much per head, like pigs, or other cattle. Parliament withdrew its grant fr(3m this formidable charity in 1759, altliough it humanely provided for the maintenance of all whom its too lavish charity had already admitted, and the branch country hospitals were discontinued. There were at that time 6,000 children in the institution under five years of age, and it was not until 1769, that by a{)])renticing all who were fit to be placed out, their number was reduced below 1,000. At the present time the yearly admissions average 32, and the total numl)er maintained by the Hospital is 430. As years sped by the spirit of the institution changed with its succeeding governors, and children were received without any inquiry, with whom a hundred pounds were paid down. The Court Room of the Foundling Hospital has pro])ably witnessed as painful scenes as any chamber in Great Britain, and though mothers may abandon their illicit offspring to the tender mercies of a public company, they cannot do it without great pain, and many an after pang of agony. These scenes are renewed again when the children at five years of age are brought up to London from the places tliey have been farmed out like young goats, and they arc tlicn separated from their foster mothers. Even the foster fathers arc sometimes greatly affected by the parting, while the grief of their wives is most excessive ; and the children themselves so pine after AN AGED FOUNDLING. 427 1 "'^^ , 1 ^ nil -1 J " ^- / > ^ -,-- .«'i!i their supposed parents that they arc humored by holidays and treats, for a day or two after their arrival, in order to mitigate the change. Though infants received into the hospital are never again seen by their parents, save in peculiar cases, a kind of inter- course with them is still permitted. Mothers are allowed to come every Monday and ask after their children's health, but are allowed no further information. On an average about eight women a week avail themselves of this privilege, and there are some who come regularly every fortnight. I was present in one of the rooms of the Foundling Hospital while a stout red faced matron was engaged in washing one ofi these dear little babes of misfortime, and it was indeed an affect- ing spectacle, to hear the little motherless waif cry and watch its infantile kickings and splurgings in the wash tub. Even when applica- tion is made by moth- ers for the return of their child, it is fre- quently refused; when it is apprenticed, and no intercourse is permitted between them, unless master and mistress, as well as parent and child, approve of it ; nor when it has attained maturity, unless the child as well as the mother demand it. Thus a woman, who was married from the hospital, and had borne seven children, once requested to know lier parents, on the ground that " there was money belonging to her," and her WASHING THE WAIF. 428 NAKED AND NEEDY. application was refused. But in November of tlie same year the name of a certain Foundling was revealed upon the appli- cation of a solicitor, and his setting forth that money had been invested for its use by tlie dead mother ; the governors grant- ing this request upon tlie ground that the motlier herself had disclosed the secret, which they were otherwise liound to keep inviolable. xVgain, in 1833, a Foundling, seventy-six years of age, was permitted, for certain good reasons, to become ac- quainted with his own name, though, as one may imagine, not Avith his parent. It is a wise child in the Foundling who even knows its own mother. Sometimes notes arc found attached to the infant's garments, beseeching the^Jli^^e to tell the mother her name and resi- dence, that the latter may visit lier child during its stay in the country ; and they have been even known to follow the van on foot which conveys their little one to its new home. Tliey will also attend the baptism in the chapel, in the hope of hearing the name conferred upon the infant ; for, if they succeed in identifying the child during its stay at nurse, they can always preserve the identification during its subsequent abode in the hospital, since the children appear in chapel twice on Sunday, and dine in public on that day, which gives opportunities of seeing them from time to time, and preserving the recollection of their features. In these attempts at discovery, mistakes, however, are often committed, and attention lavished on the wrong child ; instan- ces have even occurred of mothers coming in mourning attire to the hospital to return thanks for the kindness bestowed upon their deceased offspring, only to be informed that they are alive and well. It is stated that children who are discovered by the mother are spoiled by indulgence — and I can imagine that efforts to make u]) for the past would be lavish enough in such cases — and rarely turn out well. One exception to the rule of non-intercourse is related, where a medical attendant certified that the sanity of one unhappy HOW THEY DINE. 429 woman might be affected unless she was allowed to see her child. Twice or thrice in the year the boys are permitted to take an excursion to Primrose Hill ; but at other times (except when sent on errands), and the girls at all times — arc kept within the hospital walls. This confinement so affects their growth, that few of either sex attain to the average height of men and women. It is a curious old place, this hospital for Foundlings, and full of memories. Here are some of Hogarth's best efforts as a }X)rtrait painter, and it was for this hospital that Handel Avrote his glorious oratorio of the " Messiah." The organ, so magnifi- cent in tone, which is placed in the chapel, was also the gift of Handel. The high old-fashioned reading desk, from whence the chap- lain expounds the scriptures ; the side galleries in the style of George I, and tlie pillars that seem to tell of the days of Ad- dison and Sterne and Swift, and all the rest of that galaxy who made the Augustan age of England — the rows of high backed benches such as are to be met with in all the London churches, built after the architectural period of Wren and Inigo Jones — combined with the low full toned voices of the boys and girls, as they raise the Anthem, seem to make the place a haven of rest and an abode of happiness for the poor world outcasts. Then there is the girls' dining-room, hung with some fine paintings and works of art. The girls enter and take tlieir stand, each in her proper place, against the long row of tables that extends from end to end of the room, the crowds forming a lane on either side. A moment's pause, and a sweet voice is heard saying grace : the utterer being that modest looking girl at the centre of the table, who from her superior lieight and appearance seems chosen as one of the oldest among her companions. Scarcely has she finished before another girl, at the end of the table, dispenses with the ease and rapidity of habit, from the large dishes of baked meat and vegetables before her, the dinners 430 NAKED AND NEEDY. of the exjxjctant cliildrcn, plate following plate with marvelous rapidity, till all are satisfied. This room occupies a great portion of one side of the edifice. In the boys' room the evolutions of the lads preparatory to taking dinner are most interesting. The change at once, and without blunder, hesitation, or want of concert, from a two deep to a three deep line, then they beat time, march, turn and turn again, until the welcome word is given for the final march to the dinner table. Thousands of the citizens of London visit this hospital yearly, and ladies are particularly interested in all that pertains to its welfare. It has been enriched by inimmerable bequests, and has a revenue of over X 120,000 a year from rents, stock, and other sources. The charities of London are incalculable in their extent, and it is my belief that no other city in the world — excepting Paris — possesses so many and such various institutions where the sick, naked, and needy are taken in and cared for. And yet with all this benevolence, there is a pharisaical spirit of ostentation at the bottom of every pound that is given, and the pupils of the beneficed schools, the inmates of the almshouses, the patients in the various hospitals, and the vagrants and lost ones in reformatories, refuges, and model lodging houses are drilled, uniformed, preached at, exhibited to the public, and ventilated in the newspapers, while the donations of those who have established the charities are be-puffed and be-lauded until the stranger is astonished at the mountains of cant which smother the work of so many generously benevolent people. However, there is a vast amount of charity in London, and incalculable good is done those who are in need of it. I can only give the aggregate of all these charities, hospitals and almshouses, as I have not space for details. The incomes and receipts of the various Metropolitan Chari- table Institutions amount to about twelve millions of dollars annually, nmch of which is contributed voluntarily, and this vast sum does not include contributions to police courts for the use INCOME OF CHARITABLE INSTITUTIONS. 431 of prisoners, amounting to ^£50,000 a year, or the erection and endowment of schools, and other similar gifts bj individ- uals, — deeds which are impossible to classify, from their isola- tion. Besides the regular incomes, as below, the proceeds of former legacies amounts to X841,373, or nearly six million dol- lars of United States money. This large amount of nearly eighteen millions of dollars, double the entire sum realized from poor rates obtained in London, is divided among 640 institutions, of which 144 have been founded during the last ten years, 279 during the first half of the century, 114 during the Eighteenth Century, and 103 before that period. The classification — generally speaking — and aggregate in- comes are as follows : INSTITUTIONS ANNUAL INCOUE. 14 General Hospitals, ------ £174,858 66 Hospitals and Institutions for Special Medical purposes, 155,025 39 Dispensaries, ----.. 23,877 12 Institutions for the Preservation of Life, Health, and Morals, 46,230 1 Foundling Hospital, ------ 20,200 22 Hospitals, Penitentiaries, and 16 Reformatories — total, - 93,981 29 Relief Institutions, - - - - - - 64,720 21 Homes, for both sexes, and all ages, - _ , 18,200 9 Benevolent Pension Funds, .-•.-- 26,000 20 Poor Clergymen's Benefit Funds, - - - 49,508 72 Professional and Trade Benevolent Funds, - - - 125,051 24 City Company and Parochial Trust Funds, - - 40,820 4 Special National Funds, - - - . - 53,000 124 Colleges, Almshouses, and Asylums, for the Aged, - 103,063 1 Cripple's Charity, -----_ 7,215 16 Deaf and Dumb Institutions, . - _ _ 43,521 35 General Educational Funds, - _ . _ 112,600 16 Asylums, educating 2,400 orphans, - . _ 80,634 24 Educational Asylums for 3,700 children, - - - 120,000 60 Home Missionary Societies, - - - . 413,171 30 Foreign Missionary Societies, - - . - 642,217 19 Jewish Charities, Hospitals, Schools, Almshouses, and Refuges, 163,000 13 Grammar Schools, oi> original Foundations, - - 862,000 12 Educational Establishments,— 8 parochial schools, libraries, lectures, and miscellaneous societies, of a charitable or be- nevolent character, ------ 732,000 432 NAKED AND NEEDY. Some of these hospitals are not equaled by any in the world excepting those of Paris, and have splendid beds and the best of medical Staffs. Guy's Hospital is called after a London Alderman and Mem- ber of Parliament, who made a fortune, in Oliver Cromwell's time, selling Bibles, buying sailors' pawn-tickets, and in the South Sea Speculation Bubble. It has 22 wards and 600 beds, and averages, yearly, 6,000 in-door and 55,000 out>door beds, with 24 professors and 250 students. The legacies left to this hos- pital amount to £500,000, and its annual income is over £30,- 000. Kings' College Hospital has 180 beds, and about 2,000 in-door and 40,000 out-door patients, annually. Its income is about £5,000 a year. The London Hospital has 500 beds. Bartholomew's Hospital, founded by a Catholic monk, in the hoary past, is the oldest and largest hospital in London, as its students are the wildest and most reckless in the metropolis. The number of in-door patients is 7,000; out-door, 100,000, annually, and the yearly income is £32,000. There are 700 beds, 36 professors, and 500 students. The St. Thomas' Hospitals, now in process of construction at the Surrey Side of the Thames, in Lambeth, opposite the Houses of Parliament, will combine a number of hospitals for Special Diseases, and will accommodate about 2,000 patients, with as many beds, and will have an income of £50,000 a year, or more. It is impossible to think of any disease, complaint, deformity, or injury to any member or organ of the body, which has not its special hospital or institution for relief or cure, in the Eng- lish metropolis. There are homes for distressed widows, for Asiatics, Africans, and South Sea Islanders, a Benevolent So- ciety of Female Musicians, pne for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, a Life-Boat Society, Homes for Teaching the Blind to read, for Governesses, a Shoe-Black Society, and, in fact, all classes of indigent and impoverished persons are provided for. The Sick Children's Hospital is one of the best and most needed institutions in London. This hospital was opened eight- een years ago, and has among its patrons the excessively pious INTERESTING SIGHT. 433 Prince of Wales, and the lady whom he admired so much — the wife of Sir Charles Mordaunt, as also the highest ecclesiastical authority in England, the Archbishop of Canterbury. This Hospital for Sick Children is situated at No. 49 Great Ormond street, Bloomsbury, in an old-fashioned house built in the time of Queen Anne. The annual income of this hospital is about ,£25,000 a year, Avith lOO beds, including about a dozen at Highgate and Margate, the latter for those children who require sea air. It has about 600 in-door and 12,000 out- door patients, annually. A sick child among the rich has, at least, solace in its sick- ness, besides every chance for its recovery that money can suj)- ply. A sick child among the poor may have attendance or not, as the case may be, but its father and its mother in London have but little time to bestow upon its sufferings. It is, per- haps, uncarcd for and all but abandoned to battle with disease without help. It is for the children of the needy poor that this hospital is established and is carried on. No child suffering from small pox is admitted into the house, nor are any cases of rickets, hip joint or scrofulous dis- ease of the spine or joint. They are refused for three reasons : because they are quite incurable, because they require noth- ing but rest for many months, and because good diet and fresh air, continued for months or years, are essential to im- provement. Glad children's laughter may be heard within those old walls, and pretty little voices murmuring to each other, as the tiny sick people chatter to their next bedside friends and neighbors. Sometimes a little tired one, wearied from weakness, lies still watching the blue scroll on the ceiling, or trying to make out what all the pink-cheeked and powdered ladies arc doing upon the frescoes of the old-fashioned walls. Each child has its cot to itself, and besides those in the house myriads of children are brought each year, by their mothers, to be seen by the doctors and nurses. In the room where mothers bring their children is a box, affixed to the wall, with a printed solicitation for pence, and fifty pounds a year is collected 27 434 NAKED AND NEEDY. in this way, "n-liich is devoted to sending children to the water- ing places who are getting convalescent and need sea air. The Queen, and other members of her family, are accustomed to send yearly donations of toys and jimcracks for the amuse- ment of the children ; and proud ladies may be seen daily mov- ing among the sick beds with all kinds of gifts and childish luxuries, and who shall say that the faces of these beautiful girls, and the toys they bring, do not help most signally to es- tablish convalescence, for what sick child ever suffered without appreciating a kindly smile, a wooden horse, a cart, a Punch, or a Noah's ark. % CHAPTER XXIX. MARKETS AND FOOD. ||HE aggregate of time, labor, and expenditure, necessary to provide three millions and a half of inhabitants with food, in a city like London, is something beyond comprehension. In getting at the food statistics of this great City, I found more trouble than in procuring material and detail for any other portion of this book. And yet there cannot be anything of more interest to the public than to know how, when, and from where, a ^reat city derives the food which subsists its citizens. The London markets are well built, well ventilated, well sit- uated, and well regulated. The markets of London are a credit to the city and people. The markets of New York are a scan- dal and a shame to that great city. Some idea may be formed of the amount of food needed to subsist London from the figiu-es which I will give. The Metropolitan Cattle Market, in Caledonian Eoad, Isling- ton, is the largest market in London, covering fifteen acres, and having three acres of slaugliter liouses. This market cost one million four hundred and sixty thousand pounds, and can- not be surpassed by any other market in the world. Tlie yearly receipts at this market was as follows : 860,000 beef cattle, 36,000 calves, 1,900,000 sheep, and 37,650 pigs. Besides this vast amount of meat there was nearly as much more received at the Newgate, Leadenliall, and Whitechapel meat markets. The other articles of food, brought to tlic London markets, are estimated by those who profess to have nearly accurate in- 436 MARKETS AND FOOD. formation, as follows : Seven million head of game and poultry, six hundred and fifty million pounds of fish, two hundred and fifty million barrels of oysters, and two hundred and fifty mil- lion cubic feet of eggs. Tliis last item rather staggered me, but the other estimated quantities are, I am assured, rather below than above the aggregate annual consumption. The inspections of the London markets are made very rigidly, and I do not wonder at the necessity for a strict watchfulness, when I find that, in 18G8, 100,340 pounds of meat, and 1,963 head of game and poultry, were seized by the officers as being unfit for human food. This amount consisted in part of 1,200 sheep, 180 pigs, 73 calves, 1,100 quarters of beef, 702 joints of meat, 402 tame fowls, 121 wild fowl, 300 geese, 290 ducks, 316 pigeons, 15 lambs, and only thirty ])Ounds of sausages. There were also 239 rabbits, 111 hares, 75 haunches and quar- ters of venison, 84 partridges, and four pounds of pickled pork. It will be seen that there was a very great deal of beef and mut- ton to a very little pickled pork and sausage. All of the game, and most of the poultry seized, was putrid, and of the meat 108,000 pounds were diseased, while 21,000 pounds were stinking; 30,240 pounds of meat being taken from animals that had died of natural causes. As soon as the meat is seized it is sprinkled with creosote of coal tar, which checks putrefac- tion, and at the same time prevents it from being used as food, after which it is sent to the bone-boilers and destroyed. Besides the enormous amount of food received at the markets already enumerated, there was also received at the Borough Market, Southwark, Smithfield New Market, Newport Market, Cumberland, Portman, Clare, and the Potato Markets, by rail- way, in the same year, 17,000 tons of meat of all kinds, 100,- 000 tons of potatoes, 14,000 tons of fish, 15,000 tons of vegeta- bles, and 60,000 tons of grain, wherewith to feed the Lon- doners. Before daybreak is the best time to see the Markets of Lon- don in all their bustle and brisk traffic, and one summer morn- ing I accordingly took a cab from the Langham Hotel and told the sleepy driver to take me to the New Smithfield Market, THE SMITHFIF.LD POLICE STATIOX. 437 wliicli is convenient to Newgate Prison. We dashed madly in the gray of the morning (it was not yet more than four o'clock) through Regent street, up Oxford street, over the Holborn Via- duct, and so on to the Smithfield Police Station, which is sit- uated at a few rods distant from the place where the Cock Lane Ghost was first discovered. I had been directed by Inspector Bailey, of the Old Jewry office, to call at this police station, and he informed me that I shoidd find a special policeman there at my disposal to show me the markets, and procure me any information I might de- sire in regard to them. The Smithfield Police Station is like most London police stations, a very quiet and not pretentious edifice, just in the shadow of Smithfield New Market. There was a little desk and a little railing, behind which sat a little man in a blue uniform of pilot cloth, and behind the little man were hung upon the plainly w^hitewashed Avails a collection of handcuffs, pistols, and knives, all of which were deodands to the law. There were also placards, offering re- wards for all kinds of oifenders, thieves, forgers, murderers, and embezzlers, and giving detailed descriptions of their persons and clothing when last seen. These placards covered the walls, but did not add much to the appearance of the apartment. On producing my letter of introduction from Inspector Bailey to the Sergeant in command — who treated me with much civility, a bell was rung by the latter, and a policeman in uniform appeared, my old friend Ralfe, whom the Sergeant addressed as follows : " Ralfe, you are to take this gentleman all through Smith- field Market, and show him the sights, and then you can trans- fer him to some one else to have him taken through Billings- gate Market, and after that he may take a look at Covent Gar- den Market, if he so desires. Show him everything that you can, then report to me back again." "Yesir," said Mr. Ralfe, touching his hat, although he was not in uniform, and in another instant we were in the London 438 MARKETS AND FOOD. streets, which were very drear and damp, the gas lamps yet burning with a feeble light, and the daybreak as yet not having revealed itself. The way was murky and dark, and the vicinity of the mar- ket was sufficiently indicated by the peculiar raw, fresh smell, with which newly killed meat greets the nasal organs. Smithfield ^Market is built on a large, open square, and being on liigh ground commands a good view of the City of London proper. The site of the New Market which was opened a year ago, was formerly covered by the Cattle Market, which is now removed to Islington, in tlie suburbs. The building is of mix- ed stone and brick, and the cost was about half a million pounds. The ground on which it is built is also nearly as val- uable as the building. The market is about four hundred feet in length and a hundred and fifty in width. The roof is of iron, and a vast avenue, high, broad, and spacious in every way, runs through the entire building. "When I reached the market with my friend, the policeman, the gas- was still burning, and the long rows of stalls situated on the wide avenues of the market, were covered witli beef and mutton, the stalls averaging tliirty to forty feet in height. There was a confused hum of many voices, and coarse rough looking fellows in smalls and canvas smocks, with broad, scoop- shaped hats, rushed hither and thither with immense loins and quarters of beef on their brawny shoulders. Over each stall, and inside of the market beneath the roof, the proprietor or lessee of the stall has a small wooden edifice, with doors and windows and places to sleep for two or three persons. At each coiner of the market is a lofty tower, a hundred feet high, and in these towers are board-rooms and dining-rooms, and reading rooms for select parties, and at the base or bottom floor of each tower is a bar where liquors and hot coffee, bread, butter, and tea, and other refreshments are sold during the early hours of the morning, to tliose who need sustainmcnt. Two or three prety girls were behind each of these stalls, and were serving with great dilligencc and taste, the knots of butchers* THE HOT COFFEE GIRL. 439 helpers, cartmeii, butchers' boys, and market officials who stood in their vicinity. There are at least half a dozen meat inspectors in each market, and these men are paid one hundred pounds a year to examine and decide as to the wholesomeness of each and every pound or carcass of meat brought into the markets. To one of these I spoke and asked him if he had much trouble with the butchers in regard to putrid meat. "Trouble — Lord bless you sir, we have no troul^le here to speak on. Ye see, sir, the class of butchers as sells meat here in Smitlifield Market allers sells on commission. All this meat that you see a hanging on these ere hooks doesn't belong to the butchers. It is sent to them to sell on commission by the Railway Companies, and they do not own the stalls them- selves either. They pays one pound ten shilling and sixpence a week for five square feet of ground — that's about the rate they pays, and the City owns the markit. Lord bless you. Sir," said the loquacious inspector, who was dressed like a butcher, having an apron, and stood leaning against a large quarter of beef. "I don't know where all the blessed meat comes from, but I knows that the pigs come from Hireland, and a goodish bit of the beef from Devonshire. It comes to the city by the Underground Railway, and you can see the place down stairs where all the meat comes in the mornin'." At tlie breakfast stalls I noticed that nearly every one called for "two pennorth of bread and butter," and drank with it a bowl of hot tea or a smoking cup of coffee. The girls who served the coffee were chatty and lively, and desired informa- tion of me in regard to America. One of them, a little black brunette, queried : " They say, sir, as how that a young leedy in Hamerica can got married on nothink — if she's good looking and can cook. Is it so, sir ?" I had no means of satisfying her as to that question, and I left her as she was preparing a sandwich for a lumgry clod- hopper, whose eyes wore bulbous with hunger and exj^ectation, 440 MARKETS AND FOOD. and went below to the basement story, which opens by arches on the depot of the Underground Railway, and I found the entire earthen floor cut up by rails and platforms, on to which the meat from incoming trains is slumtcd and delivered. All meat delivered at Smithfield is of course dead, and no slaughtering is carried on in this market. Millions of pounds worth of meat finds its way here day after day, and thousands of men — porters and helpers and butchers' assistants — find em- Ijloymcnt here, their wages ranging from ten to thirty-five sliillings a week. Each helper is paid so much for every carcass which he car- ries into the market on his shoulders, and broad shoulders they have to be to carry those huge quarters of beef from the wag- ons which are drawn up in dense masses in and around the open spaces outside of the market walls. When this market was opened by the Mayor of London and other city dignitaries, sixteen hundred officials, connected with the market and the municipal government, dined in the central avenue, and two liundred barrels of ale were drank. This is a sample of a municipal British feast. Outside of the building are little houses or market lodges, built of stone, in which are weighing machines, where men are constantly in attendance as weighers of beef and mutton. For this service they are paid one hundred and twenty pounds a year. The weigliing machine in the little house connects under the middle of tlie street, wliere a platform is constructed, level witli the surface of the pavement, and when a cart-load of beef is to be weighed, horse, cart, and beef are weighed to- gether, and the total is placed on a slate, and when the helpers liave carried all the meat into the stalls in the market to be sold wholesale, (for it is not a retail market,) tlie horse and cart are again weighed, and then theirunited weight having been de- ducted from tlie gross weight, the actual weight of the meat is thus ascertained by this simple and easy process. I think that the Smithfield Market is the finest I ever saw, and its ventila- tion and perfect system cannot be surpassed anywhere. From Smithfield Market I went to Covent Garden Market, THE VEGETABLE MARKET. 441 which is a couple of miles distant, in Russell street, forming quite a spacious area. This is the proat vegetable and flower market of London. There is a market held every morning in summer,but in winter, mai'kcts are licld only on Tuesday, Tlun-s- day, and Saturday mornings. The market is owned by the Duke of Bedford, and was built at a cost of X 30,000 by a for- mer Duke of that family, forty years ago. It has a collonade running around the entire building on the exterior, under wliich are shops having apartments in the up- per stories. Joined to the back of these is another row of shops facing the inner courts, and through the centre runs a passage with shops on either side, in which are exposed for sale hcrl)s and flowers, and the most magnificent bouquets can be procured here on a fine morning in summer. Scarce and delicate plants and flowers are here found in abundance, and around these stands I noticed numbers of male servants and pages in the liveries of some of the best known families among the London aristocracy, barganing for bouquets for their mis- tresses' tables. The noise and hubbub around the open spaces in this market was perfectly deafening. It was noAv about four o'clock in the morning, and all the open areas were thronged with market-men and women and boys, carrying baskets and flowers in their arms, to and fro, chaffing each other or cursing and swearing with great good will. Immense vans and market-carts loaded down witli cabbages, onions, peas, cauliflowers, turnips, beans, parsley, greens, cucumbers, lettuce, apples, pears, parsnips, and other vegetables and fruits, are moving to and fro, some of them blocked in with the increasing traffic, the drivers, great big hulking fel- lows, mopping their perspiring foreheads and shouting at each other, as is usual among all cartmen. Women are hurrying hither and thither, making bargains and chaffering about the prices of vegetables, and meanwhile, it is almost impossible to hear or understand anything that is said. Tlie police who are scattered here and there with their tall helmets, goodnaturedly push and shove those who block the passage ways, and frown sternly at the impudent young rascals who excite crowds and 442 MARKETS AND FOOD. gatlicr small knots of boys against the breakfast stalls outside the market. Here and there around these coffee stalls, which arc generally- kept by old men or dilapidated and ancient -svomen, you will see a couple of drunken or half sober roysterers, who have been on the tramp all night, and have at this early hour of the morning reached Covent Garden to get a cup of hot cofTcc in tlic market, which will clear the fumes of the liquor away, before they stagger home to a fond and anxious wife or an unrelent- ing landlady. Wagons and carts have been arriving from a very early hour, and five o'clock seems to be the busiest time in Covent Gar- den. The houses of refreshment around the market are open at half past one in summer, and little tables are placed against the wooden pillars of the market by the tea and coffee venders, from which porters and carters make liearty breakfasts. There is no need to resort to exciting liquors, as the coffee is good and hot, and a baked potato, fresh and smoking from the oven, costs only one penny. Every few mimitcs, through all the roaring and shouting, singing, talking, whistlijig, and laughing, I could hear the clear voice of the Baked Potato man, vending his smoking tubers and shouting : "Tateshot!— all 'ot, 'ot! Taters all 'ot." His can with its steam pipe, from which issues forth a fragant odor on the morning air, is already surrounded by young street boys, who will run an errand for a penny, hold your horse, catch a flying hat, steal a cabbage or a pocket full of j)otatoes from the stalls with equal impartiality and energy.' These markets are the worst places in London for young lads, as there is always some excuse for their presence in the vicinity, under pretence of earning a penny or picking up the refuse and odds and ends of a vegetable market. Observe this young rascal now, who is surveying the Baked Potato man with an assumption of scorn combined with a profound look of wisdom in his fcatm-cs. His hands are in his pockets, his trousers are ragged to the knees, and his linen is nowhere visible — a miserable London street I n THE POTATO MAN GETS ANGRY. 445 boy — and jct you would imagine, to look at him as he steps up to negotiate for a potato, that he was tlie agent of the Roths- childs about to make arrangements for a loan. His age does not exceed fifteen years, and he has been sleeping in the purlieus of the market all night, as his ragged and soiled coat testify, and his hair is full of slimy straws which he has accumulated while reclining his head on a market gardener's basket. The Baked Potato man eyes him with distrust and timidity, for he is well aware that there is no profit to be made from him, and that he is about to " chaff" him. The young rascals who stand around are all wide awake, and await the contest with solici- tude in their countenances. " Taters all 'ot— taters all 'ot— 'ot— 'ot," cries the Potato Man. " Well, guv'nor, I see you're a keepin the steam upas usual. Vet's the wcrry lowest figger you names for the werry best taters, takin a lot — takin a quantity ? I feels like patronizin you, I docs." "Penny a-piece, all 'ot — 'ot." "A penny a-piece for baked taters, and the Funds agoin down like winkin ! Yy, I 'ad a pine apple myself out of a Garden this mornin for two-pence. Trade's unkimmon bad, guv'nor." "Penny apiece — all 'ot — all 'ot — I say, keep your dirty fin- gers away from the can. You doesn't buy anythink, I know." "1 doesn't buy hanythink, eh ? There's a hopposition can, too, started by a gentleman of my acquaintance" — here the yountr scamp put his thumbs in his waistcoat armholes and in- flated himself after the supposed aristocratic fashion — " in the 'Aymarket. He calls the can the ' Gladstone,' and it's a werry spicy concern, I tell ye. Don't he give prime taters neither ? They're real nobby ones, and plenty o' butter, and pepper, and salt. Oh ! not at all ! And its so werry resj)ecta- ble for a cove comin from the Hopera to stop and have a bit of supper on his road home. My heye, and haint the pro-prc-i- c-tor a makin of his fortin neither? Of course not ! Oh, no. But there 'ill be fun when he returns to his willa with a postchiy in Belgrawey in a few years." 446 MARKETS AND FOOD. By this time the Baked Potato man is pretty mad, between the pertinacity of his young tormentor and the higlily colored picture of his rival's prosperity, as depicted by the boy, and he tells him in an angry way to "move lion, hif 'e doesn't want 'is preshis neck stretched." " Wot, wiolence to one of her Majesty's subjecks, and hin the hopen day, too ? Move hon, hey? Oh, worry likely. I'm a standin 'ere on my Sovrin's kerbstone — a Briton's 'Ousc is 'is castle, and wiien an Englishman hexpresses his hopinion hon the subjcck of baked taters he's to move hon, is he? Conseke- vently I'll stay here." The "Baked Tater" man is now almost foaming at the mouth with rage, which is not lessened by the cheers of the spectators, who are, of course, on the side of the young orator. He is about to lay down his can and pitch into his torment- or, when all at once that young gentleman assumes a pacific attitude, after disjilaying so much public spirit, and says : " I don't want money nor credit, so look sharp ole feller and pick me a stunner from the Can." At this moment the Potato Man's countenance relaxes, as the boy produces a penny-piece, and while he extracts a mealy potato from his can, the boy proceeds to amuse his audience further l)y going through a series of sleight of hand tricks, such as shaking the coin out of his cap after having swallowed it, or thrusting it into his eye and bringing it out of his ear, assuring the spectators the while that he had spent £20,000 m learning these tricks, and now, when the potato is handed to him, smoking hot, he expresses his indignation at the fact that the butter is " shaved too thin," and demands that what he loses in butter shall be made up to him by an extra shake of the pepper-box. At last lie goes off to eat the potato, as the gray dawn breaks, and the man at the Can says : " Oh, my eye — he is a precious leary cove for such a young von." This market, as well as all the other London markets, is haunted with beggars who appeal to the charity of strangers /with Gi'eat effect. FRUIT AND VEGETABLES. 447 One of these sat up behind a pile of empty baskets, and I saw tliat his trousers had rotted away at the bottom from hjug use and dirt. His face was that of a prematurely aged young man, and his torn shirt and worn features bespoke real misery. He was deaf and dumb it seemed, and the manner in which he solicited alms was by pointing to the following sentence, writ- ten on the flag-stone before him with a piece of chalk : j I AM Starving. Help me. | A rental of about £26,000 a year is derived from Covent Garden Market by its proprietor, the Duke of Bedford, and the shops and stalls rent at from two to four hundred pounds a year. In the immediate neighborhood is Covent Garden Theatre, and all the little old rookeries of chop houses in this quarter have the smell of the greenroom and the rehearsal lingering about them. Here was, formerly, the garden of the Convent of Westminster. Before the construction of the present market this was one of the most dangerous places in London with its tumble-down and crazy old structures, where abounded people of both sexes herded together like pigs. The Convent has become a play-house, and the monks and nuns have been transposed into actors and ac- tresses. Where the salad was cut for the Lady Abbess in past times, drunkards now brawl and attack each other, and the flow- ers that would have been in the olden time plucked to adorn the statues of the Virgin or St. Peter, are now chosen to grace the marble mantel of some proud dame of Belgravia, or some gaudy and painted courtezan of Pimlico. The foreign fruit trade of Covent Garden is very extensive in pine apples, melons, cher- ries, apples, and plums. Pine apples "were first cried in the London streets at "a penny a slice," twenty-five years ago. To supply this market with vegetables alone, 25,000 acres are required to be cultivated, and about 10,000 acres of trees are necessary to supply its annual demand for fruit. The trade in water-cresses is immense and they are chiefly hawked about the markets by little girls, although, of course, every stall has its own stock of cresses. They supply the same want as a 448 MARKETS AND FOOD. relish for the Londoners' table that the- small red radishes do to an American's appetite. A man, curious in such things, has estimated as follows the yearly sales of this appetizing little green relish : Covent Garden Market, 2,000,000 bunches, Farringdon Market, 15,000,000 bunches, Borough Market, (Southwark), 1,000,000 bunches, Spitalfield's Market, 500,000 bunches, Port- man Market, 200,000 bunches, and Oxford Market, 200,000 bunches. It will be seen that Cockneys relish greens very much. A little of everything can be procured at Covent Garden. Here are peddlers of account books, lead pencils, watch chains, dog-collars, whips, chains, curry-combs, pastry, money-bags, tissue-paper for the tops of strawberry-pottles, and horse-chest- nut leaves for garnishing fruit-stalls ; coffee-stalls, and stalls of pea-soup and pickled eels; basket-makers; women making up nosegays ; and girls splitting huge bundles of water-cresses into little bunches. Here are fruits and vegetables from all parts of the world ; peas, and asparagus, and new potatoes, from the south of France, Belgium, Holland, Portugal, and the Bermudas, are brought in steam-vessels. Besides Deptford onions, Battcrsea cabbages, Mortlake asparagus, Chelsea celery, and Charlton peas, im- mense quantities are brought by railway from Cornwall and Devonshire, the Isle of Man, Guernsey and Jersey, the Kentish and Essex banks of the Thames, the banks of the Humber, the Mersey, the Orwell, the Trent, and the Ouse. The Scilly Isles send early articles by steamer to Southami> ton, and thence to Covent Garden by railway. Strawberries are sent from gardens about Bath. The money paid aniuially for fruits and vegetables sold in this market is estimated at three millions sterling: for 6 or 700,000 pottles of strawber- ries; 40,000,000 cabbages; 2,000,000 cauliflowers; 300,000 bushels of peas ; 750,000 lettuces; and 500,000 bushels of on- ions. In Centre-row, hot-liouse grapes are sold at 25s. per pound, British Queen and Black Prince strawberries at Is. per ounce, slender French beans at 3s. per hundred, peas at a THE jews' orange MARKET. 449"" guinea a quart, and new potatoes at 48. Qd. per pound ; a moss- rose for half-a-crown, and bouquets of flowers from one shilling to two guineas each. Green peas have been sold here at Christmas when they are deemed a luxury, for three pounds a quart, and asparagus has brought, in the same season, a pound, and rhubarb, a pound and five shillings a bunch. The cries of the children peddling violets are sometimes almost heartrending, as these little waifs are very often fasting for a whole day before they can realize a few pennies to buy their food, to say nothing of food for those who have sent them to peddle the violets. There is an Artesian well under Covent Garden ]\Iarket, 280 feet deep, which supplies 1,600 gallons an hour, sufficient for the needs of the market people, most of which is consumed in watering flowers and vegetables, or in giving horses to drink. There are elegant conservatories over the collonades of the mar- ket fifteen feet broad and fifteen feet high, for the preservation of the more costly and delicate plants and flowers. From this market nearly all the button-hole flowers which are vended at from a penny to four-pence a piece are obtained for the use of the London " swells." One of the most curious places in London is the Orange and Nut Market, in Hounsditch. This market is chiefly in the hands of the lowest kind of Jews, men in greasy garments, and having frightfully hooked noses. The Costermongers come here for oranges, nuts, and lemons, to sell or hawk them around the suburbs or slums of London. The market is called Dukes'- Place Market. There is a big, massive. Synagogue, a lot of ancient-looking houses, the oranges themselves have a cob- webbed appearance, and the jjeople are all dingy here. Tlie nuts are for sale in sacks, and the baskets have a dilapidated look. The Jews, in all countries, are an industrious and eco- nomical people, and in London, as elsewhere, they monopolize the most profitable and least laborious occupations. They are represented by lawyers, members of Parliament, great bankers, like Rothschild, merchants, like Solomons, and men of liberal 450 MARKETS AND FOOD. taste, like Sir Francis Goldsmid. The number of Jews in London is estimated at 48,000. Each dwelling around this Orange Market seems as if it had been partially consumed by fire, for not one of the shops have a window, and tlicy are comparatively empty, save wliere a crate of oranges, or a bag of nuts, are exposed for sale. A few sickly fowls, THE ORANGE MARKET. looking as if they were dyspeptic, wander here picking up crumbs among the orange baskets and nut sacks, and dirty, ragged little Jewish children, play around with great equanim- ity among the rubbish. The disputes among the loud-voiced Costermongers who come here with their little wagons and jack- asses, to draw their fruit, and the Jews who have all glib-toned, smooth voices, — at some times, when the oranges are chang- ing hands from sellers to buyers — are very amusing. There I saw slatternly-looking girls sorting the good from the bad fruit, and one big, tall Jewish wench, was engaged over FAKUINUDOX MARKET. 451 a barrel of common black grapes, plunging her dirty arms down in the barrel and pulling up the decayed fruit which she gave to a little child wlio stood by lier, and ate of them greedily from her hand. Some of these Jewish fruit-traders take in as much as .£200 in a day's sale of oranges, from Cos- termongers. Most of these oranges are sent to the Jews on commission. Years ago the Jew boys had a monopoly of the orange peddling trade, but now the monopoly is in the hands of Irish boys, Avho are more eloquent, more aggressive, and more popular, than the Jews, and consequently sell they more fruit. , Farringdon ^Market, near the Strand, on the sloping surface of the hill, upon which the Holborn and Fleet street stand, is one of tlie principal markets in London, though it covers but an acre and a half. The ground and buildings cost about X200,- 000. The market building is 480 feet long at the centre, 41 feet high, and 48 feet broad, and has a court-yard in the centre of which the wagons, and baskets, and market lumber, are placed. The court, or, as it is called, the quadrangle, is generally filled with vegetables and fruit. 28 CHAPTER XXX. SECRETS OF A RIVER. T had been a stormy night in the London streets. In the Strand tlie shopkeepers' assistants were luirriedly fastening tlie slmtters upon the win- dows of their masters shops, eager to escape the hurricane of rain which swej)t over the London housetops, and tore tlirough the lanes of brick and mortar hke an enraged fiend. Tliirsty souls who were draining huge mugs of malt liquor in the many publics along Thames street, looked out with scared faces on the river which was beating its sides angrily against the shipping and lesser craft. The waters of the Thames ran high and wild, and down in the Pool and by Limehouse Reach, huge ships bearing the colors of many nations at their peaks, swung and rocked in the seething tides, while black night and the angry shades of the coming storm gathered around their twinkling red and blue signal lamps, which lazily danced from their yards over the surface of the river, leaving faint streaks of light that were ever and anon swallowed by the angry waters. Boatmen were anxiously securing wherries and fastening them under bridges and by water-stairs, and all the while the clouds above lowered, and the sweeping gusts of rain stung the faces of those who were unfortunate enough to be in the streets without shelter. Shutters slapped and banged in and out, and chimney pots were whirled about by the fierce and howling winds. I had been on a tour of inspection, with a friend and a police THE STRANGER AT WATERLOO BRIDGE. 453 sergeant, tlirougli London during the night, and liad left the Alharabra at midnight for Evan's Supper Rooms, in Covent Garden, where we passed an hour listening to the music of the glee and madrigal boys, and on leaving Evan's at one o'clock in the morning, my friend had parted with me to go to bed, and I left him at the corner of Wellington street and the Strand, he going westward to his residence in Westminster, while the police Sergeant and myself called a cab, as I liad a desire to see London in the small hours, and Sergeant Scott had insinu- ated that a stormy night was the best for seeing strange sights. He little thought at the time liow truly he spoke. After some discussion between this veteran of the Old Jewry office and myself, it was decided that we should visit some of the thieves haunts in the Borough of Soutliwark, as it was about the hour when tliese night birds came home to roost, and of a consequence the best time to see their places of resi- dence. The first place chosen for a visit was a den in the New Kent Road, and to get there it was necessary for us to cross Water- loo Bridge. To cross some of the bridges in London it is necessary to pay a trifling toll, which goes toward tlic repairs of tlic bridge. The charge for each pedestrian on Westminster and Waterloo Bridges is half a j^cnny each — for a liorse one penny. As the cab dashed up to the turnstile at Waterloo Bridge, the toll keej^er came out to take his dues, a gruff looking fellow wrap- jx^d up in a big hairy coat. lie took the two pence grumblingly, and just at that moment I noticed a woman coming up to the toll-house in a gaudy looking silk dress, and having a soiled velvet wrapper about licr shivering shoulders. The light from the toll-house shone on her face, which was very pale, tlie eyes burning with a strange light, and the garments which hung to her figure were dripping with the rain. " Please let me pass," said she to the gruff toll keeper, with an imploring glance, "I have not a penny in the world — i)leasc let me cross the bridge ?" " Please let yer cross the bridge — yer 'aint got a penny ? 454 SECRETS OF A RIVER. Well wot d'ye want ter cross the bridge for then ? If ycr 'aint got a h'ai^cnny I thinks ycr as well on the one side of the bridge as the other ? Well go on with ye, I don't mind a h'apcnny, and go to bed as soon as ye can," the toll keeper shouted through tlic storm after the wretched woman as she dashed througli the turnstile on the bridge, and was lost in the storm and darkness of the night. As slie fled into the night, my companion caught sight of her face, and a hasty exclamation escaped his lips. " My God, tliat's Mag S , that we saw to-night at the Alhambra I D'ye remember that pale faced girl who asked you to give her some liquor in the Canteen ?" " The woman who seemed out of her senses or crazed, and who danced and swore ?" I asked. " Yes sir, the same — avcU that's her, and what she can be doing here on this bridge at this time I don't know. She used to be a highflyer once, did Mag, but her fancy man has left her, and I'm afraid she's dead broke now, at times. My eye, wot a temper she has to be sure, when she blazes hup." By this time we had reached the end of the bridge at the Southwark side, and the cab dashed madly by a female figure cowering in an alcove of the structure, the cabby swearing an oath as the horse shied at it going by. As the night advanced, it blew harder and harder, and the storm raged with great violence. The waters under the bridge rebounded against the base of the stone arches, but the rain had ceased. We were now on our route back to tlie city, hav- ing inspected the dens of thievery to my great satisfaction. While going and coming, until we reached the bridge again, the mind of my companion. Sergeant Scott, seemed ill at ease in regard to the woman whom we had met upon the bridge be- fore we had crossed. He was anxious and uneasy, and talked of tlie meeting incessantly, to my surprise. " Some'ow or anuther I don't like meeting that gal on the bridge, Sir," said he. " She looked a little desperate, and when they looks that way I don't like to see 'em near water. Its touch and go with 'em then.'* THREE o'clock. 455 "Do yoii fear that tlie girl will attempt to commit suicide ?" said I to him. "I do, Sir. You see there's twelve hundred suicides in London every year, and half of 'cm or more drowns themselves. The gals are more fonder of the water than the men. A man will blow his brains out or take pison, but a gal allers takes to the water. Why, bless you. Sir, we have as many as a hundred and twenty suicides lioff this here Waterloo Bridge every year. And this is their favorite bridge, this Waterloo Bridge. When they haven't got a penny in the world, and no friends, then they leap hoff the battelmints." By this time we had reached the toll gate again, and the cab horse was walking slowly over the stone floor of the bridge, making echoes with his feet. The bridge was quite dark, yet I could sec the buildings and spires on the London side piercing the skies, and the railway dcjiot at Charing Cross Bridge, the towers of the Parliament Houses, and the square roofs of the St. Thomas' Hospitals rising vaguely and in shadows above the river. There are stone alcoves on all the London bridges, which bulge out in a semi-circular form over the water on eitlier side, and they will each accommodate a dozen persons, should such a number wish to sit down and look at the river. There arc eight of these alcoves on Waterloo Bridge, and a raised side- walk runs along on each side of the road, of solid and smooth flagging. The middle of the bridge is taken up by a causeway fifty or sixty feet wide, and this causeway is paved with a sort of Russ, or ratlicr large Belgian pavement. Tlie cabby had stopjied his horse to give me an opportunity to take a look at the river. One boom — two booms— three booms ! The bell in the Clock Tower at Westminster rolled out over the river. Three o'clock of a stormy morning, and all London asleep. It was a grand and impressive sight, the dark river, with bridge after bridge girdling it, and nothing to be heard but the champing of the horse in the awful stillness of that lone hour. Hark ! There are voices on the bridge, voices passionate and imploring, that 456 SECRETS OF A RIVER. seem to shudder over the water and to creep through the arches of the bridge. " Let us get out of tlic cab and sec what it is, Sir, if you please. Tlicre's sonic cadgers a bunking in tliis vicinity, I imagines, "said the police odficer. We walked along the bridge for a hundred feet or so, but could see nothing, although we heard the voices still. " There's something wrong a-goin' on, but I don't know wot it is," said he again. We advanced still further, and could sec a woman's figure half hidden by tlie alcove which was across on the otlier side of the bridge from us. The woman was in earnest converea- tion with a man, who spoke in a clear, manly voice to her. " This is the woman that begged the toll-gate man to let her cross to-night cos she hadn't a tanner," said the officer to me. " Let's watch 'em," said he ; and feeling that it was an ad- venture of some sort, I silently acquiesced. We concealed ourselves in an alcove or embrasure. " Keep quiet, now, and we'll see something, sure," said the Sergeant. And we kept very quiet for a few minutes. The man was talking earnestly with the woman, wlio seemed half crazy with drink or excitement, we could not tell which, as we could only hear snatches of the conversation now and then. It was the man's voice which we now heard. " Come home, for God's sake, Margaret, and all will be well. You will be forgiven, and nothing will ever be cast up to you. I'll pledge you my word to that. Your mother is in the city, and your fatlier is dead. She has come up from Glastonbury to see you, and I've spent eight nights walking for you, and hoping to get a sight of a face that was once dearer to me than life, and is now even still dear to me, if it only was to see you reformed, poor, unfortunate girl. Come home, for God's sake. Make the attempt, and it will be all well once more." The girl was sobljing now very hard. The man seemed to implore her by all that had ever been sacred or dear to the lost WEARY OF LIFE. 457 girl, and she was evidently moved by his tone and earnestness, and the recollections that he had called forth. " He's doin' of his best, and we can't do any tliink more — liany of us," said tlie Sergeant, who seemed a little touched. " You talk to me of my motlier, Harry ? Wliy, I liave not heard tliat name in tlirce years. I thought I'd never hear it again. I have thouglit of her, too. But it's too late, Harry. The girl that my mother expects to see is the bright little Maggie, the school-girl who never had a hard word or an un- kind look from her. I liad an innocent face then, and was not afraid to meet her kind old eyes. But now, to meet her in this garb " — and she shook her flaunting silks — " I dare not — I dare not. Harry, I tell you it is too late. Too late. Too late." " It's never too late, poor girl," said the stranger, " come home at once, or if you'll wait here a moment I'll go and call a cab and take you home to your mother at once. Wait here a moment and I will get a cab. Wait a moment, Maggie, only a moment:" and the stranger ran across the bridge, up King William street, and in the direction of the Bank, where he ex- pected to find a cab. The lost girl was left alone. Alone with night and solitude. Alone with naught but her past life, which arose from the wa- ters like a shadow to keep her company. Alone and miscraljle, with the cruel sky darkling above her as if to shut out all hope, while the river yawned and gaped beneath, seeking an offering. God unliccded, her bosom cold as a stone ; no prayer to con- quer her anguish ; with memories of promises broken and tender words unsaid ; the passionate love of a fond mother given in vain ; and at last an atonement is to be made. The old, old story — betrayal, dislionor, and the grave. We crept nearer by some unknown impulse, to where she stood, and could hear her talking to herself, though we could not sec her features, or anything definite, but a weird figure looming up like a shadow against tlie balustrade of tlie bridge. Her voice, wliich had fallen to a murnmr almost, was like some forgotten music, the strains of whicli arc lieard in a dream. 458 SECRETS OF A RIVER. Who was this lone, wretched girl, and why came she here at this hour ? " My God, why should I go back to shame my poor old mother ? I never will. I cannot do it. The sight of her would blast me. And Charley, for whom I lost all, where is he ? In India, and no one here to-night, and I alone with my black thoughts on this spot. Why am I here ? What do I live for ? My life has been wretched enough. Why prolong it any longer ? I will settle the matter now and forever. Good-by, Mother," said the wretched girl, looking up at the sky, and before she could be stopped in her fearful purpose, she had mounted the parapet by the embrasure, and leaped with a shriek into the devouring river beneath. " By Heavens," said the Sergeant, darting forward and mak- ing an effort to catch at her clothes as her figure disappeared, " she has made a hole in the Avater with herself." At this moment a patrolman, hearing the girl scream and the shouts of the policeman, appeared upon the parapet. All three of' us dashed down the stairs of the old bridge, and it Avas the work of a moment only to get a boat out, which, fortunately, had the oars inside. In a minute we were all out on the river, and the tide running very fast in the direction of the Pool — after pulling towards the middle arch the Sergeant cried out: " Steady your rudder, there ; what's that bobbing up and down on the water ? That's a woman's head, sure ; she's got hoops, too ; that's lucky. Pull away, for your lives !" In a few moments we were alongside of the dark, floating object, and the patrolman, drawing his lantern out, threw its reflection over the waters, while the head of the boat was kept well up to the dismal object. The policeman leaned over the gunwale of the skiff and caught at the dress, and dragged in what he supposed to be a woman's body, Init was only a bundle of rags and straw, the refuse of some lodging-house bed. This was a severe disappointment to all in the boat, and we SADLY IMPORTUNATE. 459 looked at each other without speaking, for a minute. The Ser- geant had a scared look, and said aloud : " I'm afraid poor Mag's gone. She must have struck the bottom of the arches when she went down, and if she did, all's over and settled. Tlie tide's running fast, too, and we will have hard work to find lier." For half an hour the most diligent search was made for her body, hut no traces could be found of it but a bonnet and shawl, which were caught in some floating wood below the bridge. We left the bridge, and the cab was driven home slowly, after the nearest police station had been notified of the poor girl's death or disappearance. The Sergeant of the Police District said that he Avould have another search in the morning, and I remained at the station to accompany the police in their visit. A little after day-break we were on Waterloo bridge again, and even at that hour a small assemblage had gathered around some object at the Southwark end of the bridge, wlicre we could see the tall lielmets of two policemen in the midst of the crowd of carters and market gardeners, who were en route to Covent Garden Market, and had stopped to look upon the body of a woman who had been fished up from the river. Yes, there lay the body of the girl whose toll to eternity had been paid by her own rash act — stretched out on the cold stones, her garments dripping, her fingers clinched, and her eyes stark wide open. A young woman she was, but oh, how worn ! The face was pinclicd, and the long, silken lashes sunk into the eyebrows. The day was breaking in the East, but the policemen held their lanterns, which they had not yet extinguished, over the poor, pale features, and the grimy garments, revealing the long, matted, and tangled hair, and the stark, cold body, wliich liad once held an Immortal Soul, but was now all tliat remained of the gay, merry-hearted, lost girl, who had fully reaped tlie harvest of vice — the Wages of Sin — called by the Evangelist, Death. 460 SECRETS OF A RIVER. Last year, the number of suicides in London amounted to 1,160, and of this number 415 committed self-destruction by drowning. Tlie Thames "Watermen fish many a ghastly body from the River, and for each carcass — the result of their terrible trolling, they receive three pounds from the City authorities. CHAPTER XXXL INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH. EKY singular is the appearance of Leicester square, where are tl\e resorts and lodgings of the foreign colonists of London. It is the dirtiest and darkest square in the ^^ -^^^^^^^^^^^ city, "vvith the exception of some of the fields in the outer suburbs. On every side you may behold traces of the foreign element which centres here. The people whom you meet in Leicester square, if you ask them a question, will be sure to answer you in a strange tongue, or else in a strange gibberish of English or Continental patois. There is an acre or two of sickly grass in the middle of the square which is guarded from the foot- steps of pedestrians by a rickety and worn iron railing. In the middle of this patch of scanty grass is an equestrian statue of one of the Georges on an iron horse, the nose of which has been broken or has rotted off, and its appearance is in keeping with the buildings that tower all round it. The streets leading to and from the square are filled with foreign restaurants, and they are narrow and from theni all issue forth smells such as the olfactories of a traveler encounter in the back slums of Paris or Vienna. The buildings are shabby, the windows are shabby, and the people sitting at the tables, whom you may sec through the dusty windows, rattling dominoes and playing cards at little tables, are shabby. Were it not for the statue in the middle 402 I>-TO THE JAWS OF DEATH. RESTAURAJIOI A-iA..- carte: of the square, it might he taken for the Gross Platz of a Conti- nental town. Houses with strange names rise on every side, having signs in their windows of " Hestaurant a la Carte," " Ta- ble d'hote a cinq heures," and are passed in quick succession, and the linen-drapers and other shopkeepers in the neighbor- hood take especial pains to inform all the passers-by that their employees can speak Gennan, French, and Italian, and occa- sionally Spanish or Portuguese. The loungers in the square give "visible and olfactorj' demon- stration that they are not Cockneys ; their tan- ned skins, long moustach- ios, military coats, and brigand-like hats, their piilite and impressive bows, — all show the Frenchman, the Span- iard, the Polish exile, the Italian revolutionist, and the Greek wine mer- chant. The mingled fumes of tobacco and garlic, the peddlers who make desperate attempts to sell you copies of the Internationale, Patrie, Journal Pour Pire, and Piritto, all give ample evidence that you are in a strange quarter of Lon- don, The lodging-houses here are on the Parisian plan, and are let at five to ten shillings a week to mysterious men, who rise late, and arc away all day in the cafes or gaming-houses to come home singing operatic airs at a late hour of the morning. Polish exiles, Italian siqxjrnumeraries of the opera, French figurantes of the inferior grades, GeiTiian musicians, teachers and translators of languages, toutei-s for gambling-dens — all FOREIGN CAFE IK COVENTRY STEEET. \ LEICESTER SQU^VEE. 463 congregate Iicre. This is tlieir Arcadia — their place of meet- ing, eating, drinking and sleeping — and for a hundred years past it has been frequented by such parasites. Here m tliis veiy scpiare in one of the houses which form the "Hotel Sabloniere," lived Peter the Great and his boon companion, the Marquis of Carmaerthen ; and in this square they have reeled home night after night ; the master of all the Russias half-c-nizy with his potations of strong brandy and red pepper, of which he was passionately fond. Up yonder stairs passed Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, in her powder, hoops, and patches, licr train glistening under the glaiing lights of the link boys who preceded her sedan chair, to the wedding of John Spencer, first Earl Spencer, and Miss Poyntz — bearing a case of jewels valued at £100,000, and a pair of shoe buckles valued at £30,000, ior presentation to the beautiful bride. The old-fashioned house opposite was the abode of Sir Joshua Ecynolds, and the one at the corner of Sydney's Alley was the residence of "William Hogarth, the bitterest and yet the truest caricaturist of his day. Here nightly came Samuel Johnson with his huge bulk and big walking-stick, to dogma- tize with Reynolds, and with him came his toady, Boswell ; and here came Goldsmith to read his "Deserted Village" to his coterie of choice spirits — and here Frederick, the " Good Prince of Wales," as he has been called to distinguish him from all the rest of his title, came to die of a bad cold which he caught walking in Kew Gardens in 1751 ; and here resided John Hunter, in the house now occupied by a hmnbug keeping a Turkish bath. It is a place of strange, quaint mem- ories of good and brave, base and ignoble men and women in the past ; it is now the Alcedama of licensed vice, the fes- tering spot of all London. It is now a place where wantons expose their shame ; where social rottenness, winked at by the authorities, eats at the heart of a people who publish and read books condenming the de- pra-s-ity of Paris; who, in a pharisaical way, talk of the Mabille and the Quartier Breda, and yet in this very square is the " Royal Alhambra Palace," as it is called in the huge colored 464 INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH. posters ; and in the daily advertisements in all of the morning and evening papers of the metropolis, you may read such no- tices as these : " The Alhambra— This evening at 8 o'clock, ' Pierrot,' the grand ballet, by Mr, Harry Boleno and troupe. " The Alhambra — At 9 o'clock, the Christy Minstrels, by Kiviere. " The Alhambra — At 10 o'clock, the magnificent spectacidar ballet, ' The Spirit of the Deep ;' 10:15, Pitteri, the graceful and world-renowned danseuse, in a new grand pas seul ; 10:30, 'The Home of the Naiads;' 11:15, grand Spanish ballet, 'Pepita.' 'God Save the Queen' at 11:45. Prices: Prom- enade, Is.; stall and balcony, 2s.; gallery, 6d. ; reserved seats, 4s. ; new tier of private boxes, 2 guineas, 31s. Gd., and 21s. Closes at 12." It was a rainy, unpleasant night — such a night as is often met with in London — when I first paid a visit to the Alhambra. The streets were deserted, and few persons were out of their houses, and those who were out took to cover in the cabs, which went madly dashing by, or in the busses, with their ad- vertising signs, that were visible as they passed a lamp — the horses steaming and sweating, and the passengers inside grumbling and cursing their luck because of the bad air within and M'orse weather witliout. Nothing in the streets looked pleasant or cheerful, excepting the windows of the gin-shops with their briglit brass and metal pumps, and the gaudy placards giving a list of the beverages for sale in the "publics," where men and women of the himibler class were consuming large quantities of beer and spirits. Pass- ing through the Hay market, I went down Coventry street, and in a few minutes stood before the gorgeous, gilded fa9ade of the Alhambra. The building is about five stories high, painted of a cream-color, with minarets and gilt vanes and turrets in imi- tation of the manner of Owen Jones. The attempt to copy the Moresco style is rather absurd in the midst of common-place London. Indeed, it would be hard to find a Court of Lions in the building, and those who look for that most beautifid THE KOYAL ALUA:HIJKA PALACE. 465 feature of the real Allianibra will go away disappointed. There is, however, a Court of Female Tigresses in the gallery up stairs which wull compensate the curious for the absence of the Court of Lions. Though the streets were deserted, a large number of cabs stood at the front of the building and crowds of people were getting in and getting out of them. The moon peeped just then from a bank of cloud, its rays breaking over the disfigured statue in the square, and threw a faint dead glare on the flaunting women wdio filled the passage leading to the Alhambra ; the lielmeted policemen ; the porters in their black caps trimmed with red bands ; the noisy, swearing cabmen disputing about their lares ; the horses champing and biting, and the beggar boys and match-women who solicited languid swells to purchase their wares. It is the custom to give a penny to the men or boys who eagerly rush to open the door of your cab, and should you neglect them, they will follow until by wearying you they have achieved their object. There was a little hole in the wall, and a counter or desk, behind which was a sharp-looking young man, whose face seemed hard and cynical under the glare of the gas-jet over his head. Handing this man a shilling, I received a huge circular piece of tin, with a hole and letters punched in its sur- face. This was the ticket of admission, which I surrendered at the door to a big man in a red uniform, who looked like a Life Guardsman, liis breast being all covered with service medals, but for what service I could not tell, or where per- formed. Passing a wooden barrier, I caught a glimpse of liglits, a stage, and legs of ballet-girls — a noise of many voices came by my ears, a number of young ladies smoking cigarettes opened a way for me to pass, and I stood inside of the Alhambra. I found myself in the promenade, which encircled the ground floor of the house, leaving a large space which was railed in for the wives and families of decent people wdio wanted to hear the music and see the dancing and pantomime. To walk in and around the promenade costs one shilling. To go inside of the railing in the space — wdiich corresponds with the parquette '466 INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH. at Niblo's, only that tlie wliole floor is level and there is no de- scent here — will cost another sliillinij. I saA' a bar and a bar-maid before I got actually into the place from whence the stage could be seen ; there was a bar and three bar-maids half-way down the promenade, and there w'as a bar and two bar-maids down before me in tlie alcove leading to the Canteen, with a corresponding number of bars and bar- maids in the same positions on the other side of the house. All these bars had splendid bottles, with various fluids in them, arranged with an eye to effect, making it look like a vast apothecary's window, and there were bright brass beer-pumps all in a row, and pewter and silver and metal pots and tank- ards, and oval glass frames with pies, sandwiches, and all kinds of lunches to satisfy the thirst and appetites of the audience. The promenade was choked with men and women, walking past each other, looking at the stage, drinking at the bars, chafiing each other in a rough way, and laughing loudly. Al- though the night was stormy without, the revelry was high within. Perhaps in this audience of three thousand people, who filled the ground floor and galleries, standing and sitting, and eating and drinking, there might have been fifteen hundred women, all well, and many of them fashionably, dressed and gloved. A sergeant of police with me said : " If there are 1,500 women here to-night, as I believe there are, you may be sure that there are 1,200 women of the town among that nundjer, Sir." Twelve hundred unfortunate women in one place of amuse- ment — and half a dozen other places like this, but of an inferior class, are open tliis rainy, unpleasant night, with a like com- plement of wretched females recklessly passing the hours that intervene before the dens close at midnight. The crash of sixty pieces of fine nnisic falls on the ear, the glare, the gas, the tinsel on the stage, the well-dressed, fine-fticed women around cannot shut out my thoughts of the " Legion of the Lost " who are so merry, so thoughtless, so careless of the mor- row—deep in the fallacies of sin and despair. THE SOCL^L EVIL. 467 The men who are conversing with these women seem to be of a good class, and spend a good deal of money in refresh- ments and licpor upon their fair, frail acquaintances. These last are not allowed to go inside of the railing on the ground floor alone, but they do not care for that privilege, as there is plenty to drink outside and more of the company of the male gender. Whenever a woman on the stage capers more vigorously, or flings her leg higher than the others, the applause is loud, long, and continued, and pewter and metal pots are dented in the surfaces of the tables that are ranged before each red- cushioned seat. The comic singers are the favorites of the audience, however, and are always encored with vociferous enthusiasm. These singers get in a place like the Alhambra as much as ten pounds a week, as the proprietors know well the value of their services. The pantomimes are of the very best kind I ever saw ; the dancing is, of its kind, good ; the orchestra excellent and full in numbers, the acrobatic performances very flne, and the picture at tne close of the pantomime is really superb. Yet with all these excellences combined, if the Alhambra and every Music-IIall-IIell like it in London were suddenly scorched up by a fire from Heaven, it would be the most incomparable benefit ever bestowed upon the English metropolis, and a saving grace to thousands of young English men and women — both in body and soul. And the reason for this is that women are allowed admission at the door on payment of the price, without the escort of a man. Consequently it is, with the exception of the Argyle, and Ilolborn Casino, the greatest place of infamy in all London. It is convenient, in a central location, and were women not ad- mitted alone the business of the place woidd break up. The men under twenty -five years of age, who comprise tlic largest part of the male audience, would not come were these For- mosas debarred from admission. The performance — a first- class one — is not heeded. The chief attraction is the women. And are these women calcidated, by their manner, dress or appearance, to shock or warn people by their degradation? 29 468 INTO TUE JAWS OF DEATU. On the contrary tliey are cheerful, pleasant-looking girls, of quite fair breeding, and of a far better taste in their dress than the honest wives and sweethearts of the mechanics and shop- keepers, who sit in the place of virtue, within the painted rail- ing. These women are satisfied with their lot, and do not re- pine so long as they have male acquaintances or " friends," as they call them, to give them champagne, moselle, and late sup- pers of game and native oysters in the Cafe de TEurope, or at Barnes's in the Ilaymarket. Despite the arguments of those who have sought to eradicate the evil, these women, to any great number, never forsake their calling for the life of an hon- est working- woman. They laugh at such an idea, and will tell you that they could not do without wine, rich food, and costly dresses, even at the fearful price they have given to obtain them. Besides, there is no field open to them, and suspicion fol- lows every effort for reformation made by the few who have left the life of prostitution to go to hard Avork or service. They look down npon shoj^-girls and bar-maids with contempt, and many of them keep servants from the gains of their infa- my. Whenever one of these girls happens to notice a stranger who does not seem to know the place, she will not hesitate to walk up to him, take his arm, and ask him : " Come, won't you give me my liquor ?" Many of these women have had no education whatever ; still they manage to conceal the fact as much as possible, while others will tell you that they came originally from the work- house, where they were sent as children, and being thrown on the streets when grown up, had no means of making a living but that which they were compelled to adopt. I spoke to one ladylike girl who seemed to be rather abstracted, and asked her if she were not tired of her present life, and anxious to leave it. "Tired of my life? You may believe it that I am; but what of that. No one would take me by the hand after leav- ing this life. I am not such a fool as to jump frojn the frying pan into the fire. I get tight about twice a week, and then I come here and talk and drink more, and that serves to pass "WOTTEN WOW." 469 away the time. My friend is in Paris, and he sends me money when I want it. My mother is dead and my fatlier is in America. I don't know where, and I don't care much, for he never bothered himself about me. Are you going to treat ? " I saw this girl walk up to the bar ten minutes after, pushing her way through the crowd, and saw her toss oif nearly half a pint of raw gin, or " gin neat," as it is called here, without winking. Such is life. The detective told me that the girl had been one of the flashiest and best-dressed women who vis- ited the Alhambra until a few months before, when she began drinking, and rapidly descended, when she had to pawn all her jewelry. The songs sung in the Alhambra are not quite as low as those heard in some of the nmsic-halls, and chiefly derive their short popularity from the fact that there is a comic vein in each one. Sentimental songs are not so popular, and do not receive so many encores as the comic ones. A man came on the stage, dressed in the exaggerated costume of a Pall Mall lounger, who sang a song, of wliich the following is a verse, vdth a very af- fected voice and lisp, keeping his body bent in a painful posi- tion the while : THE BEAU OF WOTTEN WOW. Now evewy sumwali's day I always pass my time away ; Arm in arm with, fwiends I go, And stwoU awound sweet Wotten Wow ; For that's the place, none can deny. To see blooming faces and laughing eye ; And if your hawts with love would glow, Why, patwonize sweet Wotten Wow. Chorus : So come young gents and dont be slow, But stylish dwess and each day go. And view the beauties to and fwo, Who dwive and wide wound Wotten Wow. The chief merit in the singing of this song to the audience — was the affected lisp and farcical airs of the singer, who did his best to imitate the swells who lean over the railings in Rotten Pow, when that fishionable drive is crowded with equestrians 4T0 INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH. and foot passengers in the regular London season. The mob liked the satire on the aristocrats and relished all the local hits of the speech and the dress of the ideal do-nothing. Some- thing of a more grotesque nature, and more broadly funny, which was cheered to the echo, was a nonsensical song called the "Eoyal Beast Show," that seemed to please the men and women in the audience. This song was sung by a man in a l)lood-red scarf, a pea-green body coat, and green glass goggles. Tlie costume was indicative of nothing under heaven or earth that I ever saw before, but the song was exactly suited to the comprehension of the people, as their shouts of laughter tes- tified : THE r.OTAL BEAST SHOW. Come, stand aside, g-ood people all, and liear vot I've got to say. But let the little dears come liup, 'wot's going' for to pay. At all tlie coorts in Europe, we are reckoned quite tlie go : Then pay yer sixpences, and see the Royal Wild Beast Show. Chorus. The cammomiles, the crockodiles, and all that you could wish ; The mice and rats, and tabby cats, and other kinds of fish ; A dozen sjjhinxes hu[)side down and standing hin a row ; Hits only sixpence heach to see the Royal Wild Beast Show. The first one is the Kangaroo, you ought to see hint jump ; The next one is the Ippopotvmus, you ought to see 'is hump ; The third one is the Ilalligator, and he's such a one to crow. He wakes hns hevery morning in the Royal Wild Beast Show. The Donkey in the comer, with the Tiger hon 'is harm. Comes from Ilass-iriya, vere once his father kept a farm ; That Billy-Goat that's dressed in Pink and valking rayther slow. He's werj' iZarn-iraental in a Royal Wild Beast show. The cammomiles, lets foaming full of champagne before them. Standing at the entrance to the alcove, is a stout, florid-faced woman, ^'ulgar in ajipcarance, with incipient moustachios at the corners of lier lips. She is covered with jewelry, and her fingers, fat, red, and unshapely, glitter with diamonds. This is the famous " Kate Hamilton," who was at one time the reigning beauty of her class, aiid has now degenerated into a vile pander. She is surrounded by a cluster of gn-Js, and they are all in an animated discussion with her. The detective introduces me to this famous, or rather infamous, Messalina, and her first question is, " Will you stand some ' Sham V '' The next is to make inquiry about a number of New York politicians and sporting men who have patronized her den, somewhere in the Ilaymarket, while doing the foreign tour. She is most business-like and brief, this fetid old wretch, and has a speaking acquaintance with every man in the saloon. THE IIAYMAKKET BY XIGIIT. 479 "Wliile we are standing looking at her and her fiicnds, tlie room is darkened, the gas being ahnost extinguished, and a chemi- cal, light-colored flame irradiates the room like a twilight at sea, and the entire female population rush below to join in the last, wild, mad shadow-dance of the night. Around and around tliej go in each other's arms, whirling in the dim, uncertain, gmvejard light, these unclean things of the darkness, shout- ing and shrieking, totally lost to shame — their gestures wanton as the movements of an Egyptian Alniee and mad as the ca- pers of a dancing dervish. Then the hall is darkened, the band ceases playing, the waiters finish the remains of the un- corked champagne bottles, the women dash madly down the carpeted stairs and into the streets with their male companions, and are whirled away with the cabs, which wait in long rows before the entrance of the Argyle, to the purlieus of Pimlico and the sensual shades of St. John's Wood, at Brompton. The night has closed, a full English moon floats silently in the hea^-cns, white snowy powder hangs over our heads like a film of lace — the clock-tower at Westminster Palace booms out the hour of midnight over the dark sui-fiice of the Thames, and we escape from the bustle of that vile dancing hall with glad- ness. "Xow," said my conductor, "let's go down in the Ilay- market to Barnes's, and look at that for a few minutes, and then we will go to the Casino, in the Holborn, for a finish, if you please, sir." Down through Coventiy street, past the cafes again, which arc preparing to close, and now we are in the Ilaymarket, one of the worst quarters of London. This street is wide, begin- ning at Coventiy street and running down for a distance of about 1,400 feet to the "bottom," ending at the line where Pall Mall begins. They always say the " bottom " or " top " of a street in London, never "east" or "west." If there be a place in London that is deserving of notice, it is the Hay- market. Hundreds of years ago, the washerwomen of the vil- lage of Charing, just below us, and now one of the great busi- ness centres of London, used to bring their dirty linen here 480 THE "akgyle," "baenes's," and "casino." , to cleanse it, and then dry it ou the green fields in the Ilaymarket. The green fields of the Ilaymarket have long ago been cov- ered over with theatres, opera-houses and palatial shops, and now not all the washerwomen in England conld cleanse the immoral sewage that streams through the Ilaymarket night after night — through the snows of winter, the heated nights of July, and August, and the fragrance of May. Here, at this chemist's door, formerly a tennis court, Charles II., his brother, the Duke of York, Sedley, Kochester, and the rest of the wild, reckless lot, used to come to play their favorite game ; and here sat Mistress Gwynne, Portsmouth, Mrs. Hyde, Louise de Queroailles, Frances Stewart, and other dissolute beauties of the merry monarch's court, applauding the feats of skill performed by their lovers. In tlie theatre formerly stand- ing on the site of the present Ilaymarket Theatre, and opposite to Her Majesty's Opera House, with its long, drab colonnades and dark shops imbedded in the arcades, Foote and glorious Garrick woke the passions of all who were intel- lectual and noble in the Addisonian age of England. Here was the public house kept by Broughton, tlie cham- pion of England, who has been forever immortalized by Ho- garth — just off Cockspur street ; and here was liis swinging sign-board, having a portrait of himself, battered and bruised, in a cocked hat and wig, witli the legend on the sign-board — " Hie Victor CsBstus artemque repono." Think of a modern prize buffer attempting to quote from the classics. Gibber wi*ote a show-bill for Broughton once, which I reproduce, as a specimen of advertising skill : "At The New Theatre "In the Haii'market, ox WEnxESDAY. The 29th of This Inst^vnt Ai»ril, "The Beauty of the Science of Defence will be sho'wm in a Trial of Skill between the following Masters, "viz.. Whereas, there was a battle fought on the ISth of March last, between AT "baknes's." 481 Mr. Jolmson, from Yorkshire, and Mr. Sherlock, from Ire- land, in which engagement they came so near as to throw each other down. Since that rough battle the said Sherlock has challenged Johnson to fight him, strapt down to the stage, for twenty ponnds ; to which the said Johnson has agreed ; and they are to meet at the time and place above mentioned, and fight in the following manner, A'iz., to have their left feet strapt down to the stage, within reach of each other's right leg; and the most bleeding wounds to decide the wager. N. B. — The undaunted young James, who is thought the bravest of his age in the manly art of boxing, fights himself the stout-hearted George Gray for ten pounds, who values himself for fighting at Tottenham Court. Attendance to be given at ten, and the Jfasters mount at twelve. Cudgel-play- ing and boxing to divert the gentlemen until the battle begins. "]S^. B. — Frenchmen are requested to bring smellmg bottles." Think only of these wigged nobles and their clients, the boxers, in knee-breeches and wigs, going to a battle, and think of the Frenchmen who were compellled to bring smelling-bot- tles to keep their stomachs in order, and who will not say that eA'en in prize-fighting the Nineteenth century has brought pro- gress, as in every other scientific matter ? We are now at Barnes's, a famons night house, or, rather, an infamous night house, in the Haymarket. When the dai\cing places and music-hells of the metropolis close, this door remains open to catch all stray night birds who can find no other rest- ing place. The place is an ordinary drinking saloon, with a confectionery and pastry counter, and the attendants are five or six over-dressed young ladies, all of whom have their hair dyed of a light color, and are very free and chatty in their manner. These girls are well supplied with jewelry and lock- ets. Their salary is not large enough to furnish them with the trinkets, as they only get one pound five shillings a week ; yet they manage to dress expensively, and Champagne is so common to their palates that they have become indiftcrent to it and it absolutely palls upon them. Yet there is a percent- 4S2 THE "akgyle," "eaiines's," a^d "casino." age on every bottle tliat is coiisuined here, and consequently' they do tlieir best to sell Moet Sz Chandon at ten shillings a' bottle to the customers — and will even drink with them. This is a great place for rump-steaks and nati\'c oysters — ' late at night, and a good business is done here in those articles of food. The oysters are small, black, and have a bitter, copper- ish taste. A New Yorker, used to Sounds and East Elvers, j would leave them in disgust ; but Englishmen, whose throats are parched with the liquoi's they get at the Argyle and in the Hay market, prefer them to the most luscious Saddle Rocks.' There is a large screen in the center of the room, the bar glit- ters with costly mirrors, and behind the screen are a number of small boxes partitioned off, and having red plush seats. In these are several noisy women, inflamed with liquor, eating and drinking and hallooing at their male companions. One girl, IN TUE UATilAl UhT in a black silk dress, with her hair hanging down in disorder, is crying drunk at one of the tables, and has just spilled a bottle of wine over her handsome dress. She is cui-sing the waiter, who is also drunk, with much earnestness of puqx)se, and as soon as she sees the detective she halloos at him in a harsh voice : THE "lIOLBOEN CASINO." 483 " I say, Bobby, you don't want me, do you ?" I 'avcnt done nothink, although I wos wonst in Newgate for taking a swell's watch, which he guv to nie for my wedding present, as was just four year ago, come Micklemas Goose. I wish I could throw meself in the Thames, but I 'aven't got the 'art — " 'Hoh, my 'art is in the 'Iglilands A follerin the vild roe. My 'art is in the 'Iglilands, Wheresomdever I — go — I go." " All ! that's a rum customer," said the policeman ; " she's fly to hevery think. Now, hif that gal ain't watched this night, she is jest as likely to go to London Bridge and tlirow her blessed body lioff into the dirty water as not. They al- ways goes to Lunnun Bridge when they want to make way with themselves — it's so lively like." " Now," said the policeman, " I would hadv-iso you to make the finish at the ' Casino,' in the 'Olborn, afore you go to your hotel, sir, and then you may say you've seen the best of the bad places of Lunnun. The Casino is hopen till one o'clock to-night, I think, and we'll just be in time for the best dance." We took a cab again, which dashed up Coventry street, through Cranbourne street, into Long acre, and up Drury Lane, past the old theatre of that name, and in a few minutes we descended in the wide, open space of the Ilolborn, before the entrance of the Casino, the fashionable dance-house of Lon- don. The street was lined with cabs, and policemen were thick in the vicinity of the entrance, ordering the men and women just coming out to pass on, and keep the street clear, a duty which gained for them a great deal of abuse from the intoxicated women, who did not want to pass on by any means. The entrance to this place is through a gaudy, gilded vestibule and down a descent of four or five steps to a spacious marble floor, which was covered with dancers. The whole in- terior was gilded, gold leaf and white predominating above all other colors. The band, as at the other places of e\al resort, was placed in 30 4Si THE "aegyle," "baenes's," axd "casesto." the fjirtlicst end gallery, and was an excellent one. The leader wore white kids and the musicians white vests, and the crash of the instniments was almost deafening, filling the large space with a wild and not nnpleasing liarmony. Attendants in evening dress were on the floor, making up sets and solic- iting the habitues of the place to dance with the female part- ners, which were easily found for them. A high balcony ran all round the hall, which is 100 feet by 75 in dimension, and in the corners of the saloon, up and down stairs, were cafc-s and refreshment bars, which were crowded with customers. The entrance to this place is only one shilling, and the class of visit- ors is of a superior kind to those who go to any other dance-' house in London. The saloon was really a magnificent one, rich and tasteful in its decoration, and the women were well and neatly dressed, and very quiet and well-behaved in their manner. Every woman wore nice gloves, high-heeled boots, and all of them had the lace frill or nift* now prevalent in London around their necks. They also wore channs and lockets and gold watches, and every one was attended by a cavalier. The men were smoking cigars and flirting, and a numl)er of foreigners were present and danced incessantly, just as they would at the Mabille or any Continental garden. In tact, this is the only place in London, with the exception of Cremonie Gardens, that in any way approaches the mad gaiety of the Mabille. Still, there is a certain English decorum observed here, and any girl who would get drunk or lift her skirts too high would be expelled instantly by the master of ceremonies, assisted by the jx)liccmen who are to be found scattered all over the place. Some of the girls will go up and ask for partners to dance with them, and then, if the latter wish to give them liquor, — well and good, but they will not solicit it, because these women af- fect the fashionable lady as much as their Hmited resources will allow. They are generally the mistresses of men of leisure, and when the season is at its height a great number of men about town may be seen here, as spectators, who come GOOD NIGUT. 485 from the clubs or the Houses of ParKament, bored by the ennui of the reading rooms at one pLice, or the prosj speeches of members of the other. Some of the men dance with cigars in their mouths, and whirl around in such a wild manner as to cause collision with the other couples. Occasionally you will see two girls waltzing, and men who have sat too long at the dinner-table will, once in an evening, get up together and dance a " stag dance." But this is not encouraged by the master of ceremonies, as the dancing of a pair of male bipeds is not calculated to help the business of the place, and it is in- stantly suppressed, amid cheers and laughter. The music strikes up for the last galop, and there is a rush for partners ; the balconies and alcoves and luxurious seats and marble tables are deserted, and in a moment everything is in a wild hurly-burly and a confusion and uproar ; men and women galloping and bounding and yelling to the right, and to the left, and as the last crash of the big drum beats on the ear the passages and doorways are thronged with the dancers, every man crying for a cab to take himself and partner somewhere, perhaps they care not where — it is no mat- ter ; and now the place is in darkness, and the policemen having seen the last of the women leave the doorway, begin their patrol duty, whicli will last until day breaks and the stars ftill from the London sky, telling them that they are relieved from their night's watch. The detective shakes hand with and leaves me, he to go eastward to Temple Bar, and I to bed in a remote quarter of the great Babylon, whose noises and turmoil are now hushed into silence, excepting where a solitary street- walker, fomishing from hunger, or a drunken pedestrian bars the way, and makes the niofht resound with insane shouts. CHAPTER XXXIII. ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL. TIE best expression of Protestant Ecclesi- astical art in England, and perhaps in the world, is manifested in St. Paul's Cathedral, London. It is a stupendous temple rather than a church, and the reli- gious effect is lost in the interior l)y the number of tombs erected to admirals, ge-nerals, colonels, and other military and naval heroes. When Nelson ordered the decks of the Victory cleared for action at Trafalgar, he cried out to his lieutenant. Hardy : " Now for a peerage or Westminster Abbey." But Nelson lies in St. Paul's, and the tomb of England's greatest soldier — Wellington, is quite near his, under the same lofty nave. All the great Cathedrals and Abbies of England were built before the Reformation, and, consequently, St. Paul's is the best and truest proof of Protestant art in England. The yearly revenues of this Cathedral are £23,422. This does not include the salaries of the Bishop of London, the Dean of St. Paul's, four Canons, a Precentor, a Chancellor, Treasurer, Archdeacon of London, Archdeacon of Middlesex, 29 Canons who do nothing but draw tlieir salaries, a Diviinty Lecturer, a Sub-Dean, 12 Minor Canons, among whom are a Succentor, Sa- crist, Gospeller, Epistolar, Librarian, Almoner, and Warden, a Commissary, a Registrar and Chapter Clerk, a Deputy Regis- trar, a Receiver and Steward, six Yicars, a Choral, and an Organ- ist ; five Bishops' Chaplains, an Examining Chaplain, a Chan- "NVIIEX KKECTED AND THE AJRCIHTECT. 4S7 cellor of the Diocese, a Secretary to the Jlisliop of London, and a Registrar to the r>ishop of London at the Cathedral. Altogether ahout eighty ecclesiastics who receive salaries from the Cathedral, besides a swann of vergers, choristers, and ser- vants of all kinds the salaries of whom amonnt to at least £50,000 a year. Sir Christopher Wren was the architect of St. PanVs, and the first stone of the new Cathedral was laid on the site of the ST. PAUL 3 CATHEDRAL. old St. Paul's (which had been destroyed by fire in IGGG), in June 1671, and thirty-nine years atterward, the last stone was laid at the top of the lantern in 1710, by the son of Sir Christopher "VVren, who had succeeded his father as the archi- tect. As St. Peter's at Pome is considered to be the chief tem})le of Catholic Christendom, so is St. Paul's entitled to hohl the first place in Protestant Christendom. The whole expense of rebuild- . Paul's. St Peter's Feet. Feet. . 500 GG9 100 226 . 180 395 223 442 108 139 330 432 110 14G 40 91 84,025 227,009 48S ST. Paul's cathedral. ingSt. Paul's ^vas £730,752 2s. 3d. fortlieCatliedral, and £11,202 Os. Gd. for the stone wall and railings around the Cathedral. The architect received a beggarly £200 a year during its construc- tion, for his services. The same architect after^'ards designed fifty churches to take the place of those burnt doAvn in the Great Fire, and they are all standing to-day, I believe. The dimensions of St. Paul's as compared with St. Peter's at Home, are as follows : St. Length within .... Breadth at entrance .... Front without • . . . Breadth at cross .... Cupola clear .... Cupola and lantern high Cliurchhigh .... Pillars iu front ..... Superficial area .... The diameter of the gilt ball is 6 feet 2 inches ; the weight 5,600 lbs., and will contain eight persons ; the M'eight of the cross is 3,360 lbs. The ground on which the present Cathedral stands has, from time immemorial, been sacred to Divine Worship. There was a Christian church here as early as the Second centur}', built, as it is supposed, by the Eomans, which was destroyed during the persecutions of Diocletian, and again rebuilt, and in the Sixth century it was desecrated by the Pagan Saxons, who cel- ebrated their Heathenish mysteries in the church. It was afterwards richly endowed with lordships by Athel- stan, Edgar, Ethelred, Canute, and Edward the Confessor. The IS'orman barons, when they came, made a raid on the property of the church as they did upon everything they saw in England, and the Saxon priests, half frightened to death by such violence, had their property retm'ned them by Duke William, who gave it a charter on his coronation day, cursing all those who should molest the property of St. Paul's, and blessiny the mistake of the ringer, and thus the soldier was exonerated. It was for this sjime bell that Henry YIII. and a dissolute no- bleman named Partridge, rattled the dice one night; and finally Ilenry lost the stake. Partridge having won, died in the same 492 ST, Paul's cathedral. year in an unfortunate manner, just before he had made up his' impious mind to have the bell melted down. This was looked upon as a judgment of God, for in those days judg- ments of God were of common occurrence. The grandest sight ever seen under the dome of St. Paul's was the funeral of Kelson, which took place January 0, 1806. The body was brought through the streets from AVhitehall Stairs, with the King, Lord Mayor, the Lords of the Admi- ralty, the Princes of the Blood, the nobles, prelates and civic companies following, through densely packed streets, which were almost impassable, for all England was there in heart, if not in body. The bands played the " Dead March in Saul" during the afternoon, and minute guns were fired from the Tower and along the wharves as the body passed. Hardy, Kelson's post-captain, and forty-eight sailors, who had seen the hero die, surrounded the corpse, and when the body was taken from the hearse into the vast Cathedral, a clear space was formed amid all that great sea of faces by the Highland soldiers of Aber- eromby, who had been with Kelson in Egypt and at Aboukir. Above was the immense dome, and from its dark and impene- trable depths depended a huge octagonal lantern, encircled by innumerable lamps. Then came the words from the lips of the prelate who ofliciated : " I am the Pesurrection and the Life, and he M'ho believeth in me though he were dead, yet shall he rise again," the mighty organ bursting forth — and out of all that vast multitude went forth a great, tremendous sob as the body was lowered into the grave enshrouded by the oak which came from the enemies ship, and Kelson's flag, which he had borne at his masthead in victory so often was also about to be lowered, when suddenly the forty-eight sailors of his vessel, some of whom had carried his lifeless body from the deck to the cock- piit — as if moved by one impulse, closed around the grave, rent the flag in pieces, each man securing a piece of the sacred em- blem upon his person, as a testament of the greatest hero Eng- land ever saw, or ever will see again. CHAPTER XXXIY. GOING TO THE PLAY. HERE can be no doubt but that London is a QJty much given to amusement, and I question if there can be found another city which spends more money and with a better grace, to support music and the drama. It is very true that in a great degree ~ the cheap amusement halls of London are of the very lowest kind to be found anywhere, but then the reader must understand that the greater number of theatre going and music-loving people never enter these haunts, which have won so much infamy among strangers. I refer, of course, to such places as the Argyle, the Alhambra, Cremorne, the Ca- sino, and other resorts of the kind. I think that the Londoners as compared with the Parisians, give a great deal more money for the amusements which they attend than the Parisians do for theirs. Lately the French government has been compelled to build for the delectation of the Parisians, a splendid opera house, and be- sides the cost of this structure, M-hich was two million of dollars, the government of France pays the following annual subventions or donations for opera alone: to the Italian Opera 120,000 francs, French Opera 900,000, francs and 250,000 francs to the Opera Comicpie, beside 200,000 francs annually to the Conser- vatoire, where music is taught. , In London, however, the support of such places is volun- 494 GOING TO THE PLAY. tary, and jig state interference is dreamed of, save that of the Lord Clianibcrlaiu wlio is a sort of censor, and whose duty is chiefly to see that the ballet-girls do not abbreviate their skirts too much. The most popular and ladylike actress in London is Miss Keilson, who performs at the Lyceum, the Princess's and Queen's Theatres. This young and charming actress is a favorite with all classes, owing to her perfect skill as an artiste, and her reputation is with- out reproach. She is known as "Beau- tiful Miss Xeilson," and is of medium height, with dark, languishing eyes, in wliich the fire of genius burns, with a steady flame. Miss Kate Batcman, now Mrs. Dr. Crowe, is also a great favorite with the London- ers, and most de- servedly so, for she has not her equal on the English stage in her distinctive line of characters. AVho that ever saw the last act of " Leah," or the " Prison Scene " in "Mary Warner," -will deny her terrible power as an actress. The English capital is divided into two camps as to the merits of the rival comedians — Lawrence, Toole and John Baldwin Buckstone. Alfred "SVigan, and our own " Dundreary Sothern," stand high in the ranks of their pro- fession, and no English comedian ever met with a more success- ful triumpli in his OAvn land than that earned by John S. Clarke at the Strand Theatre in 18G9-70. French plays are very well ■ BEAUTIFUL MISS NEILSON. FULL DRESS KEQUIRKD. 495 received at the St. James Theatre — and I liad the pleasure of listening to Schneider, in "Barbe Bleue" and " Oiiihee aux Enter," who was supported by Dupuis, the celebrated tenor. Having visited many theatres in England, I can safely avow 'that I never saw an English comedy, or a jjlay dealing with English characters and English homes, performed in better taste, or with more fidelity, than I have seen like plays pro- duced at Wallack's Theatre, in Xew York City. Nearly all London theatres except the Queen's, in Long Acre, are dark and gloomy, and in the opera liouses, the old style of erecting the private boxes or logos tier over tier and then hanging them with red velvet, gives a peculiarly heavy look to the interiors. Besides, prices for reserved seats are a\\'fully high, and unless a man is the possessor of a pretty large private fortune, he cannot think of indulging in opera at alh^ As a proof of this I will here subjoin the prices at the ILaymarket Opera House or " Her Majesty's," as it is called. The performances were Italian, German, and French, Grand Opera, and ballet : Tariff of prices for private boxes: Pit boxes, 150 guineas for the season; grand tier, 200 guineas; one pair, 150 guineas; two pair, 100 guineas; orchestra stalls, 25 guineas; pit tickets, 10s. 6d.; amphitheatre stalls, 5s.; gallery, 2s. Gd. Opera on Tues- days, Thursdays, and Saturdays, and special extra nights. No extra charge for booking places. Evening dress to boxes, stalls and pit. Gratuities to boxkeepers optional. Doors open at eight ; j)erformance commences at half-past eight. These prices, it will be seen, are simply frightful. Then, unless you go in the gallery, you must be in full dress swallow- tail and white choker, which is not relished by Americans, and particularly by those from the back-woods, who are not very familiar with evening dress coats. Of course the large sums are the subscriptions for a season of perhaps thirty nights. At the Covent Garden Opera House, the tariff of prices is as follows : Private boxes: Second tier, 2^ guineas; first tier, near the stage, 3 guineas ; ditto, at the side, 4 guineas ; ditto, in the 496 GOING TO THE PLAY. centre, 5 guineas ; grand tier, 6 guineas ; pit tier, 5 guineas ; Pit stalls, 21s.; pit, Ts.; amphitheatre, 2s. 6d.; amphitheatre stalls, front row, 10s. Gd.; second row Ts.; all other rows, 5s. No extra charge for booking places. Evening dress to all parts except the amphitheatre and amphitheatre stalls. Xo gratuities allowed to boxkeepers. Doors open at eight; performance commences at half-past eight. In most of the theatres in London hideous old women or shabby looking men attend in the lobbies, and wait upon the people who have need for their services during the night, de- manding a fee for every trifling errand, and in a first-class place of amusement, a boxkeeijer would be insulted if offered less than a shilling for turning a key. And then there are terrible young blackguards who insist upon the stranger's buying oranges, walnuts or apples from them, or else he must take their chaif as it is given. But the biggest swindle of all is, that a man nmst jxay two pence for the programme of the play, or three pence or four pence, as the case may be, and yet I have heard Englishmen tell me with audacity that they lived in a free country. And now before I proceed to tell anything of the London theatres, I will give a table of the prices and the time of oi^en- ing doors, with the location of each place of amusement for the benefit of those who may visit London : The Adelphi, 411 Strand; admission, seven o'clock — 6s., 5s., 3s., 2s., Is. 6d., Is., and 6d. ; Astley's, Westminster Road, Lambeth; seven o'clock — 5s., 3s., 2s., Is, Cd., Is., and 6d. ; BuriANNiA, Iloxton Old Town, will hold 3,400 persons ; half-past six o'clock — 2s., Is., 6d., and 3d. ; City of London, 36 Norton Folgate ; seven o'clock — 2 s.. Is., and 6d. ; Covent Gakden, Bow street ; eight o'clock — Ts., 5s., 3s., 2s. 6d., 2s., and Is. It was built in 1S49, with Floral ILill adjoining. Its size, 240 feet by 123 feet, and 100 feet high, equals that of La Scala, the largest in Europe. Dkuky Lane, seven o'clock — Ts., 5s., 2s., Is., and 6d. ; Grecian, City Koad, seven o'clock — Is., 6d., and 3d.; IIaymarket, seven o'clock — Ys. 5s., 3s., 2s., and Is.; IIer Majesty's, corner of IIaymarket, eight ASTLEY S A^IPIIITHEATKE. 497 o'clock — Vs., 5s., 3s., 2s. 6cl., 2s., and Is.; IIoT.noR^r, High Ilolborn, nearly opposite Chancery Lane, seven o'clock — Gs., 4s., 2s., Is. Gd., Is., and Gd.; Lyceum, Strand, seven o'clock — 6s., 5s., 3s., 2s., and Is. ; Olymi'ic, AVych street, Drnry Lane, half-past seven o'clock — Gs., 4s., 2s., Is.; Maeylebone, Port- man Market, seven o'clock — 3s., 2s., Is., and Gd. ; Pavilion, Whitechapel, half-past six o'clock — 2s,, Is., and Gd. ; Prince OF "Wales, Tottenham Court Poad, seven o'clock — Gs., 3s., Is. Gd., Is., and Gd. ; Princess's, Oxford street, seven o'clock — Gs., 5s., 4s., 2s., and Is. ; Queen's, Long Acre, formerly St. Martin's Hall, seven o'clock — Gs., 5s., 4s., 2s. Gd., 2s., and Is.; KoYALTY or Sono, Dean street, Oxford street, half-past seven o'clock — 5s., 3s., Is., and Gd. ; Poyal AMPiirrnEATRE, High Holborn, ^vest of Ped Lion street, seven o'clock — is., 2s,, Is. Gd., and Is, ; Sadler's Wells, Clerkenwell, seven o'clock — 3s., 2s., Is., and Gd,; Standard, Shoreclitch, half-past six o'clock — 3s,, Is, Gd,, Is,, Gd., and 3d., burnt down in ISGG, is rebuilding; St. James's, King street, St. James's Square, half- past seven o'clock — is., 3s., 2s., and Gd. ; Strand, Strand, seven o'clock — 5s., 3s., Is. Gd., andG. ; Surrey, Blackfriar's Poad, seven o'clock — 3s., 2s,, Is. Gd., Is., and Gd. ; Victoria, Kew Cut, Lambeth, half-past six o'clock — Is. Gd., Is., Gd., and 3d. Druiy Lane, which was built in 1812, will seat 1,700 per- sons, and its vestibule and saloons are as fine as any in Europe. Pi'ivate boxes in the J^ondon theatres range in price for a sin- gle seat at from one guinea to four j^ounds, or from $5 to $20 a night. The Olympic seats 2,000 ; the Adelphi 1,500 ; Astley's Circus 4,000, and the gallery of the Yictoria will seat 2,000, while the Pit of the Pavilion, a murderous hole in Whitechapel, seats 1,500 roughs. Astley's is a sort of Hippodrome for spectacles, and is mudi loved by young London for the prancing of its horses and its grand shows. Astley's is at Lambeth, on the Surrey side of the Thames, and is in the heart of the democratic quarter of London. The present building is the fourth erected upon this site. The first was one of the nineteen theatres built by 498 GOING TO THE PLAY. Philip Astlcy, and was opened in 1773, bnrnt in 1794; re- built 1795, burnt 1803; rebuilt 1804, burnt June 8, 1841, within two hours, the house being principally constructed from old ship-timber. It was rebuilt, and opened April 17, 1843, and has since been enlarged. There is only one other theatre in London for equestrianism ; and the stud of trained horses numbers from fifty to sixty. Philip Astley, originally a cavalry soldier, commenced horsemanship in 1763, in an open field at Lambeth. lie built his first theatre partly with £00, the produce of an unowned diamond ring which he found on Westminster Bridge. An- drew Ducrow, subsecpiently proprietor of the Amphitheatre, was born at the Xag's Head, Borough, in 1793, M'lien his father, Peter Ducrow, a native of Bruges, was " the Flemish Hercules" at Astley' s. The fire in 1841 arose from ignited wadding, such as caused the destruction of the old Globe The- atre in 1613, and Covent Garden Theatre in 1808. Andrew Ducrow died January 26, 1842, of mental derangement and paralysis, produced by the above catastrophe. Covent Garden theatre is the second one built on its site, — it being a strange fact that nearly all the theatres in Lon- don have been burnt down from time to time. It was here that the "O. P.," or "Old Prices," riots took place in 1804, and continued for seventj^-seven nights, the management having made an attempt to raise the prices, but at last they had to back down before the popular storm. Incledon, Charles Kemble, Mrs. Glover, George Frederick Cooke, Miss O'Neill, Macready, FaiTcn, Fanny Kemble, Adelaide Kemble and Edmund Kean have strutted their brief hours on its stage, but now the house is entirely devoted to opera. Drury Lane Theatre, or " Old Druiy," as it is sometimes known, and was at one time called the " Wilderness " by Mrs. Siddons, is situated in one of the loAvcst quarters of London, where vice, crime, poverty and drunkenness abound, but still it is frequented by the best classes of the play-going public. Here, one night in August, 1869, I saw "Formosii" played to a very full liouse, the excitement about the Ilan'ard and Oxford race A GIN PUBLIC IN THE NEW CUT. 499 having culminated about this time. It was then under the direction of Mr. Dion Boucicault, who lias made and lost two or three fortunes in the management of theatres. All the famous disciples of the histrionic art who live in English dramatic history, have appeared during the last tAvo Inmdred years on the boards of Old Drury. In 1799 sixteen persons were trodden to death in an alarm which took place at the Ilaymarket theatre. ^ There is a little theatre called the Adelphi, in the Strand, near Cecil street where I had rooms for some time, and this little dirty theatre, which has a vestibule like the entrance to a New York lager bier saloon, has been very much frequented by Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. This royal lady has some queer tastes, and among them is a fondness for broad tarce or low comedy. She is also fond of the piano, which she learned from a Mrs. Anderson, and sometimes when she inlays she likes to be accompanied by two or three of the most distin- guished violinists that can be procured. The Queen used to sing, and in the old days, when the world was new to her and before she had been MddoAved, it was the custom at the nice little private parties which she gave, to have Prince Albert sing with her, while the Hon, Mrs. Grey, wife of her Secretary (and a lady who had a good deal of work in helping to compose the Queen's memoirs), performed on the piano. In every place of amusement in London, be it high or low, there is a place set apart for the Queen's family, so that should she take a notion to visit the most out of the way place, she may be certain of being able to secure a secluded nook or loge where she will not be intruded upon. In the vicinity of all the theatres of the lower grade in and about London, I found nests of cheap public houses or drink- ing bars, and toward nine or ten o'clock, while the perfor- mances are at the height of dramatic agony, these resorts are crowded, with persons of both sexes, who have slipped out of the amusement halls to get a pint of beer or "tuppence" worth of " jjin neat." Gin " neat " is gin without water or sugjir, and this drink is very popular among women of the lowest class in London. 31 500 GOING TO THE PLAY. In "Waterloo Hoad, close upon the Yictoria theatre, I saw one of these " gin ])ublifs," the doore of whieh were choked with customers passing in and out from the adjoining tlieatre. Tliere were negroes, Malays and Chinamen, with an ovei'flow- ing majority of Cockneys, in the " public," all of whom were A GIN FCEUO IN TUE NEW CUT. busily engaged in assuaging their thirst, or firing np their stomach furnaces. Not a little puzzled was I, to see women with small children in their arms, drinking alongside of sooty coal-bargemen — negroes, and young children, who had been driven by their miserable parents to beg coppers wherewith to IN THE GALLEKT OF THE "viC." 501 procure them gin. It was a dreadful scene to witness, and tlie smiling fiend behind the bar was ])ositively fat and enjt»ying the liaggardness in some of his customers' laces. I had been t()ld that there was a theatre on the Surrey side of the river, in which, if I visited it, 1 might find all the nn- waslied elements of the London democracy at lionie, and one evening I found myself before its door, after a long journey. This was the " Iloyal Victoria Theatre," New Cut, Lam- beth. The Bowery, in its palmiest and most glorious days, could not hold a candle to this histrionic temple. Its trage- dies and dramas of the highway robber and George I>arnewell apprentice school are not, perhaps, to be e(pialed in any thea- tre in the world. The Porte St. Martin, in Paris, is a mere training-school of horror compared Avith this, the most blood- thirsty of places of amusement. There were two entrances — one for the aristocracy of Lambetli, the other for the underfed plough-holders, or, rather, for the Costermongers. The aristo- cratic entrance had a dai-k, dirty box-office, illumined by a pair of gas-jets that could hardly find air to flutter in, so strong Avas the stench of men and filthy materialism. Over the door of the box-office was a sign, " Pit, Od.; gal- lery, 3d.; private stage boxes, 2s." The crowds pushed hard and fast to ffet an entrance. Thev came in swarms of fustian and corduroys, with unkemi)t hair, the bosoms of some of the costerwomen almost laid bare M'ith thot-shoA-ing and crushing ; the lads and men wearing heavy hob-nailed shoes, such shoes as are never seen in America excepting on the feet of emigrants, M'ho stream through the gates of Castle Garden from the waste of Atlantic waters — and these heavy hobnailed shoes did won- ders in hurrying the progress of the front ranks, by repeated applications to the calves and ankles of those who had the good or bad luck to stand nearest the door of the theatre. After a severe struggle, in which some greasy corduroys are ri})j)ed and several ca]>s lost, and a munber of babies squeezed — who are in the arms of girls hardly old enough, one would think, to be their lawful mothers — vre get clear of the mob, shouting, screaming, and whistling, and pass up the dirty, rickety 502 GOING TO THE PLAY. stairs to the three-penny Gallery of the " Vic," as the theatre is called by the class who frequent it ; and now a sight presents itself to the writer such as is seldom seen, and never in any city but London. I lost my hat on the stairs, and in the crush I discovered it in the hands of a mutinous boy, about a dozen steps below me, who threatened if I did not give him a sixpence "to kick tHe TUE GALLERY OP THE " VIC. brains hout liof hit." I give the truly amusing boy six- pence and the hat is flung up to mc much the worse for wear, while a young girl with a dowdy bonnet and a face sAvelled with gin asks nie in chafi'if I am fond of "periwinkles." The gallery of the Yictoria is one of the largest in the world, and will hold, on a modest computation, 2,200 people. THE CIIOEUS OF " IMMENSEKOFF." 503 Five minutes after I found myself in the gallery ; it "was crowded and not a seat could be had, for these people gather at the theatre doors, and fill the surrounding streets and lanes for an hour before the place is advertised to be open. As I have no seat and look rather out of jjlace, several cheer- ful young ladies ofier to let me sit in their laps, and facetious remarks are made on the different articles of apparel which I have on me. Being a very warm evening, nearly all of tlie males, men and boys, arc in their shirt-sleeves, and it grieves one to think that many of these shirts are sadly in need of washing, and not a few want repairing. The boys and men are liardly seated when they fall into something like tlie Old Bowery tramp — only that here they all seem to be acquainted with the same slang song, and it is sung by them in a loud, full, and not unmelodious chorus, with a vehemence that shakes the old timbers of the house. In the well-ordered pit of the Bowery theatre in other days, if I remember right, such truly scandalous conduct would have instantly been suppressed by the strong arm and heavy stinging cane of the brawny fellow who stood with his back to the stage, immediately behind the orchestra ; his watchful eyes suiweying every nigged face in the pit, and ready with his powerful arm to rain blows like a storm on the shoulders of the brawler. I should like to see a man with a brawny ann and cane try the same thing on the audience in the gjillery of the " Yic." I am sure he would be thrown over the rail into the lower part of the theatre, particularly if he were to interrupt a chorus. Many of the men and lads, who have their entire week's earn- ings in their pockets, are very drunk ali*eady, though it is only half-past seven o'clock of the Satiu'day night. The chorus which they are singing is that of a popular street and mu- sic-hall song, which every one is now humming in London. They sung it as follows : " Ha 1 my dear frens, pray 'ow de doo, Hi 'opes I sees yer well, Peer'aps yer don't know 'oo I is ; Well, tlien, I'm the Heastern swell. 50-1: GOING TO THE PLAY. My cliambers is in Sboreditcli, And I fancy I'm a TofF; From top to toe I really think I looks — Immensekoff. ImmensekoflF — Immeneekoff, Behold me a Shoreditch Toff — A toff, a toff, a Shoreditch Toff, Hand I thinks myself — Immensekoff." " Come Imp tlicre, ye lazy fiddlers, and give us our tlirip- pence worth," shouts an irate lad to the orchestra, who are scraping and rosining their instruments. " Yes, give us moosic for our money, old bald head," shouts another young ruffian to the despised leader of the orchestra, who responds with a wave, and then we have "God Save the Queen," done after the style popular in the Xew Cut. When this is over a red-headed fellow, with his arms bare and perspiring like the lower animal that he is, cries out loud- ly, " Kow for the next varse, and give us a good chorious," and then they all commence again : " Vith the fair sec', bless 'em, need I say — That hi am ' number Von ;' Hits really quite a bore to me The way the gals do run — Not away from me — but hafter me. Hah — you may laugh and scoff, But I can tell yer — that the gala Think me — Immensekoff. Immensekoff— Immensekoff." And so on for five mortal verses the Avhole mad swarm of dirty, ignorant wretches, keeping time with liands and feet until my head ached, and I went down the narrow stairs, while a number of polite young ladies inquired as I passed, "if I had been sea-sick." The descent to the lower part of the theatre was about forty-feet, down a dimly lighted stairs, and I found myself in the family circle, as it M'ould be called in America, the seats being of planed planks without cushions, while the aisles were crowded with people, as above in the three-penny gallery. I THE "terror of LONDON." 505 Here tlic admission was, I think, a shilling, and the a^^di- ence M'as a little more select, yet not enough to cause re- mark from a stranger. The door-keeper told me he could get me a seat in a private box on the stage for two shillings, and I followed him through another dirty, dark passage, my feet crushing tlie shells of walnuts and filberts, which here take the place of the old time peanuts. I was solicited to buy sandwiches of a very ancient aspect by several men, and pigs' feet and sheep's trotters by a number of women, at a penny and "tuppence" apiece; and a boy with a large flat basket offered me a pint of periwankles for " three ha'pence," " all fresh, sir ;" and finally I got into the box on the stage, which gave me a very good view of the en- tire theatre and its sweltering audience. Pit, circle, and " three-penny " gallery were packed with human heads, tier upon tier, in a manner that seemed to defy description. The walls ■were rough, and in some places but poorly pa- pered, and in the cornel's of the upper gallery, flirtation, small- talk, and chaff m- ent on so audibly that I could hear almost what was sjjoken, or rather cried out from the gallery, although I was at the other extremity of the building. Great anxiety was manifested to have the curtain hoisted by the unruly audience, and not a little shouting was done to make the fiddlers hurry up their overture. The piece was called the " Terror of London," and it de- picted the life of an apprentice who had departed from the ways of honesty to take up with bad companions in pot-houses, and was in four acts. The apprentice was of course the hero of the drama, and the author of the piece played the character of the abused apprentice. Whenever the apprentice kicked a police- man or threw one of his pursuers down a dark trap-door, there was great applause of his dexterity ; but when the villain of the piece, a snaky-looking wretch, imworthy to breathe the "a-i-r-r-r of heving," slapped his hands after the commission of a fresh crime, he was received with derisive shouts and yells, which he, however, took as compliments to his histrionic skill. 506 Goma to the play. The licroine of the piece was in love with the unfortunate and dissipated apprentice, and did notliing but clasp lier liands and tear lier hair at his "goings on." But at last she was roused to furj when the villain of the play followed the dis- honest apprentice to his mother's grave to give liim up to the police. The apprentice was discovered lying across a painted marble tombstone, and wlien the police entered, led on by the lieavy villain, the heroine threw her body between him and his enemies, and drawing her form to its full height, she de- claimed thus: " The fust m-a-n who places his polyuted touch on the form of my nobil up-e-r-en-tis, though he were doubly armed with the king's authority, shall find his fate on the point of tliis pon-yard." After this necessary outburst several more people were killed, and the whole concluded with the dying scene at Ty- burn, the gallows, and the culprit, the bowl of ale, and the ap- prentice asking his friends if they would not prevent him from dying a disgraceful death. Here he makes an attempt to escape, and is pistoled admirably by the villain, who is convenient, and who is in turn pistoled by the apprentice's sweetheart, she being also ready at the proper moment for action. Then the curtain went down, and a stout girl, with fat leg's and a green pair of tights, danced a hornpipe, which was loudly encored, the young lady being encouraged by such remarks as : " Do you want some kidney pies ? " " Kick up, Miss Jenny." " Don't mind the shoes ; we pays for that." " Tell the fiddlers to give it to yer 'otter — vy, yer not danc- ing at all !" Eveiy one in the theatre seemed to be on speaking terms with each and all of the performers, and, m some instances, the latter would answer the chaft' back merrily, an inces- sant fire of replies and counter-replies being kept up that was amusing, if not edifying. While the dancing was going on an old woman made her entrance into the box where 1 was sitting, and asked if "I didn't want some porter or "do you wajtt some kidnp:y pies?" 507 kidney pics." At the "Vic" it is the custom to eat during the performance, and drink porter or beer, which is bronglit by old women and boys between the acts, and sold at fouqicnee a bottle. Then the dancing girl retired gracefully amid great applause. She was succeeded by a comic singer, who sang, in a green coat and kerseys, a song, the burden of which was : '• Wait for the turn of the tide, boys. For Rome wasn't built in a day : Whatever through life may betide, boys. Why, wait for the turn of the tide." This concluded the performance, and the curtain went down, and the lights in the dirty lamps being extinguished, the roughest audience of the roughest playhouse in London wan- dered right and left, up and down the Xew Cut to their homes, or else they stopped to drink and drain in the pot-houses, or choke the thoroughfare to buy in the street market, which was now — eleven o'clock — at the height of commercial prosperity. Eleven o'clock tolled from St. Paul's as I repassed Waterloo Bridge back to the city, and the Thames swam and bubbled calmly against the stone piers of the massive bridge. CHAPTER XXXV. BILLINGSGATE FISH MARKET. /HEN a foot passenger crossing London Bridge looks down tlie river to the left, he cannot help noticing a little cluster of masts tapering up- ward from a series of small hulks and craft wliich lie quite near to each other, in the shadow of a long building of part brick and stone, the river side of which is open and crowded with people of both sexes from an early hour of the morning. This is the famous Billingsgate Fish Market, which has given or originated a synonym for blackguardism and low abuse all the world over. The market for many years consisted of a collection of wooden pent houses, rude sheds, and benches, and the business fonnerly commenced at three o'clock in the summer and at five in winter. In the latter season it was a strange scene, its large, flaming lamps of oil, showing a crowd of fish ven- ders and fish buyers struggling amid a Babel din of vulgar tongues, which has rendered Billingsgate a b}i\'ord for abuse and foul-mouthed language. Addison has referred to the Billingsgate fish- wives and to their quarrels as "the debates which frequently arise among ladies of the British fishery." The old style Billingsgate fish-woman wore a strong, stiff gown tucked up, with a large quilted petticoat ; her liair, cap and bonnet flattened into a mass from carrying fish baskets upon her head ; her coai*se cracked voice, her bloated face and PROFIT ON FISH. 509 her large brawny limbs eomp.eting the picture of the old Bil- linjjsffate " fish facj." This vii'ago lias disappeared and a new market building was erected in 1849. A stone river-wall was constructed where an old mud bank formerly existed and the surface was filled in and levelled to equalize the grade in Thames street on which the market has its frontage. Within, the ground was excavated and formed into a lower market, which has two subterranean openings on the river, for the sale of shellfish, oysters, muscles, prawns, penwinkles, and whelks. These shellfish are kept in large half puncheons liound with iron hoops. The market has a supei-ficial area of 2,700 feet, but the drainage in the lower market is very bad as it is below the level of the river. The upper market is open to the public through two large arched apertures, 400 feet wide, and below it is bounded by eigh- teen dark arches which are used by the salesmen as depositories for their goods. These arches are entirely without ventilation and even the market itself, thronged as it is for twelve hours of the day, receives no air but that which comes in a chance way from the already vitiated atmosphere of the neighbor- hood. The market is covered on the side next to London Bridge by a roof of rough glass. The light iron c<)lumns which serve to support the roof, also serve to divide the mar- ket into a series of narrow gang^vay8, and within these gang- ways the dealers take their stand to vend and auction the fish every morning, book and pencil in hand, and their aprons hanging from their chests to their knees. There is a clock tower on the building and a bell which is rung at five o'clock every morning to announce the opening of the market, and then is M'itnessed a general rush like the retreat of an army. The railways alone carry to this market annually, 15,000 tons of fish, besides the amount which is brought' by water. Five hundred years ago this market produced a rental of forty-six ix)unds per annum ; to-day there is a firm which has a small stall whose profits on fish amount to £10,000 a year, and the good-will of one fish merchant in the market, I believe, was purchased last year for tlie large sum of £30,000. About 510 BILLINGSGATE FISH MAKKLT. tlic same time that the market rental ^^'as forty-six poimcls a year, the hest soles sold for tlirce pence per dozen, the best turlxtt for six pence each, the best mackerel one penny cacli, the best 2)ickled lierrings one penny the score ; fresh oysters two pennies a gallon, and the best eels two pennies per qnarter of a himdred. AVilliam AVallace, the Scottish hero, was then a prisoner in the Tower, and Bannockburn had not been won by I>rnce, and the ink on the Magna Charta was hardly dry. In 1548, although tlie king of England was a Protestant, and the government a Protestant one, yet an act was passed which imposed a penalty on those who ate flesh on lish days. This was to protect the trade in the fisheries, however, and not to interfere with the private religions opinions of the people. The consumption of fish in the household of Thomas, Earl ot Lancaster, in the year 1314, was 6,800 stock fish, consisting of ling, haberdine, etc., besides six barrels of sturgeon, the vrhole valued at £00 of the money of that period I It is four o'clock of a summer morning at Billingsgate mar- ket and all London is as yet solitary, and the streets are un- peopled by traffic or pedestrians. The sight from London Bridge is magnificent on such a moniing. In the words of the poet who looked upon this same scene: " This city now dotli like a garment wear The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare. Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie. Open unto the fields and to the sky All bright and glittering in the smokelees air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendor valley, rock, or hill ; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at its own sweet will ; Dear God ! The very houses seem asleep. And all that mighty heart is still." Biot, profligacy, want and misery have retired, and labor has scarcely risen. As we approach Billingsgate, the profound silence of the dawn is now and then broken by the wheels of the fishmonger's light cart, which is proceeding to the market. The whole area of the market, brilliantly lighted with stream- THE OYSTER BOATS. 613 ing flames of gas, comes into xievr. One miglit fancy tliat the stalls were dressed for a feast. The tables of the Siilesmen, which are arranged from one side of the covered area to the other, afford ample space for clustering throngs of buyers aroimd each. The stalls appear to form one table, but the portion assigned to each is nine feet by six. Each salesman sits -with his back to another, and between them is a wooden shelf, so that they are apparently enclosed in a recess, but by this arrangement they escape having their pockets picked, a coimuon occurrence where there is a large crowd. There are about 200 fish salesmen in London and half of tliat nimiber have stalls in this market for which a pretty good rent is paid. Proceechng to the bottom of the market, we perceive the masts of the fishing boats rising out of the fog which envel- opes the river. The boats lie considerably below the level of the market, and the descent is by several laddei*s to a floating wharf, which rises and falls with the tide, and is there- fore always on the same le^■el with the boats. About fifty of these craft are moored alongside of each other. The oyster boats are crowded together by themselves. The buyer goes on board the oyster boat, as oysters are not sold in the oixlinary, morning market. The fishenueu and porters are busily engaged in armnging their cargoes for quick deliv- ers as soon as the market besrins. Two or three minutes be- fore five the salesmen take their seats in the enclosed recesses, watching each other eagerly. The ].>orters with their dirty can- vass aprous and their huge scooped hats stand ready with their baskets on their heads, but not one of them isallowed, however, to have the advantage of his fellows by an unfair start, or to overstep a Une marked out by the clerk of the market. The instant the clock strikes the melee commences and then woe to the bystander who blocks up the way — he is knoc-ked down and trampled on, and fish of all sizes are spilled over his prostrate body, while his eyes, hands, limbs and other mem- bers, are blessed with gre;it fervor by the porters. Each porter now nishes at his utmost speed to the respective salesman to whom his basket is consigned. The largest cod- 514: BILLINGSGATE FISH MARKET. fish are brought in baskets ■vrhich contain four; tliose some- what smaller are brought in boxes ; and smaller sizes in doz- ens, and still larger numbers, but always in baskets. All fish are sold by the " tail," or by number excepting salmon, which are sold by weight, and oysters and shellfish by measure. The baskets are instantly emptied on the tables, and the porters hasten for a fresh supply. It is the fishennan's interest to bring his whole cargo into the market as soon as possible, for if the quantity brought to market be large, prices will fall the more quickly, and if they are high, buyers purchase less freely, and he may miss the sale. As, for example, a boat load of mack- erel from Brighton sold at Billingsgate for forty guineas per hundred, or seven shillings each, an extraordinary price — while the next boat load produced but thirteen guineas per hundred. The majority of the fishing vessels are sloops and schooners under fifty tons each, and of tliis number the greater part be- long to ports on the coast as follows : Yarmouth 630 Faversham 416 Brigliton 60 Dartmouth 357 Southampton 193 Maldon 218 Eochester 363 Colchester 318 Dover 180 Rye 80 Ramsgate 170 balmon is conveyed by rail in large boxes, covered with pounded ice, which preserves them fresli for six days, and some- times in the summer months as many as 3,000 boxes of salmon are received at Billingsgate in a day. The salmon are sent to agents to be sold on commission at a profit of five to ten per cent., the agent taking the risk of bad debts, and the price va- ries from fivepence to a shilling a pound, according to the su]_>- ply in market. The best time to see Billingsgate is of a Friday morning be- BREAKFAST AT BILLINGSGATE. 515 tween six and seven o'clock. The regular fish merchants come first and are served first, and tlien their places are taken bj the Costermongers, or street pedlars, who buy the refuse, or what is left. Lower Thames street, above and below Lon- don Bridge, is sure to be crammed full of fish carts and fish porters running hither and thither with baskets of fish upon their shoulders, and it is noticeable that the lower part of every building is open and the spaces filled with fish of all kinds, chiefly smoked and preserved fish, which are exposed in large baskets and boxes for sale. The proprietors of these i)laces, some of whom do business in salted and smoked fish with every part of the ciWlized globe, stand at the doors of their wholesale shops with large aprons upon them, although their bank ac- counts may amount to scores of thousands of pounds. Up Fish street as far as the monument are long lines of carts waiting for fish, drawn by asses and horses, and around the monument may be seen a jjcrfect circle of carts guarded by ragged boys, some of whom contract to take care of a dozen carts at a time for a penny a cart, while the Costers are pur- chasing the fish. Formerly the consumption of spirits here among the buyers of fiish was very great, but now at a very early hour in the morning a hot cup of cofiTee with a slice of bread and butter can be procured at any of the numerous cofiee stalls for two- pence-halfpenny. The men and women are shouting and hallooing at each other as if they were mad. Old gentlemen who have a good appetite and come here to make a market for their fami- lies, are very often seen to enter the tavern called the " Tln-ee Tuns," which is in the market enclosure, and at which a fish dinner or fish breakfast of three dishes can be procured for eighteen pence. It is very puzzling at first to understand the cries, which come hard and fast from the mouths of salesmen and hucksters, costers and pedlars of newspapers, frequenters of coffee stands, and other trades people. " Xow, you mussel buyers," shouts one, " come aloug — come along — now's your time for fine, fat, greasy, mussels." 516 BILLINGSGATE FISH MARKET. " All alive ! al-ive oh — alive oli ! Ilan-soine cod ! best in the market. All alive oh ! " " Y-e-o — j-Q-o ! Y-e-o — here's your fine Yarmouth Bloaters ! Who's the buyer?" " Here you are, guv'-ner ; splendid whiting ! some of the right sort. "M-o-rning T-e-l-e-graph, one penny. Standard and Times. " Turbot ! all alive— turbot." " Glass o' nice peppermint ! this cold morning — ha'penny a glass ! " " Here you are at yer hown price ! Fine soles, Oh ! " " W-oy, w-o-y ! Now's your time — preguzzling sprouts — all large and no small 'uns." " II-u-1-l-o, li-u-1-l-o, here, I say — bewteeful lobsters — good and cheap — fine cock crabs, all alive, holi." " Xever mind 'im, guvner ; he'll cheat yer ; look at this 'ere turbot — have that lot for a pound — come and see — now don't go away, guvner — the' re preshis cheap, and filling at the price." " Had-had-had-had-haddick — all fresh and good." "Here, this way — this way for splendid Skate — Skate O — Skate O." " Currant and meat puddin's, a penny each and werry 'ot." "Here's food for the belly and clothes for the back, but I sell food for the mind " (shouts the newspaper vender). "Here's smelt O!" "Here ye are, fine Finney haddick!" " Hot soup ! nice pea soup ! a-all hot ! hot ! Ahoy ! ahoy here ! live plaice ! all alive O ! Now or never ! whelk ! whelk! whelk! whelk! Who'll buy brill O! brill O! Capes ! wateq^roof capes ! sure to keep the wet out ! a shil- ling a piece ! Eels O ! eels O ! Alive ! alive O ! ' ' Fine flounders, a shilling a lot ! Who'll buy this prime lot of flounders? Shrimps! shrimps! fine shrimps! Wink! wink ! wink ! Hi ! hi-i ! here you are, just eight eels left, only eight ! O ho ! O ho ! this way — this way — this way ! Fish alive ! alive ! alive ! I THE CAPITAL INVESTED. 517 " Fresh do you call these ? " says one who finds the price of a lot of sprats to high for him, "Look a-how they rolls Imp the vites of their heyes, as liif they ranted a little rain. I should say they hadn't a blessed smell of water for a week past." "Think I've been a robbin' of somebody?" says another. " Yy, bless you, all the whole bilin' of my customers hasn't got so much among 'em as would buy the lot — no, not if they sold their veskits." As many as two thousand persons breakfast at the coffee houses in the neighborhood of Billingsgate every morning, all of whom are engaged in the fish business. The folloAving estimate has been made of the gross amount of fish of difterent kinds, sold at Billingsgate market in the course of the year : Salmon, 750,000 Live Codfisli 600,000 Haddock 3,000,000 Flounders 420,000 Eels 12,000,000 Yarmoulli Bloaters 200,000,000 Red Herrings 75,000,000 Sprats, 1.200,000,000 Crabs 1,000,000 Oysters 500,000,000 Periwinkles 400,000,000 Whiting 60,000,000 Mackerel 30,000,000 Sliriraps 600,000,000 Soles 120,000,000 Lobsters 2,500,000 The capital embarked in this trade is something enormous to think of Salmon when scarce, have sold for tAventy shillings a pound. The market is the property of the Muni- cipality of London associated with the Company of Fishmong- ers, one of the most powerful and wealthy corporate societies in London. Fifty per cent of the gross amount of fish re- ceived at Billingsgate market is purchased by the Coster- mongers and sold from carts in the streets, at a small profit to the pedlars. 32 CHAPTEK XXXVL THE INNS OF COURT. HERE are four Inns of Conrt in London and thirteen Inns of Cliancery. Tlie Inns of Court are the Middle Temple, Inner Tem- ple, Lincoln's Inn, and Gray's Inn. The Inns of Chancery are Barnard's Inn, Hol- born; Clement's Inn, Strand; Cliiford's Inn, Fleet street ; Fnrnival's Inn, between Brook street and Leather lane ; Lyon's Inn, Strand; New Inn, Wyeh street; Sergeant's Inn, Chancery lane; Staple Inn, Ilolborn ; Sergeant's Inn, Fleet street; Sy- mond's Inn, Chancery Inn, and Thavie's Inn, 56 and 57 Hol- born Hill. These Inns of Conrt and Chancery are large boarding-honses or hotels ; and in the middle ages, they were called " inns" or "hostels," where students in law and Chancery were taught the legal science and ate their meals while living as students at a common table as in college. This is called " dining in hall,"^ and certain rules and regulations are prescribed so that the aspiring student may not expect to have the license of the American boarding-house, being in fact in a state of pupilage as was in- tended by the founders of the splendid (for I cannot use any other term) Inns of Court. In the old days of the York and Lancaster factions, the Ser- o-eants and " apprentices at law," as the students were called, each had their pillars in Old St. Paul's, and at the foot of the pillar the student, half kneeling, heard his client's case and jotted down the points on his tablet. GRAY S INN G.iKDENS. 519 The four Inns of Court were frequented 1)y sons of wealthy commoners and the nobility, while the Inns of Chancery liad for pupils and boarders, the sons of merchants and tradesmen, who had not the means of paying the expenses of tlie Inns of Court which amounted to twenty marks, annually, a large sum in those days. About 8,000 students attend the Inns of Court and Chan- cery in London, and it is a very strange sight to see the dark chambers in some of these ancient Inns with their old fashioned, medigeval architecture, parapets, gate-ways, unillumined win- dows, courts, and passages, amidst one of the very busiest spots in London. Go inside of one of these courts and you shall no longer hear the sullen roar of the city, or the clatter of the omnibusses, nor the incessant and deafening din of hawkers and street pedlars. A monastic silence reigns, and in the grass-grown square of Lincoln's Inn, all is silent as the grave, and in the dim pas- sages of Clifford's and Clement's Inns, it is \'ery difficult to be- lieve that the densely -packed Strand and thronged Fleet street are so near. During Elizabeth's reign, alms were distributed twice a week at the gate of Gray's Inn, and James I. signified that none but gentlemen of descent and blood should be admitted to matriculate. The "Reader," a lazy official of Gray's had a lib- eral allowance of wine and venison for which sixpence and eightpence were paid per mess, and eggs and green sauce were breakfast dishes on Lenten day. Beer was then only six shil- lings a barrel. Caps were worn at supper by order, and hats and boots and spurs, and standing with the back to the fire in the hall were forbidden the students under penalty. Dice and cards were only allowed at Christmas. Two students slept in a bed and Coke and Littleton are said to have been at one time bed-fellows. Gray's Inn Gardens was one of the most pleasant places in London in the old days long agone, and during the reign of Charles I., it was frequented as a place of assignation. The principal entrance to Gray's Inn is from Ilolborn by a gate- 620 THE INXS OF COURT. way, a fine specimen of l)rick-work of 1542. The hall of Lin- coln's Inn lias an open oak roof, divided into seven bays by gothic arched ribs, the spandrils and pendants richly canned ; in the centre is an open louvre, which is pinnacled externally. The interior is nchly wainscoted, decorated with Tuscan col- umns, and the windows are of stained glass, gorgeously emblazoned. TJie library' 80 feet long, 40 feet wide, and 44 feet high has an open oak roof, with separate apartments for study, and iron balconies running around the book-cases. LINCOLN S INN. There are in this apartment five stained glass windows, and a collection of valuable law books and MSS. to the number of 25,000. On either side of the dais of the dining hall beneath the lofty oriel window in Lincoln's Inn, is a side-board for the upper or " benchers' " table who are the high authorities of the place ; the other tables are arranged in graduation, two cross- Lincoln's inn. 521 wise and five along the hall for the barristers and stndcnts who dine here every day during term ; the average nunil)er is 200 ; and of those who dine on one day or another during the term " keeping commons," there are about 500 students. The new hall of Lincoln's Inn, just completed and equal to anything in England, is situated on the site of the old hall, be- tween Middle Temple Cloister and Crown Office-row. It is of the Perpendicular Gothic style, faced externally with Portland stone and internally with Bath. Tlie building projects towards the gardens li feet more than the old hall, which measured 70 feet by 20 feet; the new hall being 93 feet l)y 41 feet. Its floor above the pavement-level, and the basement is occupied by the various offices recpiired for the officials. In rebuilding their hall, the "Benchers" have availed themselves of the oppor- tunity to extend and improve the domestic offices ; to provide commodious robing-rooms, and lavatories for the use of mem- bers and of students and to obtain better clerks' offices. New offices have also been built for the treasurer, and the Parliament Chamber has been increased in size. The interior of the hall is panelled, to the heiglit of nine feet, with a very handsome wainscot dado ; the panels with cinquefoil cusp heads, surmounted by an embattled cornice — a magnificent spec- imen of joiner's M'ork. The Parliament Chamber, attached to the hall eastward, has been considerably altered and improved — this is what may be called the drawing-room attached to the hall, where the " Benchers " retire for dessert. The kitchen is attached at the west end, and fitted up with the latest mod- ern appliances. The hall is to be heated with hot water and lighted M'ith sun-burners, and very handsome ornamental gas- brackets have also been introduced on the side walls. Lincoln's Inn occupied the site of the Convent of Blackfriars, which was built 1)V Lacy, Earl of Lincoln. Among the famous students of the ]\Iiddle Temple, were Edmund Burke, Bul- strode Whitelocke, Wycherley and Congreve, Sir William Blackstone, Lord Chancellors Eldon and Stowell, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, and Oliver Goldsmith. The number of students in the reign of Henry YI. Avere : 622 THE INNS OF COURT. Four Inns of Court, eacli 200 — 800 ; ten Inns of Chancer}-, each lOo — 1000 ; total 1800. To-day there are in the four Inns of Court alone, 4500 students. In Gray's Inn lived Dr. Eawlinson, " Tom Folio " of the " Tatler," m-Iio stutled four chambers so full of books that he was compelled to sleep in the passage. How to become a lawyer is the only science studied in the Inns of Court, and the manner of doing it is as I shall describe. The four Inns of Court, viz : the Middle and Inner Temples, Lin- coln's Inn, and Gray's Inn, have exclusively the power of con- ferring the degree of Barrister-at-Law, requsite for practising as an advocate or counsel in the superior courts. Lincoln's Inn is generally preferred by students who contemplate the Equity Bar ; it being the locality of Equity Counsel and Conveyancers, and of Equity Courts or Courts of Chancery. If the student de- sign to practise the common law, either immediately as an ad- vocate at "Westminster, the assizes, and sessions, or as a special pleader (a learned person who, having kept his terms, is al- lowed to draw legal forms and pleadings, though not actually at the bar), his choice lies usually between the Inner Temple, the Middle Temple, and Gray's Inn, though he may adopt Lincoln's Inn. The Inner Temple, from its formerly insisting on a classical examination before admission, became more ex- clusive than the Middle Temple or Gray's Inn. Gray's Inn is numerously attended by Irish students, and has produced some of the greatest kuninaries at the Irish Bar, including Daniel O'Connell. To procure admission to either of these Inns, the student must obtain the certificate of two barristers, coupled in the Middle Temple with that of a Bencher, to the effect that the applicant is a fit person to be received into the Inn, for the purpose of being called to the Bar. Once admitted, the stu- dent has the use of the library, and is entitled to a seat in the church or chapel of the Inn, and to have his name set down tor chambers. lie is then required to keep " commons," by dining in the hall for twelve terms (four terms occur each year), on commenc- "dinner in hall" 523 ing which, he must deposit -with the treasurer £100, to be re- tained with interest until he is " called" ; but members of the Universities are exempt from this deposit. The student must also sign a bond with sureties for the payment of his commons and term-fees. In all the Inns no person can be called unless he is above twenty-one years of age and of three years' standing as a student. The " call " is made by the Benchers in council ; after which the student becomes a barrister, and takes the usual oath at Westminster. In certain Inns, hoAvever, the stu- dent must, before his call, attend certain lectures, which are a revival of the old readings, witliout their festivities. To witness one of the " Hall Dinners " is enough to brine back the days of chivalry to one's mind. There is the lofty, grand Gothic roof, the long tables, the grace before meat, which is oftered by the " Reader," the magnificent windows of stained glass, which project a thousand varied hues on the faces of the students, and the grave features of the Benchers who sit aloft on the dais. At five or half-past five o'clock, the barristers, students and other members, in their gOM'ns, having assembled in the hall, the Benchers enter in procession to the dais ; the steward strikes the table three times, grace is said by the treasurer or senior Bencher present, and the dinner commences; the Benchers ob- serve somewhat more style at their table than the otlier mem- bers do at theirs ; the general repast is a tureen of soup, a joint of meat, a tart, and cheese, to each mess consisting of four per- sons ; each mess is also allowed a bottle of port-wine. The din- ner over, the Benchers, after grace, retire to their om'u apart- ments. At the Inner Temple, on May 29, a gold cup of " sack " is handed to each member, who drinks to the hap])}' res- toration of Charles 11. At Gray's Inn a similar custom pre- vails, but the toast is the memory of Queen Elizabeth. The Inner Temple Ilall waiters are called "panniers," from "pan- arii" who attended the Knights Templars. x\t both Temples the form of the dinner resembles the repasts of the military monks ; the Benchers on the dais representing the "knights ;" the barristers the "freres," or brethren; and the students, the 524 THE INNS OF COUKT. " novices." The Middle Temple still bears the arms of the Knights Templars, viz., the figure of the Holy Lamb. The entrance expenses at the Inner Temple (the average of the costs at other Inns), are £40 lis. 5d., of which £25 Is. 3d. is for the stamp ; on call, £82 12s., of which £52 2s. 6d. is for the stamp ; total, £123 3s. The commons bill is about £12 an- nually. Of Clement's Inn in the Strand which is just the same Clem- ent's Inn as it was when Shakspeare lived, that poet speaks as follows in the second part of Henry IV.: Shallow. I was once of Clement's Inn, where, I think, they will talk of mad Shallow yet. Silence. You were called lusty Shallow, then, cousin. Shalloio. By the mass, I was called any thing; and I would have done any thing indeed, and roundly too. There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire, and Black George Barnes of Staffordshire, and Francis Pickbone, and Will Squele, a Cotswold man ; you had not four such swinge-buck- lers in all the Inns of Court again. Then Shallow tells of Sir John Falstaff breaking " Skogan's head at the court-gate when he was a crack not thus high ; and the very same day did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray's Inn. Shalloiv. Oh, Sir John, do you remember since we lay all night in the AVindmill in St. George's Fields? Falstaff. AVe have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow. Shallow. I remember at Mile-End Green (when I lay at Clement's Inn), I was then "Sir Dagonet" in Arthur's Show." Then Falstaff says of Shallow: "I do remember him at Clement's Inn, like a man made after supper of a cheese- paring." Before a student can enter an Inn of Court and eat his first dinner, he must deposit £100 as security that he will pay for the rest of his dinners. No student is allowed to keep a " term " unless he has been three days in " hall " when grace is said at dinner. IRISH STUDEXTS. 525 No person in trade or in deacon's orders, or one who has been a conveyancer's clerk, can be admitted at all, so strict are the rules. No gentleman can be called to the bar by any of these Inns which are corporate and chartered bodies, before having been a member or student of his Inn for five years, unless that he is a Bachelor of Laws, or a Master of Arts of the Univer- sities of Oxford, Dublin, or Cambridge, when three years is the period required. No one can be calle.d to the bar until his name and description have been put up on the screen in the hall of the Inn to which he belongs for a fortnight previous to his call, and communicated to all the other societies. Irish students must keep eight terms in one of the English Inns, as well as nine in the King's Inns, Dublin, before they can be called to the Irish bar. Irish students may keep terms in London and Dublin alter- nately, or in any other order they may think proper. Gray's Inn is the favorite Inn of Irish students, for the reason that discipline is not so strict as in the Inner or Middle Temple, or Lincoln's Inn, and, besides, no charge is made for " absent commons," or being away from the dinners, while in the other Inns the student is charged for his meals in any case. CHAPTER XXXVII. THE BANK OF ENGLAND AND THE MINT. HE Bank of England is the greatest moneyed institution in the world. It is situated in the very heart of the City of London, op- posite the Royal Exchange and the Mansion House, and is composed of an insulated mass of stone buildings and courts cover- ing four acres of ground, bounded by Prin- ces's street, west ; Lothbury, north ; Bartholomew Lane, east ; and Threadneedle street, south. Its exterior measurements are 365 feet south, 410 feet north, 245 feet east, and 440 feet west. "Within this area are nine open courts, a magnificent Rotunda, numerous public offices, court and committee rooms, an ar- mory, engraving and printing offices, a library, apartments for officers' servants, beadles, detectives, porters, and messengers. During the No-Popery riots of 1780, the Bank was attacked by the mob, when Wilkes rushed out of the building and seized some of the ringleaders. The Bank was defended by the reg- ulars, the City Volunteers, and the Clerks of tlie establish- ment, who melted their leaden inkstands into bullets. For ninety years since tliat terrible night, the bank has been guarded by a company of foot soldiers, detailed in regular rota- tion from the Horse Guards, under command of one officer, for whom a sumptuous table is set every night, with the privi- lege of inviting two friends, while servants are provided for him. THE BANK ESTABLISHED. 527 In the political tumult of November, 1830, provisions were made at the Bank for a state of siege, and when the Chartists made their great demonstrations in 1848, the roof of the Bank was fortified by a company of sappers and miners, cannon were planted, and a strong garrison held every court and passage in the interior. The number of clerks and porters and other employees who are retained by the Bank, is one thousand or more, and their salaries amount to half a million of pounds, or two and a half millions of dollars annually. In 1808 an arrangement was made by the English Govern- ment with the Bank, by which the latter undertook the man- agement of the English national Debt, at a rate of £340 for each million of the debt up to 600 millions of pounds, and X300 for every additional million. The Bank of England was established (1694) chiefly by Mr. "William Paterson, the projector of the Scotch Colony of Daricn, who commenced by founding a National Bank, 1091. To carry on tlie war with France (1694) Government required a loan of XI, 200,000, and imposed new taxes, expected to yield a million and a half. The subscribers to the loan were incor- porated under the title of the Governor and Company of the Bank of England, and empowered to buy land, to deal in gold and silver, and in bills of exchange. The interest on the loan was 8 per cent., besides which Government agreed to pay £4,000 a year for the cost of management, or £100,000 in all. In the vicinity of the Bank of England there is a dense ti-affic, and it is necessary that suitable provender should be found for tlie large number of bankers and bankers' clerks, wlio, living in cosy little villas at Brompton, Paddington, and Maida Hill, and are comixilled to eat their warm lunches in tlie city during business hours. The Poultry, Bucklersbury, King William, Prince and Lead- enhall streets, are lined with tliese comfortable, pleasant looking eating-liouses and dining-rooms, where the moneyed men and their smart looking clerks sit back in easy little boxes, with 528 THE BANK OF ENGLAND AND THE MINT. turtle soup, salad, and juicy rump steaks before tliem,aiid long necked wine bottles in ice coolers between their feet, chatting about stocks and Change and Turkish Loans. In the i)arlor lob])y of the Bank is a portrait of ^Ir. David Race, who wi\s in the service of the institution over fifty years, during wlych tijne he amassed a fortune of £200,000. rp4>^^? BANKERS EATING HOUSE. The Bullion Office, on tlie western side of the Bank, con- sists of a public chamber and two vaults — one for the open deposit of bullion free of charge, unless weighed, the other foi*' the private stock of the Bank. Here are employed a Principal, Deputy Principal, Clerk, As- sistant Clerk, and porters. The gold is kept in solid bars, each bar weigliing 16 pounds and valued at X800, or ^4,000, and the silver in pigs and bars, while the dollars are kept in bags. The value of the gold in the vaults of the Bank in 1869 was LEDGERS AND MONEY-BAGS. 529 about twenty millions of pounds, or one hundred millions of dollars. One day I received an order wliicli was sent me l)y a friend, giving me full authority to visit the Bank of England. I liad not a little curiosity to satisfy, and accordingly I arrived at the Bank as early as eleven o'clock in the day. Passing through the central entrance, wliich is opposite the Mansion House, I found myself in a spacious court Avell flag- ged, and liere were two boxes in whicli sat a brace of Old Jewry detectives, who are on duty in this spot from one end of the year to tlie other. These men receive gratuities from the Bank beside tlieir regular pay. Tliere were also in tlic yard two big fat beadles in red coats and leggings, their garments being cov- ered with tinsel. These fat, logy looking fellows are tlic footmen of the Bank, who are employed to watch for suspicious strangers and to guide any visitors who may come. While an attendant was reading the order which I handed him, I could hear the musical jingle of sovereigns and silver coins, being rattled up and down in the interior of the building. I was taken by the guide into a large vaulted room with a cupola, in which were a perfect army of clerks, some young and brisk, others old, gray, and ponderous, ranged in long rows behind the desks, making up accounts, weighing gold and paying it over the counters, or writing in huge ledgers. Outside the circular railings, which run all around this very large room, were stationed a vast crowd of depositors, men and women, or persons drawing money in gold or silver. Con- tinually from the throats of tlie clerks arose the words : *' How will you have it. Gold or silver ? Sovereigns or halves?" Here is a lady who has traveled very far, perhaps, for her divi- dends. Slie has taken a seat and a number of curious eyes are gazing at her as she slowly takes a wing of a chicken and a piece of snowy white bread from a napkin and connncnces to eat, in the midst of all this wealth and confusion of the richest city in the world. The number of ledgers and account books behind these bars 530 THE BANK OP ENGLAND AND THE MINT. are enough to frighten one. When the day's business is done all these huge books are stowed away by the porters in tlie fire- proof room under ground, and brought up again in tlic morn- ing, for they are fully as valuable as the large sums inscribed on their leaves. Machinery has been perfected so that these bulky account books may be hoisted and lowered every day. Look at that young man with his banking case chained under his arm ; the rolls of checks and notes he holds in his hands will probably amount to tliousands of pounds ; he catches the eyes of one of the clerks, calls out the amount, hands the bulky bundle over the brass mounted railing and quits the room, leaving the sum to be counted over at leisure. See how carelessly the casluer handles that heavy bag of gold ; he has no time to count it, but throws it into the scale as a coal heaver would a sack of coals — so long as it is right weight, that's all he cares about ; he then shoots it into his large drawer and throws the bag aside as if he did not mind whether a sovereign stuck in the bag or not. He counts sovereigns by twos and threes at a time ; you feel confident that he must have given you either too many or too few, he appears so negligent ; you count them, and there they are quite correct, and no mistake whatever. The guide says to me : " Sometimes, Sir, the clerks are kept in the Bank for hours when there's a sixpence wrong in the balance, and they have to go over and over the books until they make the sixpence right. It's awful work, to have to go over them long columns of figures and no chance of getting away until everything is correct." " Was there ever any great forgery committed on tlie Bank?" I asked the guide, who seemed to be a very intelligent man, having been in the Bank forty years. " Ah, yes Sir, there was two great ones. In old times a great many men were hanged for forging Bank of England notes. In one year, I think it was 1820, there was over a hundred per- sons convicted of forgery, and nearly nine hundred were con- victed for having forged notes in their pockets. Why, Sir, THE GREAT PANIC OF 1825. 531 when I was a boy I remember as many as twenty-four hanged in one year for forgery on the Bank, I tliink the year was 1818. In 1803 there was a great forgery, committed by Mr. Astlett, who was one of the chief cashiers of the Bank. The amount Avas so large it frightened every body. Astlett done liis work so well, by re-issuing Exchequer bills, that he de- frauded the Bank out of £320,000 before they knew it. You may imagine what a row there was when it was found out. The old Governor nearly went mad." " Was any other great forgery ever attempted ?" said I, curious to hear those details of forgotten crime. "Oh yes Sir," said the old man," "the biggest forgery of all was Fauntleroy's, in 1816, that was a great deal bigger than Astlett's, for it was for .£360,000, and the way of it was this : You see Mr. Fauntleroy was the head partner of a bank in Berners street that had dealing with the Bank of England, and the bank tliat he belonged to was in a bad state, so what does Fauntleroy do to keep up its credit, but he goes to work quite cooly and forges powers of attorney of a lot of nobs and he sells out their funds, and all the time he was a-working in the dark this way, he wos a payin' of the divydends to them. Then the crash came at last, and before he was caught, when the police broke into his house, they found a note and on the note was written : — '• The Bank first began to refuse to discount our acceptances, and to destroy tlie credit of our house ; and by G — d the Bank shall smart for it." " So, that's the way he did it, but he was hanged for it, and I saw him swing. I never saw so many people in my life as was at that hanging. All London was there, Sir, and when he got off the cart you would have thought he was going to a party, he was so blessed cool." There was a " Great Panic " in the Bank of England in De- cember, 1825, caused by the redemption of interest on X215,- 000.000 of stock held by the public. The Bank of England was acting as banker for the Nation, and offered to advance money to holders of stock to pay off" their principal investment. 532 THE BANK OP ENGLAND AND THE MINT. This was an era of mad speculation, and no less than £372,- 000,000 was invested in all kinds of bogus stock projects. In some of these schemes shares of £100 on which only £5 had been paid, rose to a premium of £40, yielding a profit of eight times the amount of money paid. Everything went merry as a marriage bell for a time, and large sums had been withdrawn from the Bank of England, reducing the gold in its vaults from £8,750,000, in October, 1824, to £8,624,320 in February, 1825. The panic began on tlie 5th of December, 1825, when a London bank failed, at which the agency of above forty country banks was transacted, and such a re-action was the necessary result of the previous madness of speculation. Lombard street, and the vicinity of the Bank, were filled with excited men and women, who were waiting eagerly to withdraw their investments. Next day, a number of other banks failed. The rush on the Bank of England was terrific, but the clerks kept paying away gold in bags of twenty-five sovereigns each. From nine until five, each day, twenty-five clerks were engaged, counting out gold, and as it would take that number of clerks to count out £50,000 in sovereigns, if counted by hand, a plan was made by which the tellers counted 25 sovereigns into one scale and 25 into another, and if the scales balanced, they continued until there were 200 sovereigns in each scale. In this way £1,000 were paid out in a few minutes, the weight of one thousand sovereigns being 21 pounds, while 512 bank notes only weigh one pound. Li this way £307,000, in gold, was paid out in nine hours to the clamorous people. Instead of contracting their issues the Directors of the Bank boldly extended them. In one day they discounted 4,200 bills. December 8th, the discounts at the Bank amounted to £7,- 500,000 ; on the 15th, they were £11,500,000, and on the 29th, £15,000,000. December 3d, the circulation of the Bank was £17,500,000, and the day before Christmas, December 24th, it was £25,500,000, or, $127,500,000. Any kind of paper that was not absolutely worthless, was discounted. Tre- mendous advances on deposits of bills of exchange were made THE PANIC CEASES. 533 bjthc Bank, stock "was entered as security, and exchequer hills were purchased. The gallant old institution weatliered the storm, and, on the 2Gth of December, gold began to come in slowly. During the latter part of tlie panic week a forgotten box of one-pound notes, containing X700,000, was discovered, and these were immediately issued, and the Directors acknowledged that the forgotten box saved the commercial credit of the Bank and of England. There was only £001,000 in bullion and .£426,000 in coin when the rush stopped. In February, 1797, when the Bank suspended cash payments, there was £1,086,- 170 in coin and bullion remaining in the vaults. I saw, in a glass case, a bank note for one million of pounds THE BANK OP ENGLAND. (canceled,) which had passed between the Bank and the government in some transaction or another. Think of it, a piece of paper five by two and a half inches in size, which was 33 634 TUB BANK OP ENGLAND AND THE MINT. good on its face any place in tlic world for Five Millions op Dollars. I saw also here, several other bank bills for large amounts, such as ten, fifty, one hundred, and two hundred and fifty thousand pounds each. These were the most valuable strips of printed paper I ever saw. It must be recollected, that inside of the walls of the Bank of England, which covers four acres, as I have observed, every- thing is made, excepting the |)aper of which the bank notes are manufactured. The gold, of course, is coined in the Mint on Tower Hill, but everything else is done inside of the Bank walls, including paper staining, engraving, making the steel plates from wliicli the notes are transferred, and other useful arts. Printer's ink is also made, the ink having to be of a peculiar shade so as to prevent counterfeiting. Tlien there are book binderies, where the ledgers and accounts are bound, and a number of other rooms devoted to various })urposes. It is a noticeable fact, that every Bank official whom we meet on our journey through all these lofty apartments, halls and saloons, wears full evening dress though it is not yet noon- day. Swallow-tail coats, white neck-cloths, and white vests, of 'the most spotless hues, seem to be the Bank uniform. And what ])leasant surprises there are in this institution. Now the guide leading, and 1 following, we emerge into au open court-yard, of very good size, which has lawns, shrubberies, and dainty lit:tle grass j)lots, with the most cheering flower- beds, the colors of which are very refreshing to the eye. Here are well-shaded and sanded paths, and lofty, leafy trees, and all these rural delights are concentrated in a space of one and a half acres, the dimensions of the grounds walled in by the Bank. Here, in the heart of mighty London, is a green oasis, like a diamond set in a pig's nose. These detached buildings, with white steps leading to their doors, and neatly-ornamented porticoes, are the residences of the Governor and Directors, and here they liold receptions, and levees, and the questions and inquiries of angry stockholders are heard and answered at quarterly meetings. The guide asks me if " 1 would like to see the workshops of the Bank." I MAKING INK FOR BANK NOTES. 535 agree at once to his proposition, and on ascending a flight of narrow stone steps, we find ourselves in a large room which is used by the Bank mechanics to prepare the steel plates upon which the Bank notes are engraved. A very powerful steam engine, which is used for other me- chanical and artistic purposes in the Bank, is the motive power by which the work is done in this room. I can hear the sharp steel wedge scraping and polishing the already bright sheets of steel, and the noise is a most disagreeable one. All the workman has to do, however, is simply to place the plate and spindle in the exact spot, when the machine, like a stroke of vengeance seizes it, and in a second it is bright as silver. Now we are in the room in which the printer's ink is manu- factured with which the Bank notes are printed. The ink has to be of a very peculiar black shade, as counterfeiting would be easy were the materials used to be the same as in other inks. Masses of black matter are being ground into a fine powder by rollers,! think that the guide told me it was nutgalls; large lumps are placed beneath the rollers, the cylinder revolves, and the powder is crushed to a fine paste. The guide says, " If there's a bit of sand left in the paste, why then the grinding hasn't been done right." The rollers are of strong steel, and the smallest substance would be ground under them. A grain of sand will cause the two rollers as they meet to recede from each other, so sensitive are they to the finest hard substance. Now we are out in a court again and we can see the engine room, and the huge coal fires burning, and the big boiler sweltering and steaming away at a great rate. The man who ' I attends the engine is in his shirt-sleeves, and a little black- ened, and I believe that, not excepting the Beadle, this was the only man whom I saw inside of the Bank who was not in ifull dress. Here is a large room where the Bank-paper is cut to the I proper size for notes, and a thousand pound note is exactly the ' 3ame size as one for five pounds, which is the smallest denom- , nation issued by the Bank. 636 THE BANK OP ENGLAND AND THE MINT. Then there is the room for the compositors and binders, and in the latter apartment, all the account books which the vast business of the Bank make necessary, are paged, lined, and bound. Of ledgers alone, one thousand are used yearly, in this fountain head of finance, and check books innmnerable are also printed and bound here. Now I am again in the court-yard, which is paved very neatly — ^but no, I have not been here before. This fact I re- cognize as I look around me. Tliis another court yard. " This is the " Library, Sir," said the guide. I began to think that the Bank officials were indeed a very literary set of people, who could find time in business hours to read books, but I was presently made aware of my mistake. The guide knocks quietly at a small iron door, which re- volves on its hinges with a noise, and a man in that same inev- itable dress-coat, cravat, and neck-tie, opens the door, and I gain an entrance to a place which looks to me very like the casemate of a Monitor, or a sally-port in a stone fortress. Iron doors, iron hinges, and iron windows, shaped in a circular form, and embayed in the wall, are the most significant signs around me. Although it is broad daylight outside, there is utter darkness within, but for the single gas jet which burns as if suffer- ing from some defect in the pipe. I feel that some mystery is to be explained, or some strange sight shown me — or else why tliis change from sunlight to this cribbed and dungeon-like casemate. It would be impossible to break into this room ; and to get out of it, if the doors were locked, would be equally difficult, I imagine. Now the gentleman who has opened the door goes behind an iron railing, and says : " This is the Library of the Bank, Sir, and these are the vol- umes that compose the Library," he says to the writer, at the same time taking a large package of notes from a shelf — on which there arc many hundred packages of like description — " we keep here the canceled notes which are called in, and IN THE VAULTS. 537 therefore they can never be used again. "We keep tliese old notes for twenty-five years, in case a forgery has been committed, and when it becomes necessary to produce the notes for evi- dence — why, licrc thoy arc — we have notes here for millions of pounds," said he, turning over bundle after bundle of ragged looking papers, that had once been of incalculable value. These notes, after a certain time, arc reduced to pulp, and again are made into paper, from which in turn fresli bank notes are made, so that these old rags have the property which Ponce de Leon's fountain gave, of renewing their youth. Into another room now, where the notes are printed from tlie plates, and to insure honesty in the printer — the machine registers the number of each note printed — the registering being done in a distant part of the establishment. And now we are in the Vaults, where the precious metals are kept, and where I saw and handled riches such as would have bewildered Pizzaro, or Cortez, even in their wildest im- aginings. Here arc the Bullion Vaults, in which are kept bars of gold and silver. The gold bars weigh sixteen pounds each, while the silver bar varies. The Bank pays for gold seventy-eight shillings an ounce, while silver is generally valued at about five shillings and two pence an ounce. It is enough to dazzle the eyes of a miser, or render him blind, to look at the show of gold bars piled up behind the railings, in those large glass presses. Thousands of them! And they are piled up just as I have often seen the stacks of solder in a plumber or gas-fitter's shop in America, without any seeming care as to how they are laid. Here a couple of men entered with kegs, and oie of them, stepping up to me, asks : " Would you like to handle a large sum of money, Sir ?" " I don't care if I do," I said ; and the very polite gentleman went to a safe in the corner and opening one of the mimcrous black doors of iron which ornament every portion of the room, 538 THE BANK OF ENGLAND AND THE MINT. he brought forth four medium sized packages, and laid them on the counter before me, saying : " Please to hold open your liand. Now, Sir, there are four packages of Bank of England notes, all ready for delivery, and in each package is one million of pounds." I began to perspire and lose my sight and hearing. " Can there be," I said, " so much money in the world?" and then I heard him say again : " Please to examine the packages — one — two — three — -fouj' — millions.'^ I cried out, " stop, stop — give me breath— do you mean to say," said I, " that there are four million of pounds in these four packages — tiventy million of dollars ?" " That is what I mean," said the polite official, and he smiled slightly at the excitement which he saw in my features. At that moment I did not envy C. A'^anderbilt, and I dcs})ised Jim Fisk. Dim thoughts of mur- der flashed across my brain — and yet, no — I banislied it from my mind. Twenty million of dollars ! But then, the Tower ! Ha-ha — away, fell design. In one week the issue of bank notes amount to twcnty-fivc million of pounds, or one hundred and twenty-five million of dollars. During the last twelve months the Bank has purchased three million and a half pounds' worth of gold bars, and one million eight hundred pounds' woi-th of silver bars. Dm-ing the "l BEGAN TO PEUSriRE." MAKING SOVEREIGNS. 539 same period it sold six million pounds' worth of gold bars, and a quarter of a million pounds' worth of silver" bars. In the Weighing Office, established in 1842, to detect light gold, is the ingenious macliine invented by Mr. W. Cotton, then Deputy-Governor of the Bank. About 80 or 100 light and heavy sovereigns are placed indiscriminately in a round tube ; as they descend on the machinery beneath, tliosc whicli are light receive a slight touch, which moves them into their proper receptacle, and those which are of legitimate weight pass into their appointed place. The light coins are then defaced by a machine, 200 in a minute ; and by the weighing-machinery 35,000 may be weighed in one day. There are six of these ma- cliines, whicli from 1844 to 1849 weighed upwards of 48,000,000 pieces witliout any inaccuracy. The average amount of gold tendered in one year is nine millions, of which more than a quarter is light. The silver is put up into bags, each of one hundred pounds value, and the gold into bags of a thousand ; and then these bagsful of bidliou are sent through a strongly guarded door, or rather window, into the Treasury, a dark, gloomy apartment, fitted up with iron presses, supplied witli huge locks and bolts. And now I was to behold the process. After leaving the Treasury A-aults, where I was shown the Bank notes, I was taken to a very large room on an upper floor, in which was a small and elegant steam engine, with other intricate machines, for weighing and defacing, or marking coins. There was a large table with a number of coin shovels, and its entire surface was covered with sovereigns, heaped a foot high, the tii))le having a raised rim all around it. They were weighing these sovereigns — these officials with the finely starched shirts and white neck-ties ; and this was the maimer of it : There were two open square boxes, which had connections with a number of wheels and revolving cylindei"S, and from each of these boxes projected the mouth of a scoop or highly polished funnel. A roll of sovereigns passed into this box, sliding slowly down through the mouth, and thence into a larger box below on the floor. 540 THE BANK OF ENGLAND AND THE MINT. n The attendants fill the tubes, and at the lower end of the scoop the work is done. Whenever a sovereign of light weight touches this spot in the lower part of the tube, a small brass plate jumps out and jiushes the light sovereign into the left- hand aperture, while the full-Avcight pieces drop without hin- drance into tlic right-hand box. Tlic small brass pltite does the business very quietly. The light sovereigns are then gathered, placed in a bag, and sent back to the Mint to be re-coincd. The man who was work- ing the machine pulled a crank and a number, perhaps a thou- sand, of these marked sovereigns fell into the box. I took some of them in ni}* hand, and found them almost totally de- faced, and a number had been slit in two halves by tlic pro- cess, but no gold dust is lost the operation is performed so cleanly. On the very same spot where once stood the Monastery of the Cistercian !Monks, or Gray Friars, the Royal Mint of Eng- land is now located, and here all the money in use in England is coined by tlie "■ Company of Moneycrs," as they are called. The building is situated on Tower Hill, the Mint having for a thousand years been carried on in tlie Tower itself. For many hundreds of years the coinage of England had been debased by succeeding money-makers, who were entrusted by tlie Kings with the coinage, and in the reign of King Ed- ward I, 280 Jews, of both sexes, were charged by this monarch with having debased the silver and gold coins, and were hung in London for the ofTence. King John, in 1212, ordered all the prisoners in his custody, among whom were some ecclesi- astics, to be brought before him for instant judgment, at the same time summoning Cardinal Pandulph, the Papal Legate, to appear also to witness the judgment. Pandulph appeared, and King John thinking to frighten tliat haughty prelate who had often humbled him, ordered a priest among the prisoners, who had counterfeited money, to be hanged. Pandulph stepped forward and said : " Lord King, who so dares lay finger on yon clerk, though HENRY VIII A COUNTERFEITER. 541 he were of royal blood, him shall I excommunicate, and lie shall be anathema of Holy Church." Pandulph, who was indeed a very energetic person, left the apartment to get a candle, so that he miglit curse John in due form, and the King having been thoroughly frightened, deliv- ered the priest to Pandul{)h to have that prelate do justice on him, but the legate immediately liberated the offender. During the reign of the Saxon Edgar, the penny had become scarcely equal to a half-penny in weight, and St. Dunstan, who was a bishop and confessor to the King, became so outraged at the debasement of the coinage, that on "Whit-Sunday he re- fused to celebrate the mass before the King until justice had been done on three officials, or as they were called " moneyers." They were at once taken out of the Church and had their right hands struck off by order of the King. In those days even the gold coins were of square, longitudi- nal, and all sorts of irregular and uncouth shapes. One of the prophecies of the Sage Merlin was to the effect that when the money of England should become round, the Pi-ince of Wales would be crowned in London. Edward I, having as- certained that such a prophecy was believed among the Welsh peopl3, caused the head of their last native Prince, Llewellyn, to be cut off and sent to the Tower in London, where it was crowned with willows in mockery of the prophecy, and since then no native Welshman has held the title of Prince of Wales, with England's consent. Henry VIII, among his many acts of scoundrelism, was guilty of debasing the coinage of his kingdom, and when liis illegitimate daughter, Queen Elizabeth, called in £038,000 of silver and gold money for the purix)se of re-coining it, s'lc as- certained on going to tlie Mint in person, (where she coined with her own hands several ])ieces of money,) that these monies, whose current value on the face had been .£038,000, Avcrc then only worth in reality £244,000. On the day that George the Third's first son and successor was born — afterwards George lY — the captured treasure of the Spanish vessel "Hermione," amounting to sixty-fivo tons 542 THE BANK OP ENGLAND AND THE MINT. of silver and one bag full of gold, was carried in triumphant procession through the streets of London — amid tlie acclama- tion of the citizens — borne by twenty wagons. The value of the treasure was one million of pounds. This money was taken to the Mint to be coined. In 1804 the English Government having determined to de- clare war against Spain, some private parties under the leader- ship of a Captain Moore, fitted out four ships to intercept some Spanish vessels on their way home from the Indies with treasure, and this infamous act of piracy was i)crformed before the capturers of the Spanish galleons had heard of the impend- ing declaration of war, and in fact before war was declared. Some hundreds of persons were blown up in the Spanish Admiral's vessel, and one rich Spanish merchant who was re- turning on one of the vessels with his wife and daughters — having accumulated a great fortune — lost their lives by this act of treachery. In 1804 the ransom payable to the British Government from the Chinese Nation, amounting to sixty-five tons of silver, or two millions of Chinese dollars, the price which China had to pay for not taking her opium quietly, was brought home and transferred to the Mint to be coined. The money })aid by France to Charles II of England for the town of Dunkirk, an immense treasure, was spent by that monarch in the worst kind of debauchery, and the face of Britannia which remains to this day upon English coiiis, is the likeness of Miss Frances Stewart, afterward Duchess of Rich- mond, and at one time a mistress of this dissolute King. Guineas, which are valued at twenty-one shillings, while the sovereign is valued at a pound or twenty shillings, were first coined from the gold brought by the African Company from Guinea, and the coins had an clei)hant stamiwd on them. In the same reign were struck the five guinea, the two guinea piece and the half guinea pieces. The coinage of this mon- arch's reign, who was only fitted to be the keeper of a bagnio, was so much depreciated, that in the reign of William and Mary, when 572 bags of silver coin were called in of Charles HOW TO MAKE MONEY. S'lS IPs reign, it was found to weigh only 9,480 pounds, although the proper weight should have been 18,450 pounds. The gold quarter guinea was coined by George I, and this coin is remarkable for bearing for the first time the letters " F. D." {Fidei Defensor,) or " Defender of the Faith." George III, an old blockhead as the First George was an old black- guard, coined seven shilling pieces, but these have been with- drawn, as have also the guineas and half guineas, which are now replaced by the sovereign, half sovereign, and crown, which latter coin is valued at five shillings. When the bad money of Henry VIII was called in, the workmen in the Mint declared that it contained arsenic, and many of them "became sick to death with the savor." For this sickness some venerable idiot ordered them to drink from dead men's skulls, and a warrant was actually obtained where- by the heads of several Catholic priests, which then decorated London Bridge, were taken down and drinking cups were made from them for the workmen. The present building in use by the Company of Moneyers for a Mint, was erected in 1811 on Tower Hill, and cost with the construction of machinery two hundred and fifty thousand pounds. In one hundred thousand poiuids worth of gold bars are sent into the Mint one morning, on the next they will be ready for delivery in sovereigns. The gold is melted in pots made of black lead, which will not break in annealing, and then the alloy of copper is added (to gold one part in twelve ; to silver eighteen pennyweights to a pound) , and the mixed metal cast into small bars. The bars then in a heated state are first passed through the rollers, which are of tremendous power, these reducing them to one fourth of their former thickness and increasing them proportionally in length Then the sheets of metal arc passed through the cold rollers, which laminates them to the required thickness of coin. Now comes the work of tlie cutting-out machines. There arc fifteen of these elegant engines in the same basement, set apart for them. The bars having been cut into the required strips and thick- 544 THE BANK OP ENGLAND AND THE MJNT. ncsSjthe protecting rim is next raised in tlic " Marking Room,'* and after blanching and annealing, they are ready for coining. There are twelve presses for this purpose, each of which makes a hundred strokes a minute, and at each stroke, above and below, a blank is made into a perfect coin, stamped on both sides and milled at the edge, each press coining about ten thou- sand pieces of money in one hour. One little boy is alone needed to feed a press with blanks. The coin is tested before the Lord Chancellor or Chancellor of the Exchequer and a jury of twelve goldsmiths, who are sworn to give a fair judgment, once a year — this being a trial between tlie Company of Coiners and the Government who own the coin. In a late trial of two hundred pounds weight of gold coin, the bulk weighed just one pennyweight and fifteen grains less than was correct — ^which is pretty good workman- ship. In a period of eighteen years the amount of money coined by tl;c Company was as follows : Gold, ^55,000,000 Silver, 12,000,000 Copper, 250,000 Total, .... X67,250,000 Profit to the Company for coinage of above amount X 214,000. Amount charged for coining .£67,250,000 — ^by the Company of Moneyers— .£421,000. CHAPTER XXXVIII. ' THE BRIDGES OF LONDON. ONDOlSr may well be proud of her bridges. Fifteen of the finest struc- tures of their kind in the world span with mighty and enduring arches, the surface of the Thames ; in a distance of seven miles on the river from London Bridge, to the Suspension Bridge, at Hammer- smith. Paris alone can rival London in her super-aqueous structures, but in massiveness and gran- deur there is no bridge covering the Seine, and having such a magnificent roadway and arches as Waterloo Bridge. Of all the bridges which span the Thames, none have a history like that of London Bridge ; although the present structure dates only from 1825. The history of old London Bridge is that of Loudon itself, for the bridge was coeval with the over- throw of the Saxon dynasty, and the death of Richard Coeur de Lion. The first bridge erected on the site of the present London Bridge, was a wooden one by Ethelred III., in 994, and the tolls were paid by boats bringing fish to " Bylingsgate," which was then a water-gate of the city. The next bridge here was constructed by the pious brothers of St. Mary, Southwark, which house was originally a convent, established by a young girl named Mary, daughter to a ferryman, who plied at this point, and from the profits of the ferry the bridge was con- 548 THE BRIDGES OF LONDON. strueted. This bridge was almost totally aestroyed Dy the Norwegian King Olave in 1008, and was rebuilt by Canute in 1016, swept away by a flood 1091, rebuilt 1007, burnt 1136, and a new one was erected of elm timber in 1163 by Peter, a priest and chaplain of St. Mary's, Colechurch, in the Poultry. This bridge did not satisfy the pious architect, however, and he began with great zeal to build a stone one, the first in England, a little to the Avestward of the timber bridge in 1176, when Henry II. gave toward the construction the proceeds of a tax on wool, from which originated the saying, "London Bridge was built on woolpacks," a phrase that has often been taken in its literal meaning. Priest Peter died in 1205 and the bridge was finished in 1209. This bridge consisted of a stone platform 026 feet long, and 40 feet wide, standing about 60 feet above the level of the water, and comprehended a draw bridge and nineteen pointed arches, with massive piers raised upon strong oak and elm piles covered by thick planks bolted together, so that after all, the famous stone bridge had a wooden platform. There was a gate-house, with turrets and battlements at either end, and toward the centre, on the east side, was built a beautiful gothic chapel of stone to the memory of St. Thomas (a Becket), of Can- terbury. In a crypt of the chapel was placed a stone tomb over the body of Priest Peter, the founder of the bridge. This bridge, in the time of Elizabeth, is described as having "sump- tuous buildings, and stately and beautiful houses on either side," making one continuous street from end to end and having an archway under the houses and dwellings through which vehicles, sedan-chairs, and pedestrians passed. The river could be seen at intervals in the gaps of masonry, and, in tact, this bridge was as much of a thoroughfare and causeway besides, having all the characteristics of a street on solid ground, as any open space in London. Some of the buildings had shops and beer-houses in the lower stories. The chronicles of this stone bridge during six centuries, form, perhaps, the most interesting episodes in the history of London. The scenes of fire, siege, insurrection, and popu- GRnnsriNG skulls. 549 lar vengeance, of national rejoicing, and of tlie pageant victo- ries of man and of death, of fonie or funeral, which have trans- pired on and about the bridge, it were vain for me to attempt to describe. In 1212, four years after the completion of the structure, a terrific conflagration took place on the bridge, and 3000 persons perished in the flames, both ends being on fire at the same time. Do Montfort repulsed Henry III., on this bridge, and the populace attacked and stoned his Queen in her barge as she prepared to shoot the bridge. Wat Tj-ler, the pop- ular rebel entered London by this road to be struck down by Sir William AVahvorth in 1381. Richard II. was received here by the citizens in 1392. In 1415 Henry V., fresh from Agin- court, passed the bridge, and seven years after his corpse was carried over it to be buried at AVestminster Abbey. In 1450 Jack Cade attempted to storm London Bridge, but he was de- feated and his head placed on a pole over the gate-house. In 1477 the Bastard of Falconbridge attacked the bridge, and fired several houses. In 1554 Sir Thomas Wyatt crossed the bridge at the head of 2000 men, to dethrone Queen Mary, and lost his head for it. In 1632 more than one-third of the houses on the bridge were destroyed by fire, and in 1666 the whole labyrinth of dM'ellings, shops, and edifices, were swept away by the Great Fire ; the entire street being rebuilt within twenty years after. The houses were entirely removed and parapets and balustrades were erected on each side in 1732, and one hundred years after, in 1832, the venerable structure was demolished to make way for the new London Bridge now standing, Holbein, the painter, lived on the bridge, book publishers occupied shops on it, and the London tradesmen believed it to be one of the Seven Wonders of the world. Hogarth lodged here, and Swift and Pope visited Tucker, a bookseller who had a shop on the bridge. The most terrible reminiscence of the bridge is connected with the fact that its gate-houses at either end were garnished for many hundreds of years by the heads of many great and good men as Avell as of bad and depraved villains, whose skulls ,werc exposed on spikes to dry and bleach in the sun. 550 TUE BKIDGES OF LONDON. The heads of Sir William Wallace, 1305; Simon Frisel, 1306; four traitor knights, 1397; Lord Bardolf, 1308; Bo- lingbroke, 1440 ; Jack Cade and his rebels, 1451 ; the Cor- nish traitors of 1497, and of Fisher, Bishop of Rochester (dis- placed in fourteen days after by that of Sir Thomas More, 1335), have adorned this ghostly bridge. From 1578 to 1605, it was a common sight to see the heads of Roman Catholic priests exposed on this bridge, their offence being that they TEMPLE BAR, FLEET STBEEET sought to preach their doctrines in London. Finally, in the reign of Charles II., this display of bare, grinning skulls was transferred to Temple Bar. Temple Bar, as it is called, is a large, gray archway, which spans Fleet street in its busiest traffic and jam. The archway was formerly the limit of the City of London, and when a sov- ereign came westward from Westminster, or eastward from the Tower, to make a formal entry, the Lord Mayor and the THE TKATFIC ON LOISTDON BEIDGES. 651 City Councils, in robes of state, were present under its his- toric archway to offer the keys and admit the Sovereign. Tlie nisty gates were then rolled back, and on such occasions the pageants were very fine. > For over a hundred years the London traders and shop- keepers, and the students of the Temple, were regaled with the daily and ghastly sight of a row of grinning and sock- etless skulls, which were ranged in lines on cruel spikes above the architrave of Temple Bar. There is an empty room in the upper story which has a terrible history, for here heads were boiled in pitch before being exposed. In 1737, Eustace Budgell, a cousin of Addison and a contrib- utor to the Spectator, when reduced to poverty, took a boat at Somerset Stairs, and ordering the waterman to row down the river, threw himself into the flood as the boat shot London Bridge. He had filled his pockets with stones, and he left be- hind him a slip of paper on which was written, " What Cato did and Addison approved cannot be wa-ong." This was a great puff for Addison's tragedy. Edward Osborne, an ap- prentice of Sir William Ilewet, afterwards Lord Mayor, jumped from the window of one of the bridge houses, in 1536, to save his master's daughter, an infant, and years after^vards he was rewarded with her hand in marriage, and became Lord Mayor himself The grandson of the apprentice became Duke of Leeds and the founder of the present ducal house of that name. Ko bridge ever constructed had such a history as that of Old London Bridge. The flow of traffic on some of the principal bridges by actual computation during twelve hours, from 6 a. m. to 6 p. m., was : Pedestrians, London Bridge, 96,080 ; Southwark Bridge, 2,500 ; Blackfriars Bridge, 48,095 ; Waterloo Bridge, 12,000 ; West- minster Bridge, 38,015. Equestrian traffic : London Bridge, 211 ; Southwark Bridge, 93 ; Blackfriars, 91 ; Waterloo, 38 ; Westminster Bridge, 311. Vehicular traffic : London Bridge,' 36,800 ; Southwark Bridge, 516 ; Blackfriars Bridge, 6,384 ;' VYaterloo Bridge, 2,603 ; Westminster Bridge, 7,300. From :hese figures it will be seen that the traffic on London Bridire 34 - ^ '552 THE BRIDGES OF LONDON. wliicli leads from the heart of the business portion of the city, and is toll free, exceeded that on all of the others put together. Some of the bridges are o\vTied by companies and a toll ot half a penny per passenger is taken for revenue by them. London Bridge was designed by Sir John Rennie and built by his son. The first pile was driven March 15th, 1824, gov- ernment contributing £200,000 toward the undertaking. Altogether the bridge cost £2,000,000 before it was fimshed. It is built on coffer-dams, and the bridge has five semi-elhpti- cal arches. The centre arch has a span of 152 feet, and a rise above high water mark of 24 feet 6 inches ; the two arches next the centre are 140 feet span, and the two abutment arches have 130 feet of span. There is a parapet four feet high and the length between the abutments is T82 feet, while the width between the parapets is 53 feet. The bridge was nearly eight years in construction, and 120,000 tons of stone were usedm its erection. Southwark Bridge is constructed of iron with three colossal arches, and was built by Eennie. The middle arch has a span of 240 feet and a rise of 24 feet. Its height above low-water mark to the roadway is 55 feet. The cost was £800,000 and the bridge was opened in 1819. Its length is TOO feet, and the roadway is 42 feet wide. The new Blackfriars Bridge is 1,000 feet long, 42 feet wide, and the cost will be £300,000. Waterloo Bridge is the finest in the world. Its dimensions are : Length between abutments 2,456 feet, water-way, 1,326 feet. The carriage-way is 28 feet wide with a pathway on each side of seven feet. There are nine arches, each of which are 120 feet in span with a rise of 35 feet. Waterloo Bridge has a level grade from one end to the other. Canova, the sculptor, said of this bridge, "It was alone worth a journey from Rome to London to see it." The cost was £1,000,000. As a set-oif to what Macaulay has prophesied in regard to London Bridge and the future New Zealander, Baron Charles Dupin, the great French publicist, speaks of Waterloo Bridge as follows : WATERLOO BRIDGE. 553 "If from the inealenlable effect of the revolutions which em- pires undergo, the nations of a future age should demand one day what was formerly the I^ew Sidon, and what has become of the Tyre of the West, which covered with her vessels every sea ? — most of the edifices devoured by a destructive climate will no longer exist to answer the curiosity of man by the voice of monuments ; But "Waterloo Bridge, built in the centre of the commercial world, will exist to tell the most remote genera- THE NEW BLACKFRIAR3 BRIDGE. lions — ' here was a rich, industrious, and powerful city.' The traveller, on beholding this superb monument, will suppose that some great prince wished, by many years of labor, to con- secrate forever the glory of his life by this imposing structure. But if tradition instruct the traveller that six years sufficed for the undertaking and finishing the work — if he learns that an association of a number of private individuals was rich enough 55J: THE BRIDGES OF LOiNDON. to defray tlie expense of tliis colossal monument, worthy of Sesostris and the Csesars — he will admire still more the nation in M'liich similar undertakings could be the fruit of the efforts of a few obscure individuals, lost in the crowd of industrious citizens." Charing Cross is the next bridge on the Thames, being built of iron and used by a railway company. It was built by Bru- nei, and is a graceful structure, but does not pennit of pedes- trian traffic. Westminster Bridge is nearly level in its grade, and has seven arches. It is 1,220 feet long. The cost was £400,000. Lambeth Bridge is of iron with three arches, each of 280 feet span, and the width is 5-i feet. Cost, £100,000. Vauxhall Bridge is of iron with nine arches of equal span — each 78 feet wide. The breadth of the roadway is 36 feet, and the total length of the bridge is 840 feet. Pimlico Railway Bridge is built of iron, with four openings or spans of 175 feet each. The bridge is 900 feet in length, and has a width of 24 feet. Chelsea Chain Suspension Bridge is 922 feet long and 45 feet wide. Cost, £75,000. Hannuersmith Suspension Bridge is 841 feet long and 32 feet wide. Cost, £180,000. Scott, the American diver, lost his life while performing acrobatic feats on Waterloo Bridge. The season he chose for diving from a height of twenty feet above the parapet of the highest London bridge was during an intense frost, when the river was full of ice, and the enormous masses floating with the tide scarcely appeared to leave a space for his reckless plunge into the river or his rise therefrom. He watched his moment, and the feat was performed over and over again with perfect safety. But he had been told that the Londoners wanted novelty. It was not enough that he should do day after day what no man had ever ventured to do before. To leap off the parapets of the South wark and Waterloo bridges into the half-frozen river had become a common thing ; and so the poor fellow must have a scaffold put up, and he DEADLY ACKOBATICS. 555 must suspend liimself from its cross bars by his arm, his leg and liis neck, in succession. Twice was the last experiment repeated ; but on the third attempt the body hung motionless. The applause and laughter that death could be so counterfeited was tumultuous ; but a cry of terror went forth that the man was dead. He perished for catering to a morbid pubUc appe- tite. Every one who saw this voluntary hanging went away degraded and disgusted at the terrible result of the show. CHAPTER XXXIX. AT WINDSOR CASTLE. ROM Windsor Castle the view is one of the finest in England. A vast panorama extending as far as the eye can reach. All flat — the faint, hare, blue horizontal line, scarcely discernible from the clouds, so distant is it, as straight as the bound- ary of a calm sea — and yet how infinitely varied ! What would such an expanse of land be in any other country but England, which is, in itself, a huge landscape garden ? A lovely river, to which the hackneyed illustration of " a stream of molten gold " might well be applied, from the silent roll of its glittering waters, as if impeded by their own rich "Weight, now flashing like a strip of the sun's self, through broad meadows, whose green is scarcely less dazzling — now lost in shady nooks of wondrous and refreshing coolness. Trees of various species and growth, singly, in clumps, and in rows, are everywhere. Little bright-looking villages, with their white spires, or grey towers, are dotted all over the scene. Be- yond where I stand, on the ramparts of the Castle, I can see tlie Gothic turrets and spires of Eton College, founded by Henry of Lancaster, flanked by oak and birch trees, and above us, on this delightful day in autumn, tlie banner of St. George is floating right saucily, denoting that this Martial Keep is a royal fortress and a hereditary residence of the Sovereigns of England. J THE DEMON HUNTSMAN. 557 Everything seems in perfect harmony around us, as the sun falls in slanting and roseate beams on grass, tree, flower, cas- tle, and river. There are not many hours, in one's life, such as I enjoyed that pleasant evening in September. The gentle hum of human life reaching me from the distance, is no more injurious to the effect than the rustling of the trees, or the chirping of the birds. The quiet bustle down at the stone bridge, the shouts of the bargemen — heard several seconds after their utterance, — the plashing of the oars of stray boats, the crick- eters over there in their playground, where reposes some of the dust of Arthur's blood ; all these have a charm for the drowsy senses. The sleepy-looking chimneys of the old, royal town, imme- diately beneath me, fill up their place in the picture famously; even steam — ^that most implacable enemy of romance — ai)pears on the scene without injuring it. The little toy-liouse-looking railway station, which I can see from where I stand, on the bat- tlements, is a harmless, nay a pleasing object; and to watch the lilliputian train that has just left it, disappearing fussily among tlie old trees, is a perfect delight. Windsor Castle has been the abode of royalty from the time of the Saxon Kings. It was while King John lived at Wind- sor, that the barons obtained from him Magna Charta. Crom- well has held his republican courts in Windsor, and Charles I lies buried in its Chapel Royal. James, the Royal poet and King of Scotland, has visited here, and David, another Scottish monarch, was a prisoner in its gloomy towers. Here was instituted the Order of the Gar- ter by Edward, who was " every inch a King," and some of the most splendid pageantries and courtly ceremonies of history have been enacted within the walls of Windsor Castle. In its vast forests, Heme, the Diabolical Hunter, has chased the Phantom Deer to the tally-ho of unearthly horns. This forest, or, as it was called, "Windsor Great Forest," was of enormous extent, and comprehended a circumference of one hundred and twenty miles. In the time of James I, this great area had been reduced to seventy-seven and a half miles. There were 558 AT WINDSOR CASTLE. then three thousand head of deer, and fifteen walks, in the forest, each about three miles long. The next reduction of its size left the Forest only fifty-six miles in circumference, and in 1814 an act of Parliament was passed to enclose its bounda- ries. Since then villages, and detached buildings, and private residences, have encroached upon this once magnificent de- mesne, until but 6,000 acres of wood and dell have been left of all the great medieval acreage. Edward, the Confessor, held a court here, and assigned the Manor of "Windsor to the Abbot and Monks of Westminster. William de W^ykcham, the great philanthropist and scholar, who founded Winchester School and the New College at Ox- ford, was appointed Clerk of the Works at Windsor to super- intend the reconstruction of the Castle, in 1356, and his fee from Edward III for the service was one shilling a day while he remained in the town, and two shillings a day when he went elsewhere upon business. The Castle is divided into a great number of apartments, many of which are memorable for their historical recollections, and among them are St. George's Chapel, Beaufort Chapel, the Round Tower, the North Terrace, the Audience Chamber, the Vandyck Gallery, the Queen's Drawing Room, the State Ante- Room, the Grand Vestibule, the Waterloo Chamber, the Grand Ball Room, St. George's Hall, the Guard Chamber, the Queen's Presence Chamber, the King's Closet, the Queen's Private Closet, the King's Drawing Room, the Throne Room, the State Apartments, and the Private Apartments. The Home Park attached to the Castle is a private garden in which the Queen walks or rides while residing at Windsor. The Queen seldom rides on horseback of late years, as she has become so fat and pursy that she is in constant dread that she will have to take any such exercise as walking in the open air, or even promen- ading upon the Grand Terrace of Windsor. In St. George's Chapel, a beautiful little edifice, are hung the banners of the ,Knights of the Order of the Garter, and under each banner is the carved stall, made of wood, on which each Knight of the Chapter sits, at the installation of a new PRAYING FOR CHEESE AND BEER. 659 member, or when any grand ceremony may make their pres- ence necessary. In the groined roof above the banners, are worked the arms of Edward the Black Prince, Henry VI, Ed- ward IV, Henry VII, and the succeeding English Sovereigns. The helmets, swords, and mantles of the Knights, together with the brass plates, recording their titles, are also to be seen here. In this Chapel is buried the crumbled dust of poor Jane Seymour, one of Henry VIII's unfortunate wives and the mother of Edward VI, who reformed the Prayer Book and Liturgy of the Church of England. The body of Charles I also lies here, but he was more fortunate than Jane Seymour, whose memory is almost forgotten. In the Beaufort Chapel is the family tomb of that perverse old idiot of a king, George III, in which repose the ashes of his children and Queen ; the Duke of Kent, father of Queen Vic- toria, Princess Charlotte, William IV, uncle to Queen Victoria, the royal blackguard and scoundrel George IV, the Princess Augusta, who was believed to have been insane, and Queen Adelaide. It is in the Beaufort Chapel that the Poor or Military Knights of St. George's College, assemble to pray and beseech the Al- mighty for the health and welfare of the Queen of England, and for the Most Noble Companions of the Order of the Garter, to whom the Poor Knights cling as a species of indigent para- sites. The Order of Poor Knights was established by act of Parliament of Edward IV, in the name of the "Poor Knights of St. George's College," and was to consist of a Dean, 12 Secular Canons, 13 Priests, 4 Clerks, 6 Choristers, and 24 "Alms Knights." At divine service in the Beaufort Chapel, these old, broken- down looking men may be seen, on every festival, and on all occasions when services are held, praying for the reigning Sov- ereign of England. For tliis service they receive bread, cheese, beer, and meat, ten times a week. I saw these worn, meek- looking men, who seemed to glide rather than walk during service, but it seemed to me that very little prayers were ut- tered by them for the Sovereign, as they all had a vacant, 560 AT WINDSOR CASTLE. absent look, wdth the exception of one or two who had the reg- ular fixed John Bull stare, and were evidently awaiting the hour when bread, cheese, and beer, were to be announced. WINDSOR CASTLE. In the Round Tower, which is 295 feet high, there were con- fined nearly all the State prisoners whom despotism found it necessary to secure in its dungeons, from Edward III to Charles II, and in the ''Audience Chamber," which is hung with Gobe- lin Tapestry, representing the story of Queen Esther, are paint- ings of Mary, Queen of Scots, and William, Prince of Orange. This is an "Audience Chamber" only in name, for the Queen very seldom holds levees in this big, desolate-looking room. The "Waterloo Chamber" is 47 feet in length and 45 in height, and has a gallery of magnificent portraits, by Lawrence, all of whom were, in some fashion, connected either in the closets of diplomacy, or the fields of strife, with the downfall of Napoleon; hence the name of "Waterloo Gallery." Here IN THE queen's CHAMBER. 561 are life-size portraits of Wellington, Lord Castlercagh, Hum- boldt, Alexander I, Count Nesselrode, Capo d'Istria, Prince Scliwartzenburg, Archduke Charles, Bluchcr, Platoff, the Mar- quis of Anglesea, Francis II, of Austria, Pope Pius Yll, and others equally famous. In the Grand Chaml^er is a piece of ordnance, taken from Tippo Saib, at Seringapatam, a table made from the wreck of the Royal George, and an elaborately worked shield of silver, inlaid with gold, made by Benvenuto Cellini, which was pre- sented by Francis I, of France, to Henry YIII, of England, at the Field of the Cloth of Gold. The Throne Room has a fine ceiling, ornamented with the different emblems of the Order of the Garter. Here tlie Queen sits enthroned on occasions of State, and receives her guests habited in a scarlet velvet mantle, trimmed with miniver. On one occasion, wlien her Majesty took her seat here, her costume, including the jewels and Crown, was valued at £150,000, a vast sum to be thrown away on such heartless vanities, when it is recollected that myriads of people were dying of want and starvation in her Kingdom at the time. The Throne is a very fine piece of work, and is covered with heavy hangings of red velvet, and is ornamented with the rose, shamrock and thistle. By special permission I had the pleasure of beholding the Queen's bed-room, or Private Closet. This is a favor seldom shown to any but foreign noblemen, or Embassadors, but by diligent efforts I had succeeded in getting permission to look at this sacred place. On the day that I visited Windsor Castle, it luckily happened that very few visitors had called, and as I had a note from a most high personage, with permission to see the private apart- ments of Her Majesty, I was glad that there was not a crowd to witness the result of my mission. As a point of honor, I find it impossible to mention the name of the great personage who gave me permission to visit the Queen's Chamber, as I fear it might give him trouble, and perhaps deprive him of his lofty position. 662 AT WINDSOR CASTLE. Even the attendant, to whom I showed the note, was afraid to allow me to enter the apartments, as tlic Queen had only left them early tliat same morning to take a drive, and was expected back during the evening. It was now two o'clock in the afternoon, and I began to fear that I would not see the private saloons of her Majesty. The attendant said, in answer to my request : *' I tell you. Sir, I'll lose my place and perkisites if I show the hapartments to you. I dare not do it." "But," said I, "there is an order from Lord , will not that be sufficient?" " Yes," said he, " his Lordship is a great friend of the Queen, but I'm afraid this order is a mistake, and only refers to the public apartments, which I have no hobjection, Sir, to your seeing." I began to think I would fail if I did not find a weak spot in the gorgeous flunkey. Suddenly a thought struck me. I asked myself " who has been the most popular and best loved American in England ?" Echo answered, " George Pcabody." And "why," the inward monitor asked. Echo answered again, "because he gave so much money away," for I was positive that the English (servants at least) did not care for any of his less showy viitues, in comparison with that of bestowing millions from his private purse ! Why, the Queen herself give him her portrait. Did she not ? The flunkey seemed to read my soul the while that I com- muned with myself. I felt that I must throw myself in the breacli. ' Suddenly I slipped a bright new sovereign into the man's hand. His fin- gers closed on the shining gold coin like tlie teeth of a ^ase and his eyes glistened. I knew then from his look tliat I would have to pistol the flunkey on the spot before I could get back my sov- ereign. We were going toward the private apartments of her Britannic Majesty, who is also Defender of tlie Faith. A long corridor lay before us, and the flunkey stopped and said to me : THE SECRETS OF ROYALTY. 563 " I'll try it, Sir. You are indeed very generous, and I honor you for it, but I don't know whether we can pass the Yeoman of the Guard. They are always about here guarding Iler Ma. jesty's private apartments. This is the Queen's Closet," He pointed to a lofty doorway, and I saw a big, bloated Britisher, walking up and down with something on his shoulder that looked like a meat- axe fastened upon a clothes-pole. He had a red tunic, and wore a round flat hat, and his legs which were very noble and imposing, were clad in red hose. The flunkey, who was also in tights, went up to liira and spoke, and I assumed a business-like air. He was telling the red-faced Beef-Eater, as I afterwards ascertained, that I came to make some repairs in the closet, but the Beef-Eater did not seem willing to admit any one ; but by some moral suasion he obviated his scruples, and I was allowed to enter. I think he divided the sovereign with him. The flunkey beckoned to me, and I approached. The Beef- Eater — noble fellow — looked the other way, as I entered the imposing apartment. The flunkey stood in silent awe, as I looked around on the splendors of the lofty room. A magnificent bed stood in a corner of the apartment, hung with red velvet and yellow silk. The arms of Great Britain were emblazoned on the heavy red velvet, and the Lions and Unicorns, disported playfully all over the room in their usual attitudes. There were large oil paintings of George IV, King William IV, the Duke of Kent, father of Queen Victoria, the Prince of Wales as a Colonel of the British army, and the Princess Louise, a marriageable daughter of Queen Victoria. The bed was large and would have held three persons of the size of Queen Victoria. Elegant lounges were arranged around the lofty apartment, covered with damask satin. A faint and delicious odor filled the room, and I seemed to sink in the soft and luxuriant carpets. Mystery, silence, and enchantment pre- vailed, and I trembled to think that I stood in the presence of Royalty unbidden, and without the permission of the Queen. There was a sideboard of most intricate carving at one end 564 AT WINDSOR CASTLE. of the room, with some green Venetian glasses on one of its shelves, but I saw no decanters. The room was filled with a glory and power, reflected in the possessor of three Kingdoms. From without, through the deeply embayed windows, also hung with satin of the color of a morning sky, I could hear the tramp of the sentinels on the battlements, and the hoarse cry of the warders, going their rounds, demanding the counter- sign of strangers. The charmed silence was broken by the voice of the flunkey in answer to my enquiry as to how the aromatic odors of the chamber were procured. " Her Majesty is worry fond of perfumes, Sir," said he. " The carpets has Cologne shook on them every morning, and if you will come here to the bed, you will also get the smell of Patshooly." 1 walked to the bed and I found that there was an odor of cologne, otter of roses, and musk, proceeding from the coun- terpane, which was bordered with purple velvet and gold lace, and had the royal arms embroidered in the centre. The pil- low slips had trimmings of Valenciennes lace, half a yard wide, hanging from their open ends. The counterpane was of quilted blue and pink satin, and inside of the velvet canopy that covered the bed, was a lining of blue and white satin, from which hung down heavy folds of Mechlin lace. A little table of ivory, inlaid with gold and lapis lazuli, stood a few feet from the bed, supported by a tripod elegantly worked in solid silver. , The flunkey explained to me the use of this table. " Some- times Her Majesty takes her breakfast in bed," said he, "when she is indisposed. Her Majesty is worry fond of coffee, and often takes two cups of a morning when she is stopping at Windsor. She is fond of veal cutlets, well done, and sweet breads, for breakfast. Yes, Sir, I have heard that Her Majesty, God bless her, when she had a good appetite, before Prince Albert died, would eat a pound of veal at breakfast. The lady in waiting places her coffee on that small table, and after handuig Her Majesty her breakfast in bed, she stands off" at a WOT A PEOPLE THE HAMERICANS ARE.' 665 respectful distance, and waits until she is called again to offer Her Majesty a favorite dish. The Duchess of Athole, who is a relation of Lady Mordaunt, is greatly liked by Her Majesty, and when she waits on the Queen, Her Majesty allows her to sit down, but all the other ladies in waiting, excepting Lady Di- anna Beauclerk, has to stand up. Sometimes, when the Prince of "Wales comes here, God bless him, he is awfully screwed (drunk), and then the Queen makes a prcshis row, and she wont speak to him for a week after. " You are the only American ever was allowed to enter this ere room. Sir ; but I have heard that one of your countrymen once strayed in here, and was astonished to find that there was no ' spittoons,' I think he called them, in the Queen's bed-room. A preshis thing that would be, to have sich things as ' spittoons' in the Queen's bed-room," said the indignant and loyal flunkey. . I informed the man that the story was incredible, and that my countrymen were not such savages as he believed them to be. When I informed him that in the old times in America, any free and unwashed citizen might have inspected the Pres- ident's bed-room at the White House at Washington, he was greatly astonished, and said : " My God, what a strange people the Hamericans are ! And they allowed them to look at his bed, did they ? My heyes, wot a people !" m(^i^^%.^^' 1 CHAPTER XL. BEFORE THE MAGISTRATES. HEEE are two places well wortli seeing in London. One is the Central Criminal Court or " Old Bailey " as it is iisnally called, situated next door to IS'ewgate, and the "Lord Mayor's" Court, in the Mansion House. The Old Bailey is a famous criminal Court, and has had an eventful history. The magistrates who sit here, are the Lord Mayor, who opens the Court, the sherijffs of Middlesex and London, the Lord Chancellor, who is never present excepting in a State trial, the Judges, Aldermen, and Recorder, the Common Sergeant of London, the Judge of the Sheriff's Court, or City Commis- sions, and others whom the Crown may appoint to assist them. Of these dignitaries the Recorder and Common Sergeant of London are most generally to be found presiding, as the com- mon law judges only assist when knotty points are to be de- cided, or when conviction may affect the life of the prisoner. At the Old Bailey are tried crimes of every kind, from trea- son to petty larceny, and even offences committed upon the high seas. The jurisdiction comprises every part of the me- tropolis of London, together with the county of Middlesex ; the parishes of Richmond and Mortlake in Surrey, and the greater part of Essex county, adjoining Middlesex. The Old Bailey Court is a square hall with a gallery for visitors, below which is a large clock, that ticks in the prison- THE "old bailey" coukt. - 567 er's ears, like a bell of doom. Below it is the dock for the cul- prits, with stairs descending to the covered passage, by which they are conveyed to and from ISTewgate. Opposite the dock in which the wretched prisoner stands up to plead for mercy, is the bench for the judges, and here may be seen day after day the Recorder of London sitting to try oiFenders, in his blue cloth gown, with furred borders, and his neck encircled with a gold chain, listening listlessly to the testimony, and now and then making notes on a square piece of paper, while from the open window comes the chirruping of birds ; and before him are arraigned poor wretches in rags and squalor, on trial for offences which may j)eril their lives, reputation and hap- piness. There are three large square windows in this Court, through which api:)ear tlie ridge of the gloomy walls of Xewgate, hav- ing on their left a gallery close to the ceiling, with projecting boxes, and on the right the Bench extending the whole length of tlie wall, with desks at intervals, for the use of the judges, whilst in the body of the Court are the witness-box and the jury-box, below the windows of the Court, an arrangement that allows the jury to look clearl}', and without turning, on the faces of the witnesses and the prisoners. The strong light from the windows enables the witness to identify the pris- oner, who stands shivering in the dock, at the same time that it permits the judges on the Bench and the counsel below in the hollow space of the Court to keep jury, witnesses and pris- oners all at once within the same perspective line. In the upper seats are the double rows of reporters, smart, well-looking and well-dressed fellows, the majority of whom look bored and disgusted, as well they may, when it is taken into account that they have to sit here day after day, to look at the same horse-hair wigs of the jabbering lawyers, the same gowns, the same blank ceiling, the same stupid, harsh faced jurymen, and the same hard looking or M'obcgone wretches who stand up in the dock to listen to sentence or ac- quittal. Occasionally there is a little amusement for tliem when some ass of an alderman attempts in a pompous way, to 35 568 ■ EKFOKE THE MAGISTKATI';S. show the bearing of a statute in a criminal ease, and only suc- ceeds in exjjosing his turtle-fed ignorance to the merriment of the knowing ones. Look there now. A youth well-dressed and cleanly-looking is brought into the dock and placed for trial on a charge of for- gery on his employer, for the sum of one hundred and fifty pounds. The young fellow has a weak, pallid face, and seems rather dazed at all the preparation and mysterious jabber on his account. A dozen of the counsel, in black stuff gowns and with white wigs of horse-hair look around for a minute at the dock, where the prisoner stands, merely out of curiosity, as if he were a sheep or a calf brought in for slaughter. Their cu- riosity satisfied, they turn away from him and dismiss his pale face from their thoughts almost instantaneously. The judge on the bench — who is flanked by a fat alderman on each side, in red robes — sits, looking at some documents, with a far-away, abstracted look, as if the prisoner at the bar was a thousand miles distant, and a free man. And meanwhile the case progresses, the counsel for the Crown opening indignantly on the side of virtue and the law, and witness after M'itness is called up and kisses the book, and there is much maldng of afiidavit and counter-afiidavit, and through all this maze of swearing and mist of statement, it ap- pears that the young lad at the bar has been w^ild and reckless, and has signed his master's name, beyond all doubt, to a check, which he had cashed, the proceeds of which were spent in the haunts of vice and shame. The case goes to the jury, who pi'onounce him guilty without leaving their seats, and the sun streams through the windows on the despairing face of the youth, and I am awakened from a sort of a trance into which I have fallen, to hear the voice of the Recorder of the good city of London, drone out at the prisoner : " In tins case I can find no extenuating circumstances. You are of age to know better, and the sentence of the Court is, therefore, that you suffer jjenal servitude, with hard labor, for the space of twelve years." Good God I twelve years ! He is not yet eighteen, and the THE judges' dinner. 569 twelve best years of liis life are erased from his span of exist- ence, by the breath of the man in blue cloth gown and the fur tippet, and now the latter goes up stairs to eat his dinner, the jury are dismissed, and a young girl falls fainting in the Court as the prisoner is led out — however it is only his sister. There is a little stir among the horse-hair-wigged counsel and a buzz in the audience, and in three minutes another case comes on to excite new interest, and make us forget the convict and his sobbing, fiir-haired sister. Upon the front of the dock is placed a sprig of rue, which dissipates any infection that may proceed from the clothes of the prisoner, should he be suffering from illness. The origination of this custom is worthy of note. ' In 1750, when the jail fever raged in Newgate, the effluvia entering the Court, caused the death of Baron Clarke, Sir Thomas Abney, the judge of the Common Pleas ; and Pen- nant's " respected kinsman," Sir Samuel Pennant, Lord May- or ; besides members of the bar and of the jury, and other per- sons. This disease was also fatal to several persons in 1772. Since that time a sprig of rue has always been kept in the dock to drive away contagion. Above the old Court is a stately dining-room, wherein, during the Old Bailey sittings, the dinners arc given by the sheriffs to the judges and aldermen, the Recorder, Common Sergeant, city pleaders, and a few visitors. Marrow-puddings and rump-steaks are always provided. Two dinners, exact duplicates, are served each day, at 3 and 5 o'clock ; and the judges relieve each other, but aldermen have eaten both din- ners ; and a chaplain, who invariably presided at the lower end of the table, thus ate two dinners a day for ten years. Theo- dore Hook admirably describes a Judges' Dinner in his Gll- hert Gurney. In 1807-8, the dinners for three sessions, nine- teen days, cost Sheriff Phillips £35 per day — £665 ; 145 doz- en of wine, consumed at the above dinners, £450 : total £1,115. The amount is now considerably greater, as the sessions are held monthly. , Outside in the lobbies and hall rooms, passages and corridors 670 BEFORE THE MAGISTRATES. adjacent to and connected with the Old Bailey Conrt there is always a crowd of lawyers, policemen, hangers-on, countrymen, cadgers, and persons anxious to hecome spectators, females of the poorer class, members of the aristocratic swell moh, sneak thieves and pickpockets, all curious to know how matters are going on inside with their friends or associates in crime or misfortune, and among them all, rushing hither and thither, chatting and joking, conferring with his clients, and nodding LOADING THE PRISON VAN. familiarly to the police and the officers of the Court, may be seen the sharpest legal bird in the world. I mean the regular Old Bailey practitioner, who could take a penny from a dead man's eyes, rob an altar, or cheat the widow and orphan, and still prove to his own satisfaction that it was done for a good and laudable purpose. A not uncommon sight in the vicinity of police offices and petty Courts, in London, is the noisy, brawling discharge of TIIK MAX5IOX HOUSE. 571 prisoners, wlio are turned out on the streets in the niorning, after liaving been locked up all night for trifling offences, or disorderly conduct and intoxication. Their unlucky companions, M'ho have received sentences of imprisonment, are taken from the Courts to tlie places of con- finement in which they are to pay the penalty of their indis- cretion or crime. Every niorning there is a dreadful row and confusion at the Bow street police office, when the prisoners are brought out to be placed in the prison wagon or " van," in which they are transported to Ilolloway, Milbank or New- gate prisons. A large crowd assembles daily to witness the embarkation of these poor wretches for their new residences. Fighting Avomen, squalling children, patient policemen, and drunken blackmiards are among the details of these assem- blages. There is a strong able bodied virago, with her dress hanging to her form in shreds, who has just tossed her soiled bonnet madly among the crowd, with a series of shrieks, and three policemen aie hardly sufficient to restrain her, while she is being helped into the " Yan." At last she is locked up with other unruly personages inside of the iron door, in a dark box, where she may swear away to her heart's content for a ride of five to ten miles. And now let us take a look at the Justice Room of the Mansion House, which is only a few rods distant from the Old Bailey. Be it known to all my readers that the Mansion House, or Guildhall, is to London what the City Hall is to New York — the Hotel de Yille to Paris or Brussels — and the Stadt Hans to Amsterdam. It is here that the Lord Mayor of London lives and here he deals out justice to his constituents. The Guildhall or Mansion House of London is one of the finest public build- ings in the city, and has a noble gallery, dining hall, and a ser- vice of municipal gold and silver plate, which is used by the Lord Mayor on state occasions, besides a splendid collection of paintings. But it is of the Justice Court, a small room in the Man- sion House, that we liave to speak on this occasion, and not of the plate, or of the Lord Mayor's annual show. 572 BEFORE TUE MAGISTRATES. The Mansion House is just opposite the Bank of England and the Royal Excliange, in the very heart of moneyed Lon- don, Lombard street being but a very short distance around the corner, with its horde of money changers, bill discounters brokers, and bankers. This Court is not opened before noonday, as the Lord Mayor of London is too mighty a magnate to be hurried in his daily duties for any command or Court of Justice. Accordingly at noon, I find myself below the steps leading to the Mansion House, and presently I begin to ascend the broad staircase of stone, with a small crowd of po- licemen, officers of the Court, witnesses, and law- yers. I am questioned as to my business by an officer at the door, but being in com- pany with detective Ir^^ng, of New York City (who is about to appear before the Lord Mayor, in the case of ("lenient ILirwood, the cele- brated forger, whom the for- mer had captured at Kew York on board of an Eng- lish steamer, before she had touched her dock, and had him brought back to Lon- don for trial), I am admitted, and after one or two turnings, find myself in a well-lighted room of moderate size, with a high ceiling and two windows looking out on the Poultiy and Threadneedle street. Between those two windows is a throne or dais, gorgeous enough for a monarch, and behind the throne are emblazoned the municipal mace and sword, and the motto of the City of London, " Doniine Dirige Nos," surmounted by the lion and DETECTIVE IRVING. THE KICH RASCAL. 573 unicorn, the arms of Great Britain. This is the Lord Mayor's Chair of Justice, but the awful being to whom it appertains has not yet made his appearance, and I have leisure to look around me. There are two rows of desks, for the reporters, and behind them sit representatives of the Times, Daily Wews, Daily TelegrajpTi, Standard, Horning Advertiser, and other leading journals, the evening papers, with the exception of the Echo, Pall Mall Gazette and Globe not being represented, the others always copying their police reports from the morning journals. There are two or three high desks in the centre of the room, a square iron railing, and a number of police waiting to make charges, but the prisoners are kept below in the lockup and will presently appear through a trap door in the floor when they are called to answer to the charges on the sheet. The American detective has just finished his business re- garding Ilarwood's case, and saunters in carelessly with his hat in his hand to take a look around him. Presently there is a bustle and commotion, and a man look- ing like a drum major of a band, with scarlet and gold facings on his coat, whom I am informed enjoys the dignity of May- or's Marshal, marches into the room like a peacock, with his big staff of office, and cries out : "Make way there, for the Right Honorable the Lud Mayor." Then enters the awful being himself, in a furred robe of heavy cloth, like one of Hembrandt's burgomasters, a blazing gold chain depending from his neck and covering his waist- coat, and having taken his seat, the charge sheet is examined by him in a dignified way, and the first case is called. This is the case of the forger Ilarwood, a young man, the son of the senior partner of one of the largest banking firms in London, who has forged his father's name for the amount of £15,000. The trap door opens and discloses a fashionably-dressed and good-looking young fellow, with a police officer on each side. The case had excited great interest in London, and the prisoner 5U Bf:FOKE THE MAG1STKATP:S. Imving fled to Xe-\v York was captured before the steamer got to her dock, and brought back to London, llarwood had been brought to justice because the junior member of the firm, to protect its interests, had been compelled to the unwill- ing task of making the charge against his partner's son. Ilarvvood has the air of a languid and haughty " swell," or exquisite, and is most fashionably dressed. There is no flinchino- in his blonde and whiskered face as he is BEFORE THE "LORD MATOR." brought up for sentence, having been previously contacted. Out of £15,000, detective Irving recovered over £11,000 from the forger, and it seems the charge is to bo hushed up. The father of the culprit is a wealthy citizen, and the counsel for the prisoner makes his point that the greater part of the money having been recovered, and the prisoner having '' suf- fered much anguish of mind " for his crime, has offered to go THE POOR KASCAL. 575 to America if released, and make amends for his " fault " by leading a new and repentant life. I looked at the exquisite, who stood there as cool as a cucum- ber, and it seemed to me rather doubtful that he had suftered much anguish of mind, I also doubted if he would be willing to lead a very virtuous life in America. As he stood there with his assured and rather contemptuous look and insolent face, he was quite a contrast to the pale, weak-looking lad, who stood the day before in the dock of the Old Bailey to receive with trembling lips his sentence of twelve long years penal servitude, and just as the thought struck me, Irving, the de- tective, whispered to me : " He looks very sorry, don't he ? Of course ! Cheese things." Then the Lord Mayor plucked up a proper spirit, threw back his furred sleeves, put on a look of profound wisdom, con- sulted with the prisoner's counsel, and making up his judicial mind that Harwood had " suftered enough," — poor young man — the forger was released and set at liberty in order to al- low him to become a virtuous citizen of the United States. Nothing was said about the deficit of two or three thousand pounds ; the young man's family was wealthy and respectable. But who is this poor rascal at the bar novr, who appears as the friends of the wealthy forger gather in a knot to congratulate him. Why it is a low rnftian of a pickpocket who has been caught in the act of abstracting a lady's reticule valued at four- teen shillings. The villain ! lie has no wealthy friends, so let him take eighteen months imprisonment at Ilollaway pris- on, and there let him repent, while on the treadmill. I left the Lord Mayors Court with mixed feelings, and the remarks of the detective failed to reassure me as to the honesty of the method of administering justice by his Worship, the Lord Mayor of London. CHAPTER XLI. TWO EIVALS— CANTERBURY AND ROME. ETROPOLITAN Life has its religious phases, also. London contains about 410,- 000 dwelling-houses, places of business, and public buildings, and in this vast ag- glomeration of brick, stone, and mortar — there are about seven hundred edifices de- voted to public worship. In this number are comprised places of worship for all sects : Roman Cathol- ics, Protestants of the Established Church of England, Baptists, Presbyterians, Independents, Jews, Greeks, Moravians^ Qua- kers, Socinians, "Wesleyan-Methodists, and even Hindoos, who have a temple of their own. There are two hundred and eighteen parishes in the Metrop- olis, under the jurisdiction of vestries and parochial bodies who, in turn, are subject to the Bishop of London, sitting as a temporal and spiritual peer in the House of Lords. He is Pro- vincial Dean of Canterbury, and Dean of the Chapels Royal at Whitehall and the Savoy. The Bishop of London ranks next to the Archbishop of York and Canterbury, and has an income of £10,000, annually, and the free gift of one hundred and nine livings, ranging in value from £2,000 to £30 a year. As Dean of Canterbury his income amounts to £2,000 a year. The clergymen of the Established Church receiving the largest salaries in the City of London, whose livings are in the gift of the Bishop of London, are tliose of St.'^Botolph, Bishopsgate, £2,290, St. Olave's, Hart street, Bloomsbury, £1,891, and St. Giles, Cripplcgate, £1,580. SPURGEON AND " APOCALYPSE" GUMMING. 577 The smallest salary is that received by the pastor of St. Bar- tholomew the Less, who only gets .£30 a year, although his work is far harder than that of the Dean of Westminster, who receives X4,000 a year. The salary of the Archbishop of Can- terbury is <£ 20,000, and he has half a dozen palaces through- out the country. The Archbishop of York receives about X15,000 a year, and has two Episcopal and palatial residences. Spurgeon,thc great Baptist divine, who ranks somewhat like Henry "Ward Beccher, receives a salary of 818,000 a year for his preacliing, and his congregation, in 1860, erected for him a grand tabernacle at Newing-ton, on the Surrey side of the Thames near the Elephant and Castle, and in one of the rough- est districts of London, at a cost of X 25,000. The design is simple ; the dimen- sions 85 by 174 feet, and here, every Sun- day evening, nearly six thousand persons assemble to listen to the vehement elo- quence of Spurgeon, who has his congrega- tion drilled like a com- pany of infantry, and can move them to tears or laughter, as he chooses. Li Crown Court, Stran'\ is the Free Church of Scotland, a SPURGEON. weli-built and com- modious edifice, where the Scottish Presbyterians attend. The pastor of this church is known all over the world by his writ- ings and his prophetic denunciations of the coming destruction of the world, as "Apocalypse" Cumming. Thousands of pages have been written by this eminent divine, and hundreds of ser- mons have been preached by him, in which he has identified 578 TWO RIVALS CANTERBURY AND ROME. the Pope of Rome with the " Scarlet Woman" and the " Beast," having the mark on her forehead, yet at the call of the Ecu- menical Council, he was the first Protestant divine in England, who, in a manner acknowledged the Pope's jurisdiction Ijy writ- ing to him for admission to the Council as a Priest or " Pres- byter." Dr. Cumming is a very energetic preacher, and his services are always well attended by the disciples of his church, as well as by strangers, in London, who manifest a great de- sire to hear the illustrious Scotch divine. One of the most talked-about people in London is the famous "Father Ignatius," whose design is to bring over English Epis- copalians to the Roman Catholic Church, although he does not say so ostensibly. Tliis man is evidently sincere in his efforts to bring back the Englisli Church to the place of its depart- ure, for the Reformation — as far as the ceremonial goes. It is very little different, that old-fashioned church of St. Mary-le-Strand — where I saw Father Igna- tius officiating one Sun- day afternoon, in the midst of incense, ringing of silver bells, and kneel- ing worshippers, who went through all the most devout genuflec- tions of Roman Catholi- cism — from the Mother Church, in its ceremonial. Father Ignatius wore a vestment, with a huge cross down the back, his head was shaved on the top like that of a monk, and his face and eyes, as he descended the steps of tlie altar, which was surmounted with a Gothic cross, covered with flowers, and blazing with lights, had an ascetic aspect, which is not com- monly seen in the features or eyes of a clergyman of the State FATUER IGNATIUS. THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND. 579 Cliurch. At every motion of the body he made a low rever- ence to the Crucifix over the altar. This Father Ignatius does not believe in a married Clergy, or in Lay or Congregational administration of a Churcli — in fact he does everything that a RomanCatholicPriestdoes,including the hearing of confessions, yet he dares not acknowledge the Supremacy of the Bishop of Rome, excepting in a negative sense. He is an advanced sol- dier of a large and growing party in the Church of England, who gravitate with tremendous strides daily towards the Church of Rome, but do not know that they are thus gravitating, or knowing, will not acknowledge the fact. This puny, slab-faced, and livid-looking Priest, has suffered, too, with steadiness, has been stoned and mobbed by angry crowds, yet lie perseveres in his work, and has many thousand followers, male and female, among the brightest, best, bravest, and most cultivated of England's aristocracy. It is a strange, old-fashioned, and conservative Church, this State Churcli of Great Britain. It has lasted three hundred years, with its feasts and fasts, its liturgy, its prelates, spiritual .peers, and Thirty-Nine Articles. Englishmen have always, until of late days, been conserva- tive, and this old-fashioned Church, with its grave ceremonial, its Canons, and Deaneries, with its Westminster Abbey, its St. Paul's Cathedral, and its Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, has, in every way, satisfied the English people — at any rate, it has served the purposes of the ruling classes. But the Church of England, like all other things in this world, has received some heavy blows in the course of its ex- istence. First came the Great Civil "War, in which Cliarles I lost his head, and with him the Church of England lost its revenues, and its great prestige departed when Laud ascended the scalfold. Then came the Restoration, which brought with it a disso- lute King, a dissolute nobility, and worst of all a dissolute clergy. The horse-riding, beer-drinking, and gambling parsons of the reigns of Queen Anne, William, and the Georges, such as Thackeray has so well described, in his Parson Sampson, were morally unfit to join issue, in a spiritual encounter,with such 580 TWO RIVALS — CANTERBURY AND ROME. earnest, plucky, and aggressive Christians as "Wesley, Whit- field, and Bunyan, proved themselves, and consequently the Es- tablished Church lost its hold on half of the working men and the agricultural classes of England toward the first decade of the Nineteenth century. In particular, the manufacturing towns lost all respect for the faith of the King and court, and such places as Manchester, Sheffield, Liverpool, and Birmingham, became strongholds of Dissent, wliile the pews of the rural churches, where the poor of the parishes had never been wel- come, since the days of the dissolution of the monasteries, by Henry VIII, were left untenanted, and a brutal ignorance took the place of implicit faith among the English masses. And to cap the climax, a year ago a bill was brought into Parliament for the destruction of the Established Church of Ireland, a church wdiich never had been accepted by the Irish people, and though the English Churchmen, the Ministers, and the Tory party, rallied to save the doomed edifice, yet it was swept away in a night, despite the maneuvers of the leaders of the House of Lords, who wisely fought the bill as long as they could, believing it to be the first great blow delivered at the Established Church and the English aristocracy since Catholic Emancipation in 1829. At present there is a terrific struggle going on in the Estab- lished Church. One half of the clergy, among whom are the best educated and most scholarly divines, secretly lean to the Catholic Church, and belong to the " Ritualistic " party, with its incense, flowers, banners, and Protestant Sisters of Mercy and Nuns ; and the other half are again divided into those who doubt the inspiration of tlie Scriptures, and openly denounce the entire books of the Bible as a tissue of fables, with Colenso, and a third party, who having sprung from the people, and liaving no connection with any of the great beneficed Church families, and being incumbents of £100 livings, or less, cannot support their families or educate their children properly. This last faction is a growing one, and though less educated than the other two parties, they are equally earnest, and eagerly await the day when they can join the ranks of the Baptists, ROM AX CATHOLIC STATISTICS. 581 Independents, Presbyterians, Wesleyans, or Methodists, for tlie purpose of forming a " Liberal " or " Broad " English Church, such as Dean Stanley is supposed to represent in his theories. In the mean time the Roman Catholic Clergy arc sleepless, indefatigable, and aggressive in their movements, and as they do not hope to convert the middle classes of the English peo- ple, who arc all staunch Protestants, they have laid siege to the souls of the two extreme bodies, the aristocracy and the very poor and destitute, as well as the working classes. And they are making great progress — in fact alarming progress, as I will show here. In 1380, when England and Wales had been Catholic coun- tries for more than seven hundred and fifty years, there were more than 14,000 parish churches, and 2,000 religious houses in the kingdom; there was one parish church to every four square miles throughout the kingdom, and one religious house to every thirty square miles ; and there were 40,000 priests, monks, and friars. The whole of these churches and convents were taken away or destroyed during the Reformation ; and, as I have said, when the church was at last again set free, she had to commence her work anew. In the half century since her hands were fully untied, she has built more than 1,000 churches and chapels, and something like 300 monasteries and convents, and she has over 1,700 priests ministering at her altars. If this be the work of fifty years, how much less is it, proportionately, than the work accomplished by the same church in the first seven hundred and fifty years of her life. Therefore, the Roman Catholics, while they held supreme sway in England, built 14,000 churches, which is less than twenty in each year, while during the last fifty years they have built 1,000 churches, which is also twenty in each year ; but during this period, it must be remembered that the public sen- timent of Great Britain had been overwhelmingly Protestant, while in the previous period referred to, a Protestant was un- known. And now for the social status and influence of the Romanists in England. 582 TWO RIVALS CANTERBURY AND ROME. There are, in the first place, 33 Catholic peers, 48 Catholic baronets, and 36 Catholic members of Parliament. There are lords and lords, and one lord differcth from another in glory as one star differcth from another. It is unquestionably true that the Roman Catholic peers and baronets are the represent- atives of the oldest, most noble, and most influential families in the kingdom. The reigns of Edward YI, Elizabeth, James I, and William and Mary, were marked by the extinction of the greater part of the Roman Catholic houses. The nobles, who clung to the ancient faith, were slain by the axe of the execu- tioner, driven into exile, or beggared by the confiscation of their estates, which passed into the hands of the comparatively mushroom aristocracy that sprang up upon the ruins of these illustrious families. But a few of the old nobility contrived to escape the fate of the majority. There are in the United Kingdom 27 dukes, 32 marquises, 194 earls, 55 viscounts, and 220 ])arons — in all, 528 noblemen. But as I have ascertained by dint of patiently reading tln-ougli Burke's peerage, 228 of these are the holders of titles which are the " creations" of the present century ; 163 date back only to the eighteenth century ; 89 to the seventeenth century ; 17 to the sixteenth century : 20 to the fifteenth century ; 3 to the fourteenth century ; 4 to the thirteenth century ; and 1 to the twelfth century. This last is Baron Kingsole, "whose title dates from 1181, and who is the twenty-ninth of his name. The most ancient dukedom is that of the Duke of Norfolk, created in 1483. The Norfolks, throughout all their history, remained faithful to the Roman Catholic church. The present Duke is the fifteenth of the name, and is " Earl Marshal, Pre- mier Duke, and Earl of England." Of the three nobles whose creation dates back to the fourteenth century, two are Roman Catholics ; of the twenty who date from the fifteenth century, six are of that religion ; and of the seventeen who date from the sixteenth century, three are of the old faith. Out of the four hundred and eighty whose titles are less than 270 years old, only twenty-two are Catholics. And of the forty-eight Roman Catholic baronets, about half of the number are the A SKETCH OF " LOTHAIR." 583 descendants of gentlemen to whom this hereditary rank was given in the early part of the seventeenth century. The ancient Roman Catholic hierarchy in England ended in 1584, with the death of Thomas Watson, Bishop of Lincoln, who died in prison in that year. The hierarchy was not restored until Sept. 9, 1850, when the present Pope erected it by estab- lishing all England as the " Province of Westminster," cm- bracing thirteen dioceses, and presided over by an Archbishop. During this interval of 266 years, the Roman Catholic Clergy in England were at first under the direction of an Archpriest. In Scotland the hierarchy has not yet been restored. It ended with the death of the last Archbishop of Glasgow, who died in exile at Paris in 1603. Since then the Catholic Church in Scotland has been under the charge of Yicars-apostolic. The greatest conquest made by the Roman Catholic clergy, of late years, is that of the young Marquis of Bute, the original of Mr, Disraeli's " Lothair," in his social and politico - religious novel of that name. This young and noble lord was born on the 12th of September, 1847, and is now in his twenty-third year. His father, the second Marquis of Bute, married Lady Maria North, eldest daughter and co-heir of George Augus- tus, third Earl of Guilford. This estimable lady died childless, in 1841, and the old Mar- quis married again in 1845, Lady Sophia-Frederica-Christina Hastings, second daughter of the first Marquis of Hastings. The young Marquis Avas unfortunate in losing his mother when he was in his twelfth year. Lord Bute has been a great traveler for a man of his age, and being an only child he has had the best of tutors that Europe could afford. Nearly every young lady of wealth and rank in England 36 'lothair," (marquis of BUTE.) 584 two RIVALS CANTERBURY AND ROME. set her cap for the young Marquis when he attained his major- ity ; but this nobleman is very unlike the Marquis of Water- ford or the Duke of Hamilton, who by tlw way are distant relatives of his. He is not fond of dissipation, and since his boyish days he has been of a reflective turn of mind, with deep religious yearnings — yet withal he is not guilty of cant, and docs not bore one with his religious views. He is good look- ing, but is not showy in his dress, and just now he is the lion of fashionable Europe from the fame which attends him every- where as the hero of Disraeli's novel. The Marquis was reared a Presbyterian with decided Church of England leanings, and was converted one year ago, to the Roman Catholic faith through the efforts of Monsigneur Capel, who has also a niche in " Lothair," under the title of Monsigneur Catesby. He is a most accomplished ecclesiastic, who unites with a fascinating exterior the greatest ability and perseverance. The income of the Marquis is about .£380,000 annually, and he has decided to give one year's income, which is nearly two millions of dollars, toward the construction of a Catholic Cathe- dral at Oxford, in which all the glories of the Medieval Gothic shall be renewed. The roll of this young nobleman's titles is enough to startle an American. They are as follows: John Patrick Crichton-Stuart, Marquis of Bute, Earl of Windsor, Vis- count Mountjoy in the Ise of Wight, Baron Mount-Stuart of Wortley and Baron of Cardiff Castle, Wales, in the Peerage of Great Britain. He is also Earl of Dumfries and Bute, Viscount of Ayr and Kingarth, Baron Crichton, Lord Crichton of San- quhar, Lord Mount-Stuart of Curabrae and Inchmarnock, and Hereditary Keeper of Rothesay Castle (formerly a Royal resi- dence) . Besides, he is a Baronet of Nova Scotia among the Blue-Noses. Through his mother he is a Crichton, which is a royal House, and by his father he comes of the equally royal House of Stuart, and he holds the title of " Lord of the Isles." The motto of his family is " Avito viret honore.^^ (He flourishes in an honorable ancestry.) The motto of the Hastings family, with which Lord Bute is connected, is " Trust warrants troth." BUTE, MANNING, AND NEWMAN. 585 The most beautiful woman of the English nobility is Lady Yictoria-Maria Louisa Hastings, who is now in her thirty- third year. This lady was a great pet of Queen Victoria, and when a child Her Royal Higlincss, the Duchess of Kent, the mother of the Queen, held the pretty baby in her arms as sponsor at the baptismal font, for the sake of a dear friend. Lady Victoria's mother, who was Stephanie, Duchess of Ba- den, and a relation of the Emperor Napoleon. The young girl grew up, and is now the Avife of John Forbes-Stratford Kirwan, Esq., of Moyne, County Galway, L-eland. The Marquis of Bute is a relation of the late Baron Stuart de Rothesay, for many years English Ambassador at Paris. It has been variously hinted and rumored that the Marquis of Bute was at one time engaged to the Lady Albertina Ham- ilton, a daughter of the Duke of Abercorn, and also to a young lady of the Sutherland-Leveson-Gower family, which has for its head the Duke of Sutherland. It is said that the " Lady Corisande " of " Lothair," is none other than a daugh- ter of the Duchess of Sutherland, the former firm friend of Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. If the Marquis of Bute was indeed a suitor for the hand of a daughter of the Duke of Abercorn, I am quite sure that he might have succeeded in his endeavor, for I believe that that worthy nobleman has been blessed with ten daughters and four stalwart sons, who can all answer to the Slogan of the Hamiltons. The young Marquis has residences and castles, and immense domains, at Mt, Stuart; Isle of Bute, at Cardiff Castle, Glamor- ganshire, at Dumfries House, and he has a town house in London ; besides, his name is inscribed on the registers of four London and three Parisian Clubs. The ablest man in the English Roman Catholic Church is Archbishop Manning, who has been such a firm supporter of the Papal Infallibility in the Ecumenical Council. In due time, no doubt, this prelate will liave the Cardinal's red hat conferred upon him for his services. The greatest scholar in the Roman Catholic Church, in Eng- 586 TWO RIVALS CANTERBURY AND ROME. land, is Dr. J. H. Newman, the celebrated Oxford Tractarian, or Puseyite, who became a convert to Catholicism, with Man- ning, and since 1840 has devoted his brains to the service of his new ]\Iother Churcli with great learning and zeal. His picture shows one of the most spiritual faces in England — it is almost wierd in 'ts nature. There is a monument erected to a man named Dow, in St. Botolph's Church (Church of England) Aldgate, who be- queathed a sum of money to the clerk of the church, to pay him for ringing a bell at midnight, on tlie occasion of the execution of a criminal at Newgate. This was to call the attention of the condemned man to his soul. It was this same Robert Dow who left, by will, in the year 1612, the sum of <£1 6s. Sd., annually, as a fee to the Sexton of St. Sepulchres, wliich is just opposite Newgate Prison, for pronouncing two solemn exhortations to condemned criminals on the night preceding and on the morning of their execution, as they passed the church-door on their way to Tyburn-Tree. ^ CHAPTER XLII. THE LEGION OF THE LOST. ,ERY different estimates have been made as to the extent of the Social Evil in London, but that made some fifteen months ago by the Right Reverend Dr, Wilberforce, Bishop of Oxford, from facts and figures furnished him by medical men, the police returns, and the minor cler- gy, places the number of abandoned or public women in London, at the startling aggregate of eighty thou- sand unfortunates. This estimate of Vice and Sin is certainly calculated to intimidate and terrify the Christian people of England, were it not for the fact that a hundred agencies are constantly at work, upheld and supported by good men and women, to lessen the number of these fair and frail members of the Legion of the Lost. The great parade ground of the abandoned women of Lon- don, is the Haymarket, when all London is at rest — when bed-room blinds are drawn down, and street doors locked and chained — when lights are rarely seen but in the windoAvs of tlie sick wards of hospitals — then the Haymarket is in its glory, gay and lively as a ball-room, and swarming with gaudily dressed women sauntering and flaunting up and down its broad pavements, crowding them as on an illumination night. The dissolute and idle, the debauchee and the debauched, pour into this market of sin, this Exchange of Vice and Harlotry, like moths attracted by the glare that must sooner or later utterly: 588 THE LEGION OF THE LOST. destroy tlicm. This street is always at night full of cabs, drunken men, noisy women, jugglers, and thieves. The Haymarket is the Republic of Vice, where all who enter, are liale fellows well met, for every one knows why the other has come here, and caution being cast off for the time, all ranks and stations mingle. Outside the tavern doors are gathered clusters of swells talk- ing to the poor souls, who, disguised by some flash dressmaker, have hidden the figure of the servant-maid under the toilette of the mistress. The heir to a title stands bowing to some pretty faced girl, who mixes her bad grammar with oaths. The door of a pul)lic house swings back to let the hope of a family enter, who is about to sip wine at the counter with the chip bonnet at his side. I " Scott's" in tub haymakket. Let US enter " Scott's " in the Haymarket. " Scott's " is the great Oyster House of London. It is a little cosy, crowded place, and not more than fifty feet deep by half as many feet " Scott's" in the haymarket. 589 in width. At any hour of the night and until two o'clock in the morning, it is possible to get oysters, fried, roasted or raw, at " Scott's." They are also cooked with cracker dust, which makes them taste as if they had been broiled in sawdust. Oysters are quite dear at " Scott's," and will cost throe shil- lings a dozen, raw, which is a very high rate when compared with the price of our American oysters. They are small and bitter, and black, and the best of the bivalves come from Ostcnd in Belgium. There is a counter at the front of the shop, and behind this counter are exposed all kinds of shell-fish, lobsters, prawns, crabs, periwinkles or " winkles," and oysters, as well as mus- cles. The bounding clam is unknown in England, however, and is not found amongst the edibles. Behind this counter the proprietor and his wife, and three or four male assistants in white aprons, are busily engaged opening oysters and serving up lobsters and dressed lettuce, to the customers who prefer to eat standing. To eat standing, however, is not the com- mon custom in England, and the majority who wish to eat oys- ters take seats in the little stalls behind in the back room, which are exactly like our American oyster stalls, only that they are furnished with plush cushions. In these stalls are clerks, swells, men about town. Englishmen and foreigners, eating oysters and drinking Stout, or supping on lobsters and cham- pagne, and as it is now after eleven o'clock, nearly every man in these stalls has a girl of a certain class with him, who is of course eating supper at his expense. Ui>stairs there is a room somewhat similar to the one below, which is now densely crowded ; but the upper room is more select. I went u|>stairs, and here I found a number of couples lounging in a free and easy manner, and some were calling loudly upon the waiters for brandy and water. Seated in one of these stalls is a pink-faced boy, fresh from his country home, helping with delicate attention the painted woman be- side him to costly viands. She laughs noisily as a man, flinging her arms about, and as the Champagne foams in her glass, she tosses her head like 590 ■ THE LEGION OF THE LOST. a Bacchante. But an action that by daylight would seem dis- gusting to the boy, is charming in the blaze of the Ilaymarket gaslight, and the lad looks with admiration upon the compan- ion whom on the morrow he would pass without a nod of re- cognition. The police returns for the year 1868-9, give the following figures as to the mimbcr of public women, or prostitutes, who are known to the police in the metropolitan district of London : Brothels. Prostitutes. Within the districts of Westminster, Brompton, and Pimlico, there are, St. James, Regent-street, Soho, Leicester-square, Marylebonc, Paddington, St. Jolin's-wood, . Oxford-street, Portland-place, Kew-road, Gray's-inn- lane, . . . Covent-garden, Drury-lane, St. Giles's, Clerkcnwell, Pentonwell, City-road, Shorcditch, Spitalfields, Hounsditch, Whitechapel, llatclitf, Bethnal green, Mile-end, Shad well to Blackwall, Lambeth, Blackfriars, Waterloo-road, Southwark, Bermondsey, Rotherhithe, Islington, Hackney^ Homerton, .... Camberwell, Walworth, Peckham, , . . Deptfbrd and Greenwich, ..... Kilburn, Portland, Kentish, and Camden Towns, Kensington, Hammersmith, Fulhani, Waltham-green, Chelsea, Cremorne, .. .. ^ 2,825 8,600 For the one public woman here registered' there are five who do not reside in brothels, but live alone, hiring lodgings for which they pay from eight shillings to five guineas a week, ac- cording to the manner in which the apartments are furnished, and the character of the neighborhood in which they are situ- ated, so that it is calculated that there are seventy to eighty thousand women in London whose names do not appear in the official list of the Lost, yet lead immoral lives, and whose sin is as great in the sight of God, but less in the sight of man, as their infamy is not of that nature that the law can punish them for it. 153 524 152 318 139 52a 194 546 • 45 480 152 349 471 1,803 419 965 377 802 178 667 185 4',5 G5 228 148 401 88 231 12 106 47 209 I •' " MIDNIGHT MISSION." 593 God knows it is from no persistent desire to uncover the sores and ulcers of the huge city, that I state these facts. Great and unceasing efforts are being made by the clergy and philanthropic citizens of London to diminish this terrible Traffic in Souls, which is the distinguishing mark of infamy that clings to the Haymarket. For some years past these unfortunate women have been col- lected together while plying their avocation, in an apartment in the vicinity of the Haymarket, in which some slight refresh- ments are prepared for them, ices and cooling but temperate drinks being served up gratis to all who will attend and listen to the words of repentance and hope from the mouths of cler- gymen who visit this place nightly for the purpose of reclaim- ing these Lost Ones. This is called the " Midnight Mission," or " Meeting," and the girls are gathered by having circulars presented to them in the street as the hour nears midnight. A great number attend, and they generally listen with patience and decorum. This Mission Avas founded by the Hon. and Rev. Ba})tist Noel, who first preached to the unfortunate girls. A high officer of the London police informed me that there were in that city about seven thousand lost women who are always well dressed, well gloved, and well shod, who live com- fortably, and many of them elegantly. These women, of course, are all Free Lances, and prey upon the fashionable young men of London and strangers who visit the great Babylon. Of this number, he stated that three thousand five hundred were what is called under protection, or kept mistresses. The remainder have hired lodgings for themselves in Pimlico, Fitz- roy square, Portman street, Howard street, Winchester street, Sutherland street, Gloucester street, and other respectable localities of the metropolis, paying two or three sovereigns a week for a suite of apartments, and furnishing them at tbeir own expense. This latter class, as a general thing, live indi- vidually apart from each other, and keep each a servant of all work, to do their cooking and washing. Some of tliese girls have furnished their apartments at a cost of from two to five Imndred pounds, ordering the most costly 594 THE LEGION OF THE LOST. articles of fun-iture with the extravagance and profusion pecu- liar to their clacs. Pictures, ctageres, buffets, mirrors, ormolu clocks, tapestry carpets, and the most luxurious articles of bijouterie and the toilet are to be found in their apartments ; and, unlike their frail sisters in New York and Paris, these London girls act with complete ir.djpendence of their landla- dies, who in the citioo mentioned, as a rule, treat the unfortu- nate women placed in their power more like dogs than human beingn. In London, these girls are in the strictest sense their O'.vn mistresses, and therefore do not come under any police regulations ; nor can they receive the designation of profes- cionals, as they never solicit men on the street, or live in what is called a house of ill-fame. The persons who rent apartments to these girls in the districts which I have thus enumerated, are not supposed to know anything about the oc- cupation or business of tenants, and they never, by any possi- bility, attempt to interfere with them. One of the most frequented resorts of Lost Women in London is the Cremorne Gardens at Chelsea, on tlie Thames river bank, and distant about four miles from the Post Ofhce and St. Paul's Cathedral. These Gardens comprise about four acres, which are covered with trees, and ornamented with fountains, flower-beds, and statues. This is the maddest place in London, after ten o'clock in the evening. Until that hour, the middle class of London citizens, shoi>keepcrs, tradesmen, and clerks, and their wives and sweethearts, have possession of the Gardens ; but at that hour they leave the place, and from thence until one and two o'clock in the morning Cremorne is in the possession of Lost "Women and their male friends and abettors. Tlie Cremorne is in many respects very like the Mabille at Paris, but decency is better enforced, and the women at Cre- morne have not such a debased look as their unfortunate sisters of the Mabille. At Cremorne there is a circular platform on which a band of music is constantly stationed during the evening, and here the dancing is principally done. Betweou the dances the girls " SKITTLES " AND THE PRINCESS MARY. 595 promenade, or take supper with their male friends in the nu- merous restaurants, which are always crowded to excess by noisy people of both sexes, drinking Champagne and Moselle, or eating lobster or devilled kidneys. Cold suppers arc pro- vided for the girls in an upper saloon, for which tlicy are charged two shillings and sixpence a piece, without Avine. Then there are fireworks, two or three theatres and music halls, Japanese jugglers, bowling alleys, shooting galleries, and other modes of diversion and amusement. Swarms of young fashionables from the Opera, where tliey have been listening to the enchanting strains of a Tietjens, a Nillson, or a Patti, in evening dress with thin overcoats, may be seen here of a warm night, or perliaps they may liave come from the clubs in St. James or Picadilly, to kill time. " Skittles," now dead, who was at one time the most famous woman of her class in London, was very fond of attending Cremorne, where she was in the habit of drinking large quan- tities of Champagne. " Skittles " was at one time a great personage in London, and bore on her brougliam tlie crest of a Marquis. This audacious woman had tlie temerity to dispute the way with the Princess Mary of Cambridge, while that member of the Royal family was riding in Rotten Row. " Skit- tles" was on horse-back, being in full riding dress, and the Princess Mary was also on horse-back, when they met, and it ' SKITTLES AND THE PRINCESS MART 596 THE LEGION OP THE LOST. is said tliat " Skittles " lifted her dainty little riding whip at the astonished Princess, and demanded that she should give her precedence in the Ride. Cremorne is a great place for rows between the women and the fast young men who attend the amusements there. Wliile promenading around tlie Dancing Ring one evening, I noticed a crowd gathering, and heard a female voice uttering screams of distress. The young lady with the unearthly voice I ascer- tained was a habitue of the place, known as " Mad Rose," and the offending biped was a certain fast baronet named Sir Frederick Johnstone, who has since figured in the Mordaunt Divorce Suit. It seems that this "Mad Rose" had been at one time un- der the bar- onet's pro- tection, and the a f t e r- noon before the rencon- tre he had met her in the Park, and passed her without recognition, although she sought it from him. She was deter- mined to have her revenge for this, besides some old scores she liad to settle with him ; or it was that he had not settled some old scores with her. The girl was tall, elegantly shaped, and dressed in a tasteful and rich manner, becoming her blonde hair and complexion. Seeing the baronet with his friends, slie stepped up to him, and singling him out, struck him across the face with her gloved hand, which was glittering with diamonds. A ROW AT CREMORNE. A ROW AT CREMORNE. 597 Then she uttered a scream of feminine distress, and a crowd of swells gathered around her. Then she knocked olT liis hat and screamed again. The baronet uttered no remonstrance, l)ut hacked up against a railing, his hat lying on the ground. At- tempting to pick it up, she knocked it off again and screamed. This thing went on for the space of ten minutes, the girl, in a passion — whether fictitious or not, I cannot tell — slapi)ing the exquisite in the face at intervals, knocking off his hat and screaming, but not forgetting to pour volleys of abuse ui)on the baronet's head in the meanwhile. A great crowd collected and enjoyed the fun. But I noticed that not a man in the as- semblage offered to interfere, and the baronet's friends refused to molest her, with the exception of one, who caught hold of her wrists, and he had to let go his hold of her in an instant, as he was attacked in a body by the other girls, who put liim to flight immediately. The baronet begged for mercy, but got none; and, finally, a grand charge was made on the crowd by the Cremorne police, and it was dispersed. This movement relieved the baronet from further pereecu- tion, and the mad woman was taken away. One fact was no- ticeable — not a man in the crowd even attempted to raise liis hand to the girl during her repeated assaults. Had it been in America, I am certain she would, under such circumstances, have met with very rough,' if not brutal treatment. ^ifc^ CHAPTER XLIII. SCARLET WOMEN. E were standing on the smooth, grassy lawn, at Goodwood, a wandering American and the writer, strangers in a strange land, with the bustle and uproar which are always ad- juncts to a Race Course in any country, and the Babel exclamations of a multitudin- ous assemblage sounding in our ears. It was the first day of the annual races, which are run for three days in every year, at Goodwood, the princely resi- dence and grounds of the Duke of Richmond. This is the most aristocratic race meeting held in England, and it is always frequented by the nobles and people of high social position, with their wives, daughters, and lady friends. The meeting is divided into three separate days running, each day having a distinctive title, and known to those familiar with equine sport, as the " Stakes Day," the " Cup Day," and the " Duke's Plate Day." It was a beautiful and unclouded English July noon, and the smell of the hawthorn hedges, and the faint breath of the hol- lyhocks made a perfume in the air, which banished all humors and sulkiness from the crowds of well dressed and well bred people who had been waiting to hear the saddling bell rung before the start. Lithe and sinewy little jockeys, clad in parti- colored silk shirts, and wearing kaleidoscopic caps of the same material, walked the fresh-looking, silken-maned, and symmet- rical-limbed horses, up and down the velvety green sward, to give the high bred English girls an opportunity to inspect their GOODWOOD RACES. 599 favorites, whose colors predominated in tlie shades of their gloves, parasols, and gracefully-hung robes, which rustled around their supple and elegant figures. Under high, sheltering greenwood trees, cosy seats were ar- ranged for the ladies, who made the Lawn picturesque with their bright colored dresses that shone with splendor as their own- ers gathered in brilliant patches on the velvety turf, gossiping and chatting while Guardsmen, and Clubmen, Heavy Swells, and noisy boys, from Eton and Harrow, gamboled and shouted as if at cricket, and sedate gownsmen from Cambridge, and Double Firsts, and "Wranglers, from Oxford, made wagers, and drew from tlieir coat-pockets small betting books to record the sums invested. The Embankment, a high, long, and well-kept mound of grass-covered earth, was swarming with the fair sex, all of whom had their swan-like necks encircled with white lace ruff's, which serve so well as a setting for a well-shaped and milk- white throat. Afar off we could observe, through yawning gaps in the an- cient and stately trees, which were pierced by the ruddy beams of sunlight, the tall towers and fair proportions of Goodwood House, the magnificent mansion of the Duke of Richmond. Twenty to twenty-five thousand people were gathered in the noble old Park whose vistas stretched off into dells, copses, and woodland nooks, for thousands of acres. Here were gathered all the well-known aristocratic patrons of the turf in England, men who would hardly be seen at New- market or Epsom, and here again were the racing men, whose names are met with everywhere in England, where the warning bell is rung to saddle, and where thousands may be lost and won in an hour — the Westmorelands, the Savilles, Chaplins, Anneslics, Prince Soltykoff, Count de Lagrange, wlio owned " Gladiateur," Lord Vivian, Sir Frederick Jolmstone, Lord Roseberry, Sir Joseph Hawley, Admiral Rous, Captain Hall, Lord Wilton, Lord St. Vincent, Lord Ailesbury, SirC. Legard, Baron Rothschild, the Duke of Beaufort, Mr. "W. S. Crawfurd, Lord Poulett, Lord Falmouth, Lord Calthorpe, Mr. E. Brayley, 600 SCARLET WOMEN. Lord Strafford, Mr. Bromsgrove, iand many others, titled and untitled, who are leaders among the racing aristocracy. The Marquis of Hastings, and the Duke of Newcastle, that day, were absent — the first in his grave, the other beggared by his extravagance, and an outcast among his peers. As the day grew apace, the swarms of people became more densely packed until all classes of the sporting multitude were represented. There was the " Welcher," who makes bets and does not pay when he loses, a low-sized, stumpy fellow, in cut- away frock coat and drab beaver hat, a huge horse's head pin sticking out of his gaudy, blue scarf, which is dotted with small white balls, and wearing a shaggy moustache, which he twists with the head of his cane, that has for a knob a nag's head, in bone-work. Yonder, stopping to ask for a noggin of gin from one of the proprietors of the numerous ginger beer and refreshment stands, is the London prize fighter — a model, in his way— r- thick set, broad in the loins, and having a murderous forehead and a battered face, from some recent encounter, one of those dangerous-looking, suspicious fellows, whom you may meet with any night wandering about the docks in Wapping, or lounging at the notched doorway of a tavern in Shoreditch, or Whitechapel. Sauntering this way, where I stand in a shady spot with my American friend, are two " heavy swells," dressed in the height of fashion, and mincing their vowels in a feminine manner; yet effeminate as their language sounds, they are both massive^ looking fellows, and now I recollect having seen both leaning out of the bow window of the Guard's Club, in Pall Mall, and one of the pair I have also noticed trooping his company at St. James' Palace, at the unusually early hour — for him — of nine o'clock, of a summer's morning. Men are gambling, and singing, and eating, and drinking, and betting shillings and sovereigns all around us, and my companion seems stunned by the noise and uproar which rises and swells in an indistinct way this hot July day, as we move ENGLISH MINSTRELSY. 601 from jilace to place seeking a quiet nook' where we may com- mune together. There is suddenly a discordant hum and a party of strolling minstrels halt before a carriage and commence to serenade the fair lady listeners, who fling sixpences to them languidly. These minstrels have their faces blacked, and are appareled in hideous check coats with very small bodies, and have very large buttons sewed to the skirts, which are ornamented with ridicu- lously long tails. The songs generally sung by those wretched minstrels, are slangy, and sound senseless to an American's ear, as witness the following stanza which they chant with wide-mouthed refrain : — " Button up your waistcoat, button up your shoes, Have another liquor and throw away the blues, Be like me and good for a spree, From now till the day is dawning. For I am a member of the Rollicking Rams, Come and be a member of the Rollicking Rams, The only boys to make a noise, From now till the day is dawning." The course was lined and packed with every known manner of vehicle and equipage. There were drags, four-in-hands, dog-carts, landau's, tandem teams, ladies' pony chaises, phaetons, carryalls, clarences, broughams, and open barouches. Many of the turn-outs were adorned with the crests of noble families, and some few bore the princely cognizances of great Continen- tal houses. One of these large, roomy, and handsomely-constructed, open barouches, drawn by four grey horses, served as a focus for many glances drawn toward it. Some of the glances bestowed on the female occupants of the handsome barouche were very un- friendly — and when some proud patrician girl rode by, her eyes shot fire at the borrowed splendor of the three Scarlet Women, who reclined lazily upon the softly-cushioned scats, and no less hostile were the glances thrown on the graceful wavy figure of the handsome girl who sat her thorough-bred and silken-eared and shapely chestnut bay mare by the side of the barouche, and 37 602 SCARLET WOMEN. 1 who bent over like a reed to chat with the principal female figure leaning back on the cushions. I looked at these four gaily dressed, handsome women, with their loud chatty manners, their indescribably bold flashes of the eye, their familiar and free conversation with the titled fools and giddy young lordlings, and baronets and rich young commoners, and as I looked I saw that these four women represented the Great Social Plague Spot of England. While I looked, a police inspector, from London, who had come down to this ordinarily quiet, Sussex town, to keep an eye on some distinguished pickpockets who were to attend tlie races, saunt- ered to where I stood with my friend, and as I had made his acquaintance in the English capital he was not long in inform- ing me as to the character of the magnificently attired women. "They are the four gayest women in England, Sir," said he, " Those four ladies — we call them ladies because we dare not call them anything else, they have so many protectors of rank and influence — are "Mabel Grey," "Ano.uyma," " Baby Hamilton," and "Alice Gordon." "Mabel Gray?" said '> my friend enquiringly, "I think I've heard of her before — which is she ?" "That's her, Sir, as is sitting back in the front seat with a plate of chicken on her lap, with the golden butterflies in her lace bonnet, and the splendid diamond cross hanging from her neck — that's the gal with the blue eyes and auburn hair. The gal that's holding the long necked green glass for that swell MABEL GREV. "THEY ARE OFF." G03 to pour champagne into it, is "Baby Hamilton" — ah, she is a wild one — many's the thousand pounds the young Jook of Ham- ilton squandered on her, and so did the poor Marquis of Has- tings, poor fellow — wuss for him. The finest looking gal of all is that "Anonyma" gal as some of these fellows that has book eddication lias called her — they say it means "No Name," but I know she has a name, for it used to be Kate Bellingham when she came to London first. Oh, she's a high blooded one — just look at how she sits that chestnut mare — I'll warrant you that mare would bring six hundred guineas at Tattersall's — if she'd bring a pound — ye won't ketch her drinking in pul> lie, she's too proud of herself to do that — no. Sir, she wouldn't be seen taking a drink from the Prince of Wales himself at a public place like the Race Course. Now there's Alice Gordon," added the police officer, who began to grow loquacious in his description of these fair but frail and giddy beauties, "she's a quiet, orderly, young creature, and as pretty as a peach, poor little thing — God help her — she never knew a mother's care, and she was lost for want of a kind word and a loving heart to guide her young steps." Now the saddling bell has nmg amid the greatest excite- ment, and the multitude who have been flirting, eating, and drinking, betting, and playing at divers games of chance, be- come suddenly hushed, and a great quiet comes over the popu- lated fields, stands, and tents, as the jockeys ride forth to the starting point, five famous horses held in the leash and strain- ing their necks with avidity and equine eagerness for the race. The ladies of the demi-monde settled themselves well forward in tlieir seats. "Anonyma" swept by on her chestnut to get a good position for a look at the horses. "Mabel Grey" al- lowed her knife and fork, which she had been using on the unoffending chicken, to fall into her plate, and the tangled curls of " Baby Hamilton" reclined on her shoulders as a fool of a Guardsman gave her his arm to assist her to stand up in the drag, and handed her his glass to sweep the field. The stately looking footman who is bustling among the dishes and wine bottles, assisting "Anonyma's" butler in preparation for 604 SCARLET WOMEN. the coming feast, stops in liis occupation to listen to tlic thun- dering roar of tlie crowd, and to look at the gallant animals as they come forward to the stand. The butler, who is a grave and elderly personage, receives his orders from "Anonyma," with dignity, and he is lost to sight among the game-hampers and the champagne bottles, and Moselle flasks, for a moment. Listen to that cheer and long-continued shout I They are off, they are off; and the whole vast swarm of human beings is aroused. The ladies clap their hands and utter weak sounds of joy or distress, and the cadgers, tramps, and more polished pickpockets, are now beginning to reap their harvest in the midst of the excitement and momentary frenzy. The race is a two-mile stretch, and only five horses are en- tered. The prize is the Goodwood Cup, valued at three hund- red sovereigns. Two of the horses entered are four-year-olds, and the others are three-year-olds. The great Jemsh banker and member of Parliament, Baron Rothschild, has entered " Restitution," a four year old, who is ridden by Daley, an Irish jockey of fame. Sir Frederick Johnstone's entry is " Brigantine," a three year old. Mr. Saville's "Blueskin," Lord Calthorpe's '^ Robes- pierre," and Lord Strafford's " Rupert," make up the number of horses who have darted by the Grand Stand in the storm of wild huzzas. "Anonyma," whose chestnut was pawing the turf in a frisky manner, grips the bridle of the blooded mare, and pulls hardily at her mouth. A number of roughs around a booth salute her with not very choice language, for she is known ;.t the races, and the blood mantles in her cheek and the crimson tide surges up to her temples as a coarse blackguard repeats an opprobious epithet, and before he can draw back she lays his cheek open with her dainty riding-whip, and giving the mare more rope, the crowd opens wide for her with a cheer, and she dashes across the Course on a canter, just as the Rothschild's jockey, with his head bent down to the mane of " Restitution," and his silken cap flying in the hot wind, sweeps by, " Blueskin " fol- lowing fast, and the great banker's jockey swerving aside "anonym A. 005 from his course, wins, by a miracle; "Restitution" having been for a moment blinded bj the long skirts of "Anonyma," in her mad canter across the tnrf, and now there is a huzza, and a rending, wild hurricane of applause, as Roths- child's colors go forward to the Weighing Stand, and " Resti- tution" is pronounced winner of the Goodwood Cup of 1869, "Robespierre" being a bad fourth, and "Rupert" coming in last of the field. Now the principal race of the day is ended, and great ac- claim having been given to the victor, the crowds disintegrate and separate into little knots for refresh- ments, and hard-faced fel- lows, in flashy costumes, may be seen pulling from capacious pockets, greasy wallets, to settle their debtsof "honor,"and much beer is drank among the humble people, and floods of costly wines are poured out in drags and dog-carts? and bright eyes and smil- ing lips meet one every- where, and there is a clat- ter of knives and forks, and a popping of corks in the vicinity of the carriages occupied by the Scarlet "Women of London, who are here to-day in swarms, and who arc ca- ressed and welcomed as if their position was assured and the dark shadow of a Shameful Life had not fallen upon thoni. Leaning over the side of the drag, and talking to Mabel Grey, are three of the " fastest" young men in-England, Lord Arthur Pelham Clinton (since dead), Courtenay, Earl of Devon, and the Duke of Newcastle, brother to Lord Arthur. All tliree are bankrupt in fortune as well as in morality. Lord Arthur's 606 SCARLET WOMEN. mother, a daughter of the former Duke of Hamilton, dishonored her husband, and there seems to be a taint in the blood of the young noble, who has been living on liis wits for years. He is a languid-looking fel- low, and does not look as if he could fall-to and saw a load of wood. Mabel Grey says to Lord Arthur, with a lisp: " Clinton, do take a bit of chicken and a glass of fizz. No ? Well then, take a glass of hock, like a dear good boy. You look awfully cut. What can be the matter with the man ?" Just under the shad- ow of the wide-spread- ing beech-tree, where the drag is stationed, an itinerant preacher is about to commence a phillipic against Vice and Crime. He could not have chosen a better location than this, where the ears of these Painted Women may be filled by him Avith some truths that they seldom seek after. "Alice Gordon," the fair-haired blonde, with the decpblue eyes, condescends to bestow a glance at the preacher, who, now that he is beginning to draw a crowd by his fiery invective, and denunciatory language, directs a look of scorn and pity at the Lost Women in the drag. The crowd, who naturally dislike women of the class of Lais and Aspasia, give encouragement to the squat-figured and harshly-spoken Boanerges. The swells around the drag, who are now joined by Sir Frederick John- stone, advise the Scarlet Women to tell the coachman to whip up the horses and " dwivc the dwag away from that beastly preacher — the howid little boah." "ALICE GORDON.' "MABEL GREY." 607 The preacher tlumders at them, " Go, you gaudy libertines, with your harlots and your women of Sodom, England is cursed with such as you. But God will punish you all, and will smite you in your hour of pride. For what says the Book, whose pages you never open ; " The ungodly are froivard, even from their mother^s ivomh ; as soon as they are born they go astray, and speak lies. " They are venomous as the poison of a serpent, even like the deaf adder, that stoppeth her ears. " Break their teeth, God, in their mouths ; smite the jaw- bones of the Lions, Lord ; let them fall away like water that runneth apace ; and when they shoot their ai'roivs let them, be rooted out.''^ "Baby Hamilton," one of the women in the drag, shudders at these Inspired Words and grows pale, while "Anonyma," who canters up easily on her chestnut, asks Sir Frederick Johnstone : " Did you pull off a pot of money on " Brigantine," Sir Fred- erick ?" " No, the doose of it was I lost two thousand on my own horse. But I hedged and took 'Restitution' against the field, so I am not so badly plucked." And tliis is the entertainment and conversation of some of the hereditary rulers of England. Pardon me, reader, if I have brought you into such loose and unprincipled company. I did it to show you who are the female companions of a majority of the young English nobility. It is this class of young men who patronise these Social Pariahs, and look with contempt upon the manners of a respectable girl, and vote the conversa- tion of virtuous women as a bore. That woman with the sunny smile, laying back in the drag, toying with her fan — Mabel Grey — was, five years ago, a wretchedly-paid working girl, who eked out an existence as a shoe-binder, in a shop in Oxford street, London, on a })ittance of seven shillings a week. Now, the diamonds on lier fingers would purchase a comfortable villa, and around her throat, wliich is white as alabaster, is a necklace of pearls, that cost the Prince of Wales five thousand pounds, it is said. She rides G08 SCARLET WOMEN. every day in Rotten Row, the famous ride and fashionable drive in Hyde Park, and her skirts often touch the garments of the Princess of Wales as they pass each other in the crowd- ed Row. And certainly the Princess has no reason to look pleasantly at Mabel Grey. Mother to five children, and daugh- ter of the Vikings, with clear, unsullied Norse blood in her veins, she may well question herself, when alone, " Why did I marry a profligate and blackguard?" Mabel Grey is the original of Boucicault's "Formosa," audit was she wlio gave a name to Dan Godfrey's famous " Mabel Waltz." Godfrey is the leader of the Guard's band, and the mu- sician thought that it would be received as a delicate compli- ment by his aristocratic patrons, to call a delicious piece of dance music by the Christian name of the chief of England's Hetairae. In every shoi>window tlie features of Mabel Grey are flaunted at one along with the portraits of Nillson, Patti, the Queen, the Princess of Wales, and other virtuous and good women. You may meet her and "Anonyma" at the Opera, at the Chiswick Flower Show, at Kensington Gardens, and other fashionable resoits, mingling unrebuked among the noblest ladies in the land. She has a sumptous villa at St. John's Wood, Brompton, a su])urb of London, and in her stables are constantly kept twelve to fifteen blooded animals for the saddle or for driving — these horses being the gifts of lier numerous aristocratic admirers. She dines off dishes of silver and gold, antl has a host of ser- vants. At Ascot she induced the Prince of Wales to bet on a certain horse, wlicreby he lost the nice little sum of $100,000, or X 20,000. And it is this bold, bi'azcn, and bad woman, who divides the lieart of the Prince of Wales with tlie Princess Alexandra, his lawful wife and the mother of his children, the other half being owned by Mabel Grey, together witli his pocket-book, which he is most apt to keep closed to all others. She was the cause of the ruin of Captain Milbanke, of the Guards — a distant relation of tiie deceased wife of Lord Byron, I believe — and slie has destroyed dozens of young men in their fortunes, social position, and masculine character. "MABEL GREY AT HOME. 609 And here, I suppose,! majLc pardoned for giving a pen and ink description of the interior of her palatial residence at St. John's Wood, Brompton, where she resides, by one who saw and conversed with her there : "The salon was about sixty feet long by thirty wide, and the ceiling was probably fifteen feet from the velvet carpet. Vel- vet decorated the walls, hanging in crimson folds somewhat like the arras hangings that I had seen in some of tlic mil- dewed chateaux of the French nobles. There was, in the front of the salon, an immense mirror framed in gold, and inside of the golden frame was a sub-frame of crimson velvet. The lounges, chairs, ottomans, and buffets, were trimmed with vel- MABEL GREY AT IlOMli. vet of the same warm color. The carpet on the floor was a Gobelin, in which was worked a pictured design of the port of Marseilles, at a cost of two thousand pounds. There were richly carved statues of Parian, bronzes, anticjuc and ricldy- paintcd vases, shells standing on golden tripods, caricatures of 610 SCARLET WOMEN. dogs' lieaQs, tigers' heads, and the bodies of serpents, with glistening eyes — all of which articles had more or less of the precious metals in their composition. Pictures of Diana of Poictiers, Margaruite de Yalois, Theroigne de Mericourt, Anna Bolcyn, Louisa de Yalliere, and a supposed mistress of John Wilkes Booth, of whom I had never before heard, adorned the walls of the salon. These were all done in oil, well painted, and magnificently framed. The place of honor, however, was reserved for Ninon de I'Enclos, the mistress of one of the Bourbon Kings. This picture was a beautifulworkof art, and represented the famous beauty of the old French Court, reclining opposite a mirror. There was a small figure piece by Meissonier, and a statue of Minerva of pure marble, from whose spear head depended a small but richly chased gas-chandelier, of six burners, that spread a flood of light all over the salon. A hundred thousand dollars would not have purchased the furniture, carpets, statues, paintings, and ornaments, in this gorgeous apartment, to say nothing of the diamonds which covered the neck and arms of the beautiful but frail mistress of the mansion. And now for Mabel herself. This distinguished personage, as she lounged on the tiger-skin, looked to me a little above the medium height of women ; her hair, of a rich, silky brown, full and lustrous, was looped in coils at the top of ihe back of her head a la Grecque, and was trimmed with small red flowers. From her ears were pendant long, oval, diamond ear-rings, and from her snowy neck was hung a necklace, of pearl shells inter- woven with diamonds, worth a monarch's ransom. Her arms were bare and rounded, and her shoulders were decollete. She was attired in a loosely flowing robe of pink velvet — (he only thing pink I saw in the apartment — and at her waist was a plain thin cincture of gold. She wore her dress without hoops, which allowed the folds of her costly robe to fall over her shapely limbs in studied yet artistic confusion. On the differ- ent fingers of both hands were rings of topaz, sapphire, ruby, emerald, amethyst, and opal, fastened by golden keepers. She had crimson slippers, embroidered in gold, and iu her right I PERSONNEL. Cll hand she ■waved lazily, to and fro, a fan of costly fcatlrers. The woman herself was a magnificent animal to look at, with a spice of the tiger shining out of her clear, lustrous eyes. The neck was well poised and finely cut, as were the face and shoulders. The mouth was large and full of good, white, regular teeth, which she displayed often during the conversa- tion to advantage. The nose was irregular, pert, and snub- bish, and her chin was like the cone of a ripe peach. Some- thing there was brazen in this woman's face, despite the mag- nificence reigning in the apartment. Her voice was loud and sharp, and her gestures were unladylike, though she endeavored to atone for these defects by a studied ease which occasion- ally lapsed into a masculine freedom. She was continually showing her rings, her fan, and her slippers — and seemed care- less of the little prudential details that go to make up the man- ner of a virtuous woman." " Anonyma" is, in many respects, a different woman from Ma- bel Grey. This celebrated Lorette, unlike her frail sisters, has a taste, or perhaps affects to have a taste, for literature. Orig- inally a clergyman's daughter, and born and bred in Sussex, she had, when she came first to London, all the charms of a fresh country girl, and, although exposed for a long time to temptation in her station as a governess in the family of a rich commoner, whose name is now often .before the public, she held on her way firmly as slie could, and would have succeeded had not she met a man who outraged her by a false or mock mar- riage. The poor girl, whose real name ;s Brandling, when she found that she was deserted with a few pounds in her pocket, went almost mad. But she had to starve or else become what she is now. Her father, overworked in his curacy at XloO a year, and having a family of five children, refused to admit her to his home, and gave as a reason tliat it would be setting a bad example to his parishioners, which he, as a minister of the Gospel could not do. Driven from licr birthplace, with despair in her heart, she fled to London, and, sinking at once into the slough of iniquity, was not heard of for a year, wlien she 612 SCARLET WOMEN. emerged in grandeur at the opera in the company of a wealthy banker, who has since failed and fled the country. The girl, from her reticent disposition, her lady-like man- ner, and the mystery attending her appearance in the world — no one being able to tell her exact position — received the name of "Anonyma" from the Saturday Review. Unlike the other women of her sex, this girl was never formerly seen in the company of any woman whose position was affected by the slightest breath of reproach. In the Park she never made acquaintances, and all notes sent to her were sent back to the writers. To become acquainted with "Anonyma," though the seeker after her intimacy were a prince, it was necessary to have a formal introduction to the lady. The "Kitten" is a young lady well known at the Cremorne Gardens for her expensive suppers, loud voice, and magnificent pony carriage, before which she drives sometimes a brace of Shetland ponies, three in a tandem. At tlie Cremorne she always puts ice-cream in her champagne, and never drinks any light or thin wines, as she says that they do not agree with her constitution. I saw her at the Ascot Races in company with Mabel Grey, the "Kitten" being mounted on a splendid roan, which she managed with the skill of an old army officer, and a dozen men belonging to the best known clubs in London were clustering about her, and assisting her to luncheon, looking after the wine, or doing a luindred little errands which women of her character always find for men to do in a public place. The "Kitten" is a blonde, with black eyes, a pretty, babyish face, a dimpled chin, a profusion of golden hair which is not dyed, and a capital scat in the saddle. She is always gloved to a nicety, and her ensemble is of the best kind. She has a pert fashion of saying sharp or impudent things, and this seems to be the chief accomplishment of all this class of shameless women. They know the stable-talk and the slang of the bet- ting ring, and of the hunt, but nothing more. The "Kitten," five years ago — she is now 22 — was a coryphee in the ballet of a London theatre, at the magnificent salary of fifteen shillings BABY HAMILTON.' G13 a week, and now she has an annuity of <£ 2,000 settled upon her by a young fool of a lord, who has no better use for his money. The wardrobe of Alice Gordon, another of the Hetairag, is valued at <£12,000. She is a brilliant horse woman. "Baby Hamilton" is another celebrity of the Half-World. Many stories are told about the recklessness of this girl. She forced her way to a meeting in one of the shires when the hounds were all as- sembled, and followed the hunt, despite the remonstrances of the master, and regardless of the fact that m'ore than half the ladies who were present left the field on her appear- ance in a hunting cos- tume. She made a bet while in Paris with a wild young duke that she would get a re- cognition from the Empress Eugenie. The stake was a thor- oughbred of the young duke's which she desired to liavc for her own use. The bet was made, and while the Empress was riding in the Bois, the "Baby," magnificently dressed and mounted, placed herself in the way of the Empress, and bowed quite reverentially. The Empress looked at her for an instant, and, thinking that it was some English lady of rank, bowed very graciously in return. The young duke — who is, by tlie way, a relative of the Empress by marriage — saw the salutation. It was too good to keep, and accordingly, before the next night, the "Baby" had to leave Paris, by order of the Prefect of Po- lice. BABY HAMILTON. CHAPTER XLIV. CHEAP LODGING HOUSES. NE night, having made an appointment with one of the Scotland Yard detectives, I met him as I liad promised, punctually, at the India House, which is situated at the junction of Victoria and Dean streets, Westminster. Be it remembered, that Westminster is a borough, and sends two Members of Parliament, yet it is a part and a portion of the metropolis of London. He came muffled in his coat, and, having saluted me, asked me if I was ready to accompany him, to visit some of the low lodgings houses that abound in a certain part of Westmins- ter, at the back of Millbank Prison, which fronts the river be- tween Vauxhall and Lambeth Bridges. It was the night before the great Derby Race, at which nearly all England is represented, peer and peasant, tradesman, beggar, burglar, and pickpocket. On such a night all the Lon- don lodging-houses were sure to be full of tramps. Briefly, I said I was ready to accompany him. and without further conversation we penetrated to the darkest recesses of the borough of Westminster, going down Dean into Orchard street, through Orchard street into New-Pye street, down Great Peter street, through Holland street, and so into a short, dark street, called Med way street, at the back of the Greycoats School. All these streets which I have named have low lodging houses, and were filled this night Avith tramps, vagrants, pcd- THE WESTMINSTER SLUMS. Glo dlers, itinerant showmen, vagabonds, and thieves. Great Pe- ter street is so called to distinguish it from Little Peter street, and both streets being within a stone's throw of the Abbey of Westminster, derive their names from tlie dedicatory title of the ancient and world-renowned abbey which was called, at one time, and is yet known in official documents, as the "Abbey Church of St. Peter's, Westminster." Medway street leads into the Horseferry Road, which is at one end a continuation of Lambeth Bridge, and at the other end is flanked by Holland street. My blue-coated friend said to me, after pulling out a small dark lantern, which he used in these dark rookeries and streets by the water side : " The worst place I can take you to in Westminster, and perhaps in London, Sir, barrin always ' Paddy's Goose,' in Ratcliffe Highway, is the lodging house kept by ' Jack Scrag,' or ' Damnable Jack,' as he is called on account of his swearin' — in Medway street. I can't guarantee that you will bring your watch or pocket-book back, but I will save your life if you get in a row, and that will be as much as 1 can do. If there are any thieves there they will be afraid of me, but the roughs and tramps, who are out of the law's reach, are up to anything, and will break your leg or arms, or mine either, without talking twice about it." On our way to the Slums of Westminster I entered a cheap lodging house, in which the lodgers were preparing their evening meal, for which they paid four-pence to the proprietor. A potato was given each person with a small junk of broiled or fried meat, and a tin-skittle full of washy tea or coffee, snch as is given to steerage passengers at sea, was handed to tlic tramps and beggars, who frequented the place. The room was large and lofty, with smoky rafters, and a number of men, women, and boys, were sitting, standing, and reclining on the floor or on chairs, but nearly all were eating like ravenous beasts from tin-plates or earthen-ware platters. A man might purchase a herring for a half-penny at any of the refuse sales in the markets, and bring it here and toast G16 CHEAP LODGING HOUSES. 1 it over the huge fire for an additional half-penny, and many of the oceupants of this gipsy^ookiug place were employed in the pleasing occupation of cooking as we left the place on our jour- ney after an adventure. Mcdway street, as I have before mentioned, is quite short, and therefore it was not long before I saw a light of more bril- liancy than those around it, bursting from the window of the first story of a brick building, the bricks being set off about the windows with trimmings of dark blue stone. Above the door were painted the emblems of the Lion and the Unicorn, which are everywhere displayed in English cities, and a lamp of a square shape projected from tlie doorway, throwing a dead and unwholsome-lilvo light upon the street and sidewalk. Iil the Avindow a sign was painted, indicating that lodgings were to be had for four-pence a night for single persons, and also a notification that "boiling water" was "always ready." The house was probably a hundred years old, as near as I could tell by its old beams, which were bare, the besmeared and notched lintels on which names, efiigies, and initials, had been carved, from time immemorial, by lodgers, thieves, and cadgers.- There was a bar, and glistening beer-pumps, and pewter noggins, and copper measures, were hung np behind the counter. Against tlie walls, which were environed by brass railing to keep intruders from making too free or breaking the glasses if a fight should occur, was inscribed on a tin plate of greasy hue the words : I John Scragg catchers have been over- "paddy's goose," ratcliffe highway. 633 powered in the sewers when attacked, and their bones whiten many of the brick beds and slimy cre"\dces of these dark and dismal underground passages. The cab driver now desired to know if I would like to visit "Paddy's Goose," a den in "Ratcliffe Highway," one of the worst of the bad districts of London. This place is frequented by sailors of all nations, who visit the spot to dance with the abandoned women, that are hired by the proprietors of these resorts to entice the foolish seafaring men just discharged from their vessels, with more money than they are able to take care of. "Paddy's Goose," or the "White Swan," as it is called by "paddy's goose. its owner, is perhaps the most frightful hell-hole in London. The very sublimity of vice and degradation is here attained, and the noisy scraping of wheezy fiddles, and the brawls of intoxicated sailors are the only sounds heard within its walls. It is an ordinary dance house, with a bar and glasses, and a 63-i A TRAMP IN THE BY-WAYS. dirty floor on which scores of women of all countries and shades of color may be found dancing with Danes, Americans, Swedes, Spaniards, Russians, Negroes, Chinese, Malays, Ital- ians, and Portuguese, in one wild hell-medley of abomination. The proprietor of this den is undoubtedly the most desperate villain I ever saw outside of a prison gate, a man whose face is scarred and corrugated by the foot-prints of the Devil, whose servant he has been for many years, and yet I was in- formed that this scoundrel was tolerated, nay, encouraged by the government, from the fact that he had great influence among English seamen. This man during the Crimean War hired steamers, with bands of music, and served the Admiralty as a " crimp" for enlisting sailors, or rather for trapping them by drugging them first and then "burking" them off to the men- of-war, which needed fresh complements of seamen. I did not stay long in this Devirs-Tavern, and I am sure my readers will excuse me from going into i)articular mention of the beastliness and orgies I saw there. Dismissing "Old Smudge" with a fee that seemed to meet ,...„,.,^^_^.^ .-, __,__, , _„ _ -,...ji3Baaasa^^ -<^-^j^^^ 1 h'ls ajiproba- f ion, I turn- ed my steps in the direc- tion of the i V e r , not doubting for a moment but that I should find further food for reflec- tion. I came upon the Thames suddenly as a vision, and saw it stretching out in all its dark and terrible beauty, just above Sliadwell. I had taken my seat on an old dismasted hulk that lay some dis- tance off in the river, and which I had reached witli considera- ble difficulty by clambering from bowsprit to bowsprit among WAITING FOR THE TIDE. WAITING FOR THE TIDE. 635 the silent shipping, on whose masts and canvas God's silent stars shone brightly down. I had not been sitting long there when a clumsy-looking and broad-bottomed boat passed me, directly below the hulk, one man pulling in the boat while another leaned over and seemed to support something, dark and bulky in shape, from the stern of the wherry. A chill came over me, and in a faint voice I asked the man what he had in the skiff? " Oh, yer honor, we were Waiting for the Tide below Bridge. We goes out every night, me and Tim, to look for bodies — we gets twenty shillings a-piece for them, and all we can find, and Tim's got a dead 'un now, and 'praps he's got a good haul, for there's a sparkling ring on Its finger, — mayhap yer honor would like to buy it." Trailing slowly in the water was a lifeless corpse, and the boatman was tearing a bright object from its stiff forefinger. Hastily I rose and turned my face away from the River which had given up its dead in this startling manner. I went home thoroughly cured of the blues, and saw no more " sights " that night. 39 CHAPTER XLVI. ENGLISH LITERATURE AND JOURNALISM. ^NGLISH literature is one of the mainstays of onr present civilization. Wlierever the English language is spoken or understood, or wherever English thought predominates, English hooks are read, and the names of English authors are lield in reverence. And second only to the power of English hooks is the power of the English press, which immediately after French journalism, represents the most trained culture and best tjalent employed in the Fourth Estate of our times. London ranks, as I have said, in the second place, as far as her journalism is concerned. London journalists have not yet attained that high influence, both social and political, in the State, which is freely yielded to young and middle-aged men whose services are known to be of value on the Parisian jour- nals of ability and circulation. But the men who think for England, and who write its books, do not need to fear comparison with the same class in any other land in breadth of thought or influence on the masses of mankind. I shall make but a brief mention of a few of Eng- land's worthies in the paths of literature, and shall only speak of those who are best known by their works in America. Twenty-eight years ago, articles of wonderful force, beauty, and breadth of tone, began to appear from some unknown pen, in the literary journals of London. These articles attracted notice from the best minds as they advocated a new and start- buskin's love of the beautiful. 637 ling theory in art — the theory of Pre-Raphaelitism, as it has since been called. The author of these articles was John Rus- kin — since become so famous — then in his twen- ty-fourth year. Ruskin was the son of a wealthy London merchant, and, unlike most men of ge- nius he has never known any of the bitter strug- gles of poverty. From his boyhood he has been accustomed to elegance and plenty, the society of refined men and wo- men, and his mind has been enlarged by almost incessant and instructive travel. He was very fond of the true and beautiful in Nature, and it is re- corded of him, that when a child he had one favorite spot — Friar's Crag, in Derwentwatcr, which overhung a lake, — and here he was brought daily by his fond nurse, wlio secretly grati- fied the child's taste for the picturesque by allowing him to hang over the brow of the cliff, and Avhcn permitted to do so he would gaze for hours with intense joy and mingled awe into tlie depths of the dark waters below, hanging on by the grassy roots which bloomed on the surface of the cliff. He had always a feeling of awe and heart hunger in the presence of moun- tains, and, at fifteen years of age, he had ascended the sum- mits of the most elevated hills in England. A landscape de- lighted him, while belle lettres and mathematics only wearied his retrospective soul. At twenty, his reflective and practical powers had increased by the incessant traveling which he un- dertook, having visited every European city of note, but in all these travels Venice always remained dear to his heart. At Ox JOHN ilUSKIN — ART CRITIC. 638 ENGLISH LITERATURE AND JOURNALISM. ford he was a gentleman-commoner of Christ Church, where he carried off the Newdigate prize for a poem called " Salsette and Elephanta," a fragment now forgotten, and was graduated double fourth class in 1842. Among his teachers in landscape paint- ing, which he loved with all his great heart, he had such men as Copely Fielding, Harding and Prout. His great admiration was for Turner, however, and this love led him to the field of art criticism, in defence of that eminent painter. In 1848, the first volume of Ruskin's "Modern Painters" appeared, and created the greatest sensation. No art critic had yet appeared with such a wealth of language, and such an affluence of imaginative ideas comljined with the most striking powers of observation, and an earnestness bordering on enthu- siasm. Never thinking beforehand of the subject, his philoso- phy and criticism consists mostly of brilliant invective, and he is continually involving himself by his inconsistencies, yet, so great was his power, a new school in art was founded by him, with such disciples as Millais, Ilolman Hunt, and others, equally well known. He is sometimes diffuse and discursive, and is far behind Henri Taine for perspicuity of style, though far more solid, con- centrated, and vigorous, in his blows. Tlic first volumes of Ruskin's "Lamps of Architecture" made their appearance in 1849, and were followed by the first volume of '-The Stones of Venice," in 1851, the illustrations in the latter provoking much hostility, but displaying to great advantage his artistic powers. Ruskin has lectured and written on IManufactures, Gothic Ar- chitecture, and Painting, and he has said to have realized, by his works the sum of £95,000. He has a careworn face, sloped shoulders, and wavy silken hair. His habits are simple, and it is said that he is Brahminical in his tastes, never touch- ing butcher's meat. His large private fortune enables him to extend his benevolence to struggling students, and others who are in need of assistance. Ruskin has taken uj) the cause of the workingmen of England with great zeal, and is now in his forty-ninth year. Since the death of Macaulay, England has had no successor FROUDE, THE HISTORIAX. G39 to that eminent and great man in the field of history, until of late years James Anthony Fronde has risen like a meteor to irradiate the dark places and bloody scenes of English history. The author of the "His- tory of England from the Fall of "Wolsey," may well claim a niche among the loftiest names who have searched the arch- ives of empire and state- craft. James Anthony Fronde comes of a High Church clerical family, and was born at Darting- ton, Devonshire, April 23, 1818. His father, the late Venerable R. H. Fronde, was Archdeacon of Totnes, and young Froude went to West- minster School, the most aristocratic of its kind in England, and afterwards was graduated Avith high classical honors at Oriel College, Oxford, obtaining the Chancellor's prize for an essay on "Political Economy," and was elected Fellow of Exeter College in 1842. For some time he was connected with the High Church party led by the Rev. J. H. Newman, and so much Avas he imbued by its doctrines, that he wrote the "Lives of the English Saints," and took deacon's orders in 1844. He has also writ- ten "The Shadows of the Clouds," 1847, and "The Nemesis of Faith," in 1849, both of which works had to undergo the se- verest condemnation of the University authorities, for the Puseyite opinions broached in their pages. In 1850, Froude laid the foundation-stone of his fame by a series of articles, chiefly on English History, which were con- tributed to the Westminster Review and Frazer's 3Iagazine, and JAMES ANTHONY FROLDIC. 640 ENGLISH LITERATURE AND JOURNALISM. in 185G ho published the two first volumes of his " History of England." This is his greatest work, in ten volumes, and for clearness of thought, powerful intensity, and acute understand- ing of those stormy periods of Henry VIH, Elizabeth and ^lary, there arc few passages in written history to equal Fronde's de- scriptions of the age, and his grand delineations of character. He is, however, prejudicial in many things, and his view of the characters of Mary, Queen of Scot and Queen Elizabeth, is altogether different from the view which all modern historians have taken of these two women. In 18G7,a work entitled "Short Studies on Great Subjects," was published by Mr. Froude, and the historical sketches in this volume are of the most masterly kind in English literature. Mr. Froude is now Editor of Frazer^s Magazine, wliose pages his powerful genius illuminated some twenty years ago. This magazine had formerly for its contributors some of the finest scholars and best thinkers in Britain. Frazer^s 3Iagazine is issued by Longmans, Green & Co., Paternoster Row, one of the great publishing houses, and whose business is only rivaled by that of John Murray, McMillan, Sampson, Low & Son, and Smith & Elder, among London booksellers. Among the contributors to Frazcr are Max Muller, F. W. Newman, E. Lynn Linton, Jean Ingelow, Sliirlcy Brooks, R. A. Proctor, Moncurc D. Conway, a Massachusetts man, and a personal and intimate friend of Carlyle, — I believe he is to write the biograi)hy of that dogmatic old thinker, who has failed to prevent the earth from revolving on its axis, when he is gathered to his fathers, in the little churchyard in Dum- frieshire. William Howard Russell, James Spcdding, Federick Denison Maurice, a liberal clergyman and a professor in Lon- don University, and others whom I do not recollect, are con- tributors to Frazer. This magazine contains 134 double-column pages of large print, on fine white paper, and is sold for two shillings and sixj)cnce. The same matter and workmanship could not bo sold in America for less than one dollar and twenty-five cents, I am informed. ]\riss Ligelow, one of its contributors, is by no means a Miss in her teens, being now in Swinburne's boyish days. 641 her forty-first year, but it is tolerably certain that such delight- ful verse as hers could not have been written by one who had not endured sorrow and trial. The several editions of her poems have realized for Miss Ingelowthe comfortable sum of £8,500, and I was told by a leading London bookseller, that Mr. Froude, whose last article was on " Salmon Fishing in Ireland," sold the copyright on four of his books for .£39,000. Miss Ingelow is a Suffolk girl, and rumor says has never married because of a blighted affection in early life. A worthy successor to Lord Byron, in my opinion, is Alger- non Charles Swinburne, the most passionate Eng- lish poet who has lived for one hundred years. Swinburne is in his twen- ty-eighth year, and at that early age he has attained for himself a position among the poets of his native land, surpassed by none. For wealth of lan- guage, beauteous and fer- vent passion, and gorge- ousness of imagery, Keats alone is his peer. Swin- burne is an earnest re- publican,and sympathizes ^vith revolution in every land. He is a great ad- mirer of Italy. For a poem of one page in an English maga- zine he received two hundred and fifty pounds, a larger price than was ever paid before in England for a poetical fragment. Swinburne, though a republican in sentiment, belongs to one of the oldest Roman Catholic families of Northumberland, and comes from ancestors who have followed the Percy in plate armor against the fierce barons of the House of Douglas. I am sorry to say, however, that the poet does not look like a ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE — FOET. 642 ENGLISH LITERATURE AND JOURNALISE!. man who -would wear a steel jerkin and hang a battle-axe at his saddle bow. He has long curling hair, a pair of wierd fas- cinating eyes, a loose and slender frame, and a face which does not impress one favorably at first. Take him altogether he seems like a man who might like to recline on a bed of roses, with an Amphora of Falernian by his couch, and half a dozen Sy- rian damsels to wait on him and hand him flowing bumpers of golden wine. His boyish days were spent at Eton, and here he was noticed only for his utter dislike to athletic sports, including the dar- ling amusement of every Etonian — I mean the cricket field. He was finished at Oxford, but did not receive his degree from Alma Mater. From the Universit}' he went to Florence, and there he contracted a warm friendship for that great gothic and rough-angled character, Walter Savage Landor, wliich was ardently reciprocated by the latter. Returning to England in 1861 he published the " Queen Mother," and " Rosamond," neither of which attracted much attention. His first great and decided success was in that classic poem "Atalanta in Caly- don," published in 1864, when Swinburne had attained his twenty-first year. This poem took the cultivated minds of England by storm, and was followed by " Chastelard," "Poems and Ballads," "Laus Veneris," and a biography of "William Blake," the painter, in quick succession. Since then his copy- rights have amounted to X 27,000, so rapid has been the sale of his books. This moneyed success does not, however, pre- vent the poet from being afflicted with a very penurious spirit, and it is said that he is in the habit of giving waiters and ser- vants sixpences for the pleasure of taking the gifts back. The greatest publicist in England, at this juncture, and the man whose views demand most attention from press and peo- ple, after Carlyle, is John Stuart Mill, the eminent writer on Political Economy, who was formerly a clerk in the India House, like Charles Lamb, as his father had been before him. Mr. Mill is now sixty-six years of age, and has lately taken up the cudgel for the Woman's Suffrage party, in Eng- land, along with Miss Harriet Martineau, after having exhaust- JOHN STUART MILL. 643 ed Utilitarianism, Political Economy, Parliamentary Reform, Logical Systems, Auguste Comte, Positivism, Philosophy, and other light and airy sub- jects. Yet all his great powers of thought did not prevent him from being badly beaten by a Mr. Smith, a news agent, for the representation of the Borough of Westminsterj in the late parliamentary elections. Mr. Mill has a grand broad forehead, a pair of deep steadfast eyes, a firm mouth, and is of studious habits. Like all students his ora- tory in Parliament, when first elected, was more ornate and logical than impressive or forcible. His English is vigorous and sterling, and it must be said of this venerable old man, that his whole life has been devoted to an idea. The very opposite of John Stuart Mill is Benjamin F. Dis- raeli, who Avas born in Bradenham, Buckinghamshire, Dec. 21, 1805. It is more than positive that Mr. Disraeli has never sacrificed any thing for an idea. Mr. Isaac Disraeli, his father, was a Christian, and an author, who had written the " Curi- osities of Literature," and the "Amenities of Literature," the latter being a book in which the misfortunes and failings of authors occupy a large space. The grandfather of the great politician was a Jew of the Jews, I believe, and he wlio is now leader of the Conservative party in the House of Commons, and who was Lord Chancellor of England, has ever had a deep feeling for and faith in Judaism, although he has been for many years the Champion of the Anglican Church. At twenty years JOHN STUART MILL — POLITICAL ECONOMIST. 644 ENGLISH LITERATURE AND JOURNALISM. of age, Disraeli, wlio was then as fond of velvet shooting jackets and jewelry as he is now in his old age, or as Dickens was in his prime, began to write novels, and from 1825 to 1831 he had written "Vivian Grey," "The Young Duke," "Hen- rietta Temple," "Conta- rini Fleming," "Vene- tia," "Alroy," and "Con- ingsby." In 1837, he entered Parliament, and made a miserable failure as a speaker and was laughed down, but he was not of the stuff to be frightened. Since then he has filled the greatest offices of trust that it is possible for a commoner to fill in England, and at times a radical revolutionist, and then again a most stauncli monarchist, he has had greatness of soul enough to refuse a title offered him by the Queen, Aviien he retired from the Cabinet in which he was Prime Minister, The honor tendered him was politely refused with many thanks, but he accepted the title of Viscountess Bcaconsfield for his noble and devoted wife, who enriched and has sustained him in all his severest struggles. It is told of this brave lady, that while accompanying her husband in a carriage to the House one night, Disraeli be- came lost in thought about a great speech which he was going to make, and the carriage door having closed on one of her fingers, she never uttered a sound of i)ain until the cquippage drove into the Palace yard at Westminster, when the footman jumped down, and she fainted in her husband's arms. One hundred and fifty thousand copies of Disraeli's "Lothair" have BENJAMIN DISKAELI — POLITICIAN. CHARLES KINGSLEY. 645 been sold, and it is more tlian probable that the sale "will not stop short of 250,000 copies. The bitterest article in review of this book was written in Blackwood' s J/a^a^me, by Lawrence Oliphant, author of the "Piccadilly Papers by a Peripatetic," in London Society. Mr. Oliphant deserted fashionable London society to found a Communistic association on the shores of Lake Erie, and having accumulated a secretion of gall and wormwood there he went back to England and poured it out on the head of Disraeli. The Rev. Charles Kingsley, formerly rector of Eversley and Chaplain in Ordinary to the Queen, and now Dean of Roches- ter, is tlie defender of Muscular Christianity in English litera- ture. He is the son of a clergyman, and is descended from the ancient Saxon family of the Kingsleys, of Kingsley, in the Forest of Delamere. He was educated at Kings College, Lon- don, and Magdalen Col- lege, Cambridge, and is nearly fifty years of age. From his advocacy of the cause of the workingmen he has been called the "Chartist Parson." His chief works are, "Hypa- tia, or New Foes with Old Faces," "Alexandria and Her Schools," "West- ward, Ho," "Two Years ago," and "Hereward, Last of the Saxons." He delivered the " Roman and Teuton Lectures " while professor of Mod- ern History at Cambridge University. He has also written a scries of children's books on historical subjects, which are very popular in England. His brother, Henry Kingsley, a novelist of considerable reputatior*., is eleven years younger, CHARLES KINGSLEY — NOVELIST. 646 ENGLISH LITERATURE AND JOURNALISM. and is a contributor to the Gentleman's Magazine, the oldest periodical of its kind in England, which is sold for one shilling. Anthony Trollopc, the most voluminous English novelist now living, was born in 1815, and comes of a literary family, his mother having made a certain sort of fame by her book of American travels which did not redound to her credit. j\Iany years after the issue of Mrs. Trollope's book, her son visited America and sought to redeem the unfavorable impression made by his parent's villification of our people, in his " North America," published in 1861. Anthony Trollopc was educated at Winchester and Harrow, and at thirty-two years of age wrote his first novel, "The McDermotts of Ballycloran," a picture of Irish middle class life. Since then lie has furnished to the publishers of his works enough material to fill a small library. Many of his genial novels appeared in the Cornhill Magazine, whicli was edited by Thackeray at one time, and subsequently by Frederick Greenwood, wlio was, during the former's man- agement, a proof reader on the Cornhill, and is now the editor of the Pall Mall Gazette, the establishment of which journal was the realization of the dream of Thackeray's life. James Greenwood, the "Amateur Casual," a brother of Fred- erick Greenwood, has written a number of books of adventure of the most stirring kind, and was attached to the London Morning Star, a penny morning paper, which advocated the cause of the North during the Civil "War, and local sketches every alternate day were furnished by him to its columns, for which he received sixteen guineas a weelv. Mr, John Morley, whom I have to thank for much courtesy, was editor of the Star during my sojourn in Loudon. He is now editor of the Fortnicfhtly Revieiv, Avith whicli he was for- merly connected. The Star suspended publication about six months ago. I believe John Bright held a stockholding inter- est in the Star previous to its suspension, and had, on some occasions, directed its editorial opinions. Mr. Trollope has an eminently literary look, and Avears huge large sliaggy whiskers, and a pair of spectacles. His pictures of Irish middle class society and English clerical characters, THE MAGAZINES. 647 are the best and 'truest ever drawn by an British novelist, his Irish characters being infinitely superior to those of Charles Lever, whose heroes swagger and strut in a most atrocious manner. Anthony TroUope has a brother, Thomas Adolphus TroUope, who is also a literary man of considerable note, and is five years the junior of Anthony. Adolphus Ti'ollopc resides chiefly in Florence, and has written several works of fiction connected with the very romantic history of that city. The younger TroUope has been twice married. His first wife was an authoress, named Miss Garrow, Avho died in 1865, and eight months after her decease he was again married to a Miss Ternan, who is now living. That was what an unprejudiced mind might call quick work for a novelist. Anthony TroUope is the editor, and also, I believe, the proprietor of >S'^. PaiiVs Magazine, which is sold for one shilling a number. The circulation of the numerous London magazines and periodicals is only to be computed by millions. Of course the cheap mag- azines have the largest circulation, and the cheap- est are not by any means the worst edited. The Temple Bar magazine, which was established by George Augustus Sala, a well known correspond- ent of the 3Iorning Tele- graph, sells for a shilling, ^^ and has among its con- tributors Mrs. Edwards, Florence Maryatt, Miss Harriet Martincau, who is also a contributor to the Dailg News, H. Su- therland Edwards, John Holingshead, who was formerly the dramatic critic of the Daihj News, and is now manager of a ANTHONY TROLLOPE — NOVELIST. 648 ENGLISH LITERATURE AND JOURNALISM. London Theatre. The Brittania Magazine is well edited and lias original stories and sketches, and sells for sixpence. Bow Bells Magazine is a good local periodical, selling for eightpence, and Belgravia, edited by Miss Braddon, sells for one shilling, as does the St. James, which is well known for its clever Parliamentary sketches. Cyrus Redding, the famous octoge- narian writer on wine culture, was for many years a constant contributor to Colburn''s Monthly, in which many of William Harrison Ainsworth's sensation serial stories have appeared. Louisa Stuart Costello and her brother Dudley Costello, and Mrs. Ward, for many years contributed to the pages of Col- burn's Montfdy. Blackwood's Magazine is too well known to need any enumeration of its famous writers. Blachicood' s sells at two-and-sixpence the number. 3IcMillan''s Magazine is issued at one shilling a numl^er by the publishing house of McMillan &, Co., Bedford street, Covent Garden, having 78 double column pages of matter. Among its contributors are Frederick W. H. Myers, Edward Nolan, S. Greg, Thomas A. Lindsay, Dr. Boycc, Edward A. Freeman, Charles Kingsley, Jean Ingelow, Menella Bute Smedley, Mrs. Brotherton, F. Xapier Broome, Thomas Hughes, Godfrey Tur- ner, T. W. Robinson, and F. W. Newman. Cornhill is publish- ed by Smith, Elder &, Co. All the Year Round is edited by Chas. Dickens, Jr., who is rated very high as a sketch writer, and is also well known as a rowing and yachting man. The London Society Magazine is pulilishcd at 217 Piccadilly, and the most aristocratic of all the London magazines, being beautifully illustrated, and having excellent social, club, and fashionable sketches. The London Society is sold for a shilling, and has a number of lady artists who make drawings for its pages. Wat- son, W. Brunton, Lionel Henley, Adelaide Claxton, H. Tuck, A. Tliompson, and F. Walker, are among the best known artr ists on this magazine. Walter Thornbury, author of " Haunt- ed London," Lawrence Oliphant, Edmund Yates, and Las- celles Wraxall, are contributors to the London Society. The " Graphic,^^ the finest illustrated weekly ever published in London, is edited by Arthur Lockyer, who has succeeded its THE LONDON TIMES. 649 former editor — H. Sutherland Edwards. The circulation of the different magazines is computed as follows : Cornhill, 36,000; dlcMlUan, 28,000; Blackwood, 39,000; London Sociehj, 2^,000; Frazer,!!, 000; Colburn's 3IonthJy, 7,500; Temple Bar, 1^,000; St. PauVs, 1^,000; Gentleman's Magazine, 25,000; Britannia Magazine^ 26,000; *S'^. James\ 15,000, and Belgravia, 16,000. DELIVERING THE "TIMES The circulation of the principal critical Weeklies is ; Satur- day Revieiv, sixpence, 38,000 ; Spectator, sixpence, 22,000 ; Athenceum, sixpence, 29,600 ; Examiner and London RevieiUy 13,000. The Saturday Revieiv has forty pages of double- column matter, large print, twelve of which are devoted to ad- vertisements, the remaining pages being taken up with edito- rials, book reviews, notices of the drama and fine arts. The Athenaeum has twenty-two quarto pages of three columns each, ten of which are taken up by advertisements, and the remain- der by book reviews, and dramatic, fine art, and scientific notes. The editor of this journal is Sir Charles Wentworth Pilke, M. P., who wrote an excellent book of travel, entitled " Greater Britain." Ruskin and Huxley have been contributors to the 650 ENGLISH LITERATURE AND JOURNALISM. Athenmum. The Spectator lias twenty-eight pages folio, and is chiefly noticeable for its valuable historical studies, and its short and spicy paragraphs on the first four pages of the paper. Any of these "sveeklies will be sent abroad for the additional cost of a penny stamp. The first number of the London Times "was printed January 1, 1788, by John Walter, and the first newspaper printed by steam in Europe was the Times of November 20, 1814. Ap- plegarth and Cowper's four cylindered presses, printing five to eight thousand sheets an hour, were in use by the Times for many years. These were succeeded by Hoe's press- with "Whithworth's improvement, and now the Bullock press modi- fied, which prints on an endless sheet, is used by the Times. The circulation of this, the leading journal of Europe, varies from 57,000 to 65,000 copies a day, and the owner is Mr. Walter, the son of its founder. John Thaddeus Delane, the son of William F. A. Delane, the former financial manager, who has been succeeded by Mowbray Morris, is the editor of the Times. He is an Oxford man, and was admitted to the bar in 1847. Since 1839 he has been connected with the Times, to whose editorship he succeeded in 1841, on the decease of its then famous editor, Mr. Thomas Barnes. The value of the Times newspaper property has been estimated at three million pounds, or fifteen million dollars. As Thackeray said, its am- bassadors are everywhere ; one may be seen pricing potatoes at Covent Garden, while another is committing to paper the Cabi- net intrigues at Berlin. Among its most celebrated writers have been Barnes, Sterling, Horace Twiss, William Howard Russell, Thackeray, Thomas Noon Talfourd, Baron Alderson, Louis J. Jennings, the American correspondent, now editor of the New York Times, and others. Southey was offered the editorial management at a salary of X 2,000 a year, and the same offer was made to Thomas Moore, the poet, Ijut both declined ac- ceptance. The Times, with supplement, has seventy-two col- umns of matter, on sixteen pages, and 2,250 advertisements have been inserted in one day's issue, seven tons of paper, with a surface of thirty acres, and seven tons of type, being used. f CIRCULATION OF JOURNALS. 651 The circulation and prices of the leading London journals, areas follows: Times., 65,000, four pence; Daily JVeivs, 4S,- 000, one penny ; DaiiT/ Teleg^rajjh, 175,000, one penny ; Morn- ing and Evening Standard, 80,000, one penny ; Morning Ad- vertiser (rumseller's organ), 35,000, one penny; Pall Mall Gazette (evening), 30,000, one penny; Echo (evening), 75,000, one penny; Globe (evening), 8,000, one penny ; Punch (weekly), 55,000, six pence ; Illustrated London News, 60,000, four pence ; Graphic, 80,000, six pence ; BeWs Life (sporting), Wednesday and Saturday, 66,000, one penny; The Field (sport- ing, weekly), 18,000, six pence; Lloyd's Weekly Newspaper SUB-EDITOR S ROOM, TELEGRAPH OFFICE (Sunday), 140,000, one penny: Weekly Times (Sunday) — owned by London Journal, which has a circulation of 200,000 — 110,000, one jienny ; CasselVs Weekly Magazine, 90,000, Weekly Dispatch (Sunday), 215,000, two pence.; Reynold's Neivspaper . (^nw^nY^ •) 280,000, one penny; Jewish Record (weekly), one penny, 7,500 ; Tablet (Catholic weekly), four pence, 36,000. 40 ^«^v^- 652 ENGLISH LITERATUIIE AND JOURNALISM. The Morning Telegraph is the most popular daily newspaper in the world. During periods of great excitement its circulation increases to over 200,000 copies a day, and it takes four ten- cylinder, and four six-cylinder Hoe's presses, to strike off its daily editions. The correspondent of the Telegraph at Paris, Mr. Whitelmrst, is hand and glove with Napoleon, and his sal- ary amounts to £10,000, with a horse and brougham thrown in. The editor of the Telegraph is Thornton Hunt, son of Leigh Hunt, who was for twenty years on the staff of the Spec- tator. The sub-editor of the Telegraph, for they have no man- aging editors in England, is Mr. Ralph Harrison, to whom I am much indebted for courtesies received. The owner of the Tele- graph is a Hebrew gentleman named Levy. The Dailg 'JVews is owned by the Liberation Society, a Dissenters' association, and is edited I believe, by ]\Ir. Edward Dicey, formerly a spe- cial correspondent of the Telegraph, ^^\\o 'went to Suez for that journal. Tom Hood, son of the poet, was editor of the Toma- hawk formerly, and lately of the Latest News, a penny Satur- day paper, and Arthur A Beckct has edited Fun. James Grant is now editor of the 3Iorning Advertiser, at a salary of fifty pounds a week, and Blanchard Jerrold receives £800 a year for editing Lloyds' Weekhj. The salaries of editors on the London press vary from fifteen to fifty pounds a week, accord- ing to the ability displayed, and the circumstances of the journal on which they are employed. "^ mi^ CHAPTER XLVII. THE POOR OF LONDON. EYOND comparison London exceeds all other cities of Europe for the number of its poor, and the misery and suffering of those who individually make up the gross totals in workhouses, back slums, and miasmatic tenements. One of the most interesting — if not the most curious and cheerful scenes in the metropolis — may be witnessed any day by a visit to the East London " Half-Penny Soup House," an institution established by good and merciful people, whereby the poor little castaways and waifs of the city are provided with a dish of soup, a piece of meat, and a small loaf of bread, once in each twenty-four hours. The children are gathered from the promiscuous juvenile assemblages that may be, at any time, found in the London streets, and are taken to the Soup House where large and steaming dishes of soup are given them, by charitable ladies, after which they are dismissed until the next twenty-four hours have elapsed, when again they assemble to partake of the same plentiful and grateful food. This nourishment costs but a half-penny per head, all the attendance and time being given gratuitously by the good ladies who seek the little ones for their own merciful purpose. The struggles of the London poor to keep soul and body to- gether, are very Avonderfnl to understand or relate. Out of every live poor families in London — it is known that at least three are compelled, between Easter and Christmas, to denude 656 THE POOR OF LONDON. tlieir households of all the most necessary articles of clothing and furniture, to take them to the pawnbroker's shops in order that bread and meat may be procured for their little ones. And what terrible scenes are witnessed in these pawnbroker's shops, on Saturday nights when the goods are reclaimed by dint of economy and hard scraping? None but God, the police, and the pawnbroker, ever sec such struggles. A PAWNBROKER S SHOP. One day I paid a visit to the Workhouse of St. Martin's, in the Fields, which is not far distant from Trafalgar square. This workhouse looks like a vast prison, stern, gloomy, and frowning, in the very busiest quarter of the city. Opposite to its entrance was the barracks of some regiment of infantry, and round the doors, were talking and smoking, half-a-dozen of long-legged and slim-waisted private soldiers, in red shell jack- ets, whose chief occupation seemed to be that of switching THE MASTER OF THE WORKHOUSE. 657 their manly calves with slender rods which they jauntily carried hi their hands. The workhouse door was shown to me hy a squad of small boys who were at play in the adjoining gutters, clad in a pau- per's uniform of blue, and on whose heads were dirty but com- fortable caps of plaid pilot cloth. " Yes, master, there is the Workus, over yander. "Will ye give us a penny ? We are all Workus," said they in chorus. I entered the low entrance and stood in a small vestibule, where stood a shelf, or stand, upon which was placed an open blank or visitors' book, in which each caller was to inscribe his name and residence, together with his object for visiting the workhouse. On the opposite page were blank spaces, on which an attendant entered the hours when a visitor called and when he left the institution. A miserable, worm-eaten looking old man, devoid of teeth, and shambling in his gait, a perfect wreck, shuffled up to me with a deprecating look in his eye, as if he were asking pardon for being alive. Heavens ! how the iron of poverty, and the bitterness of dependence, must have eaten away that poor wretch's soul before such enduring lines of degradation could have been impressed on his features. This old pauper was detailed to wait upon the visitors, and to see that their names were inscribed, with the warning that he should not attempt to ask for or receive any gratuity. He faintly said in a childish voice : " What can I do for jou. Sir ? Do you wish to see the Workus ? Ah, yes, of course, a goodish bit of people comes to see the poor paupers, now and then, but we are never allowed to take anything, Sir. No never, never. Poor paupers, poor pau- pers," and so he mumbled away until the Master of the work- house was announced by his footsteps that came in echoes as I sat in the little, poverty-stricken ante-room. To the Master, who is the supreme authority in the work- house, under the direction of the Board of Guardians of the parish, I explained my motives for visiting the paupers' resi- dence, and he welcomed me with much politeness, offering me 658 THE POOR OF LONDON. every facility to inspect the place. He was a medium sized man, of middle age, plainly dressed, and after having issued orders to several of the inmates of the establishment he jn-epared to accompany me through the premises. Here and there, in the walks and corridors, and courts of the workhouse, we met with an occasional pauper, the males in a grey, rough, shoddy uniform, and the women in check or plaid gowns, of a coarse cotton material, and wearing caps of a faded whiteness upon their heads. They all had a vacant, listless look, and seemed lost in as- tonishment to see a stranger with the Master, to whom they made the most servile of salutations. I had seen, in my travels on the English railways, when I sought the not very wholesome refuge of the third class car- riages to study character — just such poor, faded-looking peo- ple, among the families journeying wearily to their various destinations, as these poor old relics, who were now clustering around the workhouse tea tables. Oh, God ! how lonely they looked, and distant from all human kind. The same wan, woe-begone faces, but more quiet and reserved than those I saw in the close railway cars devoted to poor people. Smoking is a common thing in these crowded and close car- riages, and delicate women, and puny, weak children, are forced to travel for hundreds of miles in these cattle boxes — I cannot call them aught else — until they are sometimes known to vomit from the bad air and worse stenches. Making inquiries of this gentleman as I went through the buildings, I may as well give his explanations of workhouse life, and of the condition of the poor and destitute of London. I freely admitted to him that I had heard very strange stories in regard to the treatment, food, and medical attendance of the paupers in the Unions, and that I would be obliged to him if he could clear up my reasonable doubts on many points. In answer to one of these doubts the Master took me into a large, long and clean-looking room, in which were about forty female paupers. These women were engaged in getting sup- 1 SUGAR AND TEA. 659 per for themselves, and were all above middle ago, and hag- gard-looking. "Now, Sir," said he to me, "you, of course, can sec some- thing of which you speak, for yourself. Ilere is one of tlic busy wards of the Union. Each of these old women is allowed an A THIRD CLA&b RAIL\\ AT CARRIAGE ounce of dry tea per day, and enough sugar to moderately sweeten four cups of tea, which they make in their own tea- caddies, or, sometimes they mess together — three or four in a mess — and those who do not care for sugar will trade their sur- plus sugar for the surplus dry tea with some other paupers." All the women arose from their low seats or benches, some of them being clustered around a grate in which were a moder- ate stock of burning coals, and bowed to tlie ^Master, wlio waved his hand and told them to sit down again, whicli they did with courtesies and many feeble expressions of thanks. 660 THE POOR OP LONDON. " That old woman over there in the corner," said the Master, pointing to a female of sixty years of age, who sat alone rub- l)ing her bare arms, and chatting to herself senselessly, " has lost her wits. She is here forty-five years, and will die here in all probability. We have about 400 in-door paupers in this work- house, and perhaps twice as many out-door poor, whom the parochial authorities assist as well as they can. Every pauper whom we support in this house costs the rate-payers of this parish about seventeen pounds six and tenpence per head, which does not include charge for rent, taking the interest of the value of the property. For the children we have a school, and they get the rudiments and that's all. It is an idea with some, and 1 am afraid, with many poor people, " once a pauper always a pauper." The children who are born in this place, would never become independent of the parish if it were not that as soon as they grow up we send them to schools of an industrial kind outside of London, where they learn a trade, or are taught some occupation, such as gardening, blacksmithing, carpenter- ing, or, in fact, anything tliat will enable them to make a liv- ing. The feeding and schooling of the children, with the nursing, &c., costs more per head for them, strange to say, than it does for a grown person's subsistence and clothing in London. " In this parish alone we have to take care of 478 children, and in some of the London parishes in Bethnal Green, and Hackney, or Stepney, they sometimes have to provide for from 1,500 to 2,000 children, of both sexes. Of course, in the very large parishes they cannot afford to educate the children, but have to content themselves with feeding and clothing as many as they can inside the workhouse, while the majority receive, with their parents, out-door relief, but the large and heavy parishes could not afford to have such fine schools as we have in the suburbs, with grounds attached, and sometimes goodish pieces of land, where farming and gardening can be taught the chil- dren. It costs the rate-payers of this parish twenty pounds a year to support and educate the parish children, and, along with all the rest of the taxes, it is no wonder that the people WORKHOUSE RATIONS. 661 arc grumbling and asking why wc do not send the beggars to America or Australia." "And why do you not?" said I to him, "if the sustenance of a pauper, together with his clothing, costs the parish X21 annually." "Because, the people of London have an idea somehow or other, that the Americans will not receive paupers, and then again, if .£21 was given to a pauper to go to America, they would raise a row in Parliament that too much money was going out of the country. Why," said he, "down at Birken- liead, near Liverpool, schools were built for paupers at a cost of <£ 15,000, with bath-rooms and fine dining-rooms, and the people there raised an awful row because the cost to the rate- payers came to ten shillings per head per annum to every inhabi- tant in the place. They did n't want to give them bath-rooms or fine dining-rooms. They turned a man away there who was frozen, and he had to lose all of his toes on account of their neglect. In some of the workhouses, in the North of England, they are beginning to let the children out to board by the week, with farmers and families who can afford to take them, the parish authorities allowing, for each child, three shillings per week for board, with an outfit on leaving the workhouse, and six shillings and sixpence a quarter for mending and repairing their clothes, an offer which has been very cheerfully accepted by many families who are in decent circumstances." "A ' Casual,' " said the Master, " is a pauper who is house- less and destitute in a different parish from which he has lived. When he finds himself in a strange place, as in London, he has to apply at the Police Station for a ticket, which is given him as a reference to ask for one night's lodging at the work- house in the district. The ticket is shown to the Master, who receives him, and I will send him down here, but Ijcfore he is sent down he gets a loaf of bread, weighing a pound and a quarter. He must apply to tlie House for lodgings before ten o'clock at night, or we will not let him in. Then he takes the loaf of bread and eats half of it for his supper, and the other 662 THE POOR OP LONDON. half he saves for his breakfast. We give him, with the remain- ing half loaf of bread in the morning, a half pint of coffee or tea. But before he goes he has got to earn the breakfast which we give him, and is compelled to pick oakum from six o'clock in the morning until nine, when he leaves the House." Before I left the workhouse the Master allowed me to inspect the beef, bread, butter, and beer, which are served out daily to the paupers. Each grown man and woman receives a twelve ounce loaf of bread, a pint of the best beer, an ounce of butter, daily, and five days in the week they receive six ounces of fresh meat, the other days being especially devoted to beans, and a liquid compound known to seafaring men as " skillagelee." v^^*^^-^ rami .i havp..vf,l bx- .loKnTl'X'tti'onton'^ BELKInTAP & BLISS, OF HARTFORD, CONN., ^re engaged, in. tlie Publication of YALUABLE STANDARD WORKS, SOLD ONLY BY SUBSCRIPTION, Old Agents, and all others who want the Best and most Popular Books, and the Best Paying Agencies, will please send for their Cir- culars, which are sent free, and give full particulars. THE EXPOSE: OR, MORMOI^S AI^D MORMO^ISM. Giving its Rise, Progress, and Present Condition, "witli the Narration of Mrs. MAEY ETTIE Y. 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In this single volume may be found a record of every important event, from the discovery of the country to the present time, including short biographical sketches of all the distinguished men who have figured in its history. Every family should possess it. Prices as follows : In 3Enil>ossecl rary Style, - - - « G.OO -A.i'a,l»t?srary Jr»liooi>, ----- 4.50 In Half Turkey ]VIorocco, - - - - 5.00 Agents Wanted. Apply to BELKNAP & BLISS, Hartford, Conn. 'A ^ Vi p 6 3 5