Doings in London : or, Day and night scenes of the frauds, frolics, manners, and depravities of the metropolis

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DOINGS IN LONDON;

OR,
OF THE

FRAUDS, FROLICS, MANNERS, AND DEPRAVITIES

OF

THE METROPOLIS.

WITH

THIRTY-THREE ENGRAVINGS
By Bonner, from Designs by Mr. R. Cruikshank.

TENTH EDITION.

LONDON
ORLANDO HODGSON, 111, FLEET STREET,

TO THE READER.

Prefaces, says Ward, are now become common to every
work, and, like women's faces, are oftentimes found the
most promising part of the whole piece. But when a thing
is usual, though ever so ridiculous in the eye of reason,
a man, like him that spoils his stomach with a mess of por-
ridge before dinner, may plead custom to excuse his error.
I therefore hope it will be no offence to conform with others.

It has been my design to scourge vice and villany, with-
out levelling characters at any person in particular. But
if any unhappy sinner, through the guilt of his own con-
science, take that burden upon his own shoulders which
thousands in the town have as much right to bear as himself
he has no reason to be angry with me, but may thank him-
self for making his tender back so fit for the pack-saddle.

It has been my aim to show vice and deception in all
their real deformity; and not by painting in glowing colours
the fascinating allurements, the mischievous frohcs, and
vicious habits of the profligate, the heedless, and the de^

PREFACE.

bauched, to tempt youth to commit those irregularities
which often lead to dangerous results, not only to them-
selves, but also to the nubhc.

Historical notices of the former manners and customs of
the inhabitants of London, and also topographical eluci-
dations, have been introduced to illustrate the subject,,
and to give the stranger a better knowledge of the Metro-
polis.

G. S.

DOINGS IN LONDON;

OR

mat) anti ^iqU ^tent^

FRAUDS, FOLLIES, MANNERS, AND DEPRAVITIES
OF THE METROPOLIS.

ISotngs ottteHuig-Dropijn-6.*

Pkregrine Wilson was the son of a retired wealthy mer-
chant, of mean sentiments and narrow comprehension, who ae-
sired only to be rich, and to conceal his riches. He originally
intended that his son Peregrine should have a very limited
education; but, discovering great strength of memory and
quickness of apprehension, he sent him to the best school
in the west of England. Here he soon found the delights of
knowledge, and felt the pleasure of intelligence, and the
pride of Invention ; and began soon to pity his father's grossiiess
of conception. He felt assured, that knowledge is certainly
one of the means of pleasure, and that ignorance is mere
privation, by which nothing can be produced ; it is a vacuity in
* See page 8.

1. B

8 DOINGS IN LONDON

which the soul sits motionless and torpid for want of attraction j
and, without knowing why, we always rejoice when we learn,
and grieve when we forget; that, if nothing counteracts the
natural consequence of learning, we grow more happy as
our minds take a wider range. After being at this seminary
for some years, death deprived him of his father, and he
thus became possessed of a considerable fortune. He then
determined within himself to satisfy his curiosity of knowing what
is done or suffered in the world ; and particularly of visiting Lon-
don, of which he had heard and read such extraordinary narra-
tions ; but, bred up as he had been in pastoral simplicity, and so
completely ignorant of the deceptions and frauds practised in the
metropolis, his friends persuaded him against the journey, lest he
should fall a prey to some designing sharper. Still his curiosity
was unabated, and he resolved to keep his design always in view,
and lay hold of any expedient time should offer. Months rolled
on in this state of uncertainty and expectation, without a prospect
of his entering into the world, and discontent by degrees preyed
upon him, when Mentor, his father's former confidential clerk,
came to his memory : delighted with the hope of gaining his
assistance as a guide, he instantly wrote him his request; and,
in a few days, received for answer, that he would willingly comply
with his desire. Peregrine lost no time in commencing his long-
wished-for journey ; and, in a few days, entered London, " stunned
by the noise, and offended by the crowds." After taking some
little refreshment at the inn, he hastened to the house of Mentor,
the future guide of his rambles, who received him affectionately,
on account of the great regard in which he held the memory of his
late father. Peregrine thought himself happy in thus having found a
man who knew the world so well, and could skilfully paint the
scenes of life. He found in him a friend to whom he could impart
his thoughts, and whose experience would assist him in his designs.
He asked a thousand questions about things, to which, though
common to most men, his confinement, from childhood, had kept
him a stranger. Mentor pitied his ignorance, and loved his
curiosity. "The world," said Mentor, "on which you are
about entering, you probably figure to yourself smooth and
quiet, as one of the lakes in your native valleys ; but you
will find it a sea foaming with tempests, and boiling with whirl-
pools : you will :be sometimes overwhelmed by the waves of
violence, and sometimes dashed against the rocks of treachery.
Amidst wrongs and frauds, competition, and anxieties, you will
wish a thousand times for quiet, and willingly quit hope to be
free from fear." " Do not seek to deter me from my purpose,"
said Peregrine ; " I am anxious to see what thou hast seen. What-
ever be the consequence of my experiment, 1 am resolved to judge
with my own eyes, of the various conditions of men, and then to
make deliberately my choice of life."* " 1 do not wish/ replied
* Johnson.

bOINGS IN LONDON, 3

Mentor, " to alienate you from your inlendod project, but I must
warn you of the doings in London, of the difliculties you will have
to encounter. Be tenacious with whom you associate ; form nof
hasty connections ; choose your friends among the wise, and your
wife among the virtuous." Mentor thus gave him instruction, and so
excited his wishes, that Peregrine regretted the necessity of sleep,
and longed till the morning should commence his pleasures. It
was agreed that they should breakfast the next morning at the
Castle and Falcon, Aldersgate Street, it being the inn where
Peregrine intended to reside : to this appointment Peregrine was
punctual ; they conversed over the news of the day whde at
breakfast, and, when it was over, Peregrine proposed that they
should instantly commence their ramble. " But," said Mentor,
" before we begin our walks through London — this vast em-
porium of happiness and misery, splendour and wretchedness^
the mart of all the world, the residence of the voluptuous and the
frugal, the idle and the busy, the merchant and the man of learn-
ing,— it may be well to give you a short sketch of some of its in-
teresting particulars. Notwithstanding politicians and legislators
have at various times expressed considerable alarm at the growth
of the metropolis, it has still continued advancing, amidst all im-
pediments and interruptions, to a most gigantic size. Conjecture
even dares not fix its limits, for every succeeding year we see
some waste ground in the suburbs reclaimed and covered with
dwellings ; some little village or hamlet in the suburbs united by
a continuous street to the metropolis ; until what once, and that at
no remote period, was London and its environs, is now one great
compact city, likely to verify the prediction of James the First,
that " England will shortly be London, and London England."
By the census of 1821, London, including the borough of South-
wark, contained the vast number of 101,905 houses, and 3437
other houses were then building; and, when we consider that every
month brings a large addition, it probably could not be too much
to estimate the metropolis as at present containing 170,000
houses ; nor are its limits likely to stop here, but to be extended
considerably in succeeding ages.

" Political economists differed widely in their estimates of the
number of inhabitants the metropolis contained, and of the pro-
gressive ratio of increase. In 1377, London is said to have
contained about 35,000 inhabitants. In 1636-7, they amounted
to 700,000, within the city walls, according to a census ordered
by the Lord Mayor, Sir Edward Bromfield ; but this calculation
is thought erroneous. In 1746, an historian calculated the
population at 992,000 ; but, eight years after. Dr. Brackenbridge
fixed it at only 751,812 persons; and there is strong reason to
believe that this estimate is correct. Bu-t, to come to more certain
data, we find that, according to the census of 1801, London was
inhabited by 864,845 persojis. In 1811, it had increased to
1,099,104; andj in 1821, to 1,225,964 persons. Yet, while the
B 2

4 DOINGS IN LONDON.

population rapidly increases in every other part of the metropolis,
it decreases in the city. In 1701, it amounted to 139,300; in
1750, to 87,000 ; and, at the last census, did not exceed 50,174
persons. This diminution is naturally to be ascribed to the great
superiority of the streets at the west-end of the town over those
in the east; and to the citizens turning their dwelling-houses into
warehouses, and taking their families to some village in the envi-
rons, being too refined to bear any longer the inconvenience of
•' Smoky London !" If the corporation do not set about widening
their streets, and generally improving the city, it will shortly be
inhabited and frequented by few but what the river Thames calls
thither : and the present great proud Ludgate Hill will be as
neglected, and as nasty, and as filthy, as its neighbour, Watling
Street, now is. So you see, my friend Peregrine," said Mentor,
" how cities, like nations and empires, rise and fall, flourish and
decay ! Having now," continued Mentor, " given you a brief
history of the number of its houses and inhabitants, I beg to lead
you to the character of these inhabitants, and the means they
-employ to maintain and amuse themselves.

"The metropolis of England is the centre of wisdom and piety,
-to which the best and wisest men of every land are continually
resorting. Many are brought here by the desire of living after
their own manner, without observation, and of lying hid in the
obscurity of multitudes. All that is good and noble, generous
nnd humane, is to be found in London ; yet it is—

" The needy villain's gen'ral home,"

the receptacle of the vicious and depraved of all parts of the
world. But, as a glorious set-off to its annual melancholy cata-
logue of crime, let us reflect on its numerous godlike charities,
■with which it abounds, and which stud its immediate vicinity like
strings of sparkling diamonds. It is a happy reflection, that there
is not a calamity that " flesh is heir to," but what will here find
an asylum to assuage its anguish. Such is the metropolis of
England ! the most dangerous city in the world for a stranger to
enter, unless he has a friend to advise him, by reason of the
■numerous and almost incredible frauds, deceptions, schemes, and
villanies, daily practised therein. But," continued Mentor, " to
believe them, you must see them : so, take thy hat, and I will
show thee sights that will create thy wonder, pity, admiration,
and disgust !"

At this instant, a young lad presented himself to their notice,
and asked whether they would wish to hear him " Do the cat's
last dying speech?" Having gained their consent, the boy im-
mediately commenced with his right hand to strike his chin with
great rapidity, which, aided by his voice, produced the loud, shrill,
and discordant yells of a cat, whose body, one would suppose, was
jammed under the leg of a chair; and gave other proofs of his powers
of imitating the feline species, truly astonishing. " That boy," said

DOINGS IN LONDON. 5

iVlentor, " is named Jackson : he was taken before the magistrates
at Union Hall, last year, charged, under the Vagrant Act, with sleep-
ing in the open air. One of the constables of Lambeth stated,
thut on the preceding night, as he was passing along the Bishop's
Walk, he heard a noise proceed from a place where timber was
deposited, resembling the cries of a cat in great agony. He
hastened to the spot, in order to extricate the animal, conceiving it
had got jammed between the logs of wood, from its doleful lamen-
tations. On his way thither, however, the cries of distress were
changed into the most loud and boisterous squalling he ever heard
in his life, as if at least a dozen cats of both sexes were engaged in
their noisy amours. He therefore stopped short, not much relish-^
ing the idea of approaching too closely, snatched up a brickbat,
and flung it at random (the night being too dark to discover ob-
jects) towards the place from whence the ' row' proceeded ; but
he might as well have spared himself the trouble, for tlie cater-
wauling, instead of diminishing, increased to a degree that was
quite stunning. He therefore plucked up all his courage, and,
having cautiously on tip-toe advanced, with a stone in his hand,
weighty enough to knock the ' nine lives' out of any poor niouser, he
was astonished, on looking about, to see no cat, or any thing in the
shape ofacat,but discovered the boy Jackson, lying very comfortably
coiled up between two immense beams of timber. He pretended to be
asleep at first, but when the constable said he was convinced he was
only shamming, and added, that the uproar the cats had been making
would have prevented any human being from closing his eyes,
' the boy then admitted,' said the constable, * to my wonderment,
that it was he who had kicked up the disturbance, and imitated the
cats to the very life. And so,' added the constable, ' I took him to
the watchouse, and locked him up, for lying out in the open air.' "
" The boy, who stood smiling duringthe constable's statement of
his adventures the night before, on being asked how he got his-
livelihood, replied, * By chanting the cat's last dying speech.'
The magistrates discharged him, after admonishing him not to be
found sleeping again in the open air."

Mentor and his young friend now advanced to the street, with
an intention of going to see the New London Bridge, and, as they,
passed along, their attention was attracted by a woman decently
dressed, apparently in the greatest distress, with three child i.: p-
parently starving; which proved to be the celebrated impostor,,
Jenny Weston, who, in January, 1827, was taken before Mr.White,
the magistrate in Queen Square, by Thompson, the street-keeper ;
from whose statement it appeared, that this lady and her progeny
had for a long time imposed on the credulity of John Bull, and that
the drama was uncommonly well got up. The prisoner, who was
the principal tragedian in the piece, completely deceived him for
some time, as well as the public, by her inimitable representation
of a distressed mother with three children, starving in the streets.
The scene opens thus : — The prisoner is discovered sitting on the

O DOINGS IN LONDON.

Steps of Mr. Cockburn, at White-Hall Place, exclaiming, *' My
poor children, what shall I do to get you a mouthful of bread?"
when a tall genteel woman, belonging to the company, comes up
and says, "God bless me! my poor creature, what is the matter?
Here is all I have got about me at present (turning to some stranger
passing): did you ever see such a scene of misery?" Here John
Bull's heart naturally melts, and his hand goes into his pocket ;
when a little short woman, genteelly dressed, belonging to the
party, comes up, exclaiming " Oh dear, I am afraid the poor
woman is in labour! Do get her to a public-house and give her
some refreshment; I fear she will die in the streets (by this
time a crowd begins to be collected). Here, my poor soul, take
this: it is the last penny I have; but some of these good gentle-
men will surely give you a trifle." The distressed mother, during
this time, is groaning most lamentably, and commences with " God
bless you, kind ladies; my poor children have had nothing to eat
for some days — may you never know what want is !" The feelings
of the auditory are now wound up to the highest pitch, and the
pennies, sixpences, perchance a half-ci'own, flow into the treasury ;
the distressed mother is removed to a public-house, and the scene
closes. The distressed mother and the two ladies then regale them-
selves with gin, &c., when they remove to some other spot, the
drama is again successfully represented, and the performers reap
a rich benefit. Thompson said, so completely was the public
gulled by the acting of the prisoner and her two lady confederates,
that, about three weeks ago, he took the prisoner into custody,
when she resisted, appealing to the by-standers, who rescued her;
but, in this instance, some of the audience had seen the tragedy
so often repeated, that tlieir tears had ceased to flow, and they
9,ssisted him.

The magistrate assured the prisoner she should not perform in
public again for three months, and she was committed to the House
of Correction for that period.

" This case of imposition," said Mentor, " is not a solitary one ;
innumerable others might be quoted. I recollect, a few months
ago, being at the Mansion House, when four Irishwomen were
brought before the Lord Mayor, charged with being common im-
postors, in shamming fits in the public streets, in order to excite
compassion ; and the four prisoners are as audacious a set of im-
postors of that kind, as, perhaps, ever were seen. . Their opera-
tions were carried on in Moorfields, where they had gained many
a shilling ; but they were observed and followed by a person who
iad before seen with what ease they made a comfortable livelihood.
One of them, in a very miserable dress, lay down on the broad of
her back on the pavement, and frothed at the mouth, and kicked
ajid gnashed her teeth in a horrible manner ; while another, with
difficulty, held the limbs of the suflferer, and called the attention
of humane passengers to her distressed condition, which, she said,
arose from want oi' the necessaries of life. A third, who was

DOINGS IN LONDON. 7

dressed like a decent servant-maid, and carried a key in her hand,
was seen rummaging her pockets, with tears actually in her eyes ;
while the fourth stood looking on, with pity in her countenance, in
order to increase the ciowd. Each fit was sure to produce money.
Soon after the first terminated, the four women paired off, and
turned into different public-houses, where they swallowed a couple
of glasses of gin each, and then returned to their occupations.
After the second fit, they were going to have a little more com-
fort, but they were disturbed. It required the exertions of six
officers to convey them to the Compter. They all looked quite
mild when brought before the Lord Mayor, who ordered them to
prison and good wholesome labour for a month. After they had
retired from the bar, and were locked up in the cage, they desired

that his lordship should be informed that they would be d d

if they would not require a coach and six horses to convey them
to prison. The gaoler, however, altered their opinions upon the
subject, by informing them that, if tliey would not go quietly, they
should be tied hand and foot and placed in a cart.

" In 1731, a female, of tolerable appearance, and between thirty
and forty years of age, was the cause of much alarm, by pre-
tending to hang herself, in different parts of the town. Her method,
was this : she found a convenient situation for the experiment,
and suspended herself; an accomplice, always at hand for the
purpose, immediately released her from the rope, and, after
rousing the neighbourhood, absconded. Humanity induced the
spectators sometimes to take her into their houses, always to
relieve her ; who were told, when sufficiently recovered to articu-
late, that she had possessed £1500; but that, marrying an Irish
captain, he robbed her of every penny, and fled; which produced
despair, and a determination to commit suicide.

" About this period, another impostor levied great contributions
on the credulity of John Bull : it was in the person of a little
wretch, who pretended to be subject to epileptic fits, and would
fall purposely into some dirty pool, whence he never failed to
be conveyed to a dry place, or to receive handsome donations.
Sometimes he terrified the spectators with frightful gestures and
convulsive motions, as if he would beat his head and limbs to
pieces, and, gradually recovering, receive the rewards of his
performance ; but the frequency of the exploit at length attracted
the notice of the police, in which presence the symptoms continued
with the utmost violence: the magistrate, however, undertook,
upon this occasion, the office of physician, prescribed the Compter
(the tread-mill then was not known), and finally the workhouse,
where he had no sooner arrived, than, finding it useless to coun-
terfeit, he began to amend, and beat his hemp with double
earnestness.

" Of later days, we witnessed the exploits of Mister Collins, the
celebrated ' Soap-Eater,' who used to pretend to be in fits, and,
by putting a quantity of soap in his mouth, and working it into a

0 7>01NGS IN LONDON.

lather, let it foam out of the s'ules of his mouth, making it appear
exactly as if he was in dreadful convulsive fits. This fellow used
principally to exhibit about Lincoln's-lnn Fields."

Peregrine, lost in amazement at the recital of such tales of
imposition, seemed to doubt their existence. " I see," said Mentor,
" you had little idea of the doings in London ; but these cases of
fraud are as nothing to what I shall bring before you, especially
when 1 take you to St. Giles's, and introduce you to the beggars,
or Cadgers, as they are called. But we had better now return to
the inn to dinner, and, to beguile our time, I will relate to you the
exploits of Mr. John Holloway, known well about town, as the
celebrated • Cabbage-Eater,' who has for many years carried on his
profession, as a starving mendicant, with great success, although
he has been committed above thirty times to the House of Correc-
tion , from the different police-offices. While I was wa iting at Queen-
Square Office, on the I6th of May last (1827), he was brought
before the magistrate, by an inspector of nuisances, charged with
imposing on the public by the following stratagem : — It appeared,
from the statement of Wright, that the prisoner (whom he had
repeatedly cautioned) was in the constant habit of attracting a
crowd of passengers around him, by pretending to be starved
Bitting on the pavement, he would procore a large raw cabbage,
which, when any person passed, he would begin to tear to pieces
in the most ravenous manner with his teeth, and pretend to eat it.
The passengers, conceiving he was in a state of starvation, to be
driven to eat raw cabbage, generally gave him something ; by
which means he reaped a tolerable good harvest, making oftentimes
more in a day than the donors themselves. Yesterday morning
he found the prisoner in Wilton Street, Knightsbridge Road, with
about thirty persons around him, whose pity seemed to be excited
at seeing him devour a raw cabbage ; he immediately took him into
custody. Wright said, that when he took the prisoner into custody,
he had his mouth crammed full of raw cabbage, which he spit out.
He did not eat a tenth part of the cabbage he pretended, for he
always contrived, by son.e sleight-of-hand trick, to get the greater
part out of his mouth before he swallowed it. The prisoner was
committed accordingly."

Mentor and his friend, having returned to the inn, and while
waiting for dinner, Peregrine, seeing two men in earnest conver-
sation with a countryman (who seemingly had just arrived in
London), and showing him some rings, seals, and other trinkets,
asked, what was their business? " Those men," replied Mentor,
" are two of the most notorious ring-droppers* in London.—
They are very common offenders, and belong to a set of cheats
lliat frerpiently trick simple people, ho\h from the country and
Londoners, out of their money ; but generally exercise their
villanous acts upon young women. I'heir usual method is, to drop

• See page I.

DOINGS IN LONDOiV. 9

a ring, or gilt seal, or some trinket, just bef(jre their intended
vietim comes up, when they generally accost her thus : • Youn-g
woman, I have found a ring, and I really believe it is gold, for
here is a stamp upon it.' Immediately upon this, an accomplice
joins him, who, being asked the question, replies, * It is gold.'
' VYell,' says the former, ' as the young woman saw me pick it up,
she has a right to half of it.' As it often happens, the young
person has but a few shillings about her. The sharper says, * If
you have a mind for the ring (or whatever it may be), you shall
have it for what you have rot in your pocket, and what else you
can give me ; which sometimes proves to be a good silk-hand-
kercliief, or other apparel. The young woman, being about to
take the ring, and give the money and things for it, the accomplice
says, ' You had better ask a goldsmith if it is gold ;' but, looking
about, they perceive none near, upon which they conclude it is
good, and so they part.

" I will now," said Mentor, " give you a history of two othiri
similar frauds, that recently transpired.

"A Miss S attended at Union Hall, February, 1828, and

gave the following account of a gross imposition that had been
practised on her. Slie stated, that, as she was passing over
Blackfriars Bridge, a very tall woman, dressed in a black straw
bonnet, light shawl, and dark gown, stooped down and picked
up a small parcel, exclaiming, at the same time, ' You are
entitled to a share, miss.' On opening the parcel, it was found
to contain three very handsome-looking rings, apparently set
with real stones, and also a bill of parcels for £10. 5s. Gd. en-
closed with the jewellery. The woman then said, * These things
are too fine for me ; you shall have them for half their worth.'

Miss S , believing they were the real sort, pulled out her

purse, and gave all the money it contained (12 or 13s.) to the
woman, and would have given her three times as much if she
had had it about her. To her astonishment, however, the woman
was satisfied, and both of them separated, mutually pleased

with their good fortune. Miss S had the curiosity to enter

a jeweller's shop to inquire the real value of the rings, when she
discovered they were metal and not worth a groat.

" Now, the next history will develop further cunning tricks
played off in London on unsuspecting country people. In
May, 1827, a simple-looking young Welshman, apparently about
twenty years of age, and most respectably dressed, came to
the Thames Police Office in a state of distraction, and charged
% fellow well known as a gammoning cove, who gave his name
William Allen, with robbing him of eighteen sovereigns. On
neing desired to state all the particulars, he said, he was a
native of Llechryd, near Cardigan, in Wales ; and, intending (o
go to America, where he was told he had a rich uncle living, he
ook his passage to London in (.he True Blue Coach from Bristol ;
and, immediately on his arrival mi the metropolis, in compliance

10 DOINGS IN LONDON.

with liis directions, he repaired to the North and South Ame-
rican CofFee-House, to the master of which he was strongly
recommended as a countryman. On his calling there, and ex-
plaining the object of his visit, the master, being rather busy,
told him to go and walk about and look at the shipping till four
o'clock, when, on his return, he should be happy to give him
every assistance in his power. Being directed towards the Lon-
don Docks, he proceeded towards the Tower; and, when he got
on Tower Hill, he saw the prisoner walking a little before him.
Prisoner, when he saw he was observing him, at once ran for-
ward, and apparently took up a piece of paper off the ground,
and put it into his pocket. He immediately after pulled it out,
and observing his (Stephens's) curiosity excited, opened it cau-
tiously, and showed him a watch, chain, and seals. He then
said, ' If you don't tell any person I found this, I will give you
half of it.' Stephens said that he did not want it. Prisoner
replied, that ' he must have half of it, as he saw him find it;*
and, pointing to a respectable-looking man on before him, said,
' That is a gentleman who is a judge of it, and he will value it,
if you give him a shilling.' The prisoner called out to this
person, and, on his telling him what he wanted him for, the person
at first refused, unless lie was paid. Stephens said that he did
not want to have any thing to do with the watch, and conse-
quently would not have any thing to do with valuing it. At
last, after much entreaty, he agreed to give sixpence, the prisoner
paying the other sixpence, which, after conversing some time
with him, prisoner agreed to do, and he then accompanied them
into a pul)]ic-house, and as he was going in, he observed the wife
of the public-house (as he termed her) look very steadfastly at
hiin, upon which he was determined to be cautious what he was
about; and, on their entering the parlour, and sitting down, the
watch was produced, and the person whom they met on Tower
Hill declared it to be a most valuable watch. At this time
the prisoner began to sit very close to him. Hearing a good
deal of the dexterity of the London pickpockets, he felt his
pocket where he kept his sovereigns. He found he had them ;
but, lest their ingenuity might have abstracted any of them,
he pulled out the paper containing the sovereigns, and began
to count them, which no sooner did the prisoner perceive, tlian
he snatched them from him, and handed them to his companion,
who instantly threw down the watch, and ran out of the room.
He endeavoured to follow him, but the prisoner held him by the
collar, and prevented him. The noise of the transaction attract-
ing the attention of one of the officers who happened to be passing
at the time, he took the prisoner into custody."

The best plan for the country people and others to pursue, is to
avoid entering into conversation with any stranger in the streets
of London, by which means they will save themselves from being
duped, and oftentimes ruined.

DOINGS IN LONDON. 11

While strolling the streets, the attention of Peregrine was drawn
by witnessing a crowd assembled round a baker's shop, in conse-
quence of a poor woman complaining that the loaf she held in her
hand was bad bread, which the baker refused to exchange. " This
case,'' said Mentor, " is not uncommon in London ; the adultera-
tion of bread is one of the most wicked impositions practised in
London. The wretch who improves his circumstances by this
detestable method of increasing his profits, is an assassin full as
wicked as the celebrated Italian, Tophana : that human fiend
poisoned her victims by degrees, suited to the malice of her em-
ployers ; the baker, who throws slow poisons into his trough,
does worse, for he undermines the constitutions of his supporters,
his customers. He that eats bread without butter or meat,
throughout London, at the present moment, and afterwards visits
a friend in the country, who makes his own, cannot fail of per-
ceiving the delicious sweetness which the mercy of our Creator
hath diffused through the invaluable grain that produces it ; the
inducement held out to us, to preserve life by the most innocent
means, is thus, in a great measure, lost to the inhabitants of Lon-
don. I lodged a week at a baker's house, in a country town, and,
during a laz}'^ fit, strolled into the bakehouse, where bread was
mixing; in an instant, my landlord's countenance changed, and I
was rudely desired to leave the place, as he would allow no one to
pry into his business. This conduct, from a man who had before
behaved with the utmost civility, convinced me all was not right,
and that other materials were within view than simple flour, yeast,
and a little innocent salt. Let me not, however, be understood to
apply this censure indiscriminately; it is aimed only at the guilty :
the honest baker will adopt my sentiments, which are merely an echo
of a little work published in 1757, entitled ' Poison Detected ; or.
Frightful Truths, and alarming to the British Metropolis,' &c.
The author asserts, that ' good bread ought to be composed of
flour well kneaded with the slightest water, seasoned with a little
salt, fermented with fine yeast or leaven, and sufiiciently baked
with a proper fire ; but, to increase its weight, and deceive the
buyer by its fraudulent fineness, lime, chalk, alum, &c., are con-
stituent parts of that most common food, in London. Alum is a
very powerful astringent and styptic, occasioning heat and cos-
tiveness ; the frequent use of it closes up the mouths of the small
alimentary ducts, and, by its corrosive concretions, seals up the
lacteals, indurates every mass it is mixed with upon the stomach,
makes it hard of digestion, and consolidates the faeces in the in-
testines. Experience convinces me (the author was a physician),
that any animal will live longer in health and vigour upon two
ounces of good and wholesome bread, than upon one pound of
this adulterated compound ; a consideration which may be useful,
if attended to in the times of scarcity. But it is not alum alone
that suffices the lucrative iniquity of bakers : there is also added a
considerable portion of lime and chalk ; so that, if alum be prejudi-

12 DOINGS IN LONDON.

cial * alone, what must be the consequences of eating our bread
mingled with alum, chalk, and lime. Obstructions, the causes
of most diseases, are naturally formed by bread thus abused. I
have seen a quantity of lime and chalk, in the proportion of one
to six, extracted from this kind of bread : possibly the baker was
not so expert at his craft as to conceal it : the larger granules were
visible enough ; perhaps a more minute analysis would have pro-
duced a much greater proportion of these pernicious materials.'
Since the publication of this work, the guilty baker has made great
improvement in mixing the deadly stuff which he puts into his
bread. In the Times of February, 1828, it says, ' Guildhall—
Among the affidavits sworn before Mr. Alderman Ansley yester-
day, there was one as to the quantity of goods delivered to, and
payments made by, a certain baker. There was a statement of
the account annexed, in which occurred two items of deliveries,
along with sacks of flour, of Jive sacks of bones each time ; some
other stuff was also mentioned by an unintelligible name.'

" I will read you," continued Mentor, " an extract from a
paper, in a very interesting periodical, called the Verulam, on the
subject of the quality of bakers' bread. It says, — ' Considering the
extent to which the manufacture of bread is required for the supply
of the metropolis, and the great temptation afforded to fraudulent
•tradesmen by the laxity of our municipal regulations, it is not at
all surprising that the far greater portion of the bread supplied by
the London bakers should be very different from what is presumed
to be good wholesome bread, made from wheaten flour only. The
consequences resulting from the habitual use of impure or unwhole-
some bread are, according to our view of the subject, of so serious
a nature, as to attach a sort of stigma to our local police, in not
taking this branch of civil economy under their immediate superin-
tendence. The local magistracy have the power, which, in some few
instances they exercise, of directing unwholesome butchers' meat,
or putrid tish, to be publicly seized and destroyed. But, with re-
gard to bread — an article of more universal consumption than either
of the above varieties of food — the magistrates seem to think it
entirely beneath their notice, unless a specific charge be advanced
against an individual baker of having such commodities on his
premises as are more publicly and commonly known to be ingre-
dients for the adulteration of bread. Instead of leaving the manu-
facture of meal, or flour, on which the health of a population of
more than a million of persons depends, to the integrity of the miller
or mealman, we are of opinion that a similar degree of control
ought to be vested in some competent authority, like that of the
Excise Board, in superintending the manufacture of malt.

" 'We shall not waste the time of our readers by defining the pro-

* Mr. Clarke, of Apothecaries' Hall, says, alum is not at all injurious, in the
quantity in which it is used by the bakers ; they only use it when the yeast is
bad, and in small quantities— merely one pound to eight bushels of flour, which
can do no harm.

DOINGS IN LONDON. 13

perties of so well-known a commodity as wheaten flour. It will
besufficieatto point out the effects on the animal economy, of such
compounds as are too generally, or almost uniformly, sold for fine
flour in the metropolis. It is well known that the quality of grain
varies from ten to thirty per cent, in value, not only from the nature
of the soil in which it has been grown, but also from the way in
which it has been harvested. This is, however, a question simply
between the farmer, or corn -factor, and the miller, and with which
the consumer has nothing to do. The next point, however, very
seriously concerns the consumer — whether the miller or meal-
man supplies the baker, or the private family, with genuine
wheaten flour, or with a compound meal grojjnd up from several
other kinds of grain and pulse of inferior quality?

" 'That the latter system is carried on in almost every extensive
flour-mill throughout the kingdom, we take the liberty of asserting,
without the fear of contradiction. Not only foreign or ship corn of
damaged quality, but beans, peas, and other inferior grain, are
ground up and mixed with more than three fourths of the flour con-
sumed in the metropolis. It is not necessary to designate at length
the names and qualities of the various samples sold by the London
mealmen under thename of" Fine," " Seconds," " Middlings," &c.,
as the very best of these varieties of flour are only middlings, if
considered as an article of daily food ; while some of the inferior
kinds, even when made up of grain alone, are very far from aftbrd-
ing wholesome food in the different processes of domestic economy.
The case is, however, infinitely worse when pulverized stone is sold
and used to a great extent as wheaten flour. • The calcareous class
of earths, as the sub-carbonates and sulphate of lime, as well as
the tenacious white clays termed potters' clay, or pipe-clay, afford
the most perfect imitations of flour, and serve to deceive even the
most experienced eye, when blended with flour in certain propor-
tions. The article known in the meal trade by the name ot
" Devonshire white,'' forms a very large constituent of the flour
Used in London by the inferior bakers, but more especially by the
inferior pastry-cooks.

" ' Now, independent of the gross frauds committed on the public
consumer (for the baker is well aware of the admixture of these
pernicious ingredients in flour, and pays for it at a proportionably
low price), the use of flour for food containing even a tenth part of
insoluble earthy matter, must be attended with the worst conse-
quences to the animal functions.

" • The unwholesomeness of constantly using bakers' bread, is
commonly ascribed to the portion of alum almost universally em-
ployed by'bakers in the great towns throughout the kingdom. But
we have no hesitation in stating, that much more evil is to be appre-
hended from the shameful adulterations of flour by the mealmen.
The principal use of alum in bread-making, is that of hardening
the surface of loaves at the instant they are placed into the oven
while the "heat expands the pores of the dough, or sponge. By

14 . DOINGS IN LONDON,

this means, the bread of the pubhc bakers always preserves its
form, so as to please the eye, and also allows of the partition or
division of the loaves from each other more effectually than what is
called " home-baked bread." The use of alum also contributes
in a small degree to improve the colour of bread; but its principal
value is that of mechanical agency in improving the shape and
appearance of bread. The use of this salt in making bread is, how-
ever, extremely injurious to the animal functions, from its drying,
or styptic properties, occasioning constipation of the viscera; a
small quantity, even a few grains, taken daily, being sufficient to
derange the digestive powers in a very perceptive degree. Per-
sons having sedentary occupations ought mc^t particularly to
abstain from the use of bread containing the smallest portion of
alum ; for, the digestive functions of such persons being already
impaired by want of exercise, in the great majority of instanceSj,
bread containing alum acts literally as a slow poison on the tem-
perament of such individuals. It is not merely constipation of the
alimentary passages, to be removed by cathartic medicines only,
but a derangement, or paralysis, of all the vital functions, which
results from the use of bread having alum in its preparation. It is,
moreover, worthy of recollection, that flour of inferior quality
stands more in need of alum in the process of bread-making than
good flour. One of the distinguishing characters of good wheat
flour is that of the gluten it contains, by which property it has a
sufficient tenacity to form a tough sponge, which prevents the
escape of the air and carbonic acid gas, generated by the fermenta-
tion or icorking of the sponge : whereas, inferior flour, as bean-
flour, though perhaps equal to wheaten flour in colour, having less
gluten, is neither so capable of producing a good fermentation,
nor by any means furnishing so nutritive a kind of food when made
into bread. We are, however, disposed to think, that, although
alum is almost universally employed by bakers with the view of
improving the appearance of their bread, as well as for the purpose
of disguising the use of inferior flour, yet that this salt is not the
worst ingredient in the ordinary bread, or seconds, of the London
bakers. We believe, as we before stated, that a vaat quan:>ity of
pulverized earthy matter is employed by the London bakers and
pastry-cooks. It is essential that the sponge, or paste, of bakers,
should undergo the process of fermentation ; therefore, there mijst
be a sufficient portion of vegetable gluten in the mass to answer
that purpose, or no raising or leavening of the mass could take
place."

" Maton, in his Tricks of Bakers Uninasked, says, ' Afum
(which is called the Doctor), ground and unground, is sold to the
bakers at4d. per pound. Upon a moderate calculation, there are
upwards of 100,000 pounds of alum used annually by the London
bakers. It would fill a volume to enumerate all the pernicious
practices resorted to by bakers : a case was decided a few years
ago, against a baker, for mixing pumice-stone, finely pulverized.

DOINGS IN LONDON. 15

with his flour, and making it into bread : when, by the evidence
of a surgeon, it appeared, that, if a single particle of the pulverized
ingredient had rested in the bladder, it would have generated stone.'

Mr. Clarke, of Apothecaries' Hall, stated, before the Lord
Mayor, August, 1825, that he had been sent to Hull, by order of
the Lords of the Treasury, to analyze samples of 1467 sacks of
flour, then at the Custom-House there, to be shipped for Spain and
Portugal; and, on examination, he found one third of it ivas plaster
of Paris, one third burnt bones and beans, and the remainder flour
of the worst description. On his reporting the result of his exami-
nation to the Lords of the Treasury, the flour was condemned, and
ordered to be thrown into the sea, and the owner of it fined to the
amount of £10,000. The value of the flour was between £3,000
and £4,000. * 1 have,' continued Mr. Clarke, * upon several
other occasions, found, in bakers' flour, an immense quantity of
plaster of Paris, burnt stones, and an earthy substance called
Derbyshire Whites, of the most destructive nature, but prepared for
the sole use of bakers, confectioners, and pastry-cooks. The
colour of all those dreadful ingredients is beautiful ; it resembles
that of the finest flour, and the article is impossible to be detected
in its unmade-up state, without a chymical process.

" It no doubt very often happens that, when a poor baker is in
debt to his mealman, he is prevented from returning flour whicli he is
assured is unwholesome, and is forced to use it against his incli-
nation :

' His poverty, and not his will, consents.'

Talk of the assassin ! why his deed is innocence itself, when com-
pared with the hellish doings of such a mealman ; who, for the sake of
a little money, sloicly murders thousands of his fellow-creatures !

Unfortunately, the wicked practice of mixing impure ingre-
dients in the bread is not the only knavish ' doing ' of the un-
principled London bakers. I will tell you how they * do,' to
make a small shoulder of mutton grow into a large one. Mr. Crust
first buys the smallest shoulder of mutton which he can find;
perhaps it may weigh about four pounds. When his Sunday's
dishes come in (which, if he be in any thing of a trade, will be
pretty numerous), he changes this four-pound shoulder for a five-
pounder ; then he removes his five-pound shoulder to the place of
a six ; then substitutes a seven, and soon to eight, nine, and ten !
Thus he makes a clear gain of six pounds of mutton, and changes
his four pounds of carrion for prime meat. — Maton, in his Con-
fessions, says, — ' I had not been long in this service, before I
became fully acquainted with London honesty ! For, on the first
Sunday after I entered this service, I had to attend, with the
other men, in the baking of the dishes of meat, and other things
which were brought to the shop ; the custom being, to leave the
dish, and receive a ticket in return for it. As I was the under-
man, it became my duty to take the dishes out of the shop into
the bakehouse ; the second hand, as the cant phrase is, shaves

16 DOINGS IN LONDON

the meat, that is to say, cuts as much off from each joint as he
thinks will not be missed ; the foreman drains the water off, and
puts the dishes in the oven till they require to be turned ; after
which, the liquid fat is drained from each dish, and the deticiency
is supplied with water ; t!iis fat is the master's perquisite. It
may be plainly seen, between master and man, that, by these
perquisites, the public looses at least two ounces on each pound
of meat; and, there being a mutual understanding between
master and man, there is little fear of detection. My master
not only robbed the customers' dishes of the fat, but he
robbed me of my perquisite, in taking the lean also. How-
ever, I consoled myself with having a good parish pudding on
Christmas Day. I told the servant-maid of my intention, and
that she should participate in it. On this day of the year, it is
known, all persons provide, according to their means, plum-
puddings, mince-pies, and joints of meat ; and. at an early hour,
they were brought into the shop, ready for the oven. My master
being jealous of my presence, sent me out to a public-house,
telling me, when he wanted me, he would send for me. I thought
it strange he should send me to a public-house, when there was
so much extra business to be done, and tiie more so, when I found
that my mistress had sent the servant-maid up stairs : after a con-
siderable time had elapsed, I thought my master had forgot to
send to me ; I returned home, and remained unobserved in the
bakehouse for some time, for my master was too busily employed
to notice me, in filling his dishes, basins, and tea-saucers, with
puddings and mince-meat, and in ornamenting his dough-boards
with mutton chops, veal cutlets, and beef steaks, cut most scien-
tifically from the viands before him. There were upwards of
twenty puddings from which he had taken toll.' "

Peregrine asked if there was no punishment for bakers acting
so dishonestly ? "A little," replied Mentor : " for selling their
bread short of weight, it is liable to seizure, and die baker is fined ,
for instance, some time since, a police-oiScer found on the pre-
mises of a baker fifty quartern loaves and twenty half-quarterns,
each loaf being deficient of weight, some wanting from four to
seven ounces ! The whole deficiency amounted to one hundred
and sixty-nine ounces. The penalty only amounted to £21. 2s, 6d.
All the bread was forfeited, and by the magistrates distributed
among the poor. On the same day, a baker was fined by Sir
John Eamer, in the mitigated penalty of £10 with costs, fot
having a quantity of alum, and other mixtures and ingredients,
found in his bakehouse, with intent to use the same in adulterating
the flour and bread. This is all the punishment the present law
inflicts. But tlie antient way of punishing bakers for want of
weight, was by the tumbrel or cucking-stool. This punishment
was inflicted on them in the time of King Henry the Third, by
Hugh Bigod, brother to the Earl Marshal. ]n Turkey, when a
baker is found selling bread short of weight, he is hung up instantly

DOINGS IN LONDON. 17

before his own door : and Massaniello, the fisherman of Naples,
the short time he was in power, passed a law, that all bakers who
sold bad bread should be baked in their own ovens.

" Such, my friend," continued Mentor, " are a part of the doings
of the dishonest bakers of London ; shortly, I shall have an op-
portunity, not only of giving you a further insight into their
knavish tricks, but also of making you acquainted with the mode
of knowing bad bread from good.

While they were discoursing on the subject, on their way home,
their attention was arrested, by witnessing a vast number of persons
crowding into an elegantly fitted-up shop. Peregrine asked what
place it was : " Why," replied Mentor, " it is worth thy while to
see ; so step in, and (throwing open the door) there," said he,
• behold

THE DOINGS IN A GIN-SHOP !

Peregrine seemed lost in amazement, while witnessing the
wretched motley group, thus so suddenly presented to his view;
the vulgar laugh— the idiotic grin— the drunken bra d— the hysteric

■A C

18 DOINGS IN LONDON.

convulsive throb, which emanated from this mass of misery, poverty,
and profligacy, filled his mind with horror, pity, and disgust.
After recovericg himself, he said, " I thought you told me the
poorer sort of people in London were wretchedly in need : why,
these surely cannot be any of your poor, for they seem to throw
their money away with such heedlessness and extravagance ? It
they were poor, I think they could not expend so much in drink as
they seem to do.'*' " Indeed, they are the poor," said Mentor;
" and the major part of them live upon charity, or receive parochial
relief. It is well known that, in many cases, the parish officers
refuse to relieve the poor with money, but supply them, instead,
with coals, bread, and potatoes ; and no sooner do they get them,
than they sell them for what they can get, and expend it in this
deadly poison — giii! They borrow each other's children, in order
that they may appear with them before the parish boards, and have
a greater claim to obtain a further allowance ; and, the instant
they procure it, then it all goes to the gin-shop. Innumerable
such cases I might give you, and, I assure you, it is no wonder
that the poor-rates should increase, and keep pace with the con-
sumption of gin. In 1827, TWELVE MILLIONS OF GAL-
LONS OF GIN were consumed more than in the preceding year,
and the poor-rates for the same period amounted to the enormous

sum of SEVEN MILLION, SEVEN HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-FOUR
THOUSAND, THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-ONE POUNDS ! but.

of this," said Mentor, " we will speak shortly : let us sit down — we
shall be hid among the many, while I tell you the characters and
callings of some of these poor lost creatures, now before us.

" That fellow with the crutches, in conversation with the woman,
is a most notorious beggar : he is possessed of a great property, in
the funds, in houses, and out at interest ; but more of his history
when I shall show you him in his own element, in the back settle-
ments near Diot Street, St. Giles's. The woman he is talking
with, is in a good way of busines in the cadging-line, together
with her husband, who was taken to the Mansion-House, before
the Lord Mayor, in 1827, for being found lying on the ground without
shoes, stockings, or shirt, shivering as in the most deplorable con-
dition, from the extreme cold. They were old performers, who
were never seen in the city except during hard frosts, when the
public sympathies were strongly excited by their nakedness, and
appearance of extreme misery. They disappear with the frost, be-
cause the exposure then excites less sympathy. Some gentlemen
who know the imposture, have often been incited to give money to
the fellows, as a compensation for their matchless theatrical per-
formance of wretched characters. No estimate can well be made
of the receipts of these fellows, but they are known to be such as
to induce them to quit good employment, to beg during the incle-
ment season. The Lord Mayor sent him to Bridewell, there to be
kept to hard labour.

That litde child, without shoes or stockings, with her father's

DOINGS IN LONDON. 19

waistcoat on, having no other clothing, is employed by her parents
to run about the streets, in a miserable plight, with naked feet, in
the frost. A party of such was taken to the Mansion-House,
February, 1827 ; oue of them was apprehended sitting in a court,
with a basket, which contained the shoes and stockings of the
other children, who were running about, and endeavouring to excite
compassion by their nakedness. Wlien they liad got sufficient
money in this manner, ere the day had closed, they put on their
shoes and stockings, and returned home. The Lord Mayor remanded
them, and ordered their mother to be sent for, that she might be
made responsible for their being at large. Several women, the
police are aware, live well by the mendicancy of their children,
who are compelled to bring home a certain sum, generally Is. 6d.
per day : all they get beyond this they spend themselves. Thus,
a mother who has four or five children, can aftbrd, as the officers
state, to " stay at home, and drink gin like a lady." The children
are flogged if they do not make up the required sum, and, when
occasions serve, they do it by pilfering.

He with the flat basket i3y his side is a well-known beggar,
who frequents St. James's Park, and there, by his piteous tale of
misery, imposes on the charity of the frequenters of that cele-
brated promenade : the woman just entering the door with the
pattens in her hand, is also a vile impostor; she always appears
remarkably decent, and pretends to be a woman who has seen
better days, and used, after the death of her husband, to get her
livelihood by needle-work, until she unfortunately caught cold,
which deprived her of the sight of one eye, and nearly that of the
other. This story is all false : she can see as well as anybody ;
watch her closely, and you will find her slip her patch off her eye,
and appear as merry as the most jovial among the compan)\

That poor dying creature, in the very last state of a consumption,
you there see sitting on a tub, and reclining his head on a gin-cask,
was, some time since, a respectable master-tradesman in Holborn;
but his love for spirituous liquors soon brought his family to the
workhouse, and himself to the state you now see him in : he has been
known to drink sixteen glasses of gin in the course of a morning.
What a contrast between him and the landlord; between the gin-
drinker and the gin-seller: the one, a horrid spectre of disease,
worn to the bone ! the other, full of the good things of this world,
in the very plenitude of health : for he is like the doctor — he never
takes any of his own stuff." " And pray," said Peregrine, " why
should he nut '/" " Because, my friend, he knows of what deadly
ingredients it is composed. Gin, or Geneva, is principally th
manufacture of Holland, from whence it derives its name. Tlia
Dutch distillers make the best gin from a spirit drawn from wheat,
mixed with a third or fourth part of malted barley, and twice rec-
tified over with juniper berries; but, in general, rye meal is used
instead of wheat. But it is the common practice in England, ia
the making of gin, to add oil of turpentine, in the proportion of two
c2

20 DOINGS IN LONDON.

ounces to ten gallons of raw spirits ; highly injurious as this is, it
is not, unfortunately, the only prejudicial ingredient which is put
in it Whe-n the gin comes from the distiller, the retailer must
know how to manage it, for there is a great art in the making-up of
gin : in the first place, he lowers and reduces it in strength, which he
does by putting white quicklime in water that has been boiled, and
letting it stand until properly settled; he then adds the water to his
gin, stirring it well about with what they call a rummaging-staff.
Well, when their gin is lowered, they then flavour it, and make it
up ; and, in doing which, the following are among the ingredients
used: —
** Oil of vitriol. Sulphuric aether.

Oil of turpentine. Extract of orace-root.

Oil of juniper. Extract of angelica-root.

Oil of cassia. Extract of capsicums, or

Oil of carraways. Extract of grains of Paradise.

Oil of almonds. Water, sugar, &c."

The extract of Capsicums, or extract of Grains of Paradise, is
known in the trade by the appellation of " The Devil." They are
manufactured by putting a quantity of small East India chellies
into a bottle of spirits of wine, and keeping it closely stopped for
about a month. They are used to impart an appearance of
strength, by the hot pungent flavour which they infuse into the
spirit requiring their aid : they give a hot taste in the mouth,
which passes ^r strength with the persons imposed upon. The
oil of vitriol, from its pungency, keeps up the appearance of
strength, when applied to the nose, as the extracts of capsicums,
or of grains of paradise, do, when applied to the taste. Oil of tur-
pentine and sulphuric oBther (the turpentine having been changed
from its oily slate, by means of lime-water, the whites of eggs, or
spirits of wine) are used for the purpose of concealing the oil of
vitriol, and to give it a delicate taste. The extracts of orace and
angelica roots are used to give a fulness of body and flavour, and,
by their relative bitters, keeping the taste as nearly as possible to
that of the gin previously to any reduction.

'* That the proportions of the different ingredients I have named,"
says the author of an invaluable treatise lately published, called
Wine and Spirit Adulterations Unmasked (a work which, to use
a homely saying, is ' worth its weight in gold,' and which every
family in England ought to be possessed of), " are varied according
to the taste of the wholesale dealer or gin-shop keeper, as well as
that sometimes several articles are struck out altogether, or their
places supplied by others equally deleterious, there can be little
doubt ; but that the materials are as numerous, and used in as con-
siderable a quantity, is proved beyond all question, by this simple
calculation : it requires forty-eight gallons of tvater to reduce one
hundred gallons of gin, purchased at its cheapest rate, to one of
the prices at which it is advertised (that at 6s. 6d. per gallon),

DOINGS IN LONDON. 21

and the still further addition of forty-four gallons more of water
{making a total of ninety-two gallons), to allow a profit of Is. Gd.
per gallon.

" This alone must be conclusive to every mind, that practices,
such as I have pointed out, do exist ; and, when it is considered
that the evil consequences from them fall most heavily on the
poorer classes of society, no one will deny that the system calls
loudly for the interference of government. The idle reply that, the
weaker such a compound as gin is made, the less injuries it is
likely to work, is no answer to such a case ; because, although
strong spirits may be injurious to the health and morals of the
lower classes, the drinking such compositions as I have described
must also be pernicious to the constitution and comfort of the
people ; and tends only to enrich a class of the community, who
have neither honour nor usefulness enough to entitle them to the
wealth they obtain.

" A part of the profits of many of our modern gin-slrop
keepers," says the same ingenious author, " arises from a mode
they have of cheating their poor dram-drinkers out of their fair
allowance of gin, &c. It bespeaks the slate of refinement to
which their ingenuity has arrived, in this respect, and the fact is,
of itself, not a little curious. The means by which a certain ad-
ditional profit is obtained, is technically called in the trade * by the
turn of the glass,' and may be thus explained: —

*' The glasses made use of for the poor people to drink their
spirits from, are shaped thus : —

The counter of the bar is covered with lead, perforated with holes,
having a communication with a cask. Now, as, for obvious reasons,
the glasses, although scarcely holding the measure when filled to
the brim, are seldom so filled, at least to within the eighth or six-
teenth of an inch, from the chances that, in all probability, as much
will be spilled, and run into the cask prepared to receive it, a
quantity equal to the portion contained in three quarters of an inch
or more, at the bottoms of what are termed their half-quartern
glasses, is thus saved to the seller, and an extra profit reckoned at
about seven and a half per cent, derived therefrom, amounting to
not a very inconsiderable sum of money, even where there is only
a tolerable consumption."
„j J^new," continued Mentoj, a gin-shop keeper, who told

22 DOINGS IN LONDON.

me, he liad a shopman who saved him from one hunctred and fifty
to two hundred pounds per annum, by his mode of filling the
glasses."

Unfortunately, ministers have lately taken off a great part of the
duty on gin, and thus it is vended at a very cheap rate, and which
enables thousands to drink it, who could not otherwise afford it.
Ministers, being fully aware that one of the causes of the distresses
of tbo present times is the redundancy of the population, perhaps
hit upon this scheme to thin them a little. The late Dr. Millar
observes — " The intemperate use of spirituous liquors has been
found by experience, for many years past, more destructive to the
labouring class of people, in cities and manufacturing towns, than
all the injuries accruing from unhealthy seasons, impure air, infec-
tion, and close confinement to work within doors, or much fatigue
without. It not only produces tedious and peculiar maladies, but
is often the means of rendering inveterate, or even fatal, many
diseases of the throat and lungs; also, fever, and inflammations of
the bowels, liver, kidnies, &c. I am convinced, that considerably
more than one-eighth of all the deaths that take place in the metro-
polis, in persons above twenty years old, happen prematurely,
through excess in drinking spirits.

" Most of the criminals refer all their misery to the evil of drink-
ing, especially dram-drinking. It is well known that the direct
effect of drams is to inflame and excite the passions ; the habitual
dram-drinker is rendered insensible to the milder feelings of his
nature, and regardless of all consequences, whether as aftecting
this world or another ; his reason is, for the time, departed from
him, and he is rendered ripe for the most sanguinary and ferocious
acts."

" Nearly all the convicts for murder," says Mr. Poynder, in
his evidence before the House of Commons, " with whom I have
conversed, have admitted themselves to have been under the in-
fluence of spirits at the time of the act; and I am fully persuaded,
that in all the trials for murder which take place, with very few
(if any) exceptions, it would appear on investigation, that the cri-
minal had, in the first instance, delivered up his mind to the bru-
ttdizing effect of spirituous liquors.

"With regard to the extensive mischief of drinking amongye-
males, there is little doubt that to this source must be ascribed
most of the evils of prostitution. To the effects of liquor, multi-
tudes of that sex must refer both their first deviation from virtue,
and (heir subsequent continuance in vice ; perhaps it would be im-
possible for them, without the aid of spirituous liquors, to endure
the scenes which they are called to witness."

It is worthy to notice the striking difference between spirits and
heer, in the mode of their operation : beer makes persons first
heavy, then stupid, and then senseless ; the beer-drinker becomes
more drunken than the drinker of spirits, and shows his condition
more, but is, in that very proportion, more harmless to society ;

DOINGS IN LONDON. 23

his very helplessness and inactivity give a sort of pledge for the
security of others. In the case of drain-drinking, however, the ef-
fects are not besotting or stupifying; spirits are less narcotic, but
more exciting than beer; so far from incapacitating for action,
they stimulate to it; they increase and irritate the passions; they
heat the brain, by inflaming the quality and quickening the circu-
lation of the blood. There is, perhaps, less of gross drunkenness
brought before the public eye than vehen beer was the national li-
quor; but there is probably, on that very account, so much more
drinking and so much more crime.

" But come," says Mentor, " we seem to excite the attention
of the landlord, and we had better leave." So, taking a glass of
wine, they retired.

At the corner of an adjoining alley. Mentor, perceiving a
notorious Duffer in conversation with a young man, asked his
friend if he was prepared to witness a little more of the shameful
doings in London ; to which Peregrine acquiescing, they followed
them into a public-house, and saw the swindler unfold his parcel,
and show his companion some silk handkerchiefs, stockings, &c.
Peregrine, on seeing them, felt desirous of becoming a purchaser.
"No," said Mentor, " shun that fellow: he is what they call
a Duffer, and a most notorious one he is. He belongs to a
gang who generally ply at the corner of the streets, courts, and
alleys, to vend their contraband goods; which mostly consist
of silk handkerchiefs made in Spitalfields, and remnants of silk
purchased at the piece-brokers, which they declare are just
smuggled from France. The rig, as it is called, is not half so
much practised now as it used to be, on account of French and
other silks, gloves, &c. being now so cheap in London ; but yet
there are always a number of persons in the metropolis, who
will eagerly purchase of this sort of depredators, because they
think they can purchase them a little cheaper than at a respectable
shopkeeper's ; little thinking that the goods are sure to be damaged,
or of inferior manufacture. The duller is a crafty rogue, and lays his
schemes with great skill. In order to induce you to buy, he presents
you with a real India handkerchief to look at, the more artfully to
draw your attention, which having done, they whisper that they
wish you to step with them aside, up a court, or to some public-
house, for fear of the revenue officers, who would immediately
seize the goods. Having enticed their prey into some such place,
they open the handkerchiefs, &c. for your choice and inspection ;
and, should you buy, it is fifty to one you get the commodity you
bartered for, unless you give a very extravagant price indeed. The
method they use to elude your attention, is, they wrap up the
article in a piece of paper, and put anodier of inferior value in ith
room, which they give you, and you put it into your pocket, not
thinking of any cheat, until you get home, and begin to inspect ana
show your great bargain, when you see how you have been duped,
but it is then too late for you to retrieve your loss. This trick

2A DOINGS IN LONDON.

they play off very successfully in vending silk stockings ; for a
person bought of these duffers six pairs of silk stockings, and,
when he came to inspect them at home, they all vs'anted the feet.
If it should so happen that you detect them in their frauds, and
seem to resent it, or expose them, you are sure to get the vv^orstof
it : for there are generally several in the gang, hanging about,
while the barter is going on, to come up instantly and make a dis-
turbance, and insult you, while the duffer escapes ; or, if he finds
himself detected, or you should give him any money to change,
he asks you to stop wiiile he just goes into a public-house. You
see him enter, but, not returning, you find, on inquiry, he has gone
out at a back door ; and thus you are cheated out of your money.
Persons in London will always find it to their interest to make
their purchases at respectable shop, kept by tradesmen of cha-
racter : there they are sure not to be deceived ; although they may
pay a little more for the article they want, it will invariably, in
the end, prove the cheapest. No sooner had the duffer left the
room, having previously persuaded the poor dupe he had with him
to purchase some of his goods at a most extravagant rate, than
two north-country captains came in, and, having called for glasses
of grog, their conversation turned upon their acquaintances, their
good luck, and their misfortunes : they did not seem to be at all
reserved, but addressed themselves frequently to Peregrine and his
friend; and, among other topics, they conversed on the cheats of
London ; when one of them gave an account, how one of their
shipmates was met near Rosemary Lane, by a notorious duffer,
Simon Solomon, a celebrated seller of mock jewellery : he said
his friend had been completely " done" by this old Solomon ; who
produced a very fashionable watch, which his shipmate bought, as
a " dead cheap bargain," for £4, having, with great difficulty,
abated him from £5 to that sum; but, on inquiry, he found that
" all was not gold that glitters," and that his new purchase was not
worth six shillings. "This," replied the other captain, "is nothing to
what a friend of mine, a Mevagissey captain, suffered ; who, being
in the metropolis, went to see the New London Bridge ; where
a person, habited like the master of a vessel, accosted him as an
old acquaintance. Captain — said, ' I never saw you before.'
' Oh,' replied the other, ' I have seen you in the East Indies.'
' That cannot be,' said the Cornishman, ' for I never was there.'
* Well, then,' rejoined the stranger, ' T am sure I have seen you
somewhere, for your face is quite familiar to me ; but I feel par-
ticularly happy in meeting with you now, because 'tis my first
voyage to London. I am, like yourself, master of a vessel called
the — ', now lying at — (mentioning the name of the place),
and I want you to go about with me, to show me a little of the
town, for every thing is new to me,' &c. He then prevailed on
the captain to accompany him to a public house and take a glass
of grog with him ; but, on coming out of the inn -door, the sharper
(iur such he was, though disguised) snatched the captain's pocket-

DOINGS IN LONDON. 25

book, containing his freight, out of his coat, and ran off. Of
course he pursued him with all possible speed, but, running fast,
he unfortunately threw down a female, and, by the time he had

assisted her to rise, the robber was out of sight. Captain

related the circumstance to a broker, who asked him if he could
recognise the thief in case of seeing him again : he replied, • that
he could swear to his person among a thousand.' The broker
then advised him to look out, and he might probablys.ee him again,
not to be harsh, which would cost him dear, but to speak fair, and
then the fellow might probably return the money. A few days

after, Captain , being in a baker's shop, saw the man pass,

ran out, and seized him by the collar, saying ' Do you know me?'
• No,' said the robber ; ' 1 never saw you before.' ' Then,' rejoined
the captain, • I know you, for you stole my pocket-book with £59
in it." 'Hush, hush I' said he, ' 'twas £58 (Captain recol-
lected having changed a sovereign). I am very sorry,' rejoined the
robber; ' 'twas the first time I was ever guilty of such an offence;
I beg you not to mention it, for I should be turned out of employ;
my character is dearer to me than the money ; I have not got it
about me, but if you will go with me to my house, you shall have

it all ' Captain , still holding him by the collar, went with

him through a by-lane, where four ruffians assaulted him. The
first knocked off his hat, but he took no notice of it; and, though
they beat him on the arm, our hero would not let go his hold, but
got into a shop, where he called for assistance ; the shop-people,
mistaking him for the thief, would not interfere. The captain
thought he could have mastered any one or two men, but the gang
was too numerous ; they beat him sadly, and knocked out four of
his front teeth; yet he retained his hold, and perhaps would have
done so, though murder had ensued, had not one of the villains,
when grown weary of the contest, stepped up and unbuttoned the
robber's coat, slipped it off his shoulders, left it in the captain's
hand, and run off."

The conversation now turned on the various cheats practised
in London, when an old gentleman, who had been for some tini-
perusing the newspaper, hearing the remarks, said he had bea-
reading an interesting trial at the Old Bailey, of a man for fraudu-
lently obtaining £50 in bank notes from a countryman, of the namtr
of Edward Darby ; and, as it developed a deep-laid scheme to en-
trap strangers, he would, by their permission, state the particulars,
as given in the paper of this day, February 23, 1B28. " The cir-
cumstances," continued the old gentleman, " as they appeared in
evidence, were these : — The prosecutor, Edward Darby, lives near
Tiverton, in Devonshire. In the month of January last, he came
to town to dispose of some butter, and sold it to Mr. Edwards, a
cheesemonger, in Crawford S>treet, St. Marylebone, for £50, which
was paid to him in four Bank of England notes of £10 each, and two
of £5. As he was returning home to the Castle and Falcon Inn,
Aldersgate Street, where he stopped, he fell in with a man having
4.

2G DOINGS IN LONDON.

he appearance of a farmer, near Holborn Bridge, who entered into
conversation with him about the prices of corn, and other subjects
connected with the country. After proceeding a short distance
with the prosecutor, he left him, but met him again in Newgate
Street. He immediately resumed conversation with him, and,
having ascertained from him that he was about returning to Devon-
shire by one of the Company's coaches, he said that he was also
returning to that part of the country, to which he belonged, and
would be happy to travel by the same coach. This being agreed
upon, the farmer next prevailed upon the prosecutor to go into a
public -house, near the .New Post Office, where they had some
brandy and water. Whilst they were there, the prisoner came in,
affecting to be rather tipsy, and asked them if they had seen a lady
there, saying that he had been with her over night, and intended
making her his wife on the following Monday. The prisoner now
sat down and began talking about himself: he had had a cross old
uncle, he said, who had frequently declared he would not leave his
nephew a shilling; and now he had died, leaving him his entire
property, amounting to £350 a year, besides a great deal of ready
cash. ' I have just been to the Bank,' he continued, * and
drawn £450.' He then pulled out a handful of what appeared to
be Bank notes, and began flourishing them about. The prosecutor
then advised him to put his money in his pocket, and the farmer
advised him to do the same, adding that he did not seem to be
aware of the value of money. ' Money !' said the prisoner, ' oh,
I have plenty of money ; here, I don't mind lending any body £50,
if he will only give me a proper stamp for it.' After the party had
spent about half an hour at this house, the prosecutor rose for the
purpose of going to the Spread Eagle, Gracechurch Street, to start
by the Company's coach for Bristol. The farmer did the same ;
and the prisoner said he would go with them, offerina, the prosecutor
to pay his coach-fare for him. The prosecutor told him he did not
want him to pay his coach-fare, and declined the offer. The far-
mer then led him through some back streets, which he said was
the shortest way to Gracechnrch Street, the prisoner still keeping
along with them ; and, as they came to a small public-house, the
farmer said he wanted to go in there. They accordingly went in,
and a servant-girl fetched some brandy and water. The farmer
left the room for a few iftoments, and, upon his return, drew a piece of
chalk from his pocket, with which he chalked some lines and figures
on the table. He then drew out some papers like notes, and put
them into a hat, and the prisoner did the same. The farmer next
began (o toss a halfpenny with the prisoner, and after they had
done this several times, the prisoner, addressing his two companions,
said, 'You are gentlemen — 1 dare say, men of property; I sup-
pose you are 'squires.' 'Yes, I am,' said the farmer, 'and so
is this gentleman, too.' This was repeated more than once, when
the farmer said to the prosecutor, ' Why don't you show your
money, and let him see that you are a man of property, as well a»

DOINGS IN LONDON. 27

himself?' At last the prosecutor, intending to change a £5 note,
put his two fingers into his watch-fob, and pulled out his roll of
notes, which he placed on the table ; when instantly the farmer
took it up and threw it into the hat, saying to the prisoner, ' There,
you have won ; the money is yours.' The prisoner immediately
seized the hat and money, and both he and the farmer made off
with all the speed they could, the latter being first out at the door.
The prosecutor as quickly pursued, and caught hold of the prisoner's
coat, on the stairs, by which he held fast, and was thus dragged down
and through a narrow passage into the street. Here two other
men came up and inquired what was the matter? The prosecutor
replied, ' This rogue has robbed me of £50.' * Well," said they,
' come along with us, and we will make him give you back every
farthing of your money.' ' Why not do it here V asked the pro-
secutor. ' Because,' said they, * it is fitter to be done in a private
house.' They then led the way to another public-house ; and, as
they went along, the two men who had interfered urged the prose-
cutor to let go his hold of the prisoner's collar, and not make a
spectacle of him in the street ; but he refused to release his grasp.
Upon entering the house, the prosecutor at first declined going up
stairs, but at length went up a few steps, when one of the men
opened the door, the inside of which was all hung with wet clothes
on lines. Upon seeing that, the prosecutor said, ' I will not go in
there ; it is a bad house you have brought me to ; you are all a set
of thieves together.' A womau then made her appearance be-
tween the lines, and one of the men pulled the door to, which
caused the place where they were standing to be rather dark.
' Well,' said the prisoner, ' I'll give you your money,' and he
put a roll of notes into the prosecutor's hand. The prosecutor
knew they were not his, and insisted upon his own notes being
restored to him ; upon which, one of the men chucked the prose-
cutor's hand from the prisoner's collar, and the latter ran down
stairs, and out into the street, shutting the door after him. The
other two men caught the prosecutor round tiie legs and threw
him down. He got up, however, as fast as he could, and went
in pursuit of the prisoner, whom, upon opening the door, he saw
running down the street, at the distance of forty or fifty yards.
He called 'Stop thief,' and ran after him as fast as he could,
until an oiBcer came up to him, to whom he stated what had
occurred, and who immediately went in pursuit of the pri'soner.
Upon the prisoner being stopped, he drew a parcel from his
pocket, and threw it on the ground, which turned out to be the
prosecutor's roll of notes; whilst those which the prisoner had put
into his hand consisted of seven flash notes of ' the bank of
elegance,' purporting to be drawn by a hair-dresser in Goswell
Street, who thereby 'promised to cut any lady's or gentleman's
hair in the first style of fashion, or forfeit the sum of £50.'

"The witnesses for the prosecution were severally cross-examined
on behalf of the prisoner, but nothing was elicited to shake the

28 DOINGS IN LONDON.

proof of the above facts. A great number of apparently respect-
able tradesmen appeared on his behalf, and gave him the best
possible character for honesty. The jury, without a moment's
hesitation, found the prisoner guilty, and the Recorder immediately
sentenced him to be transported for life."

The old gentleman, perceiving the interest Peregrine took while
hearing the details of this case, and learning that he was a stranger
to London, told him, however improbable such transactions might
appear to him now, they would be as nothing to what he would
soon become acquainted with.

" I remember," continued he, "hearing atrial at the Old Bailey,
of one George Smith : he was indicted for stealing fourteen so-
vereigns, two £10 notes, two £5 notes, and a promissory note,
the property of William Gadsby. This case," says he, " is si-
milar to the one I have just read, being one of the modes of
raising money, well known in town by the flash name of ' Gagging ;'
and has been practised of late to a considerable extent on simple
countrymen, who are strangers to the ' ways of town.' William
Gadsby, the prosecutor, gave his evidence to the following effect :
I now live as servant with Lord Frederick Bentinck, and have
lived for the last thirty years in the family of the Duke of Portland.
On the 26th of May last, J was walking in Ilolborn, about five
or six in the afternoon, when the prisoner came up to me, and
tapped me on the shoulder, and said, ' Ah, Mr. Gadsby, is this
you ? How long are you out of Nottinghamshire ?' I said, * I
only cummed up on Tuesday last, and I go back again on Sunday,
but I know nothing at all about you.' ' Oh,' he said, • why, don't
you know a man who has a farm from the Duke of Portland, and
he lives near you in the country ?' ' Why,' I says, * you means
Ben Smith, that keeps the public-house;' and he says, ' Yes, he
is my cousin.' Ben Smith was a fellow-servant of mine in the
Duke of Portland's family. ' Well,' I says, ' you may be Ben's
cousin, but I don't know you ;' and I was for walking away, but
he stops me, »nd says, * I am surprised you don't know me, as I
was down at my cousin's about six weeks ago.' He then said to
me, * Was you at Lincoln fair ?' I said, ' No ;' and he says,
' But my cousin was, and he had a quarrel there about a horse.'
Now, I knowed that this was true, as I had heard this from Smith
himself. Prisoner then talked to me on many subjects, and about
the state of the country, and several things ; so that I had no doubt
he was the man he said, and I did not suspicion him for a moment.
He was dressed just like a farmer. When we were going on, he
said, looking up, ♦ What place is this ?' I said, ' This is Holborn.
Why, you knows as little about London as 1 do.' We then
walked on, and he says to me, * There is a long and serious affair
between my brother and me, and I want to write a few lines to
him by you : let us step into a public-house while I write them.'
. said, ' I never go into public-houses;' butr'I did go into a house,
and there we had a pint of beer. Witness then went on to detail,

DOINGS IN LONDON. 29

in a very simple and artless, but rather prolix manner, the circum-
stances attending the loss of his money. It was to this effect: —
When we went to the public-house, a man, having- the appearance
of being drunk, came in and pulled out a large sum of money, notes,
and sovereigns, and began to throw them on the table, and said
that he had been left a large legacy. After a short time, witness
was induced to go into another public-house, where the prisoner
said he would write. There they saw the same man whom they
saw in the other public-house. They were soon joined by two or
three men, having the appearance of gentlemen. Prisoner began
to ' shake in the hat' with the drunken man for money and glasses
round : the latter always lost. He then won a sovereign from
him, but said in a whisper to prosecutor that he would not keep it.
At length the drunken man offered prosecutor some money, and
said he would go down with him to Nottinghamshire. Prisoner
asked witness for a bit of paper to write his address on ; and, when
he pulled out his pocket-book to give him the back of a letter, the
drunken man put his hand on it, and said, * You have got money
also, but not so much as I have.' Prisoner said, ' Yes; he has
got money, to be sure : do you think nobody has got money but
you?' Prisoner then put his hand on the book, and pulled out
some of the notes. Prosecutor told him to let the notes alone,
and put the book up in his side coat pocket. The drunken man thea
again offered witness some money, and prisoner took him by the
breast of the coat, and begged him to take it. AVitness soon after
went home, and missed his notes and cash, and, in place of it,
found a piece of brown paper rolled up in it. He had no doubt
that the money was taken at the time the prisoner shook his coat.
No other person came so near him. He took prisoner into custody
in four days after.

" Prisoner made a long harangue in his defence, and appealed
to heaven several times for his innocence. He begged of the court
to let him off to his family in Pontefract, and he would lead a
good life for the time to come.

" Some witnesses were called to give prisoner a character : they
had known him for some years, and had heard nothing against him.
One of them admitted that he (prisoner) had once passed by the
name of Wiliiam Irish.

" The Deputy Recorder summed up,, and the jury, without hesi-
tation, found him guilty. He was sentenced to be transported for
life."

The company now, thanking the old gentleman for his informa-
tion, separated, and Mentor and his friend determined on returning
home ; but, on their way thither, curiosity led them into a mock-
auction room, where the articles were seemingly being disposed of
at extremely cheap prices, which excited the surprise of Peregrine,
and made him anxious to become a purchaser. " Do not," said
his friefld, " be allured by the fallacious stories of these fellows.
The whole party are a set of arrant cheats ; the major part of the

30 DOINGS IN LONDON.

people in this shop are paid by the proprietor, to attend the sale,
to piiff up the goods, and to bid ; they place themselves in different
parts of the room, and are all differently clothed — some genteel,
and some shabby: they are called Puffers, or Riggers; and hence
these sales are denominated Rig-sales. Be careful," continued
Mentor, " you do not even look at the auctioneer, for, if he catches
your eye, he will swear you gave him a bidding ; and down goes
tl»e hammer, and you are saddled with a trumpery watch, seals,
razors, knives, and forks, or whatever the lot may be, at about ten
times more than it is worth. If you were to complain, the putiers
would all immediately declare they saw you bid ; and you must
be contented either to be cheated or ill-used, or perhaps dragged
to the watch-house on a frivolous charge, and kept there till the
morning, when, no one appearing against you, you are discharged.
But, in order that you may be acquainted with their artful stratagems,
I would advise you to read an excellent work, full of information,
called the Life of George Godfrey ; in which you will find the follow-
ing correct picture of the swindling t/om^s in a mock-auction room :

'The business proceeded with great spirit, and I was perfectly
astonished at the immense bargains which were sold. It ap-
peared that I was not the only one thus affected : a dandy of the
first water was close to me, who frequently held up his hands, as I
really believed, to indicate his sincere amazement, and not to show
tlte diamond rings which adorned his fingers.

' An elderly gentleman, who wore powder, and looked, I
thought, like a clergyman, was struck in the same way ; and,
more than once, the mutual surprise of these very respectable
persons burst forth in expressions like these — each, however,
carefully subduing his voice, so that Mr. Alderton might not be
apprised of their sentiments, as to the sacrifices he was making.

* " Wonderful 1" the dandy began.

* " Dirt cheap !" proceeded the clergyman.

* " It is absolutely giving away !" said the former.

* " It is, almost," added the man of the church; " I never saw
any thing like it in my life !"

' " Nor I, never," the beau went on ; and then, his curiosity
being evidently wound up to the highest pitch, he eagerly inquired —

* " How does it happen ? What can be the cause of all this ?"

* "The general scarcity of cash," was the reply; "nobody, at
present, has any money."

* They looked at me while thoy spoke, as appealing to my
judgment, for the reasonableness of what they said. I gave it at

once in their favour, by repeating some of their phrases. Their
manner told, that they considered me to be a most sagacious young
man, and their kindness to me, stranger as I was, won my warm-
est gratitude; for more than once, before expressing themselves
aloud, that others might profit by their experience, they gave me
a little knock with the elbow, and a look, which distinctly told
rae, that then was the time to lav out my money to advantage.

UOINGS IN LONDON. 31

* When the sale was over, a considerable portion of the com-
pany surrounded Mr. Alderton and Skim, as I judged, for the
purpose of paying for their lots. One lady directed that what she
had bought might be sent home early on the following morning.
The politeness of Mr. Skim, while addressing her, struck me as
admirable; and, with a view to improve my own address, I
watched it, in order to copy every movement. He begged to be
allowed to see her to her carriage. My lady (for, from his thus
accosting her, I found that I was feasting my eyes on a person of
rank), dispensed with his services, affably, but, at the same time,
with an air of dignity, such as I had never in my life had an oppor-
tunity of witnessing before.

' The company now grew thin, and I was about to retire, when
Skim whispered in my ear, that there was a dinner set out at Mr.
Alderton's house, at which I might as well assist.

' I had no great objection to accept such an invitation.

' " Now, then, since you have put off your knock-out for an hour
or two," said Skim, loud enough to be heard by the whole com-
pany, " to have a jolly good grease before you go, I will be with
you directly."

* I did not exactly know what this meant, nor to whom it was
addressed, but it was answered by several voices at the same time.

< " Very well — very well — be cpiick."

* They then left the room. Skim put away his books, gave a
few directions to the porters, which, by the way, he issued in a
very lordly tone, most unlike that which he had used while ad-
dressing her ladyship, and then prepared for an adjournment to
Mr. Alderton"'s house.

* It was but a step that we had to go, and Skim had only time
to mention, that he should presently introduce me to several per-
sons with whom I should have a good deal to do, before that day
twelvemoth, when we entered a spacious apartment, laid out for
dinner, in which I found half the company 1 had seen at the sale,
and, among them, the lady he had offered to hand to her carriage,
the dandy with rings on his fingers, and the gentleman in black,
whom I had supposed to be a clergyman.

' All seemed very merry and uproarious. There were several
females present ; and the reverend person I have mentioned was
by no means reserved and measured in his deportment, as he had
appeared in the sale-room, half an hour before.

* I felt disposed to retreat.

* *• What do you want to go for ?" inquired my friend, " before
you have had your dinner ?"

* " Oh !" said I, " it will never do for me to stop, since you have
these gentlemen and ladies here. I thought it was quite a diflfe-
rent sort of thing."

* "Well, Mr. Skim, is it almost coming?" inquired the lady,
whose dignity 1 had admired so much.

32 DOINGS IN LONDON.

' " Don't be in such a hurry, Sal ; I suppose you had some
breakfast this morning," was Skim's answer.

• I stared at this — he saw my amazement, and guessed the
cause of it.

' " Zounds !" said he, " you stare like a duck at thunder ?
Why, you don't think these are any body, do you ?"

' " Hush !" said I, " they hear you !"

' " Who the devil cares if they do. What do you know of
them?"

* " Why, at the sale, T stood close to that gentleman with the
diamond rings on his fingers, and near the clergyman, sitting just
behind him."

' " The gentleman with the diamond rings ! the clergyman !
what are you talking about ? I did not think you knew so little of
the town. All that gentleman's diamond rings you may buy for
half-a-crown ; and for the clergyman, as you call hira, he is no
more a parson than you are a pope. The fact is, most of these are
brokers, or tag-rags, who attend our sales, to encourage purchasers to
bid up ; these gentry receive, as pay, what we choose to give them.
In a common way, we stand a guinea, to be spent among the
whole bunch ; but, to-day, we are more civil than usual, as
Alderton, knowing some of them may be useful at Haversham's,
determined to ask the Jezebels and pickpockets to a dinner, that
I might have an opportunity of hinting how they are to act, when
we go into the country."

' He then made me advance to the supposed clergyman, to whom
he introduced me, by saying —

* " Barker, here is a young one ! He is one of the concern."

* The reverend parson, as I conceived him to be, replied to this
by uttering an oath, indicative of extreme surprise, and added —

* " He in the concern I Why, then, I and Jack Raffles," and
here he pointed to the dandy, '* have been making pretty fools of
ourselves all day ; we made a dead set at him, and I wondered
we could not get him to make a single bidding."

Dinner came in, and we were all very jolly. The clergyman,
the dandy, and the lady, Mrs. Sal Briggs, as Skim familiarly
called her, were remarkably good company. My friend, how-
ever, whispered to me that I must not make too free with them,
as I should often find it necessary to keep them at a distance ;
and he especially cautioned me to be on my guard against lending
them money ; for, if they succeeded in borrowing, I might con-
sider the transaction as closed, and not a single farthing of what
they might do me out of, would any one among them ever
retura,'

" This, my friend," said Mentor, ** is a real history of the
shameful stratagems to which the mock auctioneers resort, in order
to rob the unwary."

The most decent of these fellows, who attend mock-auctions in

eoiJJdS tN LONDON.

33

(he tlay-time, are at night employed as decoy-ducks at the low
** Hells," at the west-end of the town. " And pray," said Pere-
grine, " what are ' Hells V " " They aie," replied Mentor, " gam-
bling-houses, and are, says the author of that popular novel, ' Life
in the West,' most aptly denominated * Hells,' from the torments and
misery with which all players, more or less, are afflicted by them,
and from the heartless * devils' who keep them. These men can
view the progressive ruin of their victims with demoniacal satisfac-
tion and delight. Th( y can see, with a fiend-like smile, the glow
of health and happiness, with which the cheeks of the visitors are.
painted on their first entrance, fade to a look of despair and want,
blighted by the horrible system that, while it enriches a few low
knaves, plunges many reputable families and persons into a chaos
of inextricable wretchedness and ruin, and does an incalculable
mischief to society. But," continued Mentor, " to give you some
idea of these horrid receptacles of vice, I will ask an unfortunate
acquaintance of mine, one of the infatuated frequenters at these
gambling-houses, to introduce us; for, unless he does so, it will be
impossible for us to gain admittance."' Mentor accordingly made
an appointment with his friend, and Peregrine was thus presented
with a correct view of the devilish

DOINGS IN "a hell.

Mentor's friend whispered to Peregrine, asking what he thought
of the scene before him: " Here,'" continued he, "is, I hope, a
6. D

34 DOINGS IN LONDOn.

esson and a warning to you : behold the torture under which that
poor ruined youth suffers ; watch the convulsions of his frame —
his trembling limbs — the racking of his mind seems to drive him to
madness ; and then witness tlie cold villanous behaviour of those
by whom he has been robbed and ruined — callous to every sort of
feeling : those two well-dressed sharpers near the door, fearful
that their unhappy victim should escape from the den with a parti-
cle of property about him, are conveying away a pocket-book which
they have just taken from his pocket ; and then, when they think
they have completely cleaned hrra out, these hellites will wish to
be freed from his company, and, if he will not go quietly, they will
turn him out without the smallest compunction, for a new-comer
might take the alarm by the sight of such ruined men, and the facts
they could unfold."

" A scandalous scene of violence, which often happens at these
places, but seldom becomes publicly known, on account of the
disgrace attending exposure, occurred lately at a low ' hell' in
King Street, St. James's. A gentleman who had lost considerable
sums of money at various times, announced his full determination
never to come to a place of the sort again with money. His visits,
therefore, were no longer wanted, and so orders were given to the
porters not to admit him again. About two o'clock in the night oi
Saturday week, he sought admittance, and was refused. A warm
altercation took place in the passage between him and the porters,
which brought down some of the proprietors. One of them, a pow-
erful man, a bankrupt butcher, struck him a tremendous blow, which
broke the bridge of his nose, covered his face with blood, and knocked
him down. On getting up, he was knocked down again. He arose
once more, and instantly received another blow, which would have
laid him upon his back, but one of the porters by this time had got
behind him, and, as he was failing, struck him at the back of his head,
which sent him upon his face. The watch had now arrived, into whose
hands the keeper of the • hell' and the porter were given. At the
watchhoHse they were ordered to find bail. The gentleman was then
about quitting, when he was suddenly called back. A certain little
lawyer, who alternately prosecutes and defends keepers of gaming-
houses, was sent for. He whispered to the ex-butcher to charge
the gentleman with stealing his handkerchief and hat, which, it was
alleged, had been lost in the aftray. Though nothing was found upon
the gentleman, who desired to be searched, this preposterous and
groundlsss charge was taken, and the hellites admitted to bail; but
the gentleman, who had been so cruelly beaten, being charged with
a felony on purpose to cause his detention, and the power held by
magistrates to take bail in doubtful cases not extending to night-
constables, he was locked up below, with two wretched men who had
stolen lead, and five disorderlies, his face a mass of blood and
bruises, and there detained till Monday morning, in a most pitiable
condition. The magistrate before whom the party appeared on
that day, understanding that the affair took place at a gaming-

DOINGS IN LONDON. 35

house, dismissed both complaints, leaving the parties to their
remedy at the sessions.

*• In these * low hells,' '' said Mentor's friend, '* we can only
offer you, as a refreshment, tea, biscuits, and liquors ; but, were
we at some of the high ones, I could present you with tea, coffee,
confectionary, and every sort of wine. We play in this room,"
continued he, "French hazard, rouge et noir, ecarte, &c., and we
vary the games occasionally. Whatever you do, ray dear sir,'*
addressing himself to Peregrine, " shun gambling as you would
the devil; for, when a man once enters a house of play, as the
author of Life in the West truly says, ' his mind undergoes a com-
plete revolution. As he continues his visits, his feelings as a gen-
tleman, his delicacy of sentiment, his morals, his honour, all gra-
dually give way with his money. The virtues of his mind are de-
stroyed by the disgusting examples before him, of men who, pos-
sessing none themselves, laugh them to scorn in others. If he
could but see the horrid deformity of these * hells,* and most of
their visitors, surely he would hesitate before he set a foot into
them. But, being there, from the instances of vice and folly ever
before him, he by degrees, unperceived by himself, becomes an
imitator of the most revolting language, and the worst of principles.
A mania seizes and clings to him from the first. In spite of his
own constant losses, the losses of all around him, the objects of
misery, in consequence of their's, ever presenting themselves to his
view, he pursues the same head-long course, with a fascination be-
yond belief. The springs of social life get dried up within him ;
he no longer is happy in the bosom of his family ; he can no longer
enjoy the society of a friend, or of a virtuous woman. His whole
soul is so engrossed, enchanted, by these most foul and diabolical
establishments, that he is too blind to see that they must sooner or
later encompass his ruin, and that, when he falls — and fall he will, a
gambler falls unpitied and unrelieved. It is a curious feature in
the career of a gambler, that he gets reconciled apparently to his
degradation and downfall ; though now and then a thought of hap-
pier days, and of what he might have been, flashes across his mind,
and penetrates his heart with a desolate misery. A player's mind
is ever under the influence of tumultuous passions, that destroy all
repose, — at one moment in an excess of joy at an instance of good
fortune, and the next yielding to the bitterest despair for its in-
durability.'"

" That youth you see in such anguish of mind has hardly
reached the age of two-and-twenty : he has lately come into a for-
tune of £30,000, by the death of a near relation. He is a member
of the great * hell' in St. James's Street, the * hell' in Waterloo
Place, and the * hell' in Park Place : he lost, a few days since,
some thousands at hazard, where they used the loader, or false
dice, which bring up certain numbers : they are used only at hazard,
and made either low or high dice ; and all those sharpers who use
theiu always have a pair of oach in their possession, which they

36

DOINGS IN LONDON.

change with great dexterity. They use also cramped boxes; and
they have a means of cogging, or fastening the dice in the box.

" Here, also, hundreds of families are ruined, and thousands of
pounds lost, by playing at the celebrated game of Rouge et Noir ;
or. Red and Black. It is a modern game. It is so styled, not
from the cards, but from the table on which it is played, being
tovered with red and black cloth, as in the following table: —

TABLE.

1

1

Rouge.

1 Noir.

Rouge,

1 Noir.

Rouge.

t Noir.

Noir.

1 Rouge.

Noir.

Rouge.

Noir.

1 Rouge.

" Any number of persons may play at this game. They are called
punters, and may risk their money on which colour they please.
The stakes are to be placed within the outside line.

" The dealer and croupier being situated opposite to each other,
as marked in the table, the dealei takes six packs of cards, shuf-
fles them, and distributes them in various parcels to the different
punters round the table, to shuffle and mix. He then tinally shuf-
fles them, and removes the end cards into various parts of the
three Iiundred and twelve cards, until he meets with a pictured
card, wbioh he must place upright at the end. This done, he pre-
sents the pack to one of the punters, to cut, who places the pic-
tured card where the dealer separates the pack, and that part of
the pack beyond the pictured card, he places at the end nearest
liim, leaving the pictured card at the bottom of the pack.

'•The dealer then takes acertain quantity of cards, about as many
in number as a pack, and, looking at the first card, to know its co-
lour, puts it on the table with its face downwards ; he then takes
two cards, one red and the other black, and sets them back to
back ; these cards are turned, and placed conspicuously as often
as the colour varies, for the information of the company.

" The punters having staked their money on either of the colours,
the dealer says — Voire jeu est ilfaiti Is your game made? or,
Voire jeu est il prtti Is your game ready ? or, Le jeu est pret.
Messieurs. The game is ready, gentlemen. He then deals the
first card with its face upwards, saying, Noir, and continues deal-
ing, until the cards turned exceed thirty points in number, which he
must mention, as trente et un, or whatever it may be.

" As the aces reckon but for one, no card after thirty can mate
up forty ; the dealer, therefore, does not declare the tens after thi»
tv-ohe, or upwards, but merely the units, ^s two, three, &c., ana

DOINGS IN LONDON. 37

always in the French language, as thus : if the number of points
on the card dealt for noir,are thirty-five, he says — cinq, or five.

" Another parcel is then dealt for rouge in a similar manner : and
if the punters' stakes are on the colour that comes to thirty-one,
or nearest to it, they win, which is announced by the dealer, who
says, rouge ^ra^ne, red wins ; or now* ^a^ne, black wins. These
two parcels, one for each colour, make a coup.

*' The same number of points being dealt for each colour, the
dealer says, apres, after. This is a doublet, or un refait, by which
neither party wins, unless both colours are thirty-one, which the
dealer announces, by saying, un refait trenteet un, and he wins halt
the stakes punted on both colours. He, however, seldom takes
the money, but removes it into the middle line, on which colour the
punters please ; this is called the first prison, or la premiere prison;
and, if they win their next event, they draw the whole stake. In
case of a second doublet, the money is removed into the third
line, which is called the second prison, or la seconde prison. When
this happens, the dealer wins three quarters of the money punted ;
and if the punters win the next event, their stakes are removed to .
the first prison.

"The cards are sometimes cut, for which colour shall be dealt-
first: but, in general, the first parcel is for black, and the second:
red. After the first card is turned up, no stakes can be made foi
that event. The punter is at liberty to pay the proportion of his
stake lost, or go to prison.

"The banker at this game cannot refuse any stake ; and the
p«nter, having won his first stake, may, as at Pharo, make a paro-
let, and pursue his luck up to a soixante et le va, if he pleases.

"Bankers generally furnish punters with slips of card-paper,
ruled in columns, each marked N. or R. at the top, on which ac-
counts are kept, by pricking with a pin.

" The odds against le refait being dealt, are reckoned sixty-three
to 1 ; but bankers acknowledge they expectit twice in three deals ;
and there are generally from twenty-nine to thirty-two coups in
each deal. The odds of winning several following times, are the
same as at Pharo.

" Such," continued the friend of Mentor, " are some of the
doings practised in these ' hells!' but, if your young friend is not
already satisfied, I will, on some future day, introduce him to the
great ' hell,' in St. James's Street, and there he will have a wider,
field for witnessing the cold-blooded doings of the gambler.

" It is impossible," continued he, " to subdue the passion for
gambling. I remember, some short time ago, at Verdun, among
other means resorted to in order to plunder the English, a gaming-
table was set up for their sole accommodation; and, as usual, led
to scenes of great depravity and horror. For instance — * A young
man was enticed into this sink of iniquity, when he was tempted
to throw on the table a half-crown ; he won, and repeated the ex-
periment several evenings successfully, till at length he lost. The
manager immediately offered him a ' rouleau' of £50 ; which, in the

38 DOINGS IN LONDON.

heat of play, lie thoughtlessly accepted, and lost. He then drew
a bill on his agent, which his captain indorsed — this he also lost;
he drew two others, which met with the same fate ; and the next
morning he was found dead in his bed, with his limbs much dis-
torted, and his fingers buried in his sides. On his table was found
an empty laudanum-bottle, and scraps of paper whereon he had
been practising the signature of Captain B. On inquiry, it was
found that he had forged that officer's name to the two last bills.
Thus did a once respectable young man meet a most dreadful and
disgraceful end, from his being exposed, at too early a period in
life, to the temptation of gambling. Another circumstance also
occurred, the atrocity of which was somewhat tinged with the
ludicrous. A clerk, named Chambers, losing his monthly pay,
which was his all, at the gaming-table, begged to borrow of the
managers ; but they knew his history too well to lend without
security, and therefore demanded something in pawn. • I have
nothing to give,' replied the youth, • but my ears.' • Well,' said
one of the witty demons, • let us have them.' The youth imme-
diately took out of his pocket a knife, and actually cut off all the
fleshy part of one of his ears, and threw it on the table, to the
astonishment of the admiring gamesters : he received his two dollars,
and gambled on. When this circumstance was reported to the
senior officer, the hero was sent to Bilche.

"Another curious case occurred in London, some few years ago.
Two fellows were observed by a patrole sitting on a lamp-post,
in the New Road; and, on closely watching them, he discovered
that one was tying up the other (who offered no resistance) by the
neck. The patrole interfered, to prevent such a strange kind of
murder, and was assailed by both, and pretty considerably beaten
for his good offices ; the watchmen, however, poured in, and the
parties were secured. On examination the next morning, i' ap-
peared that the men had been gambling ; that one had lost all his
money to the other, and had, at last, proposed to stake his clothes.
The winner demurred ; observing that he could not strip his ad-
versary naked, in the event of his losing. * Oh,' replied the other,
♦ do not give yourself any uneasiness about that : if I lose, I shall
be unable to live, and you shall hang me, and take my clothes after
I am dead ; and I shall then, you know, have no occasion for them.'
The proposed arrangement was assented to ; and the fellow, haviti^
lost, was quietly submitting to the terms of the treaty, when
he was interrupted by the patrole, whose impertinent interference
he so angrily resented.

" I could,' continued the friend of Mentor, " give a thousand
such instances of the fatal love of play, and of the misery which
these gambling-houses entail upon numerous families. I recollect
being at Marlborough-Street Office, when an elderly gentleman,
accompanied by a youth of eighteen years of age, applied for a warrant
against the proprietors of a gambling-house in Bury Street, St.
James's. The elderly gentleman stated, that the youth was the

DOINGS IN LONDON. 39

son of a banker on the continent, and his brother-in-law. He
came to this country about four months since, bringing with him
£700, given him by his father for his expenses, and had been

allured to the gaming-house of Messrs. , where he was

induced to drink till he became inebriated, and to play at a game
he knew nothing of, till he lost his last shilling ; in fact, he was
robbed of between £500 and £600. A few days since he called
on him (the senior gentleman), and asked him to take a walk.
They went out together — the youth appeared extremely dejected —
he naturally inquired into the cause, and was horrified at dis-
covering that he had called on him to take leave of him for ever —
that he was meditating suicide. This led to further inquiries : the
youth confessed the cause of his despair. He, in consequence,
went to the house, and saw one of the proprietors, who told him he
might go and be hanged; they did not care for him or the magis-
trates.

*♦ The youflg man stated, that about nine weeks ago he was intro-
duced to the house, and lost a considerable sum of money. He
determined never to go into it again, but was constantly waylaid
by the persons he met there, until at length he was induced to
return. They had also taken him to another gaming-house in the
same street, where he lost £150. When he was totally ruined,
and they discovered that he had no more to lose, he was kicked
out, on questioning the fairness of the play of which he had beea
a victim. Both the applicants offered to enter into security to
prosecute, if the magistrate would grant the warrant.

"In 1716, the barrow-women of London used, generally, to
carry dice with them, and children were induced to throw for fruit
and nuts, or, indeed, any person of more advanced age. However,,
the pernicious consequences of the practice beginning to be felt,,
the Lord Mayor issued an order to apprehend all sudi offenders,
which speedily put an end to street-gambling."

" That man," says Mentor, addressing himself to Peregrine,
** who is looking so coolly and callously on the poor creature just
ruined, is a notorious fellow at Gaffing, one of the ten thousand
modes of swindling now practised in Loudon : it is a game in very
great vogue among the macers, who congregate nightly at the flash-
houses. He laughs a great deal, and whistles Moore's melodies,,
and extracts music from a deal table with his elbow and wrist.
This fellow is one of the greatest Gaffers in the country .^ When
he hides a halfpenny, and a flat cries ♦ head' for £10, a * tail' is sure
to turn up. One of his modes of commanding the turn-up is this .
he has a halfpenny with two heads, and a halfpenny with two tails^
When he gaffs, he contrives to have both halfpence under his hand,
and long practice has enabled him to catch up in the wrinkles or
muscles of it the halfpenny which it is his interest to conceal. If
* tail' is called, a ' head' appears, and the ' tail' halfpenny runs
down his wrist with astonishing fidelity. This ingenious fellow has
often won 200 or 300 sovereigns in the course of a night, by gaffing;

40 DOINGS IN LONDON.

but the landlord and other men, who are privy to the robbery, avA
* pitch the baby card' (encourage the loser by sham betting),
always come in for the ' regulars' (their share of the plunder). The
adept to whom we have here particularly alluded, has contrived to
bilk all the turnpikes in the kingdom. In going to a fight or to a
race-course, when he reaches a turnpike, he holds a shilling between
his fingers, and says to the gate-keeper, ' Here, catch,' and makes
a movement of the hand towards the man, who endeavours to catch
what he sees. The shilling, however, by a backward jirk, runs
down the sleeve of the coat, as if it had life in it, and the gate-
keeper turns round to look in the dust, when the tall gaffer drives
on, saying, ' Keep the change.' A young fellow, who formerly
was a marker at a billiard-table, and who has the appearance of a
soft inexperienced country lad, is another great hand at gaffing.
There is a strong adhesive power in his hand, and such exquisite
sensibility about it, that he can ascertain, by dropping his palm,
even upon a worn-out halfpenny or shilling, what side is turned
up. Indeed, so perfect a master is he in the science, that Breslaw
could never have done more upon cards than he could do with a
pair of 'grays' (gaffing-coins). A well-known macer, who is
celebrated for slipping an * old gentleman' (a long card) into the
pack, and is the inheritor by birth of all propensities of this descrip-
tion, although the inheritance is equally divided between his brother
and hims( If, got hold, a short time ago, of a young fellow who
hq,d £170 in his pocket, and introduced him to one of the ' cock-
and-hen' houses near Drury-Lane Theatre, well primed with wine,
(raffing was introduced, and the billiard-marker was pitched upot,
to do the stranger. The macer ' pitched the baby card,' and of
course lost, as well as the unfortunate victim. He had borrowed
£10 of the landlord, who was to come in for the 'regulars;' but,
when all was over, the billiard-marker refused to make any division
of the spoil, or even to return the £10 which had been lost to him
in ' bearing up' the cull. The landlord pressed his demand upon
the macer, who, in fact, privately was reimbursed by the marker ;
but he was coolly told, that he ought not to allow such improper
practices in his house, and that the sum was not recoverable, the
transaction being illegal. The manner in which the gaffing system
is carried on may be judged of from the fact, that, in one of those
abominable places, 116 sovereigns have been lost, by means of
double-headed and double-tailed halfpence, in a single toss."

Satiated with the horrid scene of villainy which they had wit-
nessed. Mentor took leave of his friend ; and, on returning with
Peregrine to their inn, the superiority of the streets near the royal
palaces over those at the east-end of the town, attracted the par-
ticular notice of Peregrine, who remarked, he had not before any
idea that London was half so splendid, so various, or so populpus.
" Yes, my friend," said Mentor, " ' the appearance of the streets
of London, on a fine evening,' as the author of Letters from London
{ifiys, * is a sight capable of affording an hour's amusement to the

D01NG& IN LONDON. 41

admirer of arts, the patriot, or the studious philosopher. How
beautiful is the appearance of the various shops, so brilliantly
illuminated with the pure soft light of gas, and rich with the pro-
ductions of every clime ! what riches glitter in the goldsmith's
window ! what delicacies tempt the appetite in the confectioner"'s !
and how elegant the views and portraits displayed by the printseller.
To the stranger it is a treat worth a long journey from his village
(where three or four tradesmen monopolize all the business of the
parish, by each one selling in his little dirty shop a vast variety of
articles, and where all business closes at sunset), to roam the whole
evening through the Strand, and feast his eyes with the luxuries of
art. Then, too, how many happy faces throng the streets — the
lover of I he drama hastening to the theatre, the bon-vivant to the
tavern, the mechanic to where —

"The busy housewife plies her evening care,
"And children run to lisp iheir sire's return,
Or climb his knee, the envied kiss to share ;"

The spruce apprentice to keep his appointment, and give the well-
known whistle and tap at the window, which will call forth his
rosy lass, smiling and blushing like a " bonny morn in May."
Pleasure reigns in every face ; for with many of the busy sons of
gain business is over for the day ; care and the fear of poverty
are left at home, and that evening's recreation, which every man
looks for in London, occupies the thoughts of all. The stout broad-
shouldered young man, with buck-skin breeches, rough great-coat,
and seal-skin hat, who inquires the way to Common Garden, is a
countryman, anxious to sec the play : his mind is Full of sharpers
tnd pickpockets ; and, if any one chances to touch him in passing,
ne turns hastily round, and grasps with eagerness the stout cudgel
that he carries. " Six to four, sir, and post the blunt," says yonder
gentleman in the drab coat, top-boots, and fancy hat :— he is a
Corinthian, accompanying his friend to Belcher's, in order to learn
the news, or make a bet on the next fight: while the three bucks,
passing hastily arm in arm, are probably clerks or apprentices,
released from desk or counter, to act the gentleman, and cut a
swell for a few hours at night. These smile with pleasure, and
perhaps ^Aeir hearts are glad — for empty minds are easily delighted.
— But how wretched is the fate of the unfortunate women who
crowd the streets at this period ! though their hearts are breaking,
their faces must still be arrayed in smiles ; exposed to all t4ie
dreadful evils of poverty, cold, disease, and shame, they must hide
the bitter feelings of their bosoms in an appearance of cheerfulness.

" • It is well known that the conversation and manners of many
\>{ these deluded creatures are so superior as to give evident indi-
cations of good education, and induce a belief that they have seen
better days. In such cases they are doubly wretched : — surely,
some means might be adopted to alleviate, if not altogether prevent,
\he evils of prostitution. Many attempts have indeed been made,
and of late the punishment of the tread-mill lias been resorted to.

U.

42 DOINGS I.N LONDON.

A novel expedient, indeed, to arrest and send to Brixton anumbet
of miserable creatures, for adopting the only means in their power
of obtaining a livelihood, and at the end of the period of their
punishment, turning them loose to pursue the same course again.
Such an institution as the Magdalen Hospital, but upon more
general and liberal principles, might perhaps be of essential service;
at any rate, let not their misfortunes be punished by the degrading
and useless toil of the wheel.' "

" The street in which you are," says Mentor, " is called Pa(
Mall. Jn a most rare book, entitled • The French Garden fot
English Ladies and Gentlemen to walke in' (1621), in a dialogue,
the lady says, • If one had PaiUe-mah, it were good to play in
this alley, for it is a reasonable good length, straight, and even.'
And a note in the margin informs us, * A pailte-mal is a wooden
hammer, set to the end of a long staffe, to strike a boule with, at
which game noblemen and gentlemen in France do play much.'
The custom of playing at this game in St. James's Park (of which
Charles II. was very fond, and probably introduced it from France)
gave name to the fine street adjoining it, still known by the name
of ' Pall Mall.'

" Pall Mall is celebrated for being the place where the king's
palace, called Carlton Palace, lately stood, and where the lamented
Princess Charlotte was born. In this street, the brave Duke
Schomberg resided ; and here, also, the beauteous and fascinating
Nell Gwynn lived and died : a woman, as Granger says, who pos-
sessed every virtue but that of chastity.

" How is Pall Mall altered from what it was some years past I
In 1752, a few persons were at the expense of procuring a Hol-
land smock, a cap, clocked stockings, and laced shoes, which they
offered as prizes to any four women who would run for them at
three o'clock in the afternoon, in Pall Mall. The race attracted
an amazing number of persons, who filled the streets, the windows,
and balconies. The sport attendant on this curious mode of killing
time induced Mr. Rawlings, High Constable of Westminster,
resident in Pall Mall, to propose a laced hat, as a prize to be run
for by five men, which appears to have produced much mirth to
the projector; but the mob, ever upon the watch to gratify their
propensity for riot and mischief, committed so many excesses, that
the magistrates issued precepts to prevent future races.

" Pall Mall is now the fashionable resort of the great, and the
would-be-great, — those creatures, who —

' " Big with a million, and a groat to pay,

strut and flutter, like the silly butterfly, bedecked in all the colours
of the rainbow, aping the manners of the titled and the wealthy.

** The liveried servants here assume additional consequence and
self-importance, and expend more money in extravagancies than
half the tradesmen in London ; and it will be no wonder that they
do so, when I tell you of the daring conduct of some of these

DOINGS IN LONDON. 43

servants in high life, and the means they use to * raise the wind.'
A respectable tradesmen, who resides in the Strand, had supplied
a baronet, who is now upon a foreign mission, with clothes, &c.,
for several years. The baronet had occasion to change one of his
principal servants, whose duty it was to examine the bills, and he
happened to get one into his employment who had been in the
habit of levying contributions, in the shape of per-centage, upon
the shopkeepers with whom his former masters were in the habit
of dealing. The new servant, who expected his commission-money
at the usual time from, the tailor, was astonished at not receiving
it with the receipt for the amount of the bill, and expressed himself
strongly upon the subject to the tradesman ; but it was in vain —
no commission-money was forthcoming, and the servant determined
to get rid as soon as possible of so unprofitable a customer upon
his master's purse. New orders were given, but they were not
long executed before the tradesman received instructions to send
in his bill. He was surprised at this change in the arrangement
of the baronet, who had been in the habit of discharging his bills
at stated periods ; but he did as he was ordered, observing at the
same time to the servant, who told him the baronet's pleasure,
that he was not at all in want of money. The amount of the bill
was in a few minutes handed over to the tailor, who little thought
that a long time would elapse before he should be again called
upon to serve the family with articles which he had always supplied
ot the most unexceptionable materials.

" After having waited for many months for an order without being
noticed, he suspected that there was some foul play, and re-
solved to beg an interview with the baronet. This the servant
alluded to was very reluctant to permit. He made a variety of
excuses, but the tradesman was not to be denied, and he soon
succeeded. The matter was then explained. The servant had,
it appeared, ordered in the bill without any instructions from
his master, and, upon receiving it, he took it up in haste to the
baronet, saying, ' Mr. B. has sent in his account, sir, and desired
me to tell you that he is waiting below for the amount.' ' Wait-
ing for the amount !' said the baronet, ' what does he mean ?
Tell him not to trouble me now with his account.' — ' Oh, but he
says, sir,' observed the servant, * that he must have it, and that

he will be d d if he'll go a yard without it.' This report of

the conduct of the tailor was told with so much apparent indigna-
tion, that the baronet never doubted the truth of it, sent a check
for the amount of the bill to the shopkeeper, and ordered that
another should be immediately substituted. This was just what
the servant wanted. He soon found a convenient trade-sman, who
* tipped' him ten per cent, and made the master pay the com-
mission, by sending him in a considerable overcharge. It is un-
necessary to add, that this flagrant act of dishonesty was punished
by the discharge of the servant, and that the defrauded tradesman
-^f" immediately employed in the usual way.

4'i DOINGS IN LONDON.

" One of the most common tricks to which servants who are dis-
satisfied with the commission given them by their master's trades-
men resort, in order to get rid of such economists, is, that of
* poisoning' the stitches in clothes, in boots, in saddles, &c.
Some time ago, one of the high attendants upon an illustrious
person ordered home some pantaloons from his tailor. The trades-
man was punctual, but the pantaloons had to pass through the
hands of the servant before they reached the master ; and, as a
commission had been refused, the seams were tipped at once witli
aquafortis. No sooner did the master put his leg into the panta-
loons, than it burst through the sides, to the horror of the hon.
gentleman, who was preparing to go to a dinner. The servant,
however, exercised no judgment in the use of the poison, for he
tipped every pair with so unsparing a hand, that his master would,
if he had walked out in such clothing, soon have had the cloth
flying about his legs. The pantaloons were sent to the maker,
who was ordered to account for the bad quality of the article (the
cloth having shared the bad character of the stitching). The vile
trick was immediately detected, and the tailor, without hesitation,
charged the guilty person, in the presence of his master, with
having used the aquafortis. The servant could not deny the ac-
cusation, and was of course at once dismissed.

" In nine cases out of ten," continued Mentor, " the musters are
more to blame for being thus robbed, than the servants for robbing
them ; for, were they to take the trouble to pay the bills to the trades-
men themselves, and occasionally look to the various items in the ac-
counts, they would soon become acquainted with the fair charges
of honest tradesmen, and save themselves from being cheated of
hundreds of pounds in the course of a year ; but, above all, were
they to pay ready money, they would, indeed, soon find a vast
difference in the sum total of the annual expenditure of their
household. The fashionable tradesmen do not care about serving
any family, unless they let their accounts run.

" A gentleman of large fortune and estates near Walthamstow,
who has, for some time, kept sixteen servants, determined to
examine his tradesmen's bills more scrupulously than usual ; and,
in the course of the alterations which he found it necessary to
adopt, he ascertained that no less than fifteen out of his sixteen
domestics were in the habit of robbing him. He went to work
rapidly : he opened the boxes of his servants, and found some of
his property under the lock and key of every one of the ' below-
stairs' gentry, with the exception of the groom : out he packed all
guilty persons, men and women, without permitting one to sleep in
his house another night. We do not know whether he learned
that his principal servants were allowed a per-centage upon the
bills that were annually paid ; but, certain it is, that some of his
tradespeople felt great disappointment at the change which took
place in the arrangements of the mansion. The following accurate
list of arrangements, is extracted from that invaluable journal. The
Times.

DOINGS IN LONDON, 46

" The HoiJSiiKEEPER. — This domestic has under her care,
and at her special command, the grocer, the butcher, the baker,
Ihe green-grocer, the pastry-cook, the oilman, and the fishmonger.
In many families the average amount of the bills of those trades-
people exceeds £500 a-year, to speak within a very narrow com-
pass ; so that the lady who superintends this list pockets at least
ten per cent, upon £3,500 a-year, a calculation which makes her
mistress of £350 annually, independent of her wages, which are
enormously high indeed, proportioned to the expenditure of the
family.

•* The Butler. — This personage has under his control the boot-
maker, the hatter, the wine-merchant, and the tailor. It is estimated
that, in some families, the tailor alone pays £200 a-year to the butler,
for the custom. How much cabbage is he not entitled to for the
important services he reiiders to this despot of the kitchen ? The
intimacy between him and the tradesmen on his list is kept up by
an honest interchange of services. The butler looks at the bottom
of their bills, without ever glancing at the items, and regularly
deducts his ' regulars.' The interposition of any other tradesman
is ridiculous. If the master happens to order clothes upon the
recommendation of some dashing friend, at the house of a ' snider,'
unknown to the butler, this trusty servant, if he does not * poison'
the stitches, is sure to persuade his master that the ' new cut' is
most miserably deficient, and absolutely duns him with complaints,
until he throws the clothes to the worthy person who is entitled to
the * cast-off's' (the butler himself), and orders the old tradesman
to decorate his person once more.

" The Lady's-Maid rules over the milliner and the silk-mercer.
Her profits are very great indeed. She uniformly takes the cus-
tom of the family to some one of the ' worthies' whose practices
we have described under an appropriate head, and she has for
herself all the cast-oft' clothes, besides her per-centage for the re-
commendation. Her power is the greater, as, when she finds it
necessary to exercise it, she has to address herself to the vanity
of the weaker sex.

" The Coachman. — This potentate settles with the coachmaker,
the corn-chandler, and the harness-maker. He is a great * poi-
soner' of stitches, spoiler of corn,' and contaminator of varnish,
and his horses are sure to eat five times as much as those of other
people. The farrier comes under his authority sometimes, but this
tradesman more frequently is indebted to the groom, who sickens
and shoes the horses as often as he pleases, and regularly demands
a moiety of the amount for the medicine and shoes.

" The Groom. — ^This servant plunders most extensively. His
profits are not known to his fellow-servants, for he has to look after
the horse-dealer, and will not hesitate to hide a spavin for a £10
note. Hay and oats supply him with still more profits. It has
been stated to us, that a noble lord, who is connected with one of
the great hunts, lost, for some yeai-s, by his groom, at the rate of

4G DOINGS IN LONDON.

at least £1,000 annually. We can readily believe this, as (he
facilities for plunder are inconceivably great.

" The depredations committed upon the wealthy and the eminent
in rank by those reptiles, have been going on for a series of years
without interruption. A little circumstance, which was mentioned
to us by a friend, will give an idea of their extent. The servant
of an Irish nobleman, who remained in London no more than three
months, was presented by the milkman with a £5 note for the
recommendation which obtained for that paltry tradesman the
custom of the family. The insolence of the lazy servants of the
residents in the west-end of the town is intolerable. A gentleman,
who resides in Wimpole Street, turned away six of his servants
for refusing to substitute cold for hot meat at their breakfasts.

" The Steward has the leases under his care, and he never
fails to recommend short leases, in order to increase his profits."

While Peregrine was feasting his eyes on the newly-erected
buildings contiguous to Pall Mall, his curiosity was attracted to
a number of persons, some with rolls of cloth, bandboxes, tables,
chairs, &c., others dressed like butchers, bakers, grocers, hair-
dressers, &c., waiting about the area of a gentleman's house : on
inquiry of some by-standers, he was told, they believed it was
one of those stupid and mischievous pieces of amusement and
folly called a hoax. Peregrine asked his friend the meaning of it.
" Why," replied Mentor, " it is called, by some, a piece of fun, and
often practised in London by idle people, whose minds are bent on
mischief. I will tell you of one that was played off some years
ago in South Audley Street.

*' Between the hours of nine and ten, one of the party, in spruce
livery and smart cockade, announced himself at the several houses
of those who were to be rigged (as the phrase elegantly expresses
it), in the quality of footman to a widow lady of rank, residing in
South Audley Street, stating, at the same time, that his mistress
was about to give an elegant entertainment to a large number of

fashionables : the attendance of Mr. or Mrs. (whosoever he

addressed) would therefore be required, precisely at twelve o'clock,
to take orders. The lady into whose service our Mercury had
thus volunteered being well known in the fashionable circles,
nothing seemed more probable. To be sure, this was not the time
for fashionable parties, but, had the fair mistress of that hospitable
mansion thought proper to deviate from the beaten track of etiquette
and ceremony, and collect around her whatever scraps of quality
remain in London during the summer months, who is there that
might dispute her right? — She had long shone the brightest gem
in fashion's circlet; her house was the seat of genius and of taste
— the resort of the great and the gay ; and her heart was the cradle
of hospitality : who, therefore, could doubt for a moment the
instructions of the smart lackey ? It is unnecessary to say, the
summons was obeyed with punctuality. At the appointed hour,
the door was besieged by expectant tradesmen of every descrip-

DOINGS IN LONDON. 47

tion. Bakers, butchers, pastry-cooks, coafectioners, grocers,
fruiterers, fishmongers, poulterers, together with countless myriads
of drapers, tailors, shoemakers, dress-makers, milliners, perfumers,
frizeurs, and a full band of instiumental performers ; the indefatiga-
ble footman omitted none : had he served the office from infancy,
he could not be more perfectly au-fait to the duties of his station.
Never before did Audley Street display a more animated or im-
patient group : the clock of the adjoining church at length tolled
the hour of noon ; the knocker was immediately assailed with
sundry thumps, and the bell-rope kept in a sad state of agitation.
Such were the instructions conveyed by the brass-plate on the door
— ' Knock and ring;' but, though they fully obeyed the injunction
of this silent monitor, they might have knocked and rung, and rung
and knocked again —

" From morn till noon,
From noon to dewy eve,
A live-long summer's day" —
without either gaining any admission, or receiving any answer.
That mansion, which some time ago was wont to peal with sounds
of mirth and melody, was now voiceless and silent — silent as the
tomb of the Capulets : and well it might ; for she, whose presence
shed life and animation through its halls, had long since crossed
the Channel, and was then, perhaps, enjoying a promenade in the
Tuilleries, or whiling away an hour at the Louvre in Paris, uncon-
scious of every thing going forward in Audley Street, This mor-
tifying piece of intelligence was somehow communicated to the
impatient assailants; probably by a passing domestic of some
neighbouring family; no matter how, but communicated it was ;
and never were execrations and curses more profusely lavished on
any mischief-loving elf — never were they more vainly bestowed :
for the smart footman took care to be out of reach, though very
probably quite near enough to enjoy the consummation of his arch
project. Such are the effects of idleness and the consequence of
ennui ; and yet, perchance, the head in which this foolish trick
was hatched, may one day be enclosed in a mitre, or decorated
with a Chancellor's wig. Where will the sense be then — within
or without ?"

While Peregrine and his friend were noticing the various indi-
cations of chagrin among the numerous tradesmen who were so
mischievously brought together, they were beset by the importu-
nities of afresh-coloured round-faced boy, between ten and twelve
years of age, who told them a most pitiable tale, when he was
recognized as the noted juvenile Bampfylde Moore Carew, from
Hull, where he was detected in his imposing falsehoods ; and
whose exploits are thus related by an eye-witness : — His parents,
he said, had resided at Manchester, but were dead, and he
was left entirely friendless and destitute. He had begged his
way, he stated, from Manchester to Hull, hoping to meet with

40 DOINGS IN LONDON'.

some employment; he had only arrived here on the preceding day*
and had passed the night in the streets, being unable to procure
sufficient money to pay for a lodging. He complained that he had
had nothing to eat that day, and was almost starved. The lady
doubted his word, and entered into conversation with him, when
his answers to all the questions she asked were so pertinent, and
apparently ingenuous, that she could no longer question the truth
of his narrative, and directed him to her house, where she gave
him his dinner; and, feeling averse to turn him out in his destitute
condition, allowed him to remain till she could make some inquiry
respecting him. The boy conducted himself with so much pro-
priety, that she felt perfect confidence in the truth of his tale, and,
having provided him with a suit of clothes, kept him for two or
three days. At the end of this time, circumstances led to the
discovery that he had been in the national-school at this place, and
the master having been sent for, he immediately recognized him
as a boy who was in the school a short time, and who was then
given to much deceit and begging. On his parents being visited,
they were found to be decent respectable persons, keeping a small
shop ; and from them it was learnt that the boy, notwithstanding
every endeavour on their part to prevent it, had got such a hah'xt
of begging, that they found it impossible to break him from it.

Among the crowd who had now assembled around the young
impostor, was an exquisite of the first order, whose ridiculous ap-
pearance and extravagance of dress seemed to draw the attention
of all around him, particularly of Peregrine, who eyed him with
astonishment and contempt. That poor creature who seems to
draw your attention," said Mentor, " is of a class of non-descripts
called dandies, the most effeminate, useless, and contemptible crea-
tures in society : they are indeed the baboons and the buftbons of
the v'uV.ZZ and are an order of great antiquity, for we find them
in the earliest of the annals of frivolity. However ridiculous they
make themselves now appear, they were certainly out- done by
their fraternity in former days. I will show you, this evening, a
very rare print of a whole-length portrait of a London dandy in
164G, decked out like Solomon in all his splendour. We find
dandies as early as Henry I. Their dress in those days approached
to that of women. They wore tunics with deep sleeves and man-
tles with long trains. The peaks of their shoes (pigaciae) were
stuffed with tow, of enormous length, and twisted to imitate the
horn of a ram, or the coils of a serpent — an improvement lately in-
troduced by Fulk, Earl of Angou, to conceal the deformity of his
feet. Their hair was divided in front, and combed on the
shoulders, whence it fell in ringlets down the back, and was often
lengthened most preposterously by the addition of false curls.
This mode of dressing was opposed by the more rigid among the
clergy, particularly the manner of wearing the hair, which wa»
said to have been prohibited by St. Paul : 'If a man nourish his

DOINGS IN LONDON. 49

hair it is a shame to hira.' 1 Cor. xi. 14.— But, after a long struggle,
fashion triumphed over the clergy.

C^e JSctttga of a lELotitson'Wana^ of 1646.

" I have, hitherto," continued Mentor, " dfrectedyour attention
principally to the frauds of tlve metropolis, I will now give you an

60 DOINGS IN LONDON.

epitome of the ridiculous follies of the London Dandies (or gallants,
fops, beaux, or bucks, as they are also sometimes denominated),
from the earliest period; which will convince you that mankind is
the same in all ages ; that the absurdity of dress and frivolity,
which you see now daily in London, v^as cherished with the same
zeal, some hundreds of years past.

" Shortly after the reign of Henry I. the London women in-
creased their rotundity with foxes' tails under their garments, and
men with absurd short garments, insomuch as it was enacted in
22 Ed. IV., cap. Is that no manner of person under the estate of
a lord, shall wear, from that time, any gown or mantle, but of
proper length, upon pain to forfeit to our Soveieign Lord the King,
at every default, twenty shillings.

" Among the many capricious shapes which fashion has as-
sumed in London, few, perhaps, are more remarkable than the
piked shoes worn in the fifteenth century. They continued in vogue
from the year 1382, for nearly a century ; and were at length, carried
to so ridiculous and extravagant a pitch, as to provoke the interference
of the legislature ; for the pikes of the shoes and boots were of
such a length, says Baker, in his Chronicles, * that they were fain
to be tied to the knees with chains of silver and gilt, or, at least,
with silken laces.' By the statute 3 Ed. IV., cap. 5, (1463) it is
declared, that, notwithstanding the statutes then in being, 'the
commons of the realm did daily wear excessive and inordinate
array and apparel, to the great displeasure of God, and impo-
verishing of this realm of England, and to the enriching of other
strange realms and countries, to the final destruction of the hus-
bandry of the said realms ;' and it is, therefore, among other
provisions, enacted, ' that no knight, under the state of a lord,
esquire, gentleman, or other person, should use or wear any shoes
or boots having pikes passing the length of two inches, upon
pain of forfeiting to the king, for every default, three shillings and
four pence.'

" The rage for piked shoes in London does not, however, seem
to have been in the least suppressed by this act; for, in two years
after, Edward IV. was obliged to issue a proclamation, forbidding
the use of pikes of shoes exceeding the length of two inches,
under pain of cursing by the clergy, and forfeiting twenty shillings,
to be paid, one noble to the king, another to the cordwainers of
London, and a third to the chamber of London.

The Londoners appear to have been intimidated by the severe
penalties imposed by this proclamation ; for of high piked shoes
we hear no more after this period : nay, so much did the fashion in
London run into a contrary extreme, that, in the reign of Henry V.,
as luUer informs us, ' it was fair to be ordered by proclamation,
that none should wear their shoes broader at the toes than six
inches.'

" The portrait of the London Dandy of 1646 is the exact dress
of the fashionables of that time : the long locks of hair, pendent

DOINGS IN LONDON. 51

from the temples, with tasty bows of riband tied at the ends,
were called by the ladies Love-Locks ; and the zeal of Prynne
thought this so prorainant a folly of the time, that he wrote no less
than a quarto volume against the Unloveliness of Love- Locks. The
fashion expired with Charles I. The stars and half-moons on his
face are ornamented patches ; which mode of embellishing the
face, though more simple, is even in vogue to the present hour.
It is no uncommon sight in London, to see some men with a piece
of sticking-plaster on their face, as an ornament."

" Among the absurdities of fashion, it would be difficult to find
one more ridiculous than that of gentlemen wearing spurs on their
boots, as part of their walking-dress. Spurs have been, for up-
wards of two centuries, a favourite article of finery in the dress of
a man of fashion. They were frequently gilt, as appears from
• Wit's Recreations :'

* As Battus believed for simple truth,
Tliat yonder gilt spruce and velvet youth
Was some great personage.'

** It was very fashionable, in London, to have the spurs so made
as to rattle or jingle, when the wearer moved.

" In the puritanical times of Oliver Cromwell, several attempts
were made to stop the love of dress in London, and ministers of
the Gospel were continually both from the pulpit, and in their
writings, exclaiming against it; particularly one Thomas Reeve,
B. D. who wrote a work, called ' GocCs Plea for Nineveh,^ &c. in
which is given a rare vocabulary of dandyism ; I will read it to
you : it says — 'The kings of Egypt were wont to give unto their
queens the tribute of the city Antilla, to buy them girdles ; and
how much girdles, gorgets, wimples, cowls, crisping pins, veils,
rails, frontlets, bonnets, bracelets, necklaces, slops, slippers, round
tires, sweetballs, rings, ear-rings, mufflers, glasses, hoods, lawns,
musks, civets, rose-powders, jessamy-butter, complexion-waters,
do cost in our days, many a sighing husband doth know by the
year's account. What ado is there to spruce up many a woman,
either for streets or market, banquets or temples ? She is not fit to
be seen, unless she doth appear half naked ; nor to be marked,
unless she hath her distinguishing patches upon her: she goeth
not abroad till she be feathered like a popinjay, and doth shine
like alabaster. It is a hard thing to draw her out of bed, and a
harder thing to draw her from the looking-glass : it is the great
work of the family to dress her — much chafing and fuming there is
before she can be thoroughly tired ; her spongings and perfuniings,
lacings and lickings, clippiings and strippings, dentifriciiigs, and
daubings, the setting of every hair methodically, and the placing
of every beauty-spot topically, are so tedious, that it is a wonder
the mistress can sit, or the waiting-made stand, till all the scenes
of this fantastic comedy be acted through. Oh, these birds of
Paradise are bought at a dear rate ! The keeping of these lanne-
rets is very chargeable! The wife oftentimes doth wear more
e2

62 DOINGS IN LONDON.

gold upon her back, than the husband hath in his purse; and hath
more jewels about her neck, than the annual revenue doth amount
to. And this is the she-pride ; and doth not the he-pride equal
it ? Yes, the man now is become as feminine as the woman.
Men must have their half-shirts and half-arms, a dozen easements
above, and two wide luke-homes below : some walk, as it were,
in their waistcoats ; and others, a man would think, in their petti-
coats : they must have narrow waists and narrow bands, large
cufFs upon their wrists, and larger upon their shin-bones ; their
boots must be crimped, and their knees guarded. A man would
conceive them to be apes, by their coats ; soapmen, by their
faces; mealmen, by their shoulders; bears, or dogs, by their
frizzled hair. And this is my trim man ! And oh, that I could
end here I but pride doth go a larger circuit : it is travelled
amongst the commons ; every yeoman in this age must be attired
like a gentleman of the first head; every clerk must be as brave
as the justice; every apprentice match his master in gallantry';
the waiting-gentlewoman doth vie fashions with her lady ! and
the kitchen-maid doth look like some 'squire's daughter by her
habit ; the handicraftsmen are all in their colours, and their wives
in rich silks.'

•• • The Portrait of a Gallant. — The gallant is counted a wild
creature; no wild colt, wild ostrich, wild cat of the mountain,
comparable to him ; his mind is wholly set upon cut and slashes,
knots and roses, patchings and pinkings, jaggings, taggings,
borderings, brimmings, half-shirts, half-arms, yawning breasts,
gaping knees, arithmetical middles, geometrical sides, mathe-
matical waists, musical heels, and logical toes.' "

*' From this period to the commencement of the eighteenth cen-
tury, we have little to say of the London Dandies ; but in the
London Evening Post, for 1738, there is a true picture of them.
It says :

'* 1 went the other night to the play, with an aunt of mine, a
well-bred woman of the last age, though a little formal. When
we sat down in the front boxes, we found ourselves surrounded by
a party of the strangest fellows I ever saw in my life : some of them
had that loose kind of great-coats on, which I have heard called
ivrap-rascals, with gold-laced hats, slouched in humble imitation
of stage-coachmen ; others, as being grooms, had dirty boots and
spurs, with black caps on, and long whips in their hands ; a third
sort wore scanty frocks, little shabby hats put on one side, and
clubs in their hands. My aunt whispered me, she never saw such
a set of slovenly unmannerly ybo^mew, sent to keep places, in all
her life ; when, to her great surprise, she saw those fellows, at
the end of the act, pay the box-keeper for their places T'

*' A newspaper of 1770 gives the following description of a
London Dandy : ' A few days ago, a macaroni made his appear-
ance at an assembly-room, dressed in a mixed silk coat, pink
satin waistcoat and breeches, covered with an elegant silver net,

DOINGS IN LONDON. 63

white silk stockings, with pink clocks, pink satin shoes and large
pearl buckles ; a mushroom-coloured stock, covered with fine
point-lace, hair dressed remarkably high, and stuck full of pearl pins.'

"An advertisement issued in 1703, gives a whole length
portrait of the dress of a young dandy. Such a figure would
attract much wonder at present in the streets of London. ' He i*
of a fair complexion, light-brown lank hair, having on a dark-brown
frieze coat, double breasted on each side, with black buttons and
button-holes ; a light drugget waistcoat, red shag breeches, striped
with black stripes, and black stockings.'

"The dandies of 1720 wore the full-curled flowing wig, which
fell in ringlets half way down his arms and back; a neckcloth
tied tightly round his neck; a coat reaching to his ancles, laced,
straight, formal, with buttons to the very bottom, and several on
the pockets and sleeves ; his shoes were square at the toes, had
diminutive buckles, a monstrous flap on the instep, and high heels.

" If we .may credit the Flying Post of June 14, 1722, the
Bishop of Durham appeared on horseback at a review, in the
king's train, ' in a lay habit of purple, with jack boots, and his hat
cocked, and black wig tied behind him, like a military oflicer.'

" The dandies of 1730 laid aside their swords, and took to
carrying large oak sticks, with great heads and ugly faces carved
thereon.''

" Such, my friend," said Mentor, " is a brief history of the
dandies of London : let us retire to rest; the morrow will fur-
nish us with sufficient subjects of curiosity." Peregrine withdrew,
but the narrative of wonders and novelties filled his mind with
perturbation. He revolved all that he had heard, and prepared
innumerable questions for the morning.

While Peregrine was waiting for his friend. Mentor, a wretched
squalid-looking creature attracted his notice, passing frequently
before the window of the inn ; who, seeing she had " caught the
eye" of Peregrine, with the utmost humility, and putting on a coun-
tenance clouded with sorrow and grief, presented him with a letter,
portraying a case of the severest distress ; while reading it, his
heart melting at the recital of such accumulated distress.
Mentor entered the room, to whom Peregrine presented the letter,
telling him what an object of charity the bearer was. Mentor
read the * case of distress,' when he recollected he heard the same
story at a friend's house, a few days before, and the bearer was
discovered to be a most notorious impostor : he therefore ordered
the waiter to tell the person who had sent in the letter, to walk in;
when behold it was the celebrated Molly Jones, one of the most
notorious disciples of the begging-letter tribe, the faithful pal of
the noted Peter Hill, whowas charged, some time before, at the office
in Marlborough Street, with committing divers frauds on the public.
Peter was immediately dismissed with a severe reproof. " Since
the days of Bamfylde Moore Carew," said Mentor, " there has not
been such an extraordinary mendicant as Peter Hill. On one

54 DOINGS IN LONDON.

occasion he gave evidence, under an assumed name, to prove an
alibi in favo n of his brother, and then pretended to be a gentleman
of independent property. He was a witness at the Old Bailey, in
favour of the female prisoner who was tried under the name of
Larkin, and by his testimony he obtaired hwr acquittal. He was
again a witness in her behalf; she was then tried under the name
of Hartley, for robbing a youth, whom she dragged into a house of
bad repute, and robbed of a broach ; Hill's evidence then threw
so much doubt on the statement of the prosecutor, that the jury
returned a verdict of Not Guilty. The oflScers of the Mendicity
Society, were, for a long time, in pursuit of him ; but it appears
that he was almost always disguised, when he went to the houses
of tlie nobility and gentry to solicit relief. Sometimes he passed
for an unfortunate surgeon, at other times a clergyman, a dissenting
minister, an actor, a painter, &c. &c. ; but the most extraordinary
of his performances, which proves that he would have been an
adept in the mimic art, was the following, which was related by an
officer of the Mendicity Society : — His disguise is a brown scratch
wig, and a pair of huge spectacles, which so alter his appearance,
that Peter Hill, without his wig, is quite a different person to
Peter Hill in full dress. He went with a petition, early one morn-
ing, to the Earl of Harrowby; he was then dressed in his usual
attire; he professed to be an unbeneficed clergyman, in great dis-
tress ; and he detailed the distress of himself and family in such
moving terms, that the noble earl gave him £1. On the same
night the prisoner went again to Lord Harrowby's, disguised in
his large hat, wig, and spectacles, with a different coat; and he
represented himself to be a miniature-painter, who was unable to
work at his trade, in consequence of his sight being so much im-
paired; and the noble earl did not discover the impostor, but gave
him another pound. The Mendicity Society have not less than
three hundred cases against him and his coadjutors ; and it has
been clearly ascertained that they, at one time, raised contribu-
tions upon the public, by means of false pretences, to the extent
of £20 a day. The prisoners were both apprehended, some time
since, by Cousins, the constable of St. Pancras, as they were quar-
relling in Tottenham-Court Road, they having both got beastly
drunk with the money which they had obtained through the
credulity of humane individuals. Some sheets were found in the
female's possession, which, it is believed, she had stolen ; and, in
the possession of Peter Hill, were found the documents which led
to his being charged with the frauds imputed to him. They were
brought before the magistrate, and the documents were sent to the
Mendicity Society's oflice, and orders given for the prisoners' re-
examination on Monday. Mr. Bodkin, the secretary of the society,
and several of the gentlemen connected with the institution, at-
tended. Hill, on his former examination, had had no wig, but,
on his appearing at the bar, on Monday, his appearance was so
much altered, that he could hardly be recognised as the same

DOINGS IN LONDON. 55

person. Mr. Bodkin said, that he should confine the present ex-
amination to two cases, in which the prisoner had obtained money
under false pretences ; and these cases would be most satisfactorily
brought home to him. Before the witnesses were examined, he
requested that the magistrate (Mr. Roe) would be so kind as to
order the prisoner to take off his wig, because he obtained the
money in question at a time when he did not wear that ornament
to his pericranium. Mr. Roe commanded Hill to take off his wig.
He hesitated for a moment, and, at length, seized it by a side curl,
and dashed it off. The witnesses (two pretty girls) burst into a fit
of laughter, and exclaimed 'That is he.' Cousins proved having
found, on the person of Hill, a note written by him to Barnes, which
is important, so far as it develops the systematic plans of begging-
letter writers : —

" ' Dear sir — I am hard up. Do favour me with a few directions
on the back of this note, and I will call for them in the morning.
" ' Your's truly, P. Hill.

" 'To Mr. Barnes, Tottenham-Court Road, Sat. Aug. 19.'

" Barnes had written an answer on the back of the above note,
and returned it to Hill. His reply is as follows : —

*' * I have put down a few names of persons at Hampstead, as T
know of no other, and, I am sorry to say, I am like yourself; I
have not a shoe to my feet : — Mrs. Todd, opposite the Load of
Hay; Mrs. Battye, Church Row ; Mrs. Mellish, ditto; Mrs.
Walker, ditto; Mrs. Swallow, Well Walk; Mrs. Russell, ditto;
Mrs. Johnson, ditto ; Mrs. Freer, on the Heath ; Mrs Sheppard,
ditto ; Mrs. Spedding, ditto ; Mrs. Hoare, ditto ; Mrs. Babington.
North End ; Lockwood, ditto ; School, Mrs. Collins, at the back
of the Shepherd; Mrs. Walker, ditto, next door; Mrs. Whit-
marsh, at the back of Well Walk.'

" The following is a copy of the petition : — ' It is with an
aching heart, and a mind bordering on despair, that I presume to
address you with these few lines, at the same time indulging a
hope that my situation will plead in extenuation of the liberty I
take, by intruding on the notice of a lady whose characteristic is
that of doing good. Permit me to state, that I emauate from a
respectable family, and am the son of a much -respected clergy-
man, many years deceased ; and it is melancholy to relate, that
my wife, after lying-in with twins, both of whom are since dead,
was seized with a nervous fever, which flew into her brain ; and
she was, poor woman, to the great grief of her disconsolate hus-
band, confined in a private mad-house, and from thence removed
to Saint Luke's. I am professionally a miniature-painter, but,
unhappily, have not been able to pursue my avocation, in conse-
quence of a severe attack of the palsy, and an inflammation in
my eyes, which totally prevent me from painting. Should you
think me worthy of your relief, the smallest mite will be received
with gratitude, and you, through life, will have the inexpressible

66 DOINGS IN LONDON.

pleasure of feeling you have relieved a truly wretched and un-
fortunate fellow-creature, on whom

•* Fortune smiled deceitful at his birth."

' And your petitioner will for ever pray,

James Lockyer.'

" Peter was sent to the tread-mill.

" These begging-letter impostors," continued Mentor, "are very
numerous in London. I remember, among a multitude of others,
a fellow of the name of Diggles, who gained a very good liveli-
hood by such means : he was apprehended and brought to one
of the police-offices, in consequence of being detected stealing a
box-coat, value four guineas, out of the country-house of Mr.
Drake, hop-merchant, in the Borough. It appeared that, on
being searched by the oiEcer, there was found upon him a petition
drawn up, with the signatures of a vast number of highly respect-
able individuals, who had contributed to the relief of the petitioner,
and also nine shillings in silver, together with a certificate of Mr.
Watson, of the Trinity House, of the prisoner having received a
dcfnation of him that very morning. The magistrate asked the
prisoner who had authorized him to draw up the petition. The
prisoner replied, that he was permitted to do so by Messrs. Sikes,
the bankers, who knew him perfectly well, and whose name stood
at the head of the petition, as one of his benefactors. The pri-
soner was fully committed for stealing the coat.

" Innumerable other cases I might recite," said Mentor; " but
these cases will suflSce to put you on your guard, and teach you
never to give to any person presenting you with a statement of
their misfortunes, unless it has the name and residence of some
respectable person affixed to it : for then you can go, and inquire
into the truth of the story."

Mentor and his young friend, taking some refreshment, the
conversation turned on the virtues and deleterious qualities of
the Beer of Lonaon, in consequence of reading the following
judicious remarks on the dreadful effects of beer-drinking, in that
interesting journal — " The Watchman.''^

" Every body exclaims against the monoply of brewers, but no
one, it would appear, is able to devise a remedy- or collect suffi-
cient power to overturn and destroy the monstrous system. Its
roots are fixed in a soil so tenacious, its ramifications are so ex-
tensive, and its abettors and upholders so numerous, so well dis-
ciplined, and so expert, that few men have the courage to assail
the system in the public journals, and fewer still to attack it in
Parliament.

" Yet, for all this, the monopoly of the brewers is the most abo-
minable, the most impolitic, and the most injurious and unjust
monopoly that ever existed in this or any other country. It would
require a volume to explain how this system has been fostered
and matured, how it is fortified, and how it can with impunity de-

DOINGS IN LONDON. 67

fraud the revenue, crush the honest dealer, and pour down the
throats of His Majesty's liege subjects so many thousand barrels
of mortal poison weekly. We shall endeavour, however, to revive
the case, and bring the facts before the public ; and, if we fail in
arousing such a storm as will break up this monopoly, it will not
be for want of exertion or good intention. The system is too
monstrous and iniquitious to be much longer tolerated.

" We protest, nevertheless, that we are not urged to the inves-
tigation from any personal dread of being found on our mattress
some morning the victim of cocubcs indicus and nux vomica. Not
one drop of the nauseous potion, called porter, passes our lips.
We see its effects on the faces of the emaciated wretches who
drink it, too visibly, to run any hazard from it by personally pa-
tronizing the decoction. The face of a porter-drinker proves that
he drinks poison. The hard-working man eats his beef and greens
with a tierce appetite, and he floods his meals with a pint, if not
more, of this porter. Examine his eyes two hours afterwards :
see how blood-streaked they are — see the saffron colour of his
lips — see the strain and tension of his muscles — all the indisputa-
ble symptoms of his having taken poison. He drinks no gin, no
whiskey, no ardent spirits whatever, or, at least, but rarely — his
entire tipple is the brewage of Saint Somebody and company —
and yet, if ever poison exhibited itself externally, he shows all
the external marks of a patient struggling with the effects of an
insidious and slow poison. The tall, strong-boned men, who
drive drays — the coal-men and barge-men, and many of the
hackney-coachmen, are paler in the face than other men. They
tire perpetually troubled with heartburn and fever, and attribute
their malady to any thing but the right cause. Those who drink
the larger portion are uniformly the most sallow and emaciated.
All these symptoms, we say, are symptoms of poison, and which
is only prevented from speedily proving mortal, by the neutralizing
effects of the solids they eat, and the constant and hard labour to
which they are subject. They, however, never live long. They
never reach an average life ; and it is proved beyond all cavil,
that these once robust and strong-boned men, who never indulge
in spirituous liquors to any excess, who are well clothed and
lodged, lived from ten to fifteen years less than men similarly em-
ployed, and worse fed, do in all the distant parts of the country.

" That the great brewers mix deleterious drugs with their porter
is notorious. They are allowed to make 144 gallons of porter
out of the quarter of malt, and the publican is allowed to make
as many more as he pleases. That the brewers go to the full extent
of their licence is proved by their annual returns of porter made
and malt consumed. Now, what does this show ? First, that (he
intoxicating effects of their beer are not produced by malt alone.
Second, the proportion of the malt to the porter shows, that, if
they used malt and hops alone, their porter would scarcely be so
strong and intoxicating as the commonest and most watery small

8.

68 DOINGS IN LONDON.

beer. Its present intoxicating effects must be attributed to some
other illegal ingredients. A strong man is soon overpowered by
it; inebriety from porter is followed by the most injurious conse-
quences ; and a strong man never could become intoxicated from
small beer, for his stomach would not contain sufficient, nor his
circulation diffuse it sufficiently rapid, to cause intoxication.

" What, therefore, do the brewers, the humane brewers, the phi-
lanthropic brewers, the saintly brewers, who can weep by the hour
over the condition of the ' poor blacks' — what do these pious and
humane rogues mix with their beer to cause such exhilarating
effects on the constitution of their naturally stout and robust
white brethren ! They use, and notoriously use, what is classically
called porter essence. And of what is this soothing, wholesome,
and exhilarating essence composed? Read, you guzzlers — read
this, you stupid drinkers of villanous compounds, while you can
procure pure water — read this, and then order your coffins, and
prepare for your rout to the only portion of the earth which you
will be able to call your own.

" The recipe for this celebrated porter essence is as follows : —
• Take twenty-eight pounds of Spanish liquorice, and four pounds
of copperas ; boil thera together, in a copper pan, in three gallons
of water. Then take fifty-six pounds of molasses or treacle, and
fifty-six pounds of raw sugar, and boil them till they thicken a
good deal ; add the mixture above-mentioned, and boil all together
two hours. When cold, add the following ingredients, in powder;
four pounds oi gentian-root {^vouwdi,) four pounds of oroM^e ^jease^,
two pounds of ground calamus-root, and stir and mix till it be-
comes like a soft extract.'

" Tliis • soft extract' is made by the druggists daily, and for the
use of the porter brewers alone; and is put up in one, two, or three
pound bladders. This is used in certain proportions, according to
circumstances, the age, and the strength of the porter. But many
more ingredients than these are used. Quassia is used, as well as
what is called the multum powder, to save hops, and coculus indicus
^nd nux vomica to save malt; all of which are deleterious, and
destructive to animal life iri the highest degree.

•' We shall here conclude this notice, by extracting the follow-
ing remarks from a respectable journal, published a few years
ago, which throws some important light on the system : — * More
than 30,000lbs. of nux vomica, and more than 12,000lbs. of coculus
indicus, nre, upon an average, annually imported into Great Britain.
They are both highly poisonous drugs ; but in small portions may,
like some other poisons, be swallowed without producing any other
immediate effect than a kind of stupid intoxication. Alarming
conjectures and suspicions are entertained, and fearful assertions
are made, in regard to the use of these drugs in this country ; but,
nevertheless, the apprehensions of the public seem to rest more
upon inference and implication than upon proof. Tlie argument
used is this : that neither in England, nor in any other part of the

DOINGS IN LONDON. 69

world, is there any known purpose for which the articles in question
are used, with the exception of a small qua-ntity occasionally con-
sumed as poison for vermin ; ergo, there is good ground for be-
lieving that the grand consumption is, for some end or purpose,
secret, mysterious, and illegal. Now, the wholesale dealers in nux
vomica and coculus indicus have an easy mode of removing any
odium or suspicion attaching to themselves or their supposed cus-
tomers, and at the same time of making the public mind easy, by
plainly stating to what honest use such enormous quantities of these
highly deleterious drugs are devoted in this or any other country ;
and we sincerely hope that some one of the many highly respectable
individuals engaged in the drug trade, will, through the medium of
the papers, give the required explanation.'"

Dr. Paris, in his work on Diet, says, porter ought to be made
from high-dried malt, and differs from other malt liquors in the
proportion of its ingredients, and from the peculiar manner in which
it is manufactured. It is certain, he says, that the adulterations
are not carried on in the caldrons of the brewer, but in the barrels
of the publican! The origin of the beer, to be called entire, is thus
explained. Before the year 1730, the malt liquors generally used
in London, were ale, beer, and twopenny; and it was customary
to call for a pint, or tankard, of half-and-half, that is, half of ale
and half of porter, half of ale and half of twopenny. In the course
of time it also became the practice to call for a pint, or tankard,
of three-thirds, meaning one third ale, beer, and two-penny; and
thus the publican had the trouble of going to three casks, and
turning three cocks, for a pint of liquor. To avoid this inconve-
nience and waste, a brewer, of the name of Harwood, conceived
the idea of making a liquor that should partake of the same united
flavour of ale, beer, and twopenny. He did so, and succeeded,
calling it entire, or entire butt, meaning that it was drawn entirely
from one cask or butt ; and, as it was a very hearty and nourishing
liquor, it obtained the name oi porter.

One great source of profit to the dishonest publican, though a
disgraceful one, is the mode of filling their pots; and in this
species of trickery they are as great adepts as the ill-principled
gin-shop keeper is with his glasses. I strongly recommend to all
publicans the following advice of an honest Quaker: "A Quaker
alighting from the Bristol coach, on entering the inn, called for
some beer, and, observing the pint deficient in quantity, thus ad-
dressed the landlord — ' Pray, friend, how many butts of beer dost
thou draw in a month V ' Ten, sir,' replied Boniface. * And thou
wouldst like to draw eleven,' rejoined Ebenezer. * Certainly,' ex-
claimed the smiling landlord. ' Then I will tell thee how, friend,'
added the Quaker — 'fill thy measures.'"

Public-houses were formerly kept by women, hence called ale-
wives, and then hostesses : they are mentioned repeatedly by Shaks-
peare and other authors.

Among the most celebrated, may be enumerated, Mother Red-
cap, who kept a public-house at the end of Toltenhara-Court-Road ;

60 DOINGS IN LONDON.

it was frequented principally by soldiers, she having been a sol-
dier's wife, — Mother Lmise, of Oxford, — the celebrated

W.tantiv Uummiw,

of the time of Henry VIII. Skelton, the poet, wrote a poem,
called " The Tunning of Eleanor Rummin." — Dame Quickly, the
ale- wife of the Boar's Head in East Cheap, is immortalized by Shaks-
peare. — And the last eminent ale-wife we have any notice of, is
Jane Rouse, who also kept the Boar's Head : she was tried at
the Old Bailey for witchcraft, and executed !

" Dr. Trotter," said Mentor, " remarks, that ' Malt liquors, and
particularly porter, have their narcotic powers much increased by
noxious compounds, which enter them, and the bitters which are
necessary to their preservation, by long use injure the nerves of the-
stomach, and add to the stupefactive quality. Malt-liquor drinkers
are known to be prone to apoplexy and palsy, from that very
cause ; and purl drinkers, in a still greater degree, a mixture pe-
culiar to this country. This poisonous morning beverage was, till
lately, confined to the metropolis and its vicinity, but has now,
like other luxuries, found its way into the country.'

" A Mr. Child, some time since, published a small treatise, en-
titled * Every Man his own Brewer, explaining the Art and
Mystery of Brewing Porter,' &c. in which you will find that the
following articles are used by the brewers of London : they differ
a little from the recipe, as given in the * Watchman :'

DOINGS IN LONDON. 61

*• « TreacU.

" ^Liquorice-root.

** * Essentia bina ;' which is moist sugar boiled in an iron vessel,
for no copper one could withstand the heat suflSciently, till it comes
to a thick syrupy consistence, perfectly black and extremely bitter.

" ' Colour; composed of moist sugar, boiled till it obtains a
middle state, between bitter and sweet, and which gives to porter
that fine mellow colour, usually so much admired in good porter.

** * Capsicum.

" ' Spanish liquorice.

"' Coculus indicus : dog-poison.

"* Salt of tartar.

" ' Heading is a mixture of half alum and half copperas, ground
to a fine powder; and it is so called from giving to porter that
beautiful head, or froth, which constitutes one of the peculiar pro-
perties of porter, and which landlords are so anxious to raise, to
gratify their customers.

" * Ginger.

" ' Lime slacked.

" * Linseed.

*' ' Cinnamon.

** • Hops and malt.

'* * Opium Hyosecamus, Belladona, and Lauvio Ceracus. These
four last articles. Dr. Trotter says, are used by porter-brewers.'

" Who has the credulity to think that such a composition is fitted
for human sustenance ! It is only to be equalled by the com-
bined genius of Macbeth's witches. The ingredients thrown
into their divining caldron might perhaps be put in competition
with it.

" In distilleries and breweries, where hogs and poultry are fed
on the sediments of barrels, their liver and other viscera are ob-
served to be enlarged and hardened, like those of the human body;
and, were these animals not killed at a certain period, their flesh
would be unfit to eat, and their bodies become emaciated.

** 'Two acres of ground,' says the Mechanics' Magazine, 'in
Battersea fields, were lately employed in rearing a crop of bearded
darnel (colium temidentum). The seeds of it, when ground and
mixed with wheaten flour, form a bread that has repeatedly oc-
casioned death ; and, when steeped with malt, to give potency to
beer (which is said to be no unfrequent case), they cannot be much
less injurious. The laws of China make it a capital ofl'ence to use
them in fermented liquors : it would be well if our's did the saftie.'

" It is a sad pity," continued Mentor, " that people are so
wedded to drinking fermented liquors : water is the only drink
that helps to digest the food : water is the only drink that quenchea
the thirst : water is the only beverage that gives health and strength
to man : water is the only simple fluid for diluting, moistening,
and cooling — the ends of drink appointed by nature. But then,
water can be procured without expense ; it may be had in almost

02 DOINGS IN LONDON.

every church-yard in London, for the trouble of fetching it ; this
is the grand error of water : if it was the same price as that deadly
poison, gin, then it would be swallowed by gallons. I could al-
most wish that drinking water was a crime, for then millions would
fly to it as their only beverage :

" ' O madness ! to think use of strongest wines
And strongest drink our chief support of health,
When God, with these forbidden, made choice to rear
His mighty champion, strong above compare,
Whose drink was only from the liquid brook.'

" But," said Mentor, " more of this subject anon : we must haste
away, lest we should be too late for a view of Covent-Garden
Theatre, as you said you wished to see it before you visited it
during a performance."

Scarcely had they reached the street, when they were importuned
by a cleanly-dressed old woman, who was sweeping the road at
Charing Cross. " That old woman," said Mentor, " is well known
as the money-lending mendicant. She has appeared here for years
with her birch-broom, which is generally a tolerably decent one.
There is not an Admiralty clerk, or an array-agent's assistant, of
twenty or thirty years' standing, but is acquainted with her by
sight or from her importunities ; indeed, she appears to have a vested
interest in this crossing, for, if she is not here, nobody is. She at-
tends ' business' from about ten to four o'clock. After that, she
returns to her apartments in Duck Lane, Westminster, walking
leisurely home by the Llorse Guards, across the park, &c. The
warfare against reticules was not extended to her broom, with
which she walks as if she had a fire-lock. She then partakes of
a good dinner. After dinner, she attends to her financial aftairs,
in which she is embarked to considerable extent, c\\\e^y\n bill- dis-
counting— she is deeply engaged in such aftairs. One recent trans-
action may illustrate the nature of her concern. She advanced to
a small tradesman, near Peter Street, £50 on a bill, to receive as
remuneration twenty per cent. Part of the money was afterwards
paid, leaving, of course, a balance; and, when that balance was
proffered, she demanded interest on the whole £50, as if no
part of it had been paid ; contending that ' it was her bond to have
the interest on the £50, till that amount was returned ;' and be-
cause the tradesman urged that he ought only to pay the rate of
interest stipulated for on the amount remaining unpaid, she for-
sooth lodged the aftair in the hands of her attorney, not far from
Thornhaugh Street. An attorney then appeared on the other
side, and, unwilling to break an agreement, tendered the balance,
with the twenty per cent, on that only, whic'h it was deemed right
to accept, the * money-lending mendicanf fearing some proceed-
ings under the still existing usury laws, which might have sub-
jected her to the penalties of thrice the amount of the principal.
This shows what rigid parsimony, even in a street beggar, may
accomplish."

DOINGS IN LONDON. 63

On passing through Covenl-Garden Market, Peregrine was sur-
prised with the delicious display of fruit, the fragrancy of the
flowers, and the abundance of vegetable productions that were
displayed for sale. " This market," said Mentor, " is the prin-
cipal one for supplying fruit and vegetables in the greatest perfec-
tion, to the inhabitants of London. It was formerly part of tlie
garden belonging to a convent, and therefore ought properly to be
called Convent Garden : it was given, at the time of the dissolution
of monasteries, to the Earl of Bedford, in whose family it still
remains.

The fruit and vegetables consumed in the metropolis are prin-
cipally produced in the environs ; and it is calculated there are
upwards of six thousand acres of ground cultivated as gardens,
within twelve miles of the metropolis, giving employment to thirty
thousand people in winter, and three times that number in summer.
Numerous calculations have been made of the annual consumption
of food in the metropolis, but this is not easily ascertained ; as, al-
though we may know the number of cattle and sheep, yet we have
no means of learning the weight. Of the cattle sold in Smithlield
market, there are the most accurate returns, from which we find that
in 1822 the numbers were 149,885 beasts, 24,609 calves, 1,507,065
sheep, and 20,020 pigs. This does not, however, by any means,
form the total consumed in London, as large quantities of meat, in
carcases, particularly pork, are daily brought from the counties
round the metropolis. The total value of the cattle sold in Smith-
field is calculated at £8,500,000. It is supposed that a million a
year is expended in fruits and vegetables. The consumption of
wheat amounts to a million of quarters annually ; of this, four
fifths are supposed to be made into bread, being a consumption of
sixty-four millions of quartern loaves, every year, in the metro-
polis alone. Until within the last few years, the price of bread
was regulated by assize, and it may afford some idea of the vast
amount of money paid for the staff of life, when it is stated, that
an advance of one farthing on the quartern loaf formed an aggre-
gate increase, in expense for this article alone, of upwards of
£13,000 per week. The annual consumption of butter, in London,
amounts to about 11,000, and that of cheese to 13,000 tons. The
money paid annually for milk, is supposed to amount to £1,250,000.
The quantity of poultry annually consumed in London, is supposed
to cost between £70,000 and £80,000. There is nothing, how-
ever, more surprising, than the sale of rabbits : one salesman in
Leadenhall Market, during a considerable portion of the year, is
said to sell 14,000 rabbits weekly. The way in which he disposes
of them, is by employing between 150 and 200 men and women,
who iiawk them through the streets. " Such, my friend," said
Mentor, "is a brief calculation of London consumption; and, if
you were to be in this market between five and six o'clock in the
morning in the pea season, it would increase your surprise in
imagining how the immense quantity of vegetables here for sale.

64 DOINGS IN LONDON.

could be consumed : the money turned here then, in a market
morning, is incredible ; and, to give you some idea of the number
of persons who frequent it, the landlady of an inn in James Street,
has been known to send out five hundred breakfasts, before nine
o'clock in the morning.

" We will now walk under the Piazza, as it is erroneously
called, and that will lead us to

Cobent=ffiartrctt C^eatre,
which structure was erected in the year 1809, from designs by
Mr. Smirke, jun., architect, on the site of the former theatre,
which was destroyed by fire, in September, 1808 ; and the whole
of this present edifice was raised within one year. The architect
took, for his model, the finest specimen of the Doric from the
ruins of Athens — the grand temple of Minerva, situated in the
Aeropolis. The interior of the house is splendidly and tastefully
ornamented, and is larger than that of Drury, being calculated to
hold upwards of 3000 persons, and, when filled, to produce nightly
near £700. The original Covent-Garden Theatre was built by
subscription, under the direction of Mr. Rich, in 1731, from a de-
sign by Mr. James Sheppard."

Whilst Peregrine was admiring the architectural beauties of
the building, his attention was suddenly called away, by the noise
of a number of persons who had assembled in the street, and,
on inquiring the cause, he was told, the people were waiting to see
some culprit come from the police-office there. Peregrine had
heard much of the " Doings" in Bow Street, and, expressing a
wish to hear some of the examinations, obtained admittance ;
when the first case that came before the magistrate, was for ob-
taining money and other valuables from a servant girl ; who stated,
that the old woman at the bar was a celebrated fortune-teller;
that she had first gained her acquaintance by attending, at her
master's house, before the family had risen, and urging her to
have her fortune told ; at length, after much persuasion, she
consented; but the fortune-teller told her, before she revealed

DOINGS IN LONDON.

65

the secrets of her future destiny, she must deposit in her hands*
some little token, to bind the charm, which the old lady said she
would invoke the same evening, if I would call at her lodging,
and also cast my nativity by her cards, and tell me every parti-
cular of the future progress of my life. 1 accordingly gave her
what money I had ; but that, she told me, was not enough to buy
the ingredients with which she was to compose the charm. I at
length gave her four silver tea-spoons, and two table-spoons,
which she put carefully in her pocket; and then asked me to let
her look at my hand, which I showed her. She told me there were
many lines in it, which clearly indicated great wealth and happi-
ness ; and, after telling her my name was Martha Carnaby, she
took her departure, and I agreed to meet her at her lodgings the
same evening ; agreeably to her directions, I dressed myself in as
fashionable a manner as I could, because I was to see ray sweet-
heart through a mirror, and he was to see me." The poor deluded
creature then stated, she attended punctually at the hour appointed,
at the old sybil's sanctum sanctorum, and seating herself upon aa
old chair, beheld with astonishment

(ITJe ISoingB of a jFortune^jJTrUcr.

" I felt myself," said poor Martha, " on entering the room, all
of a twitter ; the old woman was seated in her chair of state, and,
reaching down from the mantle-piece a pack of cards, began, after
muttering a few words in a language I could not understand, to

9 F

63 DOINGS IN LONDON.

lay them very carefully in her lap ; she then foretold that I should
get married, but not to the person in our house, to whom I ex-
pected, but to another young man, whom, if I could afford a trifle,
she would show me through her matrimonial mirror. To this I
consented, and she desired me to shut my eyes and keep my face
covered while she made the necessary preparations ; and there she
kept me, with my face hid in her lap, until 1 was nearly smothered ;
when suddenly she told me to turn round, and look through the
mirror, which was seen through a hole in a curtain, and 1 saw a
young man pass quickly before me, staring me in the face, at
which I was much surprised, she assuring me that would be my
husband. It was then agreed she was to call on me the next
morning, and return the silver spoons ; but your worship," said the
poor girl, " she never came ; and, as I was afraid my mistress
would soon want them, I asked the advice of a woman in our
neighbourhood, as to what I had better do, and to whom I related
all the circumstances I have told your worship ; when the woman
asked me how I could have been such a fool as to be duped by
that old cheat at the bar ; that she was a notorious old woman ;
that she had in her employ some young man, who was always hid
in the room, to overhear the conversation, and to run from out of
his hiding-place before the mirror ; and that I ought to be thankful
I came away as well as I did, as many young girls had been
ruined through going to this old creature; that, from her ac-
quaintance with so many servant girls, she always contrived to
get from them such intelligence as enabled her to answer those
questions as might be put to her, as to the business, name, place
of abode, country, and other circumstances of the party applying,
the answering of which always convinced the credulous creatures
who went to her, of her great skill in the art of astrology ; and,
when she was right in her guessing, she always took care to have
it well published. I knew," continued poor Martha, " if I did
not get the spoons, I should lose my place ; so at length I sum-
moned courage to tell my mistress and throw myself on her mercy,
and she instantly procured a warrant and apprehended this for-
tune-telling lady ; and here she is, your worship," said Martha,
hanging down her head, flushed with shame. The old woman
could not deny the charge, only that the spoons were given to her
for some sechet service. This Martha denied ; and the fortune-
teller was committed for obtaining property under false pre-
tences. The magistrate hoped it would be a lesson to Martha,
and to all other foolish girls, never to hearken to those infernal,
wicked old wretches, the fortune-tellers — many a girl having lost
their character and their virtue by listening to their nonsense.
Martha cried, courtesied, and withdrew, to make room for a laugha-
ble assault and battery. Mr. Robert Wingrove, a carpet-beater,
commonly called Bob Wingrove the dmt-whapper, charged Mr.
Daniel Butcher, " a jolly young waterman," with assaulting him.
Bob thus deposed : —

DOINGS IN LONDON. 67

'* Your Worship, I beats carpets, and does portering, by which
means I was looking out of my window yesterday afternoon,
when I saw a sawant gal go by, which belongs to a house that I
beats for, by which means I runs down stairs to speak to her, and
Dan Butcher, this bere chap in the scarlet jacket, comes up to
me, and, without stying * by your leave,' or ' with your leave,' he
took me two smacks on the head, right and left."

" Why did he strike you ?" asked the magistrate.

" Ay, that's what I wants to know, your worship !'' replies Mr.
Bob.

" Then suppose you ask him, now," rejoined his worship ; " ask
him, why he gave you the two smacks, as you call them."

Mr. Bob turned and looked Mr. Dan in the face, as though about
to put the question to him ; but Mr. Dan smiled him out of coun-
tenance, and Mr. Bob, turning back to his worship, said —

" It's no use axing him any thing, your worship, for he's got a
spite agen me ever since I was in prison for saying a few words to
a sawant gal, which brought me here on a peace-warrant, by which
means he never sees me, but he peeps through his fingers at me, as
much as to say, * Who peeped through the prison bar?' — He's a
great blackguard, though he's a little chap, your worship ; and he
never meets my wife, Mrs. Wingrove, but he cries, ' Here's a
charming young broom !' when my wife is 7iot a charming young
broom, as all her neighbours can testify, but as honest a woman as
ever broke bread — only that, like all other women, your worship,
she likes a drop of something comfortable, now and then."

Mr. Bob's landlady corroborated all his evidence, general and
particular ; and her evidence closed the case for the prosecution.

Mr. Dan Butcher, in his defence, admitted that he took Mr.
Bob Wingrove two smacks iii the head, as that gentleman had de-
posed ; but he assured his worship, they were in return for a
paunch in the stomach, which Mr. Bob Wingrove had lent him ;
and he called two witnesses to prove that Mr. Bob was the ag-
gressor.

Both these witnesses declared, that Dan Butcher was walking
quietly under Mr. Bob's window, singing a song, and " giving no
offence to nobody," when Mr. Bob ran down stairs, and struck
him in the bowels, " without any privy-cation whatsoever."

'* And pray, what song was he singing ?" asked his worship.
" I have no doubt it was a song intended to insult him."

" Your worship, I don't know what song it was," replied the
first witness ; " it was a funny sort of song enough, and there was
a tiihery-um at the end of it."

The second witness, however, after much pressing, admitted
tnat it was a song, called " Bob's in the watch-house," and made
by one of the Hungerford Stai"s poets, in commemoration of poor
Bob's imprisonment.

Mr. Dan could not deny that he sung this song vexatiously, and
F 2

«B DOINGS IN LONDON.

he was ordered to find bail — So, then, it was Mr. Bob's turn to
sing " Dan's in the watch-house."

The next case that was called was John Price, to answer the
complaint of John Francis Panchaud, a foreigner, who accused
the said landlord with having conspired, with other gentlemen un-
known, to deprive him of a 10/. bank note, at Ascott races, on the
preceding Thursday.

In order to a better understanding of this case, and for the
benefit of the greener lieges of our Sovereign Lord the King, it
may be as well to premise that all races, fairs, and other such like
conglomerations of those whom Heaven has blessed with more
money than wit, are frequented by minor members of " The
Fancy," who are technically cdXleA Jlat-catchers, and who pick up
a very pretty living by a quick hand, a rattling tongue, a deal
board, three thimbles, and a pepper-corn. The game they play
with these three curious articles, is a sort of Lilliputian game at cups
and balls ; and the beauty of it lies in dexterously seeming to
place the pepper-corn under one particular thimble, getting a
green one to bet that it is there, and then winning his money by
showing that it is not. Every operator at this game is attended
by certain of his friends called eggers and bonetters — the eggers, to
egg on the green ones to bet, by betting themselves ; and the bon-
netters, to bonnet any green one who may happen to win — that is
to say, to knock his hat over his eyes, whilst the operator and the
others bolt with the stakes. And this pretty little game they call
" the thimble rig ; " and it was by venturing a trifle upon this game
that Monsieur Jean Francois Panchaud lost his 10/. note.

On Thursday se'nnight, as aforesaid, M. Panchaud was at As-
cott races, and he there saw this landlord defendant, and several
other gentlemen, betting away, and apparently winning •' lots of
sovereigns" at one of these same thimble and pepper-corn boards.
" Try your luck, gentlemen ! " cried the operator ; " I'll bet any
gentleman any thing, from half a crown to five sovereigns, that he
doesn't name the thimble as covers the corn ! " M. Panchaud
betted half a crown — won it — betted a sovereign — won it ; — betted
a second sovereign — lost it. " Try your luck, gentlemen ! " cried
the operator again, shifting his thimbles and pepper-corn about the
board, here and there and everywhere in a moment; and this
done, he offered M. Panchaud a bet of five sovereigns that he
could not " name the thimble what covered the corn." '* Bet
him ! — bet him! — why don't you bet him?" said the landlord de-
fendant— nudging M. Panchaud on the elbow ; and M. Panchaud,
convinced in his " own breast" that he knew the right thimble,
said, *' I shall betta you five sovereign if you will not touch the
thimbles again till I name." " Done!" cried the operator; and
M. Panchaud was done — for, laying down his lOZ. note, it was
caught up by somebody, the board was upset, the operator and his
friends vanished " like a flash of lightning," and M. Panchaud was

DOINGS IN LONDON. 69

left, full of amazement, but with empty pockets, and the landlord
defendant standing by his side. " Tiiey're a set of rascals ! " said
the landlord defendant ; but don't fret, my fine fellow ! I'll take
you to somebody that shall soon get your money again;" and, so
saying, he boldly led him towards the Royal Stand, where he in-
troduced him to Bishop and J. J. Smith, the police-officers, as a
gentleman who had been very ill-used ; at the same time telling
them that he had no doubt be could point out the cheats. The
affair was immediately mentioned to Sir Richard Birnie ; and, by
his direction. Smith accompanied the landlord defendant round the
heath in search of the said cheats ; but he did not meet with any
that he thought proper to point out. During this perambulation,
he admitted to Smith that he had betted at the game at some par-
ticular table, in order to induce others to bet, but that he had
nothing to do with the one in question. It was afterwards ascer-
tained, however, that he had been seen betting as a decoy at this
same table, repeatedly, in the course of the day ; and, it being
known that the house he keeps in Whitcomb Street is the resort
of thieves and cheats of every kind, the present proceeding was
instituted against him, as a particeps criminis in the robbery of
M. Panchaud.

In his defence he denied that he had ever admitted betting at
any game of the kind ; and he appealed to M. Panchaud whether
he had not manifested the greatest regret at his loss ; and whether
he did not take him directly to the officers, in the hope of recovering
his property.

" Oh ! yes," replied M. Panchaud — " you took me the wrong
way! The thieves ran one way, and you took me the other, you
know, Ahah ! — you know what you are about — you took me the
wrong ivay — Ahah ! "

The landlord defendant stoutly protested his innocence ; and
an old man, a friend of his, gave him an excellent character ; but,
maugre all his protestations and the advocacy of his antient friend,
the magistrate held that there was sufficient evidence to detain
him, and he was detained accordingly.

The business at the office for the morning being over. Mentor
and his friend retired to a coffee-house in the neighbourhood, and
there the conversation turned upon the examination of the old
fortune-teller, and the credulity of the poor girl. " These fortune-
tellers or conjurers," said Mentor, " are very famous for the extent
of their knowledge, and are as much sought after, by gentle and
simple, as the philosophers' stone, and whose predictions are as
easily swallowed as the Alcoran by the Mahometans, and are as
numerously attended as the court on a levee-day. It is really in-
credible, in the age of reason as it is called, that so many thousands
of people should be so daily gulled and robbed by these really
cunning men! For poor Martha's case is not a solitary one;
very many indeed would be brought to light, only the duped are
ashamed for the world to know how they have been cheated.

70 DOINGS IN LONDON

^ Within these few weeks, the two following cases were heard
at our public offices :

On Friday, March 21, 1828, a black fellow, named James
Carroll, well known as the " Black Magician," was charged at
Lambeth-Street Office, with defrauding amorous youths, maids,
wives, and widows, of sundry sums of money, under pretence of
unravelling to them the mysteries of their approaching fates. The
first complainant was a Miss Cecilia Johnson, a pretty little bru-
nette, who said that a few days since, having heard a marvellous
account of the " black man's" skill, she went to his house in
LemanRow, and applied to him for some information as to " what
was to become of her?" He told her a young gentleman was
expiring for love of her; he would marry her, and that a large
family, and the greatest domestic felicity, would crown their days.
Sir Daniel Williams — " Well, Miss, it no doubt was very agree-
able ; ladies, and young ones especially, wish to hear that young
men are dying for them. What did you give him, pray, for this
joyous communication ?" Cecilia (smiling) — " Only three-pence,
your Worship. Ah, Sir ! there is no young man dying for me ; I
wish there was : he is an impostor." This declaration, which was
made with much simplicity and guileless sincerity, excited the
greatest merriment among those in the office.

The next person whose curiosity outran her judgment, was a
staid matronly-looking female, who said that she also consulted
the " sable soothsayer," and paid him three-pence for his advice.
Sir D. Williams — " Are you a married woman ?" '• Yes, Sir," re-
plied the matron, " and have a family." " Then, indeed," con-
tinued Sir Daniel, " you are a very silly person; there is some ex-
cuse for the credulous follies and fancies of young people, but
you have none."

At this observation, the matron stood abashed and dumb-
foundered. Her place, however, was quickly supplied by a
sheepish-looking lad, who was the next to give an account of
his experience. Though dull and stupid in appearance, the lad
was sharp in practice. He stated, that having some misgivings
as to the fortune-teller's predictions, he, in the way of a
" lark," went to consult him in his sister's clothes. The
primary step of paying the customary fee being gone through,
the prisoner commenced his operations by first telling him he was
a very pretty girl, and were it not that he was himself unfortu-
nately married, he would select him as a wife; this very flattering
declaration he followed up by telling him that he had been very
imprudent, and that he was then, without being married, some
months gone with child. He thought this was carrying the joke
too far, and he at once undisguised himself, and gave the knave
into custody.

Sir Daniel — (to the prisoner). — ** What have you to say to these
charges ?" Prisoner — " Vel, your Vorship, you sees as how a
Qumber of leddies come to me aboutin dcir fortius. I no send

DOINGS IN LONDON. 71

for 'em, and if de vish to hab their fortins told, I can't helps eui."
— Sir Daniel — ** Ah, but you can : what do you say to taking
the 3d. each ?"

The prisoner was mute on this point, as well as on several
others ; and under the Vagrant Act he was doomed to a fate
which his divination did not anticipate — 14 days' exercise at the
treadmill.

" A few days afterwards, a fortune-teller, of the name of
Stewart, a deaf and dumb man, nearly approximating to his grand
climacteric of sixty years, was brought up to the office in Hatton
Garden, in custody of Waddington and Raven, two of the offi-
cers, and charged before Mr. Laing with obtaining money under
false pretences.

" Waddington stated, that having received information of the
prisoner being a fortune-teller, and, in that character, practising
upon the strange credulity of the public, he engaged two females,
whose evidence would be immediately heard, to whom he gave a
certain sum of money, privately marked, with all proper and ne-
cessary instructions to detect the impostor, and sent them to his
residence, in Lily Street, Saffron Hill, while he, accompanied by
two other officers, remained in waiting at one of the opposite
houses till the moment approached at which a signal was to be
given to them to enter. The signal was shortly given, and they
accordingly having entered, found the two females sitting at a
table with the prisoner, who was then in the act of divining their
fortunes, and legibly writing them with chalk upon the bottom of a
tea-tray. As soon as they made their appearance in the room, he
instantly recognized them to be officers, and, snatching up a wet
towel that lay beside him, attempted to erase the marks of the
chalk, but, before he could effectually do it, he was secured and
taken into custody.

" The officers stated, ihat in an ante-room, through which they
passed to the prisoner's penetrate, there were several persons, both
male and female, some of whom were very respectably dressed,
and appeared to be considerably above the lower order, in at-
tendance, waiting to have the mysteries of their destinies unfolded
to them, being anxious to know whether that destiny was to be
matrimonial strife or single blessedness through life.

" The two young women, Maria Bullock and Anne Sherwin,
who acted the subordinate part to Waddington, now came forward
and stated, that before the prisoner would consent to tell them
their fortunes, he demanded, by signs, the sura of three shillings
and ninepence halfpenny, which, having been paid him, he wrote
with chalk upon a tea-tray, that the former was to be Hjarried in
May, 1829, to a baker of the name of James Thacker ; and that
the latter should live till she was fifty years of age, and be then
joined in the bonds of wedlock to a young 'squire of large fortune .
When he was asked to disclose the name of the person, and his

72 DOINGS IN LONDON.

address, who had stolen a dozen of silver spoons from Anne
Sherwin's mother, he wrote ' John Baker, a cadger.'

" The prisoner's wife, a very interesting girl, of about eighteen
years of age, who has been married to him only a fortnight, she
ibeing his third wife, and his mother, having given him to under-
stand, by signs, the substance of the above evidence, and the
chief clerk having stated it for him upon paper, he took a pen and
wrote, in very legible characters, 'Pity my case; pity my three
children.' The officers having searched him, and finding the mo-
ney, which had been previously marked, upon him, Mr. Laing or-
dered him to be taken to the House of Correction, and confined
to hard labour for the terra of three months.

" Fortune-tellers," continued Mentor, " abound in every coun-
try ; ' they toil not, neither do they spin :' and why should they ?
the ingenious rogues can live upon the future hopes of mankind.
Poor human nature, unwilling to submit to that

" Blindness to the future, wisely given.

That none might know the secrets hid by Heav'n,"

is perpetually struggling to * peep through the blanket of the dark/
and obtain a glimpse of futurity. Innumerable proofs of the utter
impossibility of success, regularly reiterated in every succeeding
age, have given a new direction to its development, without eradi-
cating a delusion that seems to he inherent in our minds. The
practice of paganism long survived its belief, so has that of divina-
tion, unless we are to suppose that the young persons of the fair
sex, and the old women of both, are serious proselytes to its eflB-
cacy, when they submit the lines of their band to gipsy judgment,
interpret the cabalistic writing of coffee or tea-grounds in a cirp,
or determine their destiny by the casual up-turnings of the cards.
Oh I the profound conception, that we should carry about with us,
in our palm, a manual of futurity, have the whole book of fate en-
graved upon the narrow space between our fore-fingers and our
thumb, and thus literally and truly make our life and destiny the
work of our own hands ! A faith in divination and fatalism can
never want converts, so long as it affords us a convenient scape-
goat for our crimes and follies; and who is there, among us, that
does not lay this flattering unction to his soul, whenever his pride
or self-conceit are wounded. If we succeed in our undertakings,
we very demurely assign the merit to our own talent, prudence,
and forethought; if we fail, our bad luck leaves all the blame of
our bad conduct: we impute our blindness to fortune, and even
make the heavens responsible, if we happen to miss our way upon
earth. There is one sense in which> without the inspiration of
prophecy, or the charge of imposture, we may reasonably and be-
neficially venture to indulge in the mystery of fortune-telling. —
Knowing that, in the established succession of human affairs, cer-
tain causes will produce corresponding effects, we may read the
future in the past, and boldly predict, that the spendthrift will come

DOINGS IN LONDON. 73

to want, the debauchee to premature decay, the idler to contempt,
the gamester to bitterness of soul, if not to suicide, the profligate
to remorse, and the violaters of the laws to punishment ; while we
may safely augur, that the practice of the opposite virtues will be
productive of results diametrically opposite.

" Some years ago, a fellow, called Almanack John, sold, in se-
veral parts of London, some ridiculous inventions, which he called
Sigils, and the possessor of them had only but to fancy they
would protect themselves and property. Almanack John was a
shoemaker, in the Strand, and obtained great celebrity in this art.

" In the time of Charles II., there was a celebrated fortune-
teller, who resided on Clerkenwell Green, well known as Jack
Adams, the astrologer. He was chiefly employed in hearsay
questions relative to love and marriage, and knew, upon proper
occasions, how to soothe the passions, and flatter the expecta-
tions of those who consulted him : with him, a woman might have
better fortune for five guineas, than for five shillings. When he
failed in his predictions, he threw the blame upon wayward and
perverse fate ! He assumed the character of a learned and cun-
ning man ; but was no otherwise cunning, than he knew how to
overreach those credulous mortals, who were as willing to be
cheated, as he was to cheat them. He died very rich.

" Of latter days, we have had Edwards, the Welsh conjurer,
who took a poor fool of a Welshman, to a well, made him drink
some of the water, repeat the Lord's prayer, and give a piece
of paper, and then he was ever to have good luck! ! for all which
services, he demanded 16s. ; but received only 15s. 6d., all the
dupe had.

" Then there was conjurer Baker, who died in 1819, full of
years and iniquities, having, the greater part of his life, practised
the gainful tactics of " The Black Art." Such was the fame of
this man, when in the West of England (after he had been prac-
tising in London), that the educated, as well as the uneducated
of all classes, were in the habit of resorting to him from all parts,
for the exercise of his cabalistic skill; and, on a Sunday, which
was the day for his high orgies, vehicles were found to bring
him an eager throng of votaries. Bad crops, lost cattle, lost
treasure, and lost hearts, brought their respective sufferers in
ceaseless crowds to his door. Charmed powders and mystic
lotions were confided in, to the exclusion of rational advice and
proper remedies ; and the death of the old and young has been
the consequent penalty of such deplorable imbecility.

" In a letter from Dublin, January, 1758, we find — * I suppose
you have heard of the famous comedian Foote, who is at present
in this capital. Being a man of much humour, he took it into his
head to hire a private lodging in a remote part of the town, in order
to set up the lucrative business of fortune-telling. After he had
got his room hung with black, and arranged his dark lantern, with
some persons about him who knew the people of fashion in this
iO

74 DOINGS IN LONDON.

city, he distribited hand-bills to inform them that there was
man to be met with at such a place, who wrote down people *
fortune, without asking them any questions. As his room was
quite dark (the light from his lantern excepted), he was in less
danger of being discovered, so that he went on with great success
for many days, and cleared at least, it is said, thirty pounds per
diem, at half-a-crown a head.'

" But the greatest fortune-teller, that ever practised in London,
was the celebrated Duncan Campbell, the deaf and dumb fortune-
teller : he published his life, and a very interesting one it is, if yov
only believe half what he says."

While Mentor and his friend were ruminating on the multifarior-'^
cheats practised in London, a gentleman of Mentor's acquaintance
entered the room, and joined their company. The conversation
turned on the shameful adulterations of wine, which, when pure,
it was observed, may be said to form one of the blessings of life,
used in moderation, dispensing by its cheering influence an ad-
ditional zest to several of our social enjoyments; constituting a
luxury, to which more consideration is attached than to almost
any other whatever, and has become, in the existing state of
society, a necessary of life. It has been well observed," said
Mentor, " in an excellent work, * The Wine and Spirit Adultera-
tors Unmasked,' (and to which," addressing himself to Peregrine,
" I drew your attention a few days since, relative to the gin trade),
that so widely diffused, and in such general demand, as wine is,
its abuses, therefore, deserve to be exposed, and a stop put to its
being rendered baneful, without misapplications. No one can
doubt, that an individual thoroughly acquainted with the sub-
ject, is fulfilling any more than his duty to the community, when
he holds up to public reprobation, that class of persons, who,
not content with the gains which fair dealing in wine, in its genuine
state, would yield them, seek to reap large and disproportionate
profit, by the most base and fraudulent means, whereby they are
not only undermining the character and livelihood of the honest
tradesman, in respect to his exacting unnecessarily high prices ;
but they are also cheating the pockets of those, who are so easily
gulled, as to put faith in their pretences."

In 1826, a wine-dealer, of the name of Oldfield, had an
information laid against him in the Court of Exchequer, for adul-
terating certain wines, the mixing of Cape with Sherry, and
selling the mixture as pure Sherry. The mode of doctoring, was
by mixing with the wine a composition made of bitter and sweet
almonds, powdered oyster-shells, and chalk ; the bitter almonds
gave the wine a rough taste, which the sweet almonds in some
degree softened ; the powdered oyster-shells and chalk refined
the mixture. There was a large vat, in which the mixture was
made. The vat was erected for this purpose ; the mixing and
doctoring were both made with the defendant's knowledge and
approbation.

DOIKGS IN LONDON. 75

** Red wine is adulterated, by mixing it with bcfiecarlo, a strono-
coarse Spanish red wine ; Jiquera, a red wine from Portugal ;
red cape; mountain ; sal tartar ; gum dragon, to impart a fulness
of flavour, and consistency of body ; berry dye, a colouring matter
extracted from German bilberries; brandy cowe, which is obtained
from the very staves of the brandy puncheons ; as soon as the
brandy is racked from the puncheons, four or five gallons of water
are immediately put in, and allowed to remain three or four
weeks, at the expiration of which time they have imbibed a con-
siderable portion of spirit ; and, lastly, cyder.

" Sherry. This most fashionable wine is adulterated with
cape, brandy cowe, and numerous other ingredients, according to
the tastes of the different makers up, and their experience, as to
what will best assist in deceiving the public. Extract of almond
cake, to impart a nutty flavour, is also used ; together with, cherry
laurel water ; gum benzoin ; lamb's blood, to make the brown
sherry resemble the desired pale sherry : its properties exceed
belief: it is used in the proportion of three pints of blood to every
hundred gallons of the compound, if it is to appear as pale sherry;
but if it is only meant to pass for amber- coloured sherry, one
pint and a half of this delectable ingredient is enough. The
whole mixture, however, after laying ten days or so, is bottled off,
or racked into quarter casks, &c., and is then considered fit to bo
advertised, and sold as genuine.

" The best manufacture of a fictitious resemblance of rea*
Madeira, is said to consist of a composition of cheap Vidonia,
with a proportion of about one-twentieth part of common dry Port,
one-tenth t^hlxI Mountain, and about a fifth-part Cape; when the
whole is mixed together, and properly fined, and reduced to the
required colour, by means of lamb's blood, it is considered excel-
lent ! and puffed off to the public, as Old London Particular!

" Claret is adulterated thus : a small quantity of Spanish red
wine, and a portion of rough cyder, is introduced into a cask, con-
taining inferior claret, a colour being previously added to the
cyder, by means of berry dye, or tincture of Brazil ivood.

" Gooseberry wine is usually sold at the cheap advertising shops,
as a substitute for sparkling Champagne!

" Vidonia icines, Bucellas, Tent, Red Cape, &c., are all adul-
terated, before they are vended by the cheap advertising dealers.

" Accum, in his ' Culinary Poisons,' (p. 95), says, ' The
most dangerous adulteration of wine, is by some preparation of
lead, which possesses the property of stopping the progress of
ascesctnce of wine, and also of rendering white wine, when
muddy, transparent ; I have good reason to state, that lead is
certainly employed for this purpose ; the effect is very rapid, and
there appears to be no other method known of rapidly recovering
ropy icines. Lead, in whatever state it is taken into the stomach,
occasions terrible diseases ; and wine, adulterated with the
minutest quantity of it, becomes a slow poison !' In Watsoa's

76 DOINGS IN LONDON.

Chemical Essays ('vol. 8, page 369), it is stated, ' That a me-
thod of adulterating wine with lead existed at one time so gene-
rally in Paris, as to have become quite a common practice.' In
the Medical Essays, the consequences of the use of this ingredient
are related, in the case of thirty-two persons, having severally
become ill, after drinking white wine that had been adulterated
with lead ; and also, that one of them became paralytic, and
another died.

" Peddie, in his Vintner's Assistant, says, ' To discover when
lead is dissolved in wine, take of oyster shells and sulphur, equal
parts, mix and beat them together, and, when brought to a white
heat, keep them in that state for about fifteen minutes, and when
cold, pound them together in a mortar, and add an equal quantity
of cream of tartar ; put this mixture into a strong bottle with
common water, make it boil for an hour, and, when cold, cork the
bottle, and shake it up ; then let it settle ; after it is settled, pout
it off in small ounce bottles, and for each ounce of liquor, add
twenty drops of muriatic acid (spirit of salt); this mixture preci-
pitates (or makes fall to the bottom) the least quantity of lead,
copper, &c., from wines and cyder ; (but, as iron might acciden-
tally be in the wine, the muriatic acid is added, to prevent it
falling to the bottom, and being mistaken for the precipitate of
lead) if the wine is not adulterated, it will remain clear and
bright after the mixture has been added.

" The merchant or dealer who practises this dangerous sophis-
tication, adds the crime of murder to that of fraud, and delibe-
rately scatters the seeds of disease and deatli among those
consumers who contribute to his emolument. If to debase the
current coin of the realm, be denounced as a capital offence,
what punishment should be awarded against a practice which
converts into poison a liquor used for sacred purposes ?

" The crusting of wine-bottles consists of lining the interior
surface of empty wine-bottles, in part with a red crust of super-
tartrate of potash, by suffering a saturated hot solution of this
salt, coloured red wiih a decoction of Brazil wood, to crystallize
within them ; and, after this simulation of maturity is perfected,
they are filled with the compound called port wine.

" Other artisans are regularly employed in straining the lower
extremities of bottle-corks with a fine red colour, to appear, ou
being drawn, as if they had been long in contact with the wine.

" The way to detect adulteration of port wine with alum, is
«iis : — take some fresh prepared lime-water, mix the suspected
wine with it, in any fair proportion, allow the mixture to stand
about a day ; then, if the wine be genuine, a number of crystals
will be found deposited at the bottom of the vessel ; if alum be
in the wine, there will be no crystals, but a slimy and muddy
precipitate."

"At no place," said Mentor's acquaintaince, " is more bad
wine drank than in those dreadful sinks of iniquity and debau-

DOINGS IN LONDON. 77

chery, the wine and oyster rooms, politely called saloons. It is
monstrous that nuisances of such magnitude should be tolerated in
a country calling itself the most moral and decent upon earth ; to-
lerated, too, in the midst of societies of all kinds for the protection
of the public morals, and in the face of our bishops, of our great re-
formists, and the boasted march of social improvement." Is it to
be declared of London, what was once said of Rome — the more
enlightened, the more depraved? The gambling which is carried
on in the private rooms of the wine and oyster houses is just such
as that which has so long flourished in the low vicinity of St.
James's. Indeed, the constant frequenters of the former have at-
tained the most profound knowledge of the art of robbing at the
west-end-of-the-town gaming-houses. The ' legs' visit the sa-
loons every night, in order to pick up new acquaintances amongst
the young and inexperienced. They are polite, well-dressed, gen-
tlemanlike persons ; and, if they can trace any thing soft in the
countenance of a new visitor, their wits go to work at once to es-
tablish an acquaintance with him. Wine is set going, and cards
are proposed. The master of the concern soon provides a room,
and play advances, accompanied by the certainty of loss to the
unfortunate stranger. But if the invitation to play be rejected,
they make another plant upon him. The ruffians attack him
through a passion of a different kind. They give the word to one
of their female pals — she throws herself in his way, and prevails
upon him to be her companion for the night. She plies him with
drink, and, in the morning, the gentlemen, who in vain solicited
him to play, call in to pay * a friendly visit.' Cards are again
spoken of and again proposed, with the additional recommenda-
tion of the lady, who offers to be the partner of her young friend in
the game. The consequence is pal|)able. Many young noblemen
and gentlemen have been plundered, by this scheme, of hundreds,
nay, of thousands of pounds. To escape without loss is impossi-
ble. They pack and distribute the cards with such amazing dex-
terity, that they can give a man, as it were, whatever cards they
please. A few years ago, some of them were detected in a trick,
by which they had won enormous sums. An ecar^^ party, consist-
ing of a nobleman (since deceased), a captain in the army, an Ar-
menian gentleman, and an Irish gentleman, sat down in one of the
private chambers attached to one of those large wine and shell-fish
rooms. The Armenian and the Irishman were partners, and they
were wonderfully successful ; indeed, so extraordinary was their
luck in turning up cards, that the captain, who had been on the
town for some time, suspected the integrity of his competi-
tors, and, accordingly, handled the cards very minutely.
He soon discovered that there was an * old gentleman'' (a card
somewhat larger and thicker than the rest of the pack, and now in
considerable use amongst the * legs') in the midst of them. The
captain and his partner exclaimed, that they were robbed, and the
cards. were sealed up, and referred to a card-maker for his opinion.

78 DOINGS IN LONDON.

* The old saying,' said the referee, ' that the cards would beat the
card-maker, was never more true than it is in this instance, for this
pack would beat not only me, but the very d — 1 himself. There is
not only an old gentleman, but an old lady (a card broader than
the rest) amongst them.' The two gentlemen were immediately
accused of the imposition, but they feigned ignorance of the rob-
bery, refused to return a farthing of the swag, and charged the
losers with having got up the story in order to recover what they
had fairly lost. This was a lesson not thrown away upon the no-
bleman. He never again appeared in the house where practices
of this description are carried on every night, and where officers
of the police are palmed (bribed) for their forbearance. At the
game of put, the three is the best card, the two next, and one the
next best. If a sharper can make certain of having a three every
time his opponent deals, he must have Qonsiderably the best of the
game ; and this is effected as follows : — the sharper places a three
underneath an old gentleman, and it does not signify how much his
opponent shuffles the pack, it is about five to one that he does not
disturb the old gentleman or the three. The sharper then cuts the
cards, which he does by feeling for the old gentleman ; the three
being then the top card, it is dealt to the sharper by his opponent ;
this is one way of securing a three, and this alone is quite suffi-
cient to make a certainty of winning. The Lord Mayor ordered
the officers to burst open the doors of the Stock Exchange Shades,
if at any time they should suspect that gaming is going forward
there. Why do not the magistrates of the west end of the town
issue orders to their police to pay an honest and resolute visit to
those infamous abodes, and to rake out the swarms of fellows who
congregate for the purposes of plunder? The Irishman was inti-
mate with Thurtell the murderer, and is great at the game of
*• blind hookey." In fact, there is no game that is not perfectly
understood by this comely robber. If the shopkeeper, who can
not account for the decline in his profits, and must call his credi-
tors together if things do not change for the better, would give a
look in occasionally to the houses we have alluded to, he might
recognize amongst the most extravagant of the visitors, a person
whose sole dependence is upon his master, whom he robs to pro-
vide himself with the means of living amongst those he and she
devils. But, without a well-disciplined police, it will be impossi-
ble to break down the various base institutions with which London
abounds so much as to make the character of informer honourable.
To the abandonment of that duty is to be ascribed the state of our
prisons, which are always crammed with the victims of flash-cribs,
and brothels, and gambling-dens. The haberdashers of the me-
tropolis are particularly exposed to plunder at the hands of their
shopmen, who keep up what is called " a pretty game" in the se-
veral places which have come under our condemnation. The fa-
cilities are great, and the temptation (the love of a ' blowing,')
irresistible to young men under the excitement of liquor, and

DOINGS IN LONDON. 79

acted upon by the intoxicating character of the scene. ,The sys-
tem upon which the eminent house of Morrison and Co., of Fore
Street, acts, is well worthy of notice. There are upwards of one
hundred and fifty men employed every day on the premises.
These are divided into companies, each of which has a separate
department to attend to, and is under the control of a superin-
tendant, who is responsible for the goods under his care. To steal
on the premises, under such an arrangement as exists there, is almost
impossible. The security is increased by the example of vigorous
industry exhibited by the partners, and the encouragement to study
in the hours of relaxation from business. AH the persons em-
ployed sleep in the premises, where a library is fitted up for their
use. Establishments not one tenth of the size, are daily suffering
from the dishonesty of servants.

" In the month of November, 1827, a case came on at the
Mansion House, which depicted, in a very strong manner, the
fatal consequences of visiting these infamous places in the neigh-
bourhood of Covent-Garden.

" A young man, of respectable appearance and connexions,
was brought before the Lord Mayor, charged vpith having em-
bezzled many sums of money, the property of Williams and Co.,
of Clement's Lane, insurance and ship agents, in whose employ-
ment he had acted as confidential clerk for two years. The pri-
soner seemed to be in the deepest affliction and shame. He held
his hands over his face from the beginning to the end of the exa-
mination.

" The prisoner was usually employed in collecting the aiKount of
the agency accounts, and it had been lately ascertained that he
had been appropriating to his own necessities and debaucheries,
various sums of money, which he was in the habit of replacing,
with other sums which he collected upon subsequent occasions
from other customers to the concern ; he of course was obliged,
for the purpose of concealing his plans, to make fictitious entries
in the books, and he got into his possession, by this practice, some
hundreds of pounds, which he spent amongst the most profligate
characters.

" While the prisoner was at the bar crying bitterly, and totally
inattentive to what was going forward, the prosecutor stated, that
he deeply regretted the necessity of proceeding against the unfor-
tunate young man, but he could not help it. He felt it to be a
public duty, under all the circumstances, to do so. He lamented
the obligation to prosecute the more, as the prisoner had main-
tained, up to the period of the detection, a most excellent charac-
ter, and had conducted himself with the greatest propriety in the
service of a highly respectable houie for upwards of six years.
At last, however, the unfortunate young man became connected
with some of the well-dressed thieves who infest Mother H.'s,
and other flash-houses in the neighbourhood of the theatres, and
who led him on in dissipation until they ruined him. At first he
began, as appeared from the investigation into the various acts hd

80

DOINGS IN LONDON.

committed, by appropriating small sums. His progress was ra-
pid, and no doubt he would have continued to commit depreda-
tions, if not detected, until he had done irreparable mischief."
Peregrine now reminded Mentor, of their appointment to visit

Cftc CtfatrcsKogal, Ji^agmsrltet,
To witness the incomparable acting of Liston. Mentor's ac-
quaintance readily agreed to accompany them, and they pro-
ceeded immediately to the theatre : arriving there a short time
before the rising of the curtain, the interval was used by Mentor
giving Peregrine a history of the theatre. At length the per-
formances commenced, which seemed at first to attract the espe-
cial notice of Peregrine, but the gay assemblage of beauty
demanded most of his attention, and, before the conclusion of the
play, entirely engrossed it. Mentor was aware of the cause of
Peregrine's inattention to the performance : it was a nymph in the
next box, who had caught the eye of the unsuspecting Peregrine ;
and she determined not to lose her capture, by any possible means.
She threw around him a halo, the reflection of her incomparable
beauty, which enchanted the object of her desires, and Peregrine's
heart instantly surrendered ; for,

" Who can escape the net which passion throws,

Amidst the charms of woman's witchery ?
Tints like the snow upon the op'ning rose,

And looks like gold on Parian masonry."

This was the most pleasing, yet the most painful moment of
Peregrine's life : fondly imagining he already enjoyed
" A woman's love — that holy flame,
Pure as the mighty sun,
That gladdens as with torch of fame
The heart it shines upon."

DOINGS IN LONDON. 89

little rigged schooners close alongside, eyeing me from stem to
stern. Well, your honour, out I hauls, and soon picked them up,
or rather they picked me up. There they are now within them
spikes, added he (pointing to the three girls at the bar) : they asked
me to go home with them, and, as I did not much care about where
I went that night, so as I got into a snug harbour, off we tripped

in good sailing order, and soon came to an anchor in a d d bad

holding ground. Your honour, I think they call it the Mint.
Well, sir, these three pretty damsels set about telling me a long
yarn as how they had no grub that day ; I puts my hand into my
trousers' pocket, and out I hauls a half-sovereign, and desired them
to get what belly timber they wanted. One of them then sat on
my knee, and pretended to be thankful for what I had given, but
in the midst of her caresses, I heard a sovereign fall on the floor,
which was picked up by one of them, and when I tried my pockets
to see if all was right, I found every sovereign gone.'

" Mr. Chambers — I suppose you were very much intoxicated
at the time ?

"Sailor— No, your honour; my upper works were all steady
enough. I was in very good sailing trim.

" Mr. Chambers — What do you mean by your upper works?

**l^he sailor (slapping his forehead), I mean your honour, that I
had my senses about me — that I had not spliced the main brace
so many times that day, as to deprive me of knowledge.

" Mr. Chambers — Can you distinctly swear to the woman that
robbed you ?

" The sailor, pointing out the prisoner Evans, said he was con-
vinced she was the person who had robbed him, ' but,' added he,
I should not have cared one straw for the loss of the money, had
they allowed me to spend it in their company honourably ; but to
rob me of every farthing I had, and then to leave me to cuddle the
bolster alone — this was too bad. I bundled on my jacket, gave a
description of the women to a constable, and there they are now
before your honour.'

" Mr. Chambers — This is the way with all you sailors — you get
drunk, are robbed, and then come here in expectation that I can
get back your money. The magistrate then questioned the pri-
soners ; but they protested their innocence, declaring that the
sailor was drunk, and lost his money before he accompanied them
home.

" Mr. Chambers — Then I shall send the three of you to Brix-
ton, as disorderly prostitutes, for picking up a drunken sailor.

" The complainant expressed his satisfaction at the magistrate's
decision, and said that he should like to see them at the wheel,
undergoing the punishment which they so richly deserved, for de-
priving him of the money for which he had toiled both night and
day in all climates."

If any thing be wanting to show the callous behaviour of too
mauv of the prostitutes, the following will prove it: —
12

so DOINGS IN LONDON.

" la December, 182C, a female applied at Union Hall for a war
rant of felony against a man named Gregor M'Gregor, under the
following circumstances :— She stated that, on Christmas eve, the
person whom she accused of having robbed her, called at her
house, accompanied by two females : they retired to a room toge-
ther, and, having remained in it for some length of time, she heard
his two companions slip down stairs, and, the street-door being
open, they ran out of the house. Soon afterwards, M'Gregor
came blubbering down into the room, wrapped up in a blanket,
and complained that the women with whom he entered, had left
him, taking with thera the whole of his clothes, and not leaving
him even his trousers to go home in. She lamented his loss, ob-
serving that she could not help his misfortune, and adding that in
future he should be more careful of the company he kept. M'Gregor,
however, instead of receiving her advice with any degree of thank-
fulness, broke out in his own broad Scotch accent, to abuse her,
and actually accused her of having been concerned with the two,
women in depriving him of his garments. She in vain assured him
of the contrary, and requested him to leave her house. * What,'
said he, ' do you want me to gang home without my breeks ?' ' Cer-
tainly,' replied she ; * I have had nothing to do with your breeches,
and I have none to lend you : therefore out of my house you must
and shall pack.' M'Gregor said that he should not quit the house
until he was furnished withcovering to enable him to go home;
and, finding at length that there was no prospect of obtaining a
suit, he ran up to the room where he had been divested of all his
clothes by the two women, and, having taken the blankets, sheets,
and counterpane off the bed, he wrapped them tightly round his
body, armed himself with the poker, and rushed down into the
passage, swearing mightily that he would * smash' the first person
that interrupted him. She (the applicant) was afraid to approach
him, he looked so much like a madman, and he darted out into the
street. She ran after him, and, in the pursuit, he fell into the mud,
from the weight of her bed-clothes. She now thought he could be
easily secured, but she was mistaken, for, on recoverujg his legs, he
flung off the two blankets (the most cumbersome of the articles in
which he was wrapped up), and afterwards ran with great speed,
so that he completely outstripped all his pursuers, and escaped with
her property. The applicant added, that she had since the occur-
rence discovered the name and abode of the person by whom she
Avas robbed, and therefore trusted the magistrate would have no
hesitation in granting her a warrant for his apprehension.

" There was considerable merriment excited in the office during
the applicant's statement against the poor Scotchman, who it ap-
peared was deprived of every article of the dress he had entered
the house in, except his shirt.

" In September, 1827, one of the common prostitutes who infest
the neighbourhood of Whitechapel inveigled a man, named James
Oimston, residing at lierwick-on-Twecd, and prevailed on him to

DOINGS IN LONDON. 91

accomj^any her to one of her haunts in that sink of iniquitj^, Went-
worth Street. Here he had not been long, when she made several
attempts to rifle his pockets of their contents, but finding he was
sensible of her manoeuvres, and that she could not accomplish her
object by stealth, she called out for some assistance, when instantly
several of her buHies rushed into the room, and commenced a most
furious attack on their victim; he, being a powerful athletic man, kept
them at bay for some time, and, perceiviug an opportunity, darted out
of the aparment to rush down stairs: during his progress to effect
this, however, one of his assailants caught him by the neckcloth,
and pulled him over the upper bannisters, leaving his person sus-
pended, and, in this situation, he would inevitably have been
choked, had not his weight obliged the ruffian to release his hold,
and he fell to the ground. After recovering his senses in some
degree, he effected an escape into the street: but here again he was
beset by his assailants, who were determined not to lose sight of
their prey : they a second time surrounded him, and one of them
again caught him by the cravat, and endeavoured to strangle him,
while the others tore away his waistcoat, in the pocket of which
were deposited thirty-one sovereigns, and some silver, with which
tliey got clear oft'. What is almost incredible in this nefarious
transaction, if the truth of the statement was not placed beyond a
doubt, is, that though this outrage took place at so early an hour
as four o'clock in the evening, and there were hundreds of persons
in the street at the time when it occurred, yet none of them offered
the least assistance to the sufferer, or resistance to the departure
of the thieves, though repeatedly called on most earnestly to do so.

" Some short time since, a yoang green-horn, fresh from the coun-
try, met with a nymph of the pave in the Haymarket, who kindly
offered him a lodging for the night. He at last consented, and,
after sundry treats, accompanied her to her lodgings, at No. 2,
Union Court, Orchard Street, Westminster, where they reposed
for the night. On waking in the morning, the youth was astonished
to find that his fair one had decamped, and in her place was a fine
baby, fast asleep ; he also discovered that she had made free to
walk off with his inexpressibles, containing thirteen sovereigns
and some silver. In this dilemma, he called the landlady, but no
one in the house knew any thing of the transaction. He vowed
and swore the child was not his, and he would have nothing to do
with it. After a stermy dispute, he ran out of the house, saiis
adoite, to give information to the watchmen, who endeavoured to
find the lady, but without success; and he was forced to make the
best of his way home in a sad predicament, to ruminate on his
folly and repent at leisure.

" A country bumpkin, fresh from his native home, while v/an-
dering about gazing at Westminster Abbey, one evening, about
dark, was accosted by a nymph of the pave, who infest the neigh-
bourhood of Tothill Street and its purlieus, and persuaded to ac-
company her to her lodgings, where he should be made extremely

92 DOINGS IN LONDON.

welcome, and accommodated for Che night. The countryman,
being greatly flattered by the high encomiums passed upon him by
the lady, was at length induced to accompany her home to Old Pye
Street, Westminster, where he sent for a handsome supper, of
which they both partook, and retired for the night. The following
morning, great was the countryman's surprise, on examining his
pockets, to tind himself minus in cash notes about £24, and a watch
which he had recently purchased, with three gold seals, for 27
guineas. He accused the nymph with the robbery ; this was as
stoutly denied, and he was threatened to be thrown out of the
window. Not feeling inclined to make his exit in that manner,
he quietly went away and got an officer, but on his return the bird
was flown, and no discovery could be made ; search proved useless,
and the countryman returned to his lodgings, having paid dear for
his experience." •

But, perhaps, the two most desperate amaxons that ever walked
the streets of London, are, the notorious Lady Barrymore and Kit
Bakers, the latter lady having once, in a quarrel with a poor fellow
in her lodgings, actually thrown him out of a second-floor window
into tlie street; but, fortunately for her, he was not killed.

It is impossible to portray one half of the fatal eff^ects brought
upon mankind by associating with the prostitutes, and which daily
experience brings to view, through the depravity of human nature,
and the impetuosity of passion in the vicious and abandoned ; so
that not only the inexperienced countryman, but likewise the citizen
who has daily mementos before his eyes, falls a victim to the allure-
ments of the insinuating and attractive courtezan, in every state
of life.

By the hackneyed one, I mean those nauseating creatures that
ply at the corner of streets, alleys, and by-lanes, and at night
parade in all places : this class are lost to all shame and decency,
and, though pallid with heated lust, are then, to feed loathsome life,
devoted to every flagitious and wicked purpose for a support ; and
continually, as it were, forcing men to their disgusting embraces,
by every art and trick that wantonness and wickedness can invent:
thus compelled by necessity, they prostitute themselves for the
smallest consideration, and are aff"ected with diseases incident
thereto, from a complication of disorders collected and imbibed
by associating with the very scum of the earth, so that they become
loathsome and hideous objects to themselves and all around them.

A second class have houses of retreat, where the scenes of
wickedness are acted in privacy and security. First being made
stupid by the dregs of adulterated wine and stupifying spirits, they
are persuaded to spend the evening in those schools of debauchery,
to the ruin of their morals, their health, and fortunes. The bawd
being the mistress, the prostitute is only a secondary in the place,
and, after the man is discharged, the creature supplicates some-
thingfor her complaisance and condescension. The only difference
to be found between these lewd creatures and the former class is

DOINGS IN LONDON. 93

Uieir being bttter habited by the women that have them in pay,
and are attended by them and procuresses, to prevent their running
away with the clothes they have provided for them, in which they
appear gaily to allure the youths of dissipation, by a display of
borrowed plumes to set them off to advantage.

Passion being productive of passion in a greater extreme, they
egg him on until he becomes a dupe to their artifices, and work him
up to their purpose by their endearments and other fallacious pre-
tences, till, thoroughly absorbed in riot, they take the opportunity
to profit by his stay and intoxication, by making the most they can
of him, and then send him away as empty in pocket as in know-
ledge of their schemes and vicious artifices, practised on the
unguarded and unthinking part of men that fall into their clutches.

By these means the poor deluded countryman becomes a dupe
to the artful courtezan, some of which are scarce in their teens,
loses his money, injures his health, and habituates himself to
drinking pernicious draughts of poison, contained in their stupifying
liquors, which seldom fails of producing the worst and most
alarming consequences, exclusive of squandering away fortune,
health, and credit, which too often terminates in the loss of life
itself.

The bagnio, jelly, and private bagnios, claim attention next,
the ladies of which, being one step raised above the street-walkers
just mentioned, and yet dependent on procuresses fortheir attire and
appearance in life, being decorated with watches and trinkets,
claim a degree of superiority, for which they keep in pay flash-
men, landlords, and servants, to procure them customers, who
make a considerable living out of them, by extracting so much per
cent, for their introduction, as the furnishers of clothes do per suit
per day for their dresses. These prostitutes are as much dis-
tressed, and in as great misery, as either of the former, and more
liable to arrests and inconveniences, and are frequently obliged to
submit to the most humiliating means of procuring a wretched
subsistence.

"The next class are the prostitutes of fashion, the refuse and
cast-off mistresses of men of quality ; who, being left with a few
clothes and some money, affect grandeur and genteel life, and
thereby ensnare the unsuspecting and inconsiderate, who are in-
different about the money squandered upon them, if they can but
have the credit of being looked on as persons capable of adminis-
tering to the foibles and follies of a fine woman, though the refuse
of a nobleman. These ladies of pleasure, as they are styled by the
beau monde, reserve themselves only for such as are able, by
ample fortunes, to pay for the favours they bestow ; and, being
followed by officers, they become toasts, and are thereby sought
after by wealthy merchants and tradesmen, to show their taste
and breeding, in selecting women of the Bon Toniox their leisure
moments and hours of indulgence.

" To speak of these ladies as they deserve, T must confess they
are the most specious of all prostitutes whatever ; for, as amongst

04 DOINGS TN LONDON.

thieves, so amongst them, a pretension to honour is to be foun-d,
and therefore some dependence is placed on their asseverations,
though, in the end, you pay dearly for their condescensions and
favours.

Notwithstanding all the artifices, stratagems, and deceptions,
practised by these truly unfortunate women, they are objects of
peculiar compassion, and, if they are not worthy of our confidence
and attention, they are not to be despised or ill used, which is too
often done by unfeeling men. It ought to be recollected, they have,
poor creatures ! enough to bear up against in the bitter recollection
of their past and present conduct, the dreadful anxiety of procuring
a wretched existence, and the remembrance of better and happier
days, and being unprotected and objects of scorn — all these cir-
cumstances render them peculiarly worthy of the most com-
passionate attention of the man of feeling : we ought not to ' break
the bruised reed :' and the man who can ill use the unfortunate
prostitute, is a million times a greater sinner than the poor, unpro-
tected, forlorn, despised, and neglected object of his savage bar-
barity. Shun them and their company — their allurements — their
fascinations — and their embraces — for ' their touch is death !' — pass
them not with curses and taunts, but, like the good Samaritan,
pour, if you can, the balm of comfort to their distracted, wretched,
and disordered mind. — 77*6 jjrostitute u the greatest object of pity
of any offender in London !

There is a set of contemptible wretches, who form part of the
retinue of the brothel, called bullies, and who depend on the
wretched prostitute for support, and whose bread he eats, whose
quarrel he fights, and at whose call he is ready to do as com-
manded. They are creatures of the most vicious and disorderly
life, and many of them have lavished their whole substance on the
very women who have them in keeping. In general, these kinds of
gentry are arrant cowards ; for, should they attack a man of spirit,
who dares defend himself, they will skulk away on the least re-
sistance, or say they were in jest, and make the most abject sub-
mission, or tamely snfi'er themselves to be kicked down stairs,
without the least opposition. On the contrary, if they meet with
a man that is intimidated by their blustering, they never fail to
abuse and ill-treat him. A countryman was allured by a young
wanton, and inveigled to a well-known bagnio in the vicinity of
Covent G-Cirden, where they regailed themselves for some time
with the best the house aftbrded, when the lady proposed to ad-
journ to her own house, to spend the remainder of the evening.
Accordingly, the bill was called for and paid, and the couple re-
tired to the lady's lodaings, where they sper.t the night in joy and
festivity. But, lo! when morning came, and the countryman was
about to depart, there was a demand of five guineas made by the
girl, for lodging, &c. A gratuitous present is also expected for
civility, and something for the maid. Being struck with the ex-
orbitance of the demand, he absolutely refused to comply therewith ;
upon which the bully made his appearance, and, in a peremptory

DOINGS IN LONDON, &5

tone, insisted on the lodging being paid for, the lady satisfied, and
some acknowledgment to the maid, for the extra trouble she had
been at, in attending on him ; and swearing if he did not instantly
pay the demand, he would run him through the body. The coun-
tryman, having a greater regard for his life than he had for his
pocket, and more self-love than courage, tamely submitted to
the bully's menaces, and, dropping five sovereigns and five shil-
lings on the table, was then turned down stairs.

The following anecdote will show yon how these miscreants of
bullies are detested by the public : -

Some years ago, two loose women had seized upon an inebri-
ated gentleman, and were conveying him to their lodgings at noon-
day : the populace concluded he would at least be robbed, and de-
termined to rescue him immediately, which they did, and severely
ducked the women. Thus far justice proceeded in its due chan-
nel; but an unfortunate journeyman cutler happened to exert him-
self rather too outrageously, and attracted notice : he was ob-
served to hold the woman or women in a manner that might be
supposed real eftbrts of anger, or as efforts intended to mask an inten-
tion to release them ; the word was instantly given to duck him as
their bulbj.— The women were released, and escaped ; the cutler
was thrown into a horse-pond, in spite of his protestations of inno-
cence ; and, when his wife endeavoured to rescue him, she under-
went the same discipline.

" Such," continued Julia," is a brief history of the wretched and
melancholy doings of the unfortunate prostitute, who too often
flies to liquor as a means of deadening, as it were, her sufferings
and her poignant feelings. Oh, beware of that seductive vice,
sir; hear what Randolph says :

< Fly drunkenness, whose vile incontinence
Takes both away the reason and the sense !
Consider how it soon destroys the grace
Of human shape, spoiling the beauteous face,
Puffing the cheeks, blearing the curious eye,
Studding the face with vicious heraldry.
It weaks the brain, it spoils the memory ;
Hastening ou age and wilful poverty,
It drowns our better parts, making our name
To foes a laughter, to our friends a shame.
'Tis virtue's poison, and the bane of trust,
The match of wrath, the fuel unto lust.'

** BuJ; even liquor is not so dreadful * a fuel unto lust,' as that
public offence in London, so alarming in its nature, and so mis-
chievous in its effects, and which stands in need of all good men
to stop its corroding progress. I mean the exposing to sale, and
selling of indecent and obscene prints and books, to the perusal
of which, many girls, as well as boys, may lay their ruin. If, at
that period of life when children and apprentices stand in need of
a parent to advise, a master to restrain, or a friend to admonish
and check the first impulse of passion, stimulants like these are held
forth to meet their early feelings, what but destruction must be the

96

DOINGS IN LONt)ON.

event ? ladeed, by care, parents and masters may prevent youth
in some degree from frequenting bad company ; they may accus-
tom them to good habits, afford them examples worthy imitation ;
and, by shutting their doors early, may oblige them to keep good
hours : but, alas ! what doors, what bolts, what bars can be any
security to their innocence, whilst vice, in this deluding form,
counteracts all caution, and bids defiance to the force of precept,
prudence, and example, by affording such foul, but palatable
hints, as are destructive to modesty, sobriety, and obedience."

Peregrine was delighted with the virtuous principles of the
unfortunate Julia, and felt unwilling to leave her company ;
yet prudence dictated they should part. The freedom of be^
haviour he witnessed in Julia, in the morning, turned now to the
most reserved demeanour : she seemed to feel the real value of her
new friend, and was determined not to abuse his generous con-
duct, by holding out any alurements. They parted for the even-
ing. Peregrine providing her with cash sufficient to discharge her
arrears of rent, and maintain herself until he should again visit
her. He shortly arrived at his inn, and repaired to rest; but his
mind was entirely on Julia : to marry her was out of the question;
and he thought upon a thousand plans for her relief; and while
at breakfast, Mentor entered his room, to whom Peregrine told
the whole of his adventure, asking his advice : ** That, my young
friend," replied he, " I will give you some future day, when I
nave further considered the subject, aud you have become more
-oUected ; but" continued he, '* I came to invite you to join a
,jarty this evening to visit

etc S'timlrcsl^oBal, Brury 3lanc,
as you expressed a strong desire, some few days since, to go
there, when one of Shakespeare's plays was performed,"

DOINGS IN LONDON^ , 61

Upon leaving the theatre, he, unperceived by Mentor, wrote a
few lines on the back of the playbill, and put it in the hand of
the object of his aflFection, begging an interview the following
morning, in the Green Park. He now hastened to his inn, and,
wishing- Mentor and his acquaintance a good night* retired to his
chamber, anxiously wishing for the return of day : he arose early,
and traced his steps to the place of meeting, long before the ap-
pointed hour; and, while sitting on one of the benches, anxiously
anticipating the pleasure he should experience, in the expected
interview, a young man, seemingly from the country, with his
dress in great disorder, placed himself by his side, and, without
any ceremony, began to tell him of his last night's adventure *.
that he had only the day before arrived from Suffolk ; and on
going along Charing Cross, he was accosted by a young woman,
who persuaded him to accompany her to an adjoining house, where
they were soon joined by another lady ; wine was called for, of
which he drank till he became almost insensible ; they then took
his watch from him, and all his money; and "this morning," says
he, " I found myself lying on the floor, without a farthing in my
pocket. On my making a noise, and complaining of being robbed,
a man and woman came up, and demanded five shillings for
my night's lodging. I told them how I had been served, at
which they laughed at me, and actually took my neckerchief and
whip for the five shillings, telling me to think myself well oft";
and that 1 was little acquainted with the

JDotngs tn a 'Ijrotfirl
and then pushed me iiito the street, desirina me to seek for ledres*
11

82 DOINGS IN LONDON.

where 1 liked. I have," continued the stranger, " strayed here ; and
Heaven knows what I shall do, for a trifle of money, to enable
me to return home." Peregrine felt for his disaster, and coun-
selled with him on the folly of his proceedings ; and, putting a
sovereign in his hand, wished him a safe return. Tlie stranger
thanked him a thousand times, gave him his address, and re-
tired.

And now the hour appointed for the meeting arrived, the lady
being punctual to her time : she received Peregrine with a free-
dom he little anticipated, which created in him much distrust and
uneasiness. He fondly imagined her to be,

*' As chaste as ice, as pure as snow ;"

but he was miserably deceived — she had swerved from the paths
of rectitude and virtue : her brightest days were fled, and she
was now dragging out a painful existence. They sat for some
minutes without either speaking : at length. Peregrine mustered
courage enough to ask her name, and to tell her candidly the
conquest she had made of him. " I am afraid, sir," said she,
" you will feel some degree of disappointment, when you become
acquainted with my history ; but I will not take advantage of
your youth, or your inexperience in life ; and, if you will accom-
pany me to my lodgings to breakfast, as we may be overheard
here, I will there unfold to you the particulars of my unfortunate
career; for there is a pleasure, an inexpressible one, in persons
in affliction and sorrow detailing their miseries." Peregrine, after
a few moments' consideration, accepted the invitation, and walked
with Julia to her home : when breakfast was over, she gave him
her history.

" My name, sir, is Julia Desmond; in my youth, I was rich
in the choicest gifts of Heaven — health and innocence. My
father was a market gardener, and was particularly partial to cours-
ing ; and, among the many persons who came to our house on those
occasions, was a gentleman, who requested to be allowed to visit
me. Our age and expectations in life being nearly equal, were
agreeable to the apparent likelihood of our being united. In an
unguarded moment, he basely employed the advantages Heaven
had bounteously lent him, to my misery and seduction ; he coolly
turned sensibility and avowed affection against the very heart in
which those sensations glowed, excited by himself for a base and
unworthy gratification ; he planted vice and infamy where virgin
purity and spotless innocence had for ever dwelt. To the retribu-
tive justice of Heaven in the world to come, I leave the wretch,
consoled by the assurance that he will not escape a punishment
equal to his crime,

" Finding myself ruined and deserted, I unfolded my wretched
state to my mother, who instantly informed my father, from whom
I received orders immediately to quit his house. I repaired to
the dwelling of a neighbour, and there used every means in my

DOINGS IN LONDON. /^

powcT to gain my father's forgiveness ; but no, he was inexorable,
and I was obliged to trace my steps to London. I have read,"
continued Julia, " in the Spectator, that * of all the hardnesses
of heart, there is none so inexcusable as tlrat of parents towards
their children. An obstinate, inflexible, unforgiving temper is
odious upon all occasions ; but here it is unnatural. . The love,
tenderness, and compassion, which are apt to arise in us towards
those who depend upon us, is that by which the whole world of
life is upheld. The Supreme Being, by the transcendant excel-
lency and goodness of his nature, extends his mercy towards all
his works; and, because all his creatures have not such a spon-
taneous benevolence and compassion towards those who are under
his care and protection, he has implanted in them an instinct, that
supplies the place of this inherent goodness. The man, therefore,
who, notwithstanding any passion or resentment, can overcome this
powerful instinct, and extinguish natural affeetion, debases hiss
mind even below brutality, frustrates, as much as in him lies, the
great design of Providence, and strikes out of his nature one of
the most divine principles that is planted in it. If the father is
inexorable to the child who has offended, let the offence be of
ever so high a nature, how will he address himself to the Su-
preme Being, under the tender appellation of father, and desire
of him such a forgiveness as he himself refuses to grant?'

" In this distress, I alighted in this wide metropolis — this epi-
tome of the world ; and, as I had some knowledge of needle-work,
I applied at one of the dress-makers, at the west end of the town,
seeing, by the papers, she was in want of hands : here I was en-
gaged at eight sliillings a-week, and to work all hours, very often
all night, and generally on a Sunday. I was glad, in one respect,
I was so fully engaged, as it prevented me from reflecting on my
sad fallen state so often as I should otherwise have done. My
fellow companions were all kept as close at work as I was, but
many of them at less wages, some earning only five shillings pet
week, out of which they had to find themselves in clothes; for of
victuals indeed they had but little, — they existed principally on
tea. It is disgraceful the manner in which the poor girls are
kept at work at these places : it is no wonder, indeed, so many
of them die in declines, and others go on the town ; for I kitow
several have taken to that wretched mode of getting a livelihood,
through the greatest want. Here is, indeed, the British white
slavery ; only, with this difference, that their more fortunate suf-
ferers in the West Indies have regular food and appointed hours
of work. The world little knows of the disgraceful and inhuman
*' Doings" at the fashionable dress-makers at the west end of the
town.

" But to proceed with ray history : after remaining in this situa>
tion six months, I fell ill, and, having no money, I gained ad-
mittance into an hospital, one of those god-like establishments
which abound in London : here I was treated with the utmost care
'^ 1

84 DOINGS IN LONDON.

and attention, and I soon recovered ray health ; upon which, 1
applied to my old place for employment ; but, unfortunately, it
was the autumn of the year, and, there being then little doing, they
could not engage me. Wherever I thought it possible I could
earn a trifle, I made application, but to no purpose: when, one
day, walkiii gnear the bottom of Piccadilly, near the White-Horse
Cellar, an elderly lady, very nicely dressed, accosted me, and
entered very familiarly into conversation with me ; and, as she
seemed a nice motherly woman, I opened my mind freely to her,
telling her the whole of my history, in which she seemed to take
a very great interest. She advised me, pitied me, and cried for
my misfortunes ; in fact, she completely gained my confidence.
She asked me to take some refreshment, at a pastry-cook's, where
she seemed to be well known, entering into conversation with the
ladies and gentlemen present. At length, she invited me to her
home, telling me, she would find me plenty of employment. Feel-
ing grateful for her kind offer, I accepted it, and I soon arrived
at her house, which was very handsomely furnished. On enter-
ing, I saw many young ladies, elegantly dressed, who all called
•her mother, and to whom she seemed very kind. T naturally ex-
pected, I was to be engaged to work for these ladies ; but when
she told me, I should be used as well as her children (as sh^
called them), and be dressed like them, I began to have some
doubts that all was right, and to fear that I had got into bad com-
pany. My suspicions were soon verified, as in the evening I was
to change my clothes, and accompany them to the play ; and there
they began to show themselves in their true characters. The old
lady introduced me to several gentlemen ; and, as I was what was
termed very handsome, all of them flattered me, and seemed de-
sirous of gaining my favours. I now felt assured that 1 had been
ensnared ; and the old lady, seeing me in tears, upbraided me with
ingratitude, in acting in the manner I did. I begged of her to let
me go, upon which she told me, if 1 threatened to leave her, she
would give me in charge of a police-officer, for stealing the ear-
rings and necklace which I had on. My anguish of mind was
now not be described. I was fearful of her putting her threats into
execution, although she gave me the rings and necklace. [ knew
I could get no employment; and then, in a moment of delirium, I
threw myself into the vortex of dissipation and ruin.

" I was an involuntary victim. Unkind and cruel as my father
had been, I wished to suffer in silence, and not bring additional
reproach on him who gave me being.

" In a few days I was placed under the protection of a Lieu-
tenant V , who behaved to me with great kindness, till he was

called to go to India, where he fell at the siege of Bhurtpoore.

"The old beldame, under whose roof I took shelter, was, perhaps,
the most deceitful, the most wicked, and the most notorious pro-
curess that ever lived. She used regularly to advertise for ser-
vants, and have the reference at her green-grocer's : by this scheme

DOINGS IN LONDON. 85

she enticed and ruined many young girls ; by some of them she
gained a vast sum of money, they having taken the fancy of some
lecherous old wretch, who always kept * our mother' in pay for
that purpose. She professed to be extremely religious, and it was
no uncommon thing to see her go to one of the conventicles in the
evening, and then come home and complete the ruin of an unsus-
pecting innocent girl. An hypocritical villain, the preacher at her
chapel, used to visit her frequently ; and there they used to sing
hymns, and groan, and moan, and cry, and get drunk together : she
would boast of the number of years she had lived in the same neigh-
bourhood with respectability ; and, as Mother Cole said; during
that time, ' no one could say black was the white of her eye.'

" It is a pity," continued Julia, " these old wretches are not
now punished in the manner they deserve, I find that formerly
they were ; particularly Mother Needham, the infamous procuress
and brothel-keeper: she was, in every respect, equally notorious
with the celebrated Mother Cresswell, who made so conspicuous
a figure in the reign of King Charles the Second, and who is said
to have died in Bridewell. Mother Needham's exit is more cer-
tainly known, which took place in the Gate-House, Westminster,
May 6lh, 1731. Her personal history is comprised in the follow-
ing paragraphs from the Grub-Street Journal.

" * March 25, 1731. — The noted Mother Needham was yester-
day committed to the Gate-House, by Mr. Justice Railton.''

'"Ibid. — Yesterday, at the quarter sessions, for the city and:
liberties of Westminster, the infamous Mother Needham, who has
been reported to have been dead for some time, to screen her from
several prosecutions, was brought from the Gate-House, and
pleaded not guilty to an indictment found against her for keeping
a lewd and disorderly house ; but, for want of sureties, was re-
manded back to prison."

'"Ibid. — April '11, 1731. On Saturday ended the quarter
sessions for Westminster, &c. The noted Mother Needham, con-
victed of keeping a lewd and disorderly house in Park Place, St.
James''s, was fined one shilling, to stand twice in the pillory, and
find sureties for her good behaviour for three years."

" * Ibid.— May 6, 1731. Yesterday, tlie noted Mother Need-
ham stood in the pillory in Park Place, near St. James's Street,
and was roughly handled by the populace. She was so very ill
that she lay along, notwithstanding which, she was so severely
treated, that it is thought she will die in a day or two.' Another
account says, ' She lay along on her face in the pillory, and so
evaded the law, which requires that her face should be exposed.'

" The memory of this woman is thus perpetuated in the Dun-
cian. 1. 323 :

' To Needham's quick, the voice triumphant rode,
, But pious Needham dropp'd the name of God.

" The note on this passage says she was * a matron of great fame,
and very religious in her way ; whose constant prayer it was, thai

83 DOINGS IN LONDON.

she might get enough by her profession to leave off in time, and
make her peace with God, But her fate was not so happy; for,
being convicted, and set in the pillory, she veas so ill-used by the
populace, that it put an end to her days.'

" If the like punishment were to extend to her infamous succes-
sors of the present day, the public would not be insulted in seeing
their names engraved on brazen plates in some of the most public
places in the metropolis.

" Most bawds seem to have some pretence to religion. In
Dryden's Wild Gallant, Mother du Lake, being about to drink a
dram, is made to exclaim, ' Tis a great way to the bottom ; but
Heaven is all sufficient to give me strength for it.'

" Pardon me," said Julia, " for thi-^^ digression, — I will now
hasten to the finish of my dismal tale. Since the death of the
lieutenant, until the last fortnight, I lived with the old woman ;
but her ill-usage to me, on account of my not joining willingly in
the various debaucheries, became so unbearable, that 1 left her ; and
had once more the world before me. I knew not what to do, my
character being gone ; at length I resolved to take these private
lodgings, where I have resided about a month. This," said Julia,
is my sad history, and — •

' Often, when alone,

I see my heart, as in a mirror shown ;

And spectres oft my fitful fancy cross'd.

Of broken promises and honour lost ;

Of good men's pity, and of bad men's sneers.

My father's anguish, and my mother's tears !'

Poor Julia started from her seat, and, taking up the guitar that
was given to her by her father, and which, amidst all her wants,
she had preserved with religious care, sung, most plaintively, the
following verses of a Scotch ballad :

* Wae's me, for my heart is breaking !

I think on my brithers sma'
And on my sister gree?:.

When I came frae hame awa ;
And, oh ! how my mither sobbit.

As she took me from my hand,
When I left the door o' our ould house,

To come to this stranger land !

* There's nao place like our ain hame ;

Oh ! I wish that I was there ! —
There's nae hame like our ain hame.

To be met wi' ony where ! —
And, oh ! that I was back again,

To our farm and fields so green ;
And heard the tongues o' my ain folk,
And was what I hae' been !' "

Peregrine felt that he loved Julia, notwithstanding the avowal of
her irregularities ; and he mingled his tears with hers, while she
recited her misfortunes, for he was one of those " who felt for
another's woes :" he entered the world with buoyant feelings,
fipsh and " thick coming fancies," enthusiastic anticipation j with

DOINGS IN LONDON. 87

heart and liand open to the impression and impulses of love,
friendship, and generosity ; and with a multitude of senses and
passions, all promising pleasure in their pursuit and gratification :
he found his young pulse bound with delight at the sight of beauty,
and experienced a thousand sensations which impelled him to an
intimate intercourse of hearts with his feilow-creaturcs. But he
also found it necessary to repress these delightful springings of the
heart; to steal his heart against the influence of beauty, and to
admit friendship and love only where they are compatible with his
interest ; — interest, that mainspring of human nature, as it is
called, at whose shrine all our best feelings are sacrificed?

Julia had now partially recovered from the paroxysm of grief
into which the remembrance of brighter and better days had
thrown her, when Peregrine asked her whether he could be of any
service in rescuing her from her present wretched mode of living ?
She thanked him, saying she should be grateful for any situation
to snatch her from the one she was now in. At length, the gene-
rous-hearted Peregrine agreed to allow her a sufficiency, pro-
vided she was determined to leave the paths of vice, until ho
could do something better for her. Julia's heart was overwhelmed
with thanks at this unlooked-for act of benevolence ; and she
vowed most solemnly nothing on earth should make her continue
her present mode of life. Peregrine was happy to see her so re-
pentant, and formed in his mind the pleasure he should feel in res»
cuing her from ruin.

" I suppose," said Peregrine, " even the short time you have been
in London, you have witnessed many sad scenes of depravity.^'
*' Yes, I could tell you such tales of scenes that I have witnessed
and heard of, ' as would harrow up thy young blood, and make
the hair on thy head stand like the quills of the fearful porcupine.*
The robberies and ill-usage in these houses exceed belief. In
my melancholy hours, I copy out of the daily papers, the various
cases brought before the magistrates, of depredations committed .
in houses of ill fame, and also by the unfortunate prostitutes. From
among very many, 1 will read you the following: the first case
shows how the old harpies entice and hide young giils in their
wretched houses : —

" ' The keeper, according to her own account, of a proper
well-regulated house, in Kent Street, in the Borough, for the last
three-and-twenty years, appeared at Union Hall, to prefer a com-
plaint against a poor couple, for a riot in the temple in which she
presides. It a|)pearcd that the daughter of the defendants, a girl
not sixteen years of age, had been seduced away from them a i'ew
days ago, and that they had learned she had become an inmate of
Mother Cole's house. To this abode the parents repaired, to in-
quire for their child — the po(n- woman going alone into the house,
and the father remaining in the neighbourhood. Mts. Cole ac-
knowcldged to the alHicted mother that her daughter had been
there for a night, and tlie mother rcqucstcxl to search the bouse, a

DOINGS IN LONDON.

liberty which Mother Cole could not allow any person to take, as
she had too high a respect for her own character, and for the ladies
and gentleiT>en who frequented her house, to permit any person to
enter without the usual fee, or a magistrate's authority, to each of
which her doors were always open. Mother Cole seized the poor
woman and thrust her out, and, finding that the appeal to her hu-
manity began to change to a tone of reproach, and, perceiving that
she was disposed to resist, dashed the door in her face, and closed
it upon one of her legs, with a force that nearly broke it. The
sufferer shrieked out in agony, and the husband ran up, and forced
the door so far open as to release his wife from her painful situa-
tion. This was the whole amount of the offence of the unfortu-
nate couple, which was called a riot.

" « The magistrate inquired whether the daughter of the poor
people was in the complainant's house at the time ?

" ' Mother Cole declared upon her honour that the young girl
Avas not there, and moreover positively asserted, that she never
denied any one's child when it happened to be under her roof;
that her house was most respectable, as all who resorted to it
would bear testimony.

" ' Here the officers took the liberty of interrupting her, and re-
minded her that they had on several occasions seached her house,
and never failed to find prostitutes in it.

•' ' Mother Cole with the greatest eff'rontery said, she was not
accountable for her lodgers, nor for what they might do in their
own apartments. She could answer for it that her own were as
pure as any woman's.

«' * The magistrate observed to the depraved brothel-keeper, that
he had been acquainted with the infamy of her house for many
years, and he should not be surprised if the public indignation were
expressed in very substantial terms against it. He then dismissed
the case.'

'• The next gives a true picture of a sailor's cruise, and the ad-
vantages taken of his thoughtless conduct : —

" In February, 1827, a case that excited much mirth and
laughter was heard before the sitting magistrate, R. J. Chambers,
Esq. Three women of the town, named Montague, Evans, and
Wright, were charged wilh robbing William Dunnick, a sailor,
belonging to a ship just arrived from performing a voyage round
the world, of £45.

" The complainant, a fine, honest, rough-looking tar, stated
the case in his own peculiar manner. * Your honour,' said he, ' I
have just come home, after doubling Cape Horn, and, on the night
before, I went up to the other end of the town — I think they call
it Bond Street — to see an old messmate of mine. On coming
back, after laying in a pretty good stock of grog, when I got to
the Elephant and Castle, or near it, I walked into a pastry-cook's
shop to tickle my mouth with ten or a dozen shillings' worth of
the good things there. While I was tucking in, I sees three ueat

DOINGS IN LONDON.

97

Unfortunately, on account of waiting for some of the party,
they found it was too late that evening for the theatre, and agreed,
the next day being Sunday, to visit the west end of the town, and
witness —

cr^e Doings in l^gtrc i^arS,

Which was seen by Peregrine with delight, mingled with pity :
he was delighted at the splendid equipages, and the beauty of the
ladies ; but he looked with pity on the innumerable number of
what are termed fashionables, who were there promenading, the
monstrocity of their appearance creating in his mind the most
sovereign contempt and disgust. Here Peregrine and his friends
walked, till they were covered with dust; and, evening drawing
in, they repaired to a coffee-house, where it was agreed they should
visit Drury Lane the next evening.

" I would advise you," said Mentor to Peregrine, " as it is now
the fashion to butcher some of Shakspeare's plays, by introducing
modern music and songs, and other rubbish, to purchase a copy
of the play as it used to be performed ; and no edition is more
worthy your attention, as being critically correct, very neatly
printed, and highly embellished, than ' Cumberland's British
Theatre ;' it also contains judicious remarks on each play, from
the pen of a gentleman, who is generally esteemed the first com-
mentator on the stage of the present day ; and it is gratifying to
reflect, that the patronage of the public keeps pace with the exer-
tions of its spirited publisher and proprietor. The edition has only
one fault, and that is, it is too cheap.

13 H

98 DOINGS IN LONDON.

" You will find," contiuued Mentor, '* Drury-Lane Theatre,
one of the most splendid in Europe. The whole of the .interior of
the house presents an appearance of unrivalled splendour, and is
replete with every convenience. The grand entrance is in Bridges
Street, through a spacious hall, leading to the boxes. This hall is
supported by fine Doric columns, and illuminated by two large
brass lamps ; three large doors lead from this hall into the house,
and into a rptunda of great beauty and elegance. On each side
of the rotunda, are passages to the great stairs, which are pecu-
liarly grand and spacious ; over them is an ornamental ceiling,
with a dome light.

" The first Drury-Lane Theatre was built in 1662 ; destroyed by
fire, 1672; rebuilt, 1674; pulled down, 1791; rebuilt, 1794 ;
destroyed by fire, February 24, 1809; and opened on the
10th October, 1812, with the performance of Hamlet, and the
farce of the Devil to Pay.

" The footmen, and other livery servants, used formerly to be
allowed to sit in the shilling gallery, gratis ; but they expressed so
unequivocally their displeasure on several occasions, that they were
expelled ; upon which they threatened to reduce the playhouse to the
ground-, unless they were reinstated in their rights. Two footmen
were committed to Newgate for rioting, and fifty men were sta-
tioned in the gallery, when peace was restored.

In 1762, Drury-Lane Theatre was much improved, by lengthen-
ing the stage, enlarging the boxes and pit, and rebuilding the
galleries : to defray the expenses of these alterations, the managers
intimated that nothing under full price would in future be taken
during the performance. The audience strongly opposed this in-
novation, and were determined to enforce their resolution of see-
ingplays, as usual, at half-price ; and, on the commencement of the
tragedy of Elvira, they ordered the orchestra to play the music of
" Roast Beef," and " Britons Strike Home !" which was com-
plied with. Several fruitless attempts were made to go on with the
performance. Mr. Garrick came on the stage, and attempted to
speak, but in vain; when the following questions, at length,
issued from the pit: " Will you, or will you not, give admittance
for half-price after the third act?" The manager again attempted
to explain, without effect; yes, or wo, were the only words granted
him. Yes, accompanied by an expression of indignation, escaped
the lips of Roscius, and the theatre shook with sounds of triumph.
" The ridiculous custom of placing two sentinels on the stage,
during the performance of plays, was discontinued in 1764; as a
soldier, employed for that purpose, highly entertained the audience,
by laughing at the character of Sir Andrew Aguecheek, in Twelfth
Night, till he actually fell convulsed upon the floor.

" Pantomime was first performed, in the year 1702, at Drury
Lane, in an entertainment called Tavern Bilkers : it died the fifth
night. It was invented by Weaver, a dancing-master of Shrews-
bury ; who, from the encouragement of the nobility, invented a

DOINGS IN LONDON 99

second, called Loves of Mars and Ve7ius, performed at the same
theatre, in the year 1716.

" Very considerable impro\*enients were made in Drury-Lane
Theatre, previous to the opening for the season of 1775. The
frequenters of it, before the above period, describe the interior as
very little superior to an old barn.

" Mr. Garrick, whose unrivalled powers as an actor have been
the theme of applause and admiration, retired from the stage, at this
theatre, in June, 1776, when in full possession of his extraordinary
faculties."

Peregrine remarked he had heard much talk of the " Doings"
in Drury-Lane Saloon, and expressed a wise to witness the scene :
Mentor accordingly accompanied him thither. " That old wretch,"
said Mentor, " you see in conversation with the little girl, is a
constant visitor here : many of such young creatures are procured
to satisfy his dreadful passions, —

* It's true — 'tis pity ;
And pity 'tis, 'tis true !"

That gentleman in the slouched hat, with immoderate whiskers, is
a celebrated nobleman ; and he, with his back towards you, is one
of the first ' Legs' in the kingdom ; that lady, sitting down, was once
the celebrated mistress of a late unfortunate banker : and that pretty
girl, standing near her, is the daughter of a country clergyman.
Our friend, Cruikshank, 1 see, is taking a sketch of the scene ;
and, when it is finished, I will show it you.

" There is no man breathing," continued Mentor, " but
must deplore such scenes of immorality as are nightly exhibited
in the saloons of our national theatres. A correspondent, in that
valuable journal, the Times newspaper, thus expresses himself on
this subject: — ' It has often been a matter of wonder to me, that
in this age of religion and morality, when every means are tried to
make men more religious, more moral, or at all events more decent,
so much apathy should exist with respect to the present disgrace-
ful state of the theatres. It is notorious that no respectable female
can attend any performance, without being subject to contacts of
the most forbidding and offensive description. Not only has each
theatre its saloon for the especial convenience of the common
prostitutes of the town, but, by the present arrangements, no
part of the house is free from their intrusion. The dress-circle
I allow, is kept as select as it well can be ; but no person can
enter the second, except at the risk of being seated by a well-
dressed, and, frequently, shameless prostitute, or annoyed by in-
decent attentions and conversation, particularly at half-price.
The third circle is so completely their own, that no woman of
respectability would ever knowingly enter it. The lobbies are as
bad — the constant parade of women half-dressed, and men half-
drunk ; through which, and the vestibule, it may be added, issue,
at the close of the performance, the whole assemblage of the
theatre.

300 DOINGS IN LONDON.

" * Now, sir, is it notmonstrous that a nuisance of this magnitude
should be tolerated, in a country calling itself the most moral and
decent upon earth ; tolerated, too, in the midst of societies of
all kinds for the protection of the public morals, and in the
face of our bishops, of our great reformists, and the boasted march
of social improvement ?

" * It is not the squeamishness of your over-righteous or over-
moral people which is outraged; for they have long since been
driven from the theatre, partly from this very cause ; but it is your
respectable play-going people ; who, without being " saints,"
have decency, and delicacy, and religion, and morality enough to
be shocked at authorized profligacy, and disgusted with its
grossness.

" ' Besides, sir,evil example does wonders : if it shocks one per-
son, it seduces another —

" Vice is a monster of such hideous mien,
As to be hated, needs but to be seen ;
But, seen too oft, familiar to her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace."

" ' Nor am I to be told that the modest and the virtuous may con-
fine themselves to the first circle : places frequently cannot be
got, and, moreover, it may not suit to go " dressed." Besides, this
is no answer to my observation on the jumbling together, at the
close of the performance, of sisters, wives, mothers, and daughters,
with women, whose obscene joke, loud laugh, shameless manners,
and disgusting appearance, and frequently besotted paramours,
betray, but too well, their misfortunes and their infamy. Nor am
I answered by the assertion that these evils are a century old, or
that they are not generally felt, because they are not loudly ex-
claimed against. Age, sir, is no hallower of evil ; and, I should
have thought, the longer a crying and impudent one of this nature
has been permitted to exist, the more imperious is the necessity
for its removal. As to the feelings of the public, they too often
sleep under the weight of established authorities and customs;
and, in this instance, perhaps, people are deterred, because they
think it hopeless to attack so formidable a power as a Lord Cham-
berlain, a host of managers and proprietors, and the manners of
a free age to boot. But, I will venture to say, none but liber-
tines will refuse to acknowledge the evil, however the possibility
of removing it may be doubted.

" ' We talk, indeed, of the inferior morality of the French; but
can we compare with them, in externals, our streets or our thea-
tres ? Vice, with them, pays homage to virtue, by being decent.
With us, its only antidote is its extreme grossness ; which, unfor-
tunately, is no protection, as the tempters and tempted are gene-
rally, in point of delicacy, too much on a level.

'• * Vice, I shall be told, always must exist — expel it from the
theatre, and you only change its abode ; and, if that were true,
which I deny, is there nothing gained in forcing it from its licensed

DOINGS IN LONDON. 101

and strongest hold, and hunting it into places less public, and
therefore less dangerous? Where do half the disorderlies come
from, but the theatres? and how are your " Mother H.'s" sup-
ported but by them ?,Ilochefoucault wisely says, — " Our qualities,
both good and bad, are at the mercy of opportunity." If vice,
therefore, must exist, let it riot on in obscurity ; but let not a place
of public amusement be made the rallying-point and very centre
of its attractions.

" ' Convinced, therefore, that the best interests of a nation depend
on its moral character, and equally sure of the demoralizing effect
of saloons, from the sanction and opportunities they afford to
every species of debauchery and vice, and powerfully impressed
with the influence which the metropolis extends over the whole
country, I would abolish these legalized appendages to the brothel,
and, by lessening the facilities, diminish the amount of vice. The
inconvenience of the virtuous and vicious being now and then
thrown together, would not, I am aware, be provided against by
this alteration ; but vice in that case might at all events be made
to appear decent, and, by proper restraints, the mass would ulti-
mately be driven from the theatre.

'• • The coffers of the manager, T am persuaded, would suffer
little ; for many people, to my knowledge, abstain from playgoing,
because the saloon, avowedly for the purposes of prostitution, is
part and parcel of the theatre, and by going to the one they coun-
tenance and support the other. But, if the profits were to be af-
fected, is the progress of public virtue and improvement to wait on
the prosperity of a playhouse? and are the managers and proprie-
tors to be allowed to thrive by pandering to the bad passions of
our nature?

" • If, however, too many difficulties and objections exist to do-
ing away with saloons altogether, in the name of decency, separate
them from the body of the house ; or, at all events, stop that free
communication, which is fraught with so much indecency and in-
convenience. Let a particular part of the house be appropriated to
the use of the women : shut them out from the second circle, and,
if it be possible, provide against the nuisance of females of the
best and worst characters being jostled together on leaving the
theatre.

" * In conclusion, let me ask what title has the press to the
guardianship of the public morals, if it allows so glaring a blot as
this to escape it ? Where is the Bishop of London, that he per-
mits this " high place" of sin to stand out insultingly prominent in
the very centre of his diocese ? And, lastly, to what purpose do
our hundred different moral and religious societies, and particularly
that for the suppression of vice, exist, if this canker in the heart
of the metropolis is to remain uncured and unregarded ?'

This correspondent, he may rest assured, is wrong, in saying
** the coffers of the managers would suffer little," by prohibiting
such characters as now visit the saloons. Some years ago, a man of

102 DOINGS IX LONDON.

the name of R — -<m, was engaged by the manager of one of out
metropolitan theatres, at a salary of £3 per week, to find out the
finest women of the town, and present them with tickets of free at.»
mission to the theatre : and what was the consequence? Wliy, the
aouse never paid so well as during that season : there were two
audiences, one to witness the performance, and another to gaze on
the beauty of the unfortunate creatures who were promenading in
the saloon. In fact, persons of authority in the theatres were em-
ployed to decide upon the merits of the female visitors to the lob-
bies; and, if a girl' was pronounced "likely to draw friends,
siie became at once enrolled in the list of the establishment, and
thus contributed to the prosperity of her respectable patrons. That
pimping plan has been a good deal abated. The lobbies and sal-
loons and upper boxes exhibited such scenes of riot and indecency,
that society was shamed into a determination not to wink any
longer at the violation of its most sacred compact : respectable
men would not allow their families to run the hazard of the pol-
l;ition, and trembled for the immorality, not of the stage, but of the
immense concourse of performers before the curtain. It certainly
would be desirable, if such practices were prohibited ; but that
they are the sources of much wealth to the manager, there can be
no doubt; and, when we reflect on the very great salaries now paid
to the performers, and the various enormous expenses of the thea-
tre, it can be a matter of no surprise, that the saloons are tolerated.
Many a young clerk is to be seen in the saloons of the theatres,
accompanied by some prostitute, dressed out and supported in her
wanton extravagance by the daily plunder of some industrious
man. Many a boy has been suddenly transferred from the lob-
bies to tlie prison, and from thence to the place of most frightful
retribution. Of late years, there has been a most dangerous ad-
dition to the vanity which courts the heart and imagination of
youth. 1 mean the accommodation given to persons of both sexes,
at all hours of the night, in houses in which, although they are not
licensed by the magistrates, wine and spirits are sold, and fight-
ing, and robbery, and drunkenness are to be constantly witnessed.
The owners of those hateful places of debauchery contrive to get
the consent of some worn-out beggarly vintners, and, upon the
authority of that qualification, they open their doors to all well-
dressed miscreants, both men and women.

Upon leaving the theatre, Peregrine was warned against the im-
portunities of fellows who ply about the theatres at night, called
dragsmen — a very dangerous sort of gentry. They are very fond ot
helpiig gentlemen into coaches, and paying themselves for their
trouble, by prigging a watch or a pocket-book ; but their chief
amusement is hustling, an art in which they excel, as they have
been known to push a gentleman from one to the other, without
letting him fall to the ground, until he has been dispossessed of every
thing valuable about him. Their efforts are of course generally
confined to lushy coves (drunken men), as the gentlemen of the

DOINGS IN LONDON. IdH

whip on that beat have a sort of reputation to support, and wili
not countenance an attempt to rob a sober man, inasmuch as he
has not been '* disgracing himself" with too much " lush."

From the saloon, the depraved characters visit the flash-houses,
which are open at all hours, for the most flagitious purposes.
Robbers, and gentlemen, and watchmen, and bawds, and bullies,
and prostitutes, are received upon equal terms ; and, in the event
of a quarrel, the keeper of the " crib" invariably lends his aid and
authority to the person who calculates upon advantage in the con-
fusion of the fight. In fact, the public-house act is considered,
in that provision which inflicts a penalty for late hours, one of the
most useful measures ever submitted to, and adopted by, Parlia-
ment. The shopman or the clerk must, if he is not satisfied with
the obligation to go home at a seasonable hour, turn towards Bow
Street, where, although he is sure to be served with liquor at any
hour, he is sure (to use the phraseology of the cribs) to be sarved
out too, and runs the chance of being exposed, as well as plundered
and half poisoned. There is a sort of security against citizen
visits in the very disgrace which may attend the experiment. We
would, however, recommend every man of extensive business to
have his eye upon public places in which dissipation forms an
essential part of the system.

Some of the officers are to be seen in the flash-houses, drinking
with brothel-keepers and hell-keepers inside the bar, while the
parlour is crowded with macers and buzzmen, and prostitutes. At
three or four in the morning, there is a general turn-out of the spirit-
5hops into the coffee-shops, which are accessible even at an earlier
lour. It is at the coff"ee-shops that the gaming-house crimps, or
touters, as they are more frequently called, are to be seen. Those
miscreants are the most abstemious of thieves; always sober,
always attentive and polite, to any stranger who has a purse or a
gold watch ; and they seldom fail to entice to their employers
tables, a flat or two, in the course of the morning. Poisonous
spirits are supplied at the flash-cribs, and poisonous wines are re-
tailed at the cofl'ee-shops.''

In the account of the variety of deceptions by which the visi-
tors of flash-houses, oyster-shops, and coff"ee-shops, contrive to
" draw" any young man of fortune, or any clerk or shopman, whom
they induce to rob his master, it is difficult to speak with accu-
racy, without exciting a feeling very diff"erent from that which, in
such cases, ought to absorb every other. Some of them sham the
man of birth, education, and fortune ; others, the simple country-
man ; and others, the buff"oon and devil-may-care-sort of fellow.
They are all masters in their way, and there is not one of them
who would not cut his brother " macer's" throat for a sovereign, if
the gallows (not in its disgrace, but its bodily infliction) were not
constantly before his eyes. Such is their love of the crooked
path, that they would rob a poor wretch of sixpence, although
their pockets were crammed with sovereigns and bank-notes. The

104 DOINGS IN LONDON.

" gaffer," of whom 1 lately spoke, is perhaps more like a human
being than any of them. He has been known to give some trifle
in charity to those whom he has contributed to make beggars,
while others have snec red at the entreaty, and desired an unfortu-
nate gull to hang or drown himself, as he must be a burden to him-
self, and a bore to every one else.

It is well known, that some of the flash-house keepers not un-
frequently join in a little buzzing excursion themselves, as that
they treat with contempt the act of Parliament for the regulation
of public-houses, by admitting persons at all hours to drink and
smoke in their houses. It is true, that the licence of one of these
thieving dens is sometimes threatened, and sometimes taken away ;
but the influe-.'.ce of a large brewer never fails to restore it, and the
same iniquity flourishes every night, although for decency's sake
the name of the proprietor may undergo a change. No inspector
is appointed to visit the " cribs." The watchmen are the only
superintendents, and they are always at the command of the land-
lord. The patrol will not interfere, for there is no adequate remu-
neration upon the side of morals, and there is no order issued by
their superiors. It is admitted universally, by those who are best
qualified to judge of the cause of the increase of crime, that houses
of this description, ai'.d the houses of receivers of stolen goods,
hold out the greatest encouragement to the perpetration of the
most desperate villanies, and it is well known to the police magis-
trates, that an effectual check can be given to both sorts of abo-
minations. If inspectors, with good pay for the performance of
their duty, are appointed to examine and report the public-houses
which are known to harbour the abandoned, the " cribs" must be
Knocked up, and if, on occasions of robbery, a reward was of-
fered for the receiver, instead of the thief, Petticoat Lane, and
Houndsditch, and Whitechapel, and the Jew-streets and alleys in
the neighbourhood of the Strand, would no longer be places of
refuge and barter for the prosperous ruffian. A perpetual watch
would be kept upon the numerous houses where the police are
aware " swag'' is hourly conveyed. Many of the old-clothes shops
would be ransacked, and a general rout would take place amongst
the Jews, very few of whom, in that line, ever refused to purchase
stolen goods, of whatever description. The principal officers of
the police are convinced of the efficacy of such a system, and
that robberies cannot be checked without a deterajined effort to
spoil the business of receivers.

While at breakfast the following morning, Peregrine complained
that he felt something like gravel at the bottom of his cup : "that,
my good friend," said Mentor, "is most probably salt, which many
of the ill-principled grocers mix with their sugars : I remember a
case, in September, 1825, which came before the Lord Mayor, when
Mr. Clarke, of Apothecaries' Hall, the gentleman I mentioned to
you some days ago, being asked what he had to say relative to
adulterated sugar, replied, ' a lady, who resided, he believed, in

DOINGS IN LONDON. 105

Berwick Street, Soho, applied to Dr. Brookes, to analyze some
sugar, which she had purchased in the neigbourhood, and the
doctor, not having time to do as she requested, referred her to him.
She stated that she was in the habit of sweetening pies and pud-
dings with the sugar of which she produced a sample, for her chil-
dren, and that her children always fell sick immediately after their
meals. She had remarked that it was necessary to use a great
quantity of this sugar before it had any effect upon that with
which it was mixed, and that, when the pies or puddings tasted
sweet, they also tasted salt or brackish. The twang which this
commodity gave to tea, was also very extraordinary, and she felt a
grievous sickness in her stomach after drinking it. The sugar,
nevertheless, was extremely bright. Upon analyzing the commo-
dity, he found that it contained about one-half of common salt,
which was about a halfpenny a pound. This ingredient, when ap*
plied in such enormous quantities, must excite excessive thirst and
fever in children, and could not be very serviceable to grown peo-
ple, putting out of question the immense per-centage gained upon
the adulteration.'

"The exposure of the fraud on the public, by grocers mixing
salt with sugar, may probably have a beneficial effect ; but there
is another practice to which attention should be drawn : that is,
the practice of many grocers grinding coffee and sugar together, in
the proportion of three fourths of the former, and one fourth of the
latter, and retailing this mixture at the price of coffee.

"The Lord Mayor said the public were certainly indebted to Mr.
Clarke for this piece of intelligence, and would, no doubt, consider
the obligation increased by the information as to the means of dis-
covering the adulteration.

"Mr. Clarke said a person had to do no more, to detect the adul-
teration, than to put a little of the suspected article into a cup, and
pour a little spirits of wine upon it. The sugar would immediately
melt, and the salt would remain at the bottom.

" His lordship then asked Mr. Clarke if he had ever analyzed
any adulterated tea, to which Mr. Clarke replied that he was at
present engaged, by order of government, in analyzing several
chests of caper Souchong tea, and, although he had as yet only
examined a few of them, yet he found that one-fourth of their con-
tents was lead ore, or poison of the rankest description, and he
knew from experience, that a great quantity of tea was adulterated
in a similar manner, and that the result of his observation con-
vinced him that the greater part of the statements contained in a
work published some time since by Mr. Accum, the celebrated
chymist, respecting the adulteration of food (although they were
disbelieved at the time), were strictly correct, and not at all ex-
aggerated. The adulteration of tea had been carried on to a most
surprising extent lately, and he Avould convince his lordship of the
fact, by sending him a sample of the Souchong.

" A long conversation then ensued between Mr. Clarke and his

14

106 DOINGS IN LONDON.

lordship, on the subject of the adulteration of various articles m
food, at the close of which his lordship thanked Mr. Clarke for tne
valuable information he had given him, w^hen the latter bowed and
withdrew.

" The best black tea," said Mentor, " though not much used
here, is Pekoe, which is highly esteemed in the northern parts of
Europe. Souchong is little inferior to Pekoe, but so little of it is
imported, that it is difficult to get it genuine ; for what is usually-
sold as Souchong is in reality the better sort of Congo, the leaf of
which is much larger, from its being older before it is pulled.

" The best green tea is Gunpowder, but it is very often mixed
with Hyson, rolled up in imitation, and tinged of the proper colour,
and with some sort of green dye. It is erroneously stated in some
books, that it is greened with verdigris. If this poisonous sub-
stance were used, the tea, when poured out, would be black as
ink, by the chymical action between the copper and the astringent
principle (bannin) of the tea. Hyson is also larger in grain and
in leaf than Gunpowder, and will more easily fall to dust on being .
pressed. This, however, is not so much the case with young
Hyson.

"The infusion is deeper-coloured than that of the single, which
is also known by the flat leaf, while that of Hyson is round.

" As a ready test of black tea being manufactured from old tea-
leaves, dyed icith logwood, &c., moisten some of the tea, and rub it
on white paper, which it will blacken when not genuine. If you
wish to be more particular, infuse a quantity of the sample in half
a pint of cold soft water, for three or four hours. If the water is
then of an amber colour, and does not become red when you drop
some oil of vitriol or sulphuric acid in it, you may presume the
tea to be good. Adulterated black tea, when infused in cold
water, gives it a bluish black tinge, and it becomes instantly red,
with a few drops of oil of vitriol. After infusion, some of the
largest leaves should be spread out, when the real tea-leaf may be
known from that of the sloe, by being larger, longer, more pointed,
and more deeply and widely serrated, like the teeth of a saw.
There is no difference of the shape in the leaves of green and
black tea. The leaves of the sloe and of the privet are, in a slight
degree, unwholesome, the former for containing a small proportion
of prussic acid.

" When tea is suspected to be coloured by carbonate of copper,
take two table spoonsfid of liquid ammonia, and half its quantity
of water, in a stopped phial, and put a tea spoonful of leaves into
it: shake the phial, and, if the least portion of copper be present,
the fluid will become of a fine blue; or the tea, thus adulterated,
will blacken water impregnated with sulphurated hydrogen gas.

** Common Bohea tea, worth about three or four sliillings per
pound, is sifted, and the largest reserved for painting, as it is called.
Dutch pink and Prussian blue are finely powdered and united to-
gether, which form a fine green pdwder ; the tea and the colour

DOINGS IN LONDON. 107

are put together into a long leathern bag, and gently shook back-
ward and forward by two persons, until the tea becomes charged
with sufficient colour to assume the appearance of fine bloom
Hysoi), and is then sold for eight or ten shillings the pound : occa-
sionally, the leaves of the black-currant tree are rolled, dried, and
broken into fine pieces, which imparts a peculiar and agreeable
flavour.

" The Dutch have been long in the habit of drying sage-leaves
to resemble tea, for which purpose they collect not only their own,
but obtain great quantities from the south of France. They pack
th€-m in cases, and take them out to China : for every pound of
sage they get four pounds of tea, the Chinese preferring it to the
best of their own tea.

" It has been known, that the thin twigs of the birch and biacK.-
thorn have been cut very small, and mixed with the tea.

" These are," continued Mentor, " a few of the frauds practised
by ill-principled tea-dealers and grocers. As tea is now so uni-
versally drunk, it is interesting to inquire when it was first intro-
duced into Europe, and also into its present enormous consump-
tion. The precise time when the Europeans first became acquainted
with this plant, is in some measure involved in obscurity. Ander-
son observes, that the earliest author he met with, by whom tea
is mentioned, is Giovanni Botaro, an Italian, who, in his work,
* Of the Cause of the Magnificence and Greatness of Cities,' pub-
lished 1590, says, ' The Chinese have a herb, out of which they
press a delicate juice, which serves them for drink, instead of
wine ; it also preserves their health, and frees them from all those
evils, that the immoderate use of wine doth breed unto us.' This
is evidently descriptive of tea, though it is not mentioned by name.
Dr. Lettsom, however, says, that it had been the subject of notice
before that period. The editors of the Encyclopedia Britannica
state, that it was first imported by the Dutch, in 1610. How-
ever, the Dutch East India Company were unquestionably the
first who engaged in tea, as an article of commerce ; and from the
beginning until near the close of the seventeenth century, the whole
of the European demand was supplied through the medium of their
sales. The quantities, however, that were imported during this
period, were very trifling, as it was principally used as a medicine,
and failed of obtaining any considerable degree of reputation, owing
to the discordant opinions that were held by the faculty, with
'egard to its properties. The use of tea was known in England
long before the company adopted it as an article of their estab-
lished imports; but when, or by whom, it was first introduced,
does not appear with any direct certainty. That tea was consi-
dered as a scarce and valuable article in 1664, may be gathered
from an entry in the company's records, under the date of June
the first, in that year, whereby it appears, that on the arrival of
some ships, the master attendant was ordered to go aboard, and
inquire what rarities of birds, beasts, or other curiosities, there

108 DOINGS IN LONDON.

were on board, fit to present to his majesty ; and, on the third of
September following, there is, in the general books, an entry of
two pounds two ounces of thea for his majesty, for which the
company are charged, in their accounts with the secretary, £4. 5s.
The first importation of tea, made by the company, appears to
have been in 1669, when two cannisters were received from the
factors at Bantam, weighing 143lbs. 8oz.

" The earliest historical notice we find of tea, in this country,
is in Burnet's History, who states that the illustrious Lord Russell
partook of some on the morning of his nmrder. This was in 1683.

" In four years, from 1697 to 1700, the average importation
from Holland, and the East Indies, amounted to 36,935lbs. Such
was the state of the tea trade in England, at the close of the
seventeenth century, at which time it was nearly, if not altogether,
unknown in the sister kingdoms of Scotland and Ireland. It is
related, upon good authority, that, in 1685, the widow of the unfor-
tunate Duke of Monmouth sent a pound of tea as a present to
some of her noble relatives in Scotland ; but, having omitted to
transmit the needful directions for its use, the tea was boiled, the
iquor thrown away, and the leaves served up as a vegetable.

" In the good happy days of Old England, families sat down
to breakfast on beefstakes and wholesome beer; for this was the
food of Queen Elizabeth, it being no uncommon circumstance for
Essex, Sir Christopher Hatton, Lord Burleigh, and her other
ministers, to visit her in her bed-room, and breakfast with her, off
good roast beef and knock-me-down ale ! Recollect, reader, this
was in the barbarous ages, before England became so refined as it
is at present — before there was so much deceit, humbug, lying,
chicanery, pride, dishonesty, trick, fraud, hypocrisy, false religion,
and villany, as there is at present among us ! !

" Cobbett, in his ' Cottage Economy,' tells you of the exjjensc
and time lost in making and drinking tea: these are his words, —
' I shall suppose the tea to be only five shillings the pound, the
sugar only sevenpence, and the milk only twopence per quart.
The prices are at the very lowest. I shall suppose a teapot to
cost a shilling, six cups and saucers two shillings and sixpence,
and six pewter spoons eighteenpence. How to estimate the firing
I hardly know ; but certainly there must, in the course of the year,
be two hundred fires made that would not be made, were it not
for tea-drinking. Then comes the great article of all — the ti7ne
employed in this tea-making affair. It is impossible to make a
fire, boil water, make the tea, drink it, wash up the things, sweep
up the fireplace, and put all to rights again, in a less space of
time, upon an average, than tivo hours: however, let us allow otic
hour: and here we have a woman occupied no less tlian 365 hours
in the year, or thirty whole days, at twelve hours in the day ; that
is to say, one month out of the twelve in the year, besides the
waste of the man's time, in hanging about waiting for the tea !
" * Now, then, let us take the bare cost of the tea. I suppose

DOINGS IN LONDON. 109

u pound of tea to last twenty days, which is not nearly half an
junce every mornino- and evening. I allow for each mess half a
pint of milk ; and I allow three pounds of the red dirty sugar to
each pound of tea. The account of expenditure would then stand
very high ; and to these must be added the amount of the tea-
tackle, one set of which will, upon an average, be demolished
every year.'

•' The China trade being the only monopoly now remaining in the
hands of the East India Company, its operation upon the price of
tea has been the subject of much observation ; for, though it
cannot be denied by any one, that by means of the monopoly a
tax is levied upon the people of England, for the benefit of the
India Company, the amount of that tax is disputed. The com-
pany exported from Canton, in the years 1820-21, l,964,927lbs.
of Bohea tea, the prime cost of which was £75,330, which makes
something between 9d. and 9|d. per pound.

" The average price at which this quality of tea was sold in
England, in the sales of 1822, was 2s. 5d., 8-10; 2s. 6d., 3-10;
2s. 5c?., 5-10; and 2s. 4tZ., 7-10. On Congou, the species of tea
of which the greatest quantity is consumed (about 19 millions out
of 27), the sale price, at the company's sales in England, is about
2s. 8d., while the prime cost has been about Is. 4d. The govern-
ment duty, moreover, is regulated by the price at the company's
sales- -95 per cent, on that produce; so that the Bohea, which is
bought in China at 9d., costs, duty included, about 5s. at the
wholesale price in England ; and, when duly intermingled with ash
and blackthorn, it may fairly go into the tea-pot at 6s. The com-
pany must levy about two millions a-year upon the tea-pot!

** Soon after tea became the fashionable beverage, several gar-
dens, in the outskirts of London, were opened as fea-gardens ;
but the proprietors, finding the \ isitors wanted something else
beside tea, accommodated them with ale, bottled beer, &c. In
an old magazine, printed about the year 1709, the writer, speaking
of persons whose habit it was to resort to the various tea-gardens
near London, on a Sunday, calculates them to amount to 200,000.
Of these he considers not one would go away without having spent
2s. 6c?., and consequently the sum of £25,000 would have been
spent in the course of the day by this number of persons. Twenty-
five thousand, multiplied by the number of Sundays in a year,
gives, as the annual consumption of that day of rest, the immense
sum of £1,300,000. The writer al&o takes upon himself to cal-
culate the returning situation of these persons, as follows : — sober,
50,000; in high glee, 90,000; drunkish, 30,000; staggering
tipsy, 10,000; muzzy, 15,000; dead drunk, 5,000. — Total,
200,000."

" I thank you," said Peregrine, *' for this history," and, stirring
his tea, said, " What have you to say about the milk and the
water : they, surely, are free from adulteration."

110 DOINGS IN LONDON.

" Indeed they are not," replied Mentor ; " milk is well known
to be sophisticated ; and, as to the Thames water, good Heaven,
what filth is imbibed in it ! So you see, what with the grocer,
tea-dealer, milkman, and the water companies, the tea-drinker
pours down his ' red lane !' as Dr. Kitchiner calls it, a rare mess
of stuff, enough to poison a dog ! Now, with regard to milk,

If,' says a celebrated physician (m recommending milk diet to
persons of weakly habits) ' you live in the country, it will be
necessary to mix water with your milk : if you live in London,
this necessity is anticipated.' No man ever made a more true ob-
servation. A cow-keeper sold his farm and stock ; his successor
found he was charged for one more cow than was really on the
premises, and required an explanation. * Oh !' said the out-going
milk-merchant, ' there's the blue cow, with the iron tail, in the
yard, — she gives half as much as all the rest. And, in an adver-
tisement, for the sale of a dairy, near London, it was particularly
mentioned, there was a good pump in the yard ! Thus, milk is
watered wholesale and retail ; but, as double-watering would give
it too azure an appearance, vulgarly called sky-blue, in allusion,

fierhaps, to the galaxy, or milky way, the retailers boil Spanish
iquorice in water, and mix it with the milk, which gives it a
sweetish taste, and brownish hue, and thus disguise their delin-
quency : some also add a quantity of nice grated chalk !

" Dr. Smollet, in his Humphrey Clinker, gives the following
description of the London milk, in his time : — ' But the milk itself
should not pass unanalyzed, the produce of faded cabbage-leaves
and sour diafF, lowered with hot water, frothed with bruised
snails ; carried through the streets in open pails, exposed to foul
rinsings discharged from doors and windows, spittle and tobacco
quids, from foot passengers ; overflowings from mud-carts, spat-
terings from coach-wheels ; dirt and trash chucked into it by
orguish boys for the joke's sake ; the spewings of infants, who
have slabbered in the tin-measure, which is thrown back in that
condition among the milk, for the benefit of the next customer ;
and, finally, the vermin that drops from the rags of the nasty
drab that vends that precious mixture, under the respectable de-
nomination of milk-maid.'

*? Now, with regard to the Thames water (which is mostly
drunk with tea, because it draws the flavour and strength of the
leaves better than pump-water), whoever swallows it, quaft's what
is impregnated with all the filth of London and Westminster, ai d
charged with the contents of the great common-sewers, which dis-
embogue a pretty particular d — d considerable quantity of filth into
the Thames ; the dramings from dunghills and laystalls, the
refuse of hospitals, slaughter-houses, colour, lead, and soap works,
drug-mills, gas-works, the minerals and poisons used in mechanics
and manufacture, enriched with the purifying carcasses of dogs,
cats, rats, and men ; and mixed with the scourings of all the wash-

DOINGS IN LONDON, HI

tubs and kennels within the bills of mortality. And this is the
agreeable potation extolled by the Londoners, as the finest water in
the world !

*' In 1827, there was a pamphlet published, called the Dolphin,
a brochure which accused the Grand Junction Water Company ot
nearly poisoning seven thousand families (whom it furnished at so
much per annum), in the city and liberties of Westminster. This
little work soon caused inquiry to be made into the state of the
water ; and a public meeting was held at Willis's Great Room,
St. James's, in April, 1827, to * take into consideration the means
of procuring a supply of pure and wholesome water to the inhabi-
tants of the western part of the metropolis.' This meeting, among
other resolutions, proposed to petition Parliament to appoint a
committee to inquire into the supply of water to the metropolis,
and which committee is now sitting.

" Yet, strange as it may appear, Mr. Brande, in the Quarterly
Reviexv of Science, says — 'The result of several experiments upon
the Grand Junction water leads us to believe that it is not objec-
tionable, when its mechanical impurities have been separated ; we
have found none of that abundance of animal and vegetable matter
which the said chymists had led us to anticipate. Carbonic acid,
carbonateof lime, a little sulphate of lime, and some common salt,
are the leading ingredients which we have detected, and these in
no alarming relative proportions to the whole mass : a pint, which
we have, of the water, yielding upon an average a grain and a half
of soluble matter, and always less than two grains.'

" Here, then, we have the broad assertion, published under the
authority of a celebrated chymist, that the Thames water, taken
up, as it is, near a public sewer, contains little or no matter in solu-
tion, but merely minute portions of innocuous saline matter.

" It is well known, and can be attested by numbers, that this
water, in warm weather, becomes quickly oft'ensive.

" All voyagers agree that the Thames water, when carried into
a warm climate, undergoes a species of fermentation, and emits a
large quantity of fetid inflammable gas. Neither of these circum-
stances could happen, except from some animal or vegetable
matter held in solution by the water.

" But, to come to more direct proofs of the same fact. A
very simple chymical process, by which this organised matter
may be detected and separated from water, consists in merely
adding to the water a salt of lead, nitrate, or acetate (sugar) of
lead, in solution, collecting the precipitate, and fusing it in con-
tact with a fixed alkali — as common carbonate of potash. This
may be done in a tobacco-pipe. By this process it will be found
that a portion of lead will be formed, reduced to its metallic state.
Tins, the merest tyro in chymistry knows, could not happen, un-
less an inflammable substance — that is to say, some animal or
vegetable matter — had entered into the composition of the preci-
pitate."

112 DOINGS IN LONDON.

Mr. John Martin has invented a plan for bringing to London, a
current of pure water^ and, at the same time, materially beautifying
the metropolis. Mr. Martin, who disclaims every motive but the
public good, proposes that a stream be brought from the Coin
(the water of which is excellent), to be taken about three quarters
of a mile to the north-east of Denham, just above the point where
the Paddington Canal crosses it; conveying it through Uxbridge
Common and Furtherfield, near the northern side of Downborn
Hill, close to the bank of the canal, near the south side of Mas-
senden Hill, and so on, nearly parallel with the canal, to the reser-
voir at Paddington, the elevation of which would permit the dis-
tribution of the water, without the aid of a steam-engine,
to all the western end of the metropolis, except the highest
parts of Paddington and Marylebone. In order to combine
other objects of utility, as well as ornament, with that of
affording a supply of wholesome beverage, Mr. Martin proposes
that a large bath should be formed, near the great reservoir,
capable of containing one thousand persons, with boxes for the
bathers ; and he has marked out, upon a map, a route, by which he
proposes to carry the stream under Grand Junction Street and
the Uxbridge road into Kensington Gardens and the Serpentine,
diversifying its course with occasional falls, and pieces of orna-
mental water. From Hyde Park he would carry it under ground
to the gardens of Buckingham Palace, where ' the stream might
be made to burst out as from a natural cavern, and spread itself
into an ornamental water.' Passing under Constitution Hill, into
the Green Park, and * giving motion and wholesoraeness to the
water stagnant there,' he proposes that the current should be con-
veyed under the Mall into the ornamental water now formed or
forming in St. James's Park, at the two extremities of which he
would place fountains. Finally, he suggests that the stream may
flow into the Thames at Whitehall Stairs.

With regard to the dolphin (i. e. the fountain-head of the
Grand Junction), it is certainly very strangely placed in the river,
otf Chelsea Hospital, cheek by jowl with the mighty common
sewer, and improved by a fine scum from gas-works, which fre-
quently gives the water, in this part, all the rainbow-hues which
Mr. Commissary Webb describes (though from other causes) on
the Lake of Geneva. It may be, as it was with some natives,
lately, who preferred rotten to fresh eggs, that the natives of
W^estminster may like water from such a source, better than the
tasteless pure element ; but, if they do not, the sooner they beg
the dolphin to swim a little further up the stream, in all probability,
the sooner they will mend their beverage. It appears there is
nothing impossible with men of science of the present age ; and thus,
by the aid of mechanics, a large portion of the New River water
is pumped out of the bosom of Old Father Thames, somewhere off
Cheapside! How delightful it must be, during the summer heats,
and before people go to watering-places, to sit in the heart of

DOINGS IN LONDON.

113

London, and drink cheap champagne, cooled in tlie icy liquid
from the dolphin pipe ! A decided enemy to London water, how-
ever, declared that it was often so thick and full of foreign matter,
that, instead of quenching fires when played upon them from the en-
gines, it actually caught fire and burnt itself! He protested that
a quart of it from the Junction pipe, if forced down the throat,
would perfectly supersede the necessity of the stomacli-pump :
nay, he absolutely swore that he, one morning, actually disco-
vered a drowned kitten (very like a whale) in his basin of tea ! !

" I thank you," said Peregrine, " for this your history of London
water; and now pray let us trace our steps towards St. Giles's,
which being agreed to, they set out on their voyage of discovery
to that most delectable region, well known as the Holy Land. ^

" In order," said Mentor, " that we may obtain an admission to
the meeting of beggars, or cadgers, as they are called, we must dis-
guise ourselves, and be dressed in rags ; and 1 will speak to the
landlord of the Beggar's Opera, in Church Lane, and, 1 have no
.doubt, he will gain us an interview," Upon application to the
worthy host, he furnished Mentor and Peregrine with such clothes
as he was sure would completely prevent them from being dis-
covered, and introduced them the same evening : they paid their
footing, which was a gallon of beer each, and were then desir*id
to take a seat, if they could find one, and join heartily in

dte ^crrg liomge of t^c Jobtal ISeggarB.
That little fellow on the right," said Mentor, " sitting on his
go-cart, is the celebrated Andreiv Whitson, the King of the Beg-
\5 I

114 DOINGS IN LONDON.

gars, and one of the most dissipated of his class, fie is only
two feet eight inches in height, thirty-three inches round the
body, twenty-two inches round the head, and fourteen inches
from the chin to the crown. From the heel to the knee-joint, he
measures sixteen inches, ten from the knee-joint to the hip-bone,
and six inches and a quarter round the waist : he is double-jointed
throughout, and possesses considerable strength, particularly in the
hand : he always sleeps on the floor, and has done so, ever since
he was eight years old ; and, perhaps, in the course of his life,
never stood upright. His legs are curved, and have the appear-
ance of thin planks, having no calves ; the shin-bones were greatly
protruded, but he usually covered them with a clean apron. He
has made much use of his time during his intercourse with society,
and his mind is stored with information, scarcely inferior to others
of his age, in similar walks of life. He is now (1826), with the
exception of Hossey, whom you see sitting on the table, with a
pipe in his mouth, and a glass in his hand, and who lost his legs
by the fall of some timber, in December, 1784, the only sledge-
beggar in London. Go-cart, Billies-in-bowls, or sledge-beggars,
are denominations for those cripples whose misfortunes will not
permit them to travel in any other way ; the following are the most
celebrated of this class : —

" Philip in the Tub: a fellow who constantly attended weddings
in London, and recited the ballad of " Jesse, or the Happy Pair."
Hogarth has introduced him in his wedding of the Industrious
Apprentice.

" Billy in theBoul, was famous in Dublin : he left Ireland on the
anion, and was met in London by a noble lord, who observed, * So,
you are here too V ' Yes, my lord,' replied Billy, * the union has
brought us all over.'

'* John Mac Nally : who, after scuttling about the streets for some
time, discovered the power of novelty, and trained two dogs.
Boxer and Rover, to draw him in a sledge, with wheels, by which
means he increased his income beyond all belief,

" The celebrated Jetv beggar, of Petticoat Lane, who was to be
seen there and in the neighbourhood, in a go-cart. His venerable
appearance gained him a very comfortable living.

"That beggar you see iiddling, is the equally notorious jB<'%
Waters, the king of the beggars elect : he is a most facetious
fellow, full of fun and whim, and levies great contributions on the
credulity of John Bull, from the singularity of his appearance,

"The woman dancing is known as the barker: she gets her
living by pretending to be in fits, and barking like a dog : she is
well known about Holborn. When she is tired of the Jit-trade,
she regularly goes over London, early in the morning, to strike
out the teeth of dead dogs that have been stolen and killed for the
sake of their skins. These teeth she sells to bookbinders, carvers,
and gilders, as burnishing-tools. At other times, she frequents
Thames Street, and the ac^oining lanes, inhabited by orange mer-

DOINGS IN LONDON. US

chants, and picks up, from the kennels, the refuse of lemons, and
rotten oranges ; these she sells to the Jew distillers, who extract from
them a portion of liquor, and can thus afford the means of selling,
at considerably reduced prices, lemon-drops and orange-juice to
the lower order of confectioners. She likewise begs vials, pre-
tending to have an orderfor medicines at the hospital or dispensary,
for her dear husband, or only child, but cannot get the physic
without a bottle ; and, when she can, she begs some white linen
rags to dress the wounds with ; these she soon turns into money,
at the old iron shops — the ' dealers in marine stores.' Very fre-
quently she assumes an appearance of pregnancy, in order to ob-
tain child-bed linen, which she has done nine or ten times over.
Her partner is Granne Manoo, in a different dress to that in which
he appears in public : he is scarcely out of gaol three months in
the year. He scratches his legs about the ancles, to make them
bleed, and he never goes out with shoes on his feet. He goes
literally so naked, that it is almost disgusting to see him ; and thus
he collects a greater quantity of habiliments and shoes than any
other man ; these shoes he sells to the people who live in cellars
in Monmouth Street, Chick Lane, Rosemary Lane, &c. These
persons give them new soles, or otherwise repair them, and are
called translators. That man at the back part of the. room, has
been in the medical line ; he is an Irishman ; he writes a beautiful
hand, and gets a good livelihood by writing petitions and begging-
letters, for which he obtains sixpence or a shilling each, according
to their length.

" I was told," continued Mentor, "by the late Major Hanger,
that he accompanied our present king, when Prince of Wales to
one of these beggars' carnivals, as they were then called ; and,
after being there some time, the chairman. Sir Jeffrey Dunstan,
addressing the company, and pointing to the prince, said, *I
call upon that ere gentleman icith a shirt on for a song.' The
prince, as well as he could, got excused, upon Major Hanger
promising to sing for him, and he chanted the following ballad,
called the ' Beggar's Wedding, or the Jovial Crew,' with great
applause :

'Then Tom o' Bedlam winds his horn at best,
Their triimpet 'twas to bring away their feast;
Pick't many bones they had, found in the street,
Carrots kickVl out of kennels with their feet ;
Crusts gather'd up for bisket*, twice so dried,
Alms — tubs, and olla podridas beside,
Many such dishes more ; but I would cumber
Any to name them, more than I can number.
Then comes the banquet, which must never fail,
That the town gave, of Whitbread and strong ale.

* It is seldom the beggars eat the food given to them ; and it is a well-
known fact, that they sell their broken bread to biscuit-bakers, who grind it
for the purpose of making topa and bottoms

116 DOINGS IN LONDON.

All was so tipsie, that they could not go,
And yet would dance, and cry'd for music hoe.
With tongues and gridiron, they were play'd unto,
And blind men sung, as they are us'd to do.
Some whistled, and some hollow sticks did sound,
And so melodiously they play around:
Lame men, lame women, manfully cry advance.
And so, all limping, jovially did dance.'"

The landlord now whispered to Mentor, that it was prudent to
leave the company, as they were about fixing their different routes
for the ensuing day's business; accordingly. Mentor and Peregrine,
drinking to the company, and wishing them " luck till they were
tired of it," departed, both of them highly delighted with their
entertainment; and, going to a private room, shook off their
ragged toggery, having previously ordered a supper to be ready
for them, which was served up, although in such a house, in a
manner that would not have disgraced some of the first coffee-
houses : it was agreed that " mine host" was to do them the
pleasure of his company, and crack a bottle with them, while he
detailed the doings of the London Beggars ; of whose exploits, and
extraordinary mode of gaining a livelihood, few people have any
idea.

" I have made," said the landlord, " the history of London
Beggars my particular study; and, from the situation I hold,
1 am enabled to glean many facts, which other people
would feel it impossible to do ; exclusive of my being possessed
of, I believe, every work extant, relative to Mendicity. The beg-
gar's calling, if not one of the most respectable, may, doubtless,
be regarded as one of the most ancient. In every part of the
globe where man is congregated, the inequality of his condition,
the too frequent indolence of his habits, or the shifts to which
human misery is occasionally reduced, will compel him to depend
for his support on the generosity of his fellow-creatures, and even
sometimes lead him to this disgraceful mode of existence. I think,"
continued the landlord, " there are seven thousand beggars upon
the town, daily, and that they each beg two shillings a day, take
one with the other,— that is, £700 a day. There are between two
hundred and three hundred beggars frequent my house in the
course of the day. I am particular as to whom I have to sleep
here. In some houses, a fellow stands at the door, and takes
the money ; for threepence they have straw ; for fourpence they
have clean straw ; and for sixpence, a mattress to sleep on. The
servants go and examine all the places, to see that all is free from
felony; and then they are let out into the streets, just as you
would open tho door of a goal ; and at night they come in again.
They have a general meeting in the course of the year, and each
day they are divided into companies, and each company has its
particular walk ; the whole company taking the most beneficial
walks in turn, keeping it half an hour to three or four houis, as

DOINGS IN LONDON. 117

agreed on : their earnings vary much, some as much as five shil-
lings a day. We estimate every one expends about two shillings
a day and sixpence for a bed. They start off in parties of four
and six together. There are many lodging-houses, besides pub-
lic-houses; and, perhaps, the most notorious lodging-house in St.
Giles's, was kept by the celebrated Mother Cummins. She had
come over from Ireland about fifty years ago, in the twenty-ninth
year of her age ; and, having entered into matrimonial bonds, she
took * a bit of a shed' in the most obscure part of the Irish regions,
in the parish of Bloorasbury; and, by letting a few beds in shares,
without any scrupulousness as to the difference of sex of
those who occupied them, contrived to put together as much
money as enabled her to speculate more extensively in the accom-
modation line. She, at last, was able to make up forty beds, and
the moderate terms on which she allowed a couple to repose, re-
commended half-pay officers, and others of that class, to her sheets
very frequently. She always boasted of the security of property
in her mansion, and she took the most effectual means of maintain-
ing that character, by clapping a padlock upon the door of each
room, as soon as she received her demand. The accommodations
were furnished at an expense of from sixpence to two shillings per
night; so that a bricklayer's labourer, and an Oxford student,
sometimes heard each other snore. Mr. Cummins used to assist
in the management of the concern. He was a check upon her
liberality, which was really great to the poor half-starved wretches
in the neighbourhood ; but he never dared to interfere, in any
serious degree, with her arrangements. Thirty years ago. Mother
Cummins took a house in Pratt Place, Camden Town, in which
she resided for the purpose of superintending the extensive wash-
ing of her consarn; and she regularly, every week, drove to town
for the linen and woollen in which her customers were wont to re-
pose. Her washerwomen were all decent Irishwomen ; and, upon
the wash-days, she was the best customer of the Southampton
Arms ; but she is gone for ever. She died a most excellent
Catholic, never having, as she declared on her death-bed, eaten a
bit of meat on a Friday since she was born. After having been
waked in the usual way, her remains were allowed the benefit of
the air of heaven> all the windows in the house having been
thrown up, and open they remained until the body was half way
to its everlasting home. On the morning of her funeral, the neighbour-
hood of Pratt Place was in the greatest bustle. The solemnity
which would have been observed in the case of another individual,
was thrown aside for bustle and merriment, as if to hail the depar-
ture of a gentle spirit for more pure and delightful regions. Even
her widower, whose health seemed to flag a good deal, and who
was carried to his carriage in his night-cap, as if he was on his
journey to eternity, through the hands of a certain important func-
tionary of the law, appeared to partake of the general happiness.
The procession moved along until it reached St. Giles's Church,

118 DOINGS IN LONDON.

where all the rookeries behind Meiix's brewhouse seemed to have
disgorged their contents. After the last duties were performed,
several glasses of gin were handed into the mourning-coaches ; and,
towards the conclusion of the day, a general row took place, and
many an eye was closed up, and nose distorted, before the police
could interfere with effect.

" However wretched and depraved the beggars and inhabitants
of these lodging-houses may be, they certainly were worse twenty
years ago; for then there was no honour among thieves, the sheets
belonging to the lodging-houses having the names of the owners
painted on them in large characters of red lead, in order to prevent
their being bought, if stolen, thus:

MARY JORDAN,
DIOT STREET.
STOP THIl^F.

At this time, the pokers, shovels, tongues, gridirons, and purl-
pots, of the public-houses, particularly the Maidenhead, in Diot
Street (since pulled down), were all chained to the fire-place.
The last cook-shop, where the knives and forks were chained
to the table, was on the south side of High Street ; it was kept
about fifty years ago, by a man of the name of Fossell.

*' Most certainly the major part of the London beggars are im-
postors. I know a man whose leg is in a wooden frame, and
when a beadle or officer attempts to apprehend him, he runs
faster than any one man in a thousand. He had also a habit of very
ingeniously hiding his arm under his clothes, by which it seemed
as if he had lost it, which he said he had ; and this was his chant :

' My larboard eye I lost full soon :
I\iy sUrboard arm, on the glorious first of June.

He used to wear a black patch over his left eye, so completely,
that it was impossible to detect the imposition, unless you tore off
the patch, which he took care you should not do, as he was a
strong fellow.

"'There is also another fellow, who attends the markets, of
whom there is a curious anecdote : one of the market-gardeners'
wives, who was in the habit of giving him a penny every week,
one Saturday, by mistake, gave him a halfpenny and a sovereign,
instead of a penny : she soon discovered her loss, and immediately
made inquiry for the residence of the beggar; and, at length, was
directed to a very genteel house in a court : she doubted the cor-
rectness of her direction; but she knocked, and asked for
the beggar by his name : his daughter answered, if she would walk
in the parlour, he would wait upon her. In a few minutes the
beggar made his appearance, very genteelly dressed ; she told
him of her mistake, and he immediately went to a beaufet, and,
taking down a wooden bowl, said * If you gave it me this moxuifvg,

DOINGS IN LONDON. 119

ii must e here; as this is all I have earned to-day — seem-
ingly about fifteen shillings — and behold, there was the sovereign,
which he handed over to the gardener's wife, saying he was
sorry he had given her the trouble ; but he never afterwards ap-
peared at that market. Very few of the beggars who pretend to
be lame, are so ; the life of Bampfylde Moore Carew gives the
public a pretty correct insight into the doings of the beggars.

" Many beggars get from ten shillings to twenty shillings a-day ;
and I have a fellow here who spends fifty shillings a week for his
board: he is blind, and has been known to get thirty shillings a
day. There is a portrait of James Turner, a beggar, who valued
his time at one shilling per hour.

" We had an old woman who kept a night-school, for the pur-
pose of teaching the children the art and mystery of scolding and
begging ; the academy was principally for females.

" Of the wealth of the London beggars, very many instances
might be quoted. I remember a black fellow, who retired to the
West Indies with a fortune of £1,500; and then there was the
lame baggar, who used to sweep near the turnpike-gate on the
Kent Road; he bequeathed £1,500 to a gentleman in the Bank,
who had been in the habit of giving him a penny every day for
many years, and who attended him in his illness. Jack M'Intire
was another rich cadger ; he left London, and died in a street in
Glasgow ; he was found in Bridgegate Street. On being searched,
a bag was found on his person, containing bank bills and notes to
the value of £238 : there were £225 in bills, and £13 in notes. A
silver watch was also found beneath his clothes, if clothes he could
be said to have, for certainly a more wretched and destitute-look-
ing creature was never beheld. He was nearly naked, and his body
bore every appearance of having been accustomed to all kinds of
weather. His aspect was strictly that of an idiot.

" A Scotch beggar, whom I remember, named Curry, was ap-
prehended by the police at Durham, in the act of begging. When
searched, he was found to have securites for, and memorandums
of various sums of money, deposited and lent, amounting to £900
and upwards !

" Perhaps, a Scotch lad, of the name of George M'Pherson, was
one of the most adroit beggars, for his age, that ever walked London
streets. He was born in Inverness about sixteen years ago, and his
father, who was a tailor at Portray, in the Isle of Skye, dying four
years since, Geordie was compelled to become a shepherd-boy, on
the estate of Mr. M'Donnell, in Skye. Two years afterwards,
through the death of his mother and his master, he was thrown
friendless upon the world ; and his uncle, a tailor, who lived in
that notorious nest of profligacy, Essex Street, Whitechapel, wrote
aim to come to London. Here he had been but a few days when
his uncle also died, leaving, however, nothing behind him to assist
our hero, but his wearing apparel and twenty shillings.

" With this little capilaJ he commenced orange-vender ; but

120 DOINGS IN LONDON.

he had not followed this occupation long, when a lad, of the name
of Dixon, who was about his own age, and who had been his con-
stant companion since his sojourn in London, informed him he
could put him in an easy way of getting money without working.
This tempting offer Geordie accepted with gratitude, and declared
himself entirely under the direction of his friend, who produced a
Court Guide, and opened his plan of dividing the metropolis into
districts, and picking out the addresses of persons within the divi-
sion they chose to perambulate each day, upon whom they would
call : the one in the character of a shipwrecked and distressed
sailor-boy, in want of a few shillings to refit him for service ; the
other, as a friendless, pennyless Highland lad, come to London to
seek employ, in danger of perishing for want, and anxious only to
get back to Scotland.

** The scheme was tried, and succeeded beyond expectation, for
they generally shared from 7s. to 20s. a day, besides gifts of old
clothes, &c. Geordie said he had seen from 5 to £10 at a time
in the possession of his companion, who usually secreted his money
in a belt, worn round his body, next the skin. M'Pherson some-
times himself pretended to desire to go to sea, and the gentlemen
who were prepossessed with his very respectful demeanour, and
his seeming youth, piety, and innocence, occasionally accompanied
their donations with a recommendation to the Marine Society,
which recommendation he, of course, burnt at his earliest conveni-
ence. One of these he received from the Rev. Mr. Budd, the
Chaplain to Bridewell, who had repeatedly before relieved him
with money. From a Mr. Campbell, Geordie obtained money
seven or eight times, and a friend of Mr. Campbell's presented him
with a sovereign. Mr. Blades, of Ludgate Hill, and Mr. Simpson,
the tea-dealer, in New Bridge Street, were among the number of
individuals upon whom he had successfully practised. The gains
of the day were dissipated at night in the flash-houses in White-
chapel, and Dixon, he says, is such an adept in his line, that he
has long been enabled to ' keep his blowing.'

" So far goes Geordie's confessions ; but no doubt he has ob-
served the poet's advice —

* Aye free, aff han', your story tell.
When wi' a bosom crony ;
But still keep something to yoursel*
Ye scarcely tell to ony.'

" We had a Lascar, who sold indecent ballads, for which he got
imprisoned, and, when he was liberated, he found 'Othello's
occupation gone,' and therefore took upon himself the character
of a man who had been ta-ken by the Algerines, who had cut out
his tongue : this answered admirably for some time, until he was
detected, when he left London ; and the last I heard of him was
in the following account, in the Nottingham Mercury : —

" • A lady, of rather dingy appearance, applied to the Rev. Dr.
Wilkins for a licence to be married. She blushed with all the

DOINGS IN LONDON. 121

BWeethess of maiden simplicity whilst making- the request, but
grew extremely angry with the worthy doctor, when he kindly
remonstrated with her respecting the expense, and recommended
her to wait for the publication of bans. She boldly replied, that
" she was come for a licence, and not for advice; and that her
money was as good as any body else's." The rev. gentleman,
still wishing to spare them from unnecessary extravagance, and
hoping that the parties would think better of it, declined giving
the licence till the morning, much to the chagrin of the disappointed
beauty ; for, oh ! a sooty Othello, who had been a captive at
Algiers, had won the heart of this blooming Desdemona. She
loved him for the dangers he had passed ; and he loved her for
loving him. He, however, had told her no tale of strange 'ven-
tures, happ'd by land and sea, and mountain waves whose heajJs
touch heaven — he had poured no leprous distilment of soft flattery
into the lady's ear — at least, so it may be presumed, for he was
reported to be dumb. In fact, it was a negro, or mulatto, whom
our readers have, no doubt, seen standing in different parts of the
town with a placard on his breast, stating that he had been a
captive in Algiers, where he had been deprived of his tongue. He
had gathered £10 by begging, and love, having darted from the
bright eyes of Miss Priscilla, in her sixteenth year, shot through the
placard, and struck him in the heart. On Tuesday morning, these
pair of turtles (we were going to call them rooks) received their
licence, and were united in the silken bands of Hymen. But
Othello, or John Smith's misery was at hand. The honey-mooii
was a new moon to him. that set in darkness — ■

* For scarce had the marriage been bless'd by the priest —
' The revelry had not begun,

when the friends of the bride induced her, by their representations,
to quit her liege lord, and go with them. But, mark the miracle !
though he lost his wife, he found his tongue, and poured forth a flood
of lamentations. The ira^ drops rolled down his furrowed cheeks,
and in vain he sought the bower of his faithless Desdemona ; he
was not even permitted to take one short, one sad adieu. But
even this was denied him, and he quitted Nottingham in despair,
as some say, but others believe that, having picked up his speech,
the magistrates might very naturally inquire where he found it.
He is no doubt gone to practise impositions in some other town,
and we hope all young damsels will take warning, and resist his
fceductive blandishments.'

" Certainly, the beggars must rank foremost in the catalogue of
London impostors; and I will read you, from Smith's Vaga-
bondiana, the history of some of the most notorious, which must
convince you of the folly of people giving money to the beggars in
tne metropolis : —

" 'Among the cadgers, there are a number of fresh-water sailors

122 DOINGS IN LONDON,

who never saw a vessel but from London Bridge ; such an impos
tor was Jack Stuart, who used to travel about London, lead by a
dog. He died in 1815 ; his funeral was attended by his wife, and his
faithful dog, Tippoo, as chief mourners, accompanied by three blind
beggars, in black cloaks, namely, John Fountain, George Dyball, and
John Jewis; two blind fiddlers, William Worthington and Joseph
Symonds, preceded the coffin, playing the 104th psalm. The whim-
sical procession moved on, amidst crowds of spectators, from
Jack's house, in Charlton Gardens, Somers Town, to the church-
yard of St. Pancras, Middlesex. The mourners afterwards re-
turned to the place from whence the funeral had proceeded, where
they remained the whole of the night, dancing, drinking, swearing,
and fighting, and occasionally chanting Tabernacle hymns. The
conduct of this man's associates in vice, was, however, powerfully
contrasted by the extraordinary attachment and fidelity of Jack's
cur, Tippoo, his long and steadfast guide, who, after remaining
three days upon his master's grave, refusing every sort of food,
died with intermitting sighs and howling sorrow.

** ' Stuart had a pupil, George Dyball, a blind beggar, of con-
siderable notoriety : he sometimes dressed as a sailor, in clean
nankeen trousers and waistcoat ; bnt, like his master, was no
sailor. Stuart taught him to mind, by allowing him to kneel at a
respectful distance, and repeat his supplications. Dyball was
remarkable for his leader. Nelson, whose tricks displayed, in an
extraordinary degree, the sagacity and docility of the canine race.
The dog would, at a word from his master, lead him to any part
of the town he wished to traverse, and at so quick a pace, that both
animals have been observed to get on much quicker than any other
street-walkers. His business was to make a response to his
master's " Pray pity the blind !" by an impressive whine, accom-
panied with uplifted eyes and an importunate turn of the head ;
and, when his eyes have not caught those of the spectators, he
has been seen to rub the tin box against their knees, to enforce
their solicitations. When money was thrown into the box, he
immediately put it down, took out the contents with his mouth,
and, joyfully wagging his tail, carried them to his master ; after
this, for a moment or two, he would venture to smell about the
spot : but, as soon as his master uttered, " Come, sir," off he
would go, to the extent of his string, with his tail between his
legs, apprehensive of the effects of his master's corrective switch.
This animal was presented to Dyball by Joseph Symmonds, the
blind fiddler, who received him of James Garland, another blind
beggar, who had taught him his tricks. This custom of teaching
dogs to carry tin boxes in their mouths, is not new : it was a com-
mon practice centuries past, as is evident by this print, taken from
an original drawing, of —

DOINOS IN LONDON. 123

a IJrsgar, of tftr time of Pjcnrs VM.

" We had a Frenchman, a notorious impostor; he certainly was
blind, and used to throw up his eye-balls, to convince the public
that he was in darkness. He had a little smattering of English,
and used to chant any stuff that came first in his head, but so
contrived it, that the last words would seem to tell he had been in
the battle of Waterloo. ' Poor fellow,' exclaimed a spectator,
he has been in the battle of Waterloo;' 'yes, my belove friends,
returned the mendicant, ' de money, de money, go very low, too.'
His hair, which was sometimes bushy, was sometimes put up
imder his hat, or tied in a tail ; and, when he altered his voice, he
became a different character — the form of a decrepid vendor of
matches.

" Charles Wood, the blind man, who used to go with an organ
and a dancing dog, was a constant visitor here. This dog, which
was certainly a most extraordinary one, he declared to be * The
real learned French dog, Bob,' and extolled his tricks by the fol-
lowing never-failing address : ' Ladies and gentlemen, this is the
real learned Frejich dog ; please to encourage him ; throw any thing
down to him, and see hoiv nimbly he^ II pick it up and give it to his
poor blind master. Look about. Bob ; be sharp, see what you're
about, Bob.' Money being thrown. Bob picks it up, and puts it
into his master's pocket. ' Thank ye, my good masters ; should
anymore ladies and gentlemen wish to encourage the poor dog, he's
now quite in the humour ; he'll pick it up almost before you can throw
it down.' It is needless to tell you, that this man turned ' a pretty
penny' by his French friend.

1 DOINGS IN LONDON.

The following is a side view of this iateresting little dog, ex-
hibiting the true cut of his tail :

" There was a chap who used to get a vast sum of money daily,
by pretending to be a poor mechanic, and he used to have a
written bill in his hat, on which was written, * out of employment;'
this answered his purpose while he kept sober, but he used to
get so intolerably drunk, even in the middle of the day, that he
could hardly stand. Such are the effects of imposture, ajid the
mischief of ill-directed benevolence. <

"Joseph Johnston, a black, is another celebrated beggai : he
first showed off on Tower Hill, and afterwards he ventured into the
regular streets, and became a regular chanter. He built a model
of the Ship Nelson, to which, when he placed it on his hat, he
could, by a toss of his head, give the appearance of sea motion.
He received many wounds while in the merchant service,

*' Old Charles Mackey, the celebrated black beggar at the
Obelisk, foot of Ludgate Hill, is well known here. He lost an
eye, and used to tie his hair, which was almost white, in a tail be-
hind, for his hat to rest on. Charley had a deal of money, and
so he ought, for he had the best beat in London.

" But the most notorious black beggar was Toby, as great an
impostor as any in London. He had no toes, had his head bound
with a white handkerchief, and bent himself almost double to
walk upon two hand crutches. Toby generally affected to be
tired, whenever he approached a house where good gin was to
be procured; and, perhaps, no beggar spent more money in the
good things of this world than Toby : he would have his goose, or
duck, or turkey, which the cadgers call * an alderman in chains.'

*• The most wicked and unfeeling beggars are those who hire
and steel children, for the purpose of begging with, or sending to
beg. The oldest they send out to beg, and are sure to beat them
when they come home, if they do not bring Is. 6d. per day ; and
for the use of them they pay 6d. and 9d. a day each. I know a
woman who has sat in the street for these ten years with twin

DOINGS IN LONDON. 126

children in her lap, and it answers her purpose famously. A friend
of mine," continued the landlord, " brought a child to the out-
skirts of London, to put out to nurse, it being in arms, and her health
being bad : a respectable woman, in appearance, took charge of it,
and all went on well. After a period, my friend, being suddenly
summoned to town, went to see a friend before she called on hei
child. While conversing at the street-door, an old woman with a
child in her arms, implored their charity ; the moment my friend
saw the child, its remarkable resemblance to her own struck her
very forcibly : she gave a trifle, and the beggar departed : the child
was no sooner out of sight, than a suspicion passed across her
mind, that it must be her own oflspring she had put out to nurse :
taking a coach, she repaired to the nurse's house with her friend.
She found the nurse at home, but not so her child ; in answer to
her inquiries after it, the nurse, in much confusion, said, a neighbour
had taken it out to give it a little fresh air. Placing herself at the
door, and taking care madam nurse did not vanish, my friend's
suspicions were confirmed by the return of the identical beggar
she had relieved, with the child, clothed in rags. On an explana-
tion taking place, it appeared the nurse was in the habit of lending
out children entrusted to her care, to beggars, for the purpose of
imposture, at so much a day, and that this sort of traflic was a
common practice between beggars and nurses.

*' Not long since, William King, an able-bodied young fellow,
was brought before Sir Peter Laurie, charged with begging.

** A gentleman of the Jewish persuasion, stated that, in passing
through St. Paul's Church-yard, on Sunday evening, he noticed
the prisoner begging, with a child, about eighteen months old, in
his arms. As witness approached, the prisoner gave the child a
pinch behind, which caused it to cry out piteously. The child
cried for its mother, and, as witness passed, he heard the man use
a disgusting term to the infant. He watched him for twenty
minutes, and, whenever a decent person was approaching, the
fellow either pinched or shook the child to make it cry. A gen-
tleman was feeling in his coat-pocket to give the prisoner some
alms, but witness stepped up to him, and related what he had ob-
served, and the prisoner was taken into custody. Three shillings
and fourpence in loose copper were found on his person, although
he had spent enough of that day's gains to make himself com-
pletely drunk.

" ' This is better than working,' observed Sir Peter to the pri-
soner, who endeavoured to avoid the subject, by vehemently deny-
ing that he had pinched the child.

"The alderman committed him to Bridewell for a month.

" We have likewise," continued the landlord, " many gentry
who frequent our houses, that are not beggars; there are a great
number who gain a living by picking up bones about the streets,
which they sell to the burners at Haggerstone, Shoreditch, and
Battle Bridge, at two shillings a bushel, in which half a bushel is

126 DOlNGsi IN LONDON,

given over, that being bone measure ; and they make it answer their
purpose very well. There are also the grubbers, or nail-gropers ;
of these there are few indeed, Mr. M'Adam having nearly anni-
hilated their trade : they procure a livelihood by whatever they
find in grubbing out the dirt from between the stones with a
crooked bit of iron, in search of the nails that fall from horse-
shoes, which are allowed to be the best iron that can be made use
of for gun-barrels ; and, though the streets are constantly looked
over at the dawn of day, by a set of men in search of sticks,
handkerchiefs, shawls, &c. that may have been dropped during the
night, yet tiiese grubbers now and then find rings that have
been drawn with the gloves, or small money that has been
dropped in the streets. These heroes are frequently employed
to clear gully-holes and common sewers, the siench of which is
so great, that their breath becomes pestilential ; and its noxious
quality on one occasion had so powerful an effect on a man of the
name of Dixie, as to deprive him of two of his senses — smelling
and tasting; and yet Ned Flowers followed this calling for forty
years. But there is still a more wretched class of beings than the
Grubbers, who never know the comfort of dry clothes — they are
called Mud-Larks: the occupation of these draggle-tailed wretches
commences on the banks of the Thames at low water. They go
np to their knees in mud to pick up the coals that fall from the
barges when at the wharfs. Their flesh and dripping rags are
like the coals they carry in small bags across their shoulders, and
which they dispose of at a reduced price, to the meanest order of
chandler-shop retailers.

"Such, gentlemen," said miyie host, "is a brief history of the
London beggars of the present day ; but it is singular that beggars
have made no advancement in their trade — the ' march of improve-
ment' has had nothing to do with them ; for we find the same
schemes of beggary in practice, a little before the reformation, as
at the present liour; not a single new one seems to have been in-
vented : the soap-eater, the shamming of Jits, the creating of wounds,
the laming of anns, legs, &c., were then resorted to, as nov/; so
you see there is nothing new under the sun."

" ' Notwithstondynge they go beggynge from dore to dore, be-
cause they wyll not werke, and patcheth an olde mantell, or an
olde gowne with an hondred colours, and byndeth foule clouts
about theyr legges, as who say they be sore ; and oftentymes they
be more rycher than they that giveth them almesse. They bricke
thyre chyldren's members in theyr youthe, because that men sholde
have the more pitye of them. They go wepynge and wryngynge
of theyr handes, and counterfetlynge the sorrowful, praynge for
Godde's sake to give them an almesse, and maketh so well the
hypocrytes, that there is no man the whiche seeth them, but that
he is abused, and must gyve them an almesse. There is some
sironge and puysaunt rybaudes, the whiche wyll not laboure, hut
lyve, as these beggers, without doynge ony thynge, the whiche be

DOINGS IN LONDON. 127

dronke oftentymes. They be well at ease to have grete legges
and bellyes eten to the bonis ; for they vvyll not put noo medycynes
therto for to hele them, but sooner enveuiymeth them, and dyvers
other begylynges, of wliiche I holde my pease. O poore frantyke
fooles, the whiche robbeth them that hathe no brede for to ete, and
by adventure dare not aske none for shame, the auncyent men,
poore wedowes, lazars, and blynde men. Alas ! thynke theron,
for truely ye shall gyve accoraptes before Hyra that created us.'

'• In the year 1566, Thomas Hannan, Esq., published a very
singular and amusing work, entitled, * A Caveat, or Warning for
Common Curseters (runners), vulgarely called Vagabones ;' in
which he has described the several sorts of thieving, London beg-
gars, and other rogues, with considerable humour, and has col-
lected together a great number of words belonging to what he
humourously calls the ' leud, lousey language of these butering
luskes and lasy lorrels, wherewith they bye and sell the common
people, as they pass through the countrey.' He says, they term
this language, Pedlar's French, or canting, which had not then
been invented above thirty years. It will be proper, on this oc-
casion, to mention only such of Hannan's vagabonds as fall
under the begging class. These are, 1. The Rnfflers, particularly
mentioned in the stat. xxvii. Hen. viii. against vagabonds, as fel-
lows pretending to be wounded soldiers. These, says Hannan,
' after a year or two's practice, unless they be prevented by twined
hemp, become, 2. Upright Men, still pretending to have served
in the wars, and offering, though never intending, to work for
their living. They decline receiving meat or drink, and take no-
thing but money by way of charity, but contrive to steal pigs and
poultry by night, chiefly plundering the farmers. Of late,' says
the author, 'they have been much whipped at fairs. They attack
and rob other beggars that do not belong to their own fraternity, oc-
casionally admitting or installing them into it, by pouring a quantity
of liquor on their pates, with these words — " I do stall thee,
W. T., to the rogue, and that from henceforth it shall be lawful
for thee to cant for thy living in all places." All sorts of beggars
are obedient to them, and they surpass all the rest in pilfering and
stealing. 3. Hookers, or Anglers. These knaves beg by day, and
pilfer at night, by means of a pole, with a hook at the end, with
which they lay hold of linen, or any thing hanging from windows,
or elsewhere.' The author relates a curious feat of dexterity
practised by one of them, at a farm-house, where, in the dead of
the night, he contrived to hook off the bed-clothes from three men
who were asleep, leaving them in their shirts, and when they
awoke from cold, supposing, to use the author's words, " That
Robin Goodfellow had been with them that night." 4. Rogues,
going about with a white handkerchief tied round their head, and
pretending to be lame. These people committed various other
frauds and impostures, in order to obtain charity. 5. Pallyards,
uilh patched garments, collecting, by way of alms, provisions, or

128

r«oiNGS IN LONDON.

whatever they could get, which they sold for ready money ; they
are chiefly Welsh, and make artificial sores, by applying spear-
wort, to raise blisters on their bodies, or else arsenic or ratsbane,
to create incurable wounds. 6. Abraham Men, pretending to be
lunatics, who have been along time confined in Bedlam, or some
other prison, where they have been unmercifully used with blows,
&c. They beg money or provisions at farmers' houses, or bully
them by fierce looks and menaces. 7. Traters, or fellows tra-
velling about the country with black boxes at the girdle, contain-
ing forged briefs, or licences to beg for hospitals. Some have
cloths bound round their legs, and walk as if lame, with staves in
their hands, as did this famous

goap=Batcr of if)t timt of ©ue«t IBItjaictS,
who pretended also to have fits. 8. Freshwater Mariners, or
Whip-jacks. 9. The Counterfeit Crank. 10. Dommerars, chiefly
Welshmen, pretending to be dumb, and forcibly keeping down
their tongues doubled, groaning for charity, and keeping up their
hands most piteously, by which means they procure considerable
gains. 11. Dernanders for Glymmar, who are chiefly women that
go about with false licences to beg, as suffVirers from fire ; glym-
mar, in pedlar's language, signifying that element. Many othtj

bdlNGS IN LONDON.

V19

classes are enumoiatod in this curious volume, ns Priggers of
Prauncers, Swadders, Jackmen, Patricoes, Autem Marts, Walk-
ing Morts, Doxies, Dells, Kynchin Marts, and Kynchin Caes."

As every trade liad its patron saint, the bega;ars made choice of
St. Martin, who, vpe are told, having been supplicated by a beggar
at a time when he was without money (no uncommon thing for a
saint), drew his sword, and divided with him his garment. The
cripples likewise have their patron, St. Giles, who, after he had re-
tired to a cave in a solitary desert, was accidentally wounded,
while at prayers, by a bowman of the king's party ; whereupon,
being found unmoved from his position, the king fell at his feet,
craved his pardon, and gave orders for the cure of his wound ; but
the saint preferred remaining a cripple, and received reverence from
the king, whom he counselled to build a monastery ; the king did
so, and Giles became abbot thereof. Our church of St. Gil^s,
Cripplegate, is dedicated to him.

Mentor and his young friend now took their leave of the land-
lord, and agreed to pay him another visit ; when he promised t3
lay before them further particulars of the metropolitan beggars^
with the modes of punishment resorted to, from the earliest period.

The next morning, Peregrine had arranged to pay a visit tot
Julia Desmond, intending, previously, to consult his friend, Men-
tor; and, while waiting for him in his parlour, he amused himself
by examining his portfolio of prints, among which was a view of

Cf)r Doings iii Dnnij Haiif 5>aIoon.
and felt delighted with the accuracy with which it was delineated -.*
, _ • See page 99.

134) rOINGS IN LONDON.

when Mentor entered the room, and the conversation turned on
the best policy to be pursued by Peregrine, with regard to Julia,
from whom he had received a letter, informing him that she had
had intelligence of the death of her father : " Then," said Mentor,
" now is the time for you to render the poor girl an incalculable
service, by interceding with her mother, to pardon her, and take
her once more under her paternal roof." " To tell you truth," said
Peregrine, " I have already done so; and I expect an answer has
by this time arrived for me, at Julia's lodgings." *' You could have
done nothing better," replied Mentor, " and I hope your inter-
cession will be attended with success. I envy you the happiness
and pleasure you must feel, if you can accomplish your intentions.
Go," said Mentor, shaking him by the hand, " go, and perform
one of the acts most acceptable in the eyes of God and man — thai
of rescuing from ruin an unfortunate girl : let but such actions as
these be the constant tenor of your life, and then, depend on if,
you will feel that it is possible for a man to be perfectly happy in
this world ; notwithstanding all the ungrateful railings of dissatis-
fied creatures, who are for ever talking of the miseries of life ; —
yes, our life must be miserable, unless our actions are founded on
virtue. He who gives to the poor, with the hope that it will
alleviate their wants, must feel pleasure in so doing ; because it is
\ virtuous action : but he who gives to the poor, that his name
shall appear in print, and he be blazoned forth as a charitable
man, does not receive happiness by so doing, because the actiou
was not founded on virtue : it was done solely to gain the ad-
miration of the world, and not with the hopes of alleviating the
wants of the applicant. So, if I give alms secretly, to spare the
feelings of the petitioner, it is good, — it is a virtuous action, and
renders me happy; but, if I relieve any person in a public
manner, on purpose that all my neighbours may see and know it,
such an action will not produce any happiness, for its intent
was not virtuous. The sympathetic heart of the true Christian is
ever open to the tale of the distressed. " Charity is an emanation
from the choicest attribute of the Deity ; it is, as it were, a portion
of divinity, engrafted upon the human stock ; it cancels a multi-
tude of transgressions in the possessor, and gives him a foretaste
of celestial joys. It whetted the pious Martin's sword, when he
divided his garment with the beggar, and swelled the royal Alfred's
bosom, while a pilgrim was the partner of his meal ; it influenced
the sorrowing widow to cast her mite into the treasury, and held
a Saviour on the cross, when he could have summoned heaven to
his rescue. Its practice was dictated by the law, its neglect has
been censured by the prophets ; and, when the Lord of the vine-
yard sent his only Son, he came not to destroy the law, but to ful-
fil it. Other virtues may have a limit here, but charity extends
beyond the grave. Faith may be lost in endless certainty, and
hope may perish in the fruition of its object; but charity shall live
for countless ages, for ever blessing and for ever blessed !"

DOINGS IN LONDON. 131

" These words," ooiUiuued Mentor, " were written by Mr.
Haniilton, a Roman Catholic gentleman; and yet there are many-
people who think it wrong even to associate with persons of his
persuasion. But, thank heaven, the sun of intellect is fast dis-
pelling the cloud of bigotry and animosity ; and, I hope, the time
is not far distant when persons of every religion will look upon
each other as brothers, and children of one father. But go, my
friend, on your god-like mission, and may it prosper ! Meet me
again in the morning, and we will fulfil our promise of dining with
the worthy landlord in St. Giles's."

Peregrine soon arrived at the lodgings of Julia, whom he found
absorbed in tears; and, as he anticipated, a letter from Julia's
mother was waiting for him. He found it full of gratitude fo«
his intercession, and good services rendered her unfortunate
daughter, to whom she promised a full forgiveness and future pro-
tection. The news was received by Julia with profound silence ;
it seemed to dep.rive her of utterance ; when, throwing herself on
the sofa, a flood of tears soon gave her relief. Peregrine stood
motionless, gazing on the bewildered Julia, with love, pity, and ad-
miration : at length she broke the silence, by giving utterance to
the grateful dictates of her heart, by invoking the Almighty to
shower down blessings upon her deliverer.

After a short interval, it was arranged that Julia should return
home by the next morning's early coach; and, everything being
arranged, by Peregrine furnishing her with the means of defraying
the expenses of her journey (her parents having, some time before,
removed above one hundred miles from London), they now sat
down to dinner ; after which, Julia gave Peregrine the particulars
of the expenditure of the money which he had, on his last visit,
given her. Among the items, was a trifle for an unfortunate crea-
ture, who had been in the London Female Penitentiary," in which
most excellent institution," said Julia, " she had been sheltered
and protected, and taught fancy work, at which she excelled.
In that asylum for the truly unfortunate, there are one hundred
inmates : some are employed in spinning thread and worsted,
making child-bed linen, and all kinds of needle-work ; others in
washing and attending the kitchen, to qualify them for service,
when they leave the institution ; which is not half so well pa-
tronized and supported as it deserves to be. It is, indeed, grati-
fying to reflect on the many girls they have reclaimed, and made
valuable members of society : but it is a pity they have not funds
enough to receive any thing like the numerous applicants."

Julia now arose from the table, and retired to make the ne-
cessary arrangements for her long-wished-for, yet dreaded interview
with her mother. During her absence. Peregrine's mind was
wholly absorbed on her ; he felt, in spite of all his philosophy,
that he loved her, that she had a dominion over him, he before
was little aware of, and wliich he could not control. — He began
K2

132 DOINGS IN LONDON.

to imagine that, when she was gone, the world would be a blank
to him : he now felt there was no enjoyment in life, without
woman,

" The last and best of all God's works."

How dreary and lone

The world would appear,
If women were none !

Without their smile,
Life would be tasteless, vain, and vile ;

A chaos of perplexity, —
A body without a soul 'twould be.

What are we ? what our race ?

How good for nothing and base,

Without fair woman to aid us !
What could we do ? where should we go ? ^
How should we wander in night and woe,

But for woman to lead us ?
How could we love, if women were not?
Love — the brightest part of our lot ;
Love — the only charm of living ;
Love — the only gift worth giving !
Who would take charge of your house ?— Say, who ;
Kitchen, and dairy, and money-chest ?
Who but the women ; who guard them best —
Guard and adorn them, too ?
All that is good is theirs, is theirs —

All we give, and all we get, —

And if a beam of glory yet

O'er the gloomy earth appears,'
Oh, 'tis theirs ! Ob, 'tis theirs !

They are the guard — the soul — the seal
Of human hope and human weal ;
They — they — none but they I
Women — sweet women — let none say nay !

Julia had now entered the room ; and Peregrine rose to bid he/
adieu ; and, taking her by the hand, exclaimed, " Farewell, my
poor Julia, may heaven protect thee! Happy indeed should I
have been, could thou but be the partner of my life — ' to eat of
my bread, and drink of my cup ;' but it must not be !" Julia felt
her fallen state, and, in bitter anguish of mind, took her farewell
of her protector, with a coolness that surprised him :

But such is woman ! mystery at best !
Seeming most cold, when most her heart is burning
Hiding the melting passions of her breast
Beneath a snowy cloud, and scarce returning
One glance on him for whom her soul is yearning.
Adoring, yet repelling — proud, but weak —
Conquered — commanding still ; enslav'd, yet spurning :
Checking the words her heart would bid her speak ;
Love raging in her breast, but vanished from her cheek !

Peregrine proceeded home, and retired to rest ; but sleep was
denied him ; he arose, and wandered through the streets ; at length

DOINGS IN LONDON. 133

tie found himself in the Borough ; and, to employ his time, strolled
luto the Town Hall, when a countryman, from the neighbourhood
of Folkestone, in Kent, entered the oflSce, in considerable fright,
foooted and spurred, to request the assistance of an officer in
apprehending three men, who had defrauded him of a crown-piece,
a silver watch, and his great-coat, in the following manner : — The
uninitiated clown in the wiles of the metropolis was travelling
from his home, on horseback, towards a cornchandler's in Tooley
Street, on business, when he was accosted in the High Street,
Borough, by a man habited like himself, and also on horseback ;
who asked him if he was not travelling towards Toohfiy Street,
from home, naming both places (a knowledge, doubtless, gained
by some of his confederates on the road, known among such;
marauders by the flash term of " Magsmen"), and, answering ia
the affirmative, his new acquaintance joined his company, and, on
fiheir way down Tooley Street, invited him to take some refresh-
ment at the Admiral Hood, in Tooley Street. They had scarcely,
however, sat down, before two others, in travelling dresses, came
in, and occupied an adjoining box. Some time passed in drink-
ing; a conversation, premeditated, arose, which led to a boast on
the part of the new-comers of being able to produce more money
than the countryman ; who, blind to their intention, deposited a
Crown-piece and his silver watch in the hat of one of them, as
pledges for his return in a few minutes with more money than any:
of them, and left the house, with the intention of applying to the
corn-chandler for the £30 he was indebted to him, with which to
return, his first-found acquaintance kindly offering to go witb
him ; but no sooner had they passed out of the front door than the
other two left the house by another. Arrived near St. John's
burying-ground, the unsuspecting man was suddenly asked by his
companion, if he knew the man with whom he had left his watch and
money, and, answering that he did not, was advised to hasten back,
or he would lose his property, but to lighten himself of his great
coat, which he threw off his shoulders, into the hands of his sup-!
posed friend, setting out full speed on his return to the public-
house, where he arrived in breathless haste to learn the result ot
his folly, his great-coat sharing the fate o.f his watch and money.

The simpleton's tale ended, an officer was deputed to assist hii«;
in his search after the rogues.

So soon as this case was disposed of, information was given o£
such a barefaced robbery as, perhaps, never was surpassed. The
preceding week, an honest farmer, from the eastern part of the
county of Essex, attended, with some stock to dispose of, at Rom-
ford market. In the course of the day he met with a person who
claimed his acquaintance, and mentioned circumstances that con-
vinced the farmer they must have often met before. The farmer
sold his beasts, and retired with his old acquaintance to a public-
house, where they drank freely ; and they both proceeded on
horseback towards Chelmsford. On the road, however, they.

134 DOINGS IN LONDON.

stopped to bait their horses, and had more drink, until the farmer
was too much inebriated to proceed farther that night. They
slept in a double-bedded room ; and, early in the morning, the
farmer being still asleep, his friend dressed himself in his clothes,
in the pockets of which his money was deposited, paid the ex-
penses of the night, proceeded to the stable, and was ready to
mount the farmer's horse, worth forty guineas, leaving his own
old horse and clothes with the farmer in lieu. Just as he was
leaving the house, the farmer awoke : and, finding his quon-
dam friend and his own clothes and money gone, he got hastily up,
put on the clothes left for him, and came down stairs, in time to
prevent as he thought, the escape of his old acquaintance. The
knave faced him boldly before the landlord and servants, dressed
and mounted as we have described, and succeeded in convincing
them that the farmer was an impostor ; tlijs was easier done, as
the parties were strangers in the house. The villain even proposed
that they should ride together to Chelmsford, where his identity
could be proved by many respectable persons. As matters stood, the
farmer agreed to this arrangement, and mounted the rogue's old horse.
They had not proceeded far, when the farmer's palfrey became so
lame, that he could scarcely walk ; the thief having, while in the
stable, driven a nail in the animal's foot. It was then that the
cheat applied the spur to the horse he rode, and soon left the far-
mer to get home as well as he could, minus a suit of clothes, his
horse, and about £140 in cash.

Peregrine was now about to retire, when his attention was
called to the recital of a novel deception, which had just been
practised upon a widow-woman, keeping a hatter's shop in the
Walworth Road. A man, with the appearance of a working
mechanic, entered the shop, and, desiring to be fitted with a hat,
his wish was complied with, and the price agreed upon ; payment
was made partly in silver, and the remainder with two supposed
5s. papers of half-pence, one of which was the following day paid
to a tax-collector, and from him passed to a liquor-merchant.
High Street, Borough, who, on opening it for change, discovered
that two pieces of lead pipe, of the requisite length, with a half-
penny at each end, formed the whole of the value, and, when
taken back to the widow's, proved, to her cost, to be the counter-
part of the other paper still in her possession.

Notice was also given to the oflficers, of a fellow being in town,
who was in the practice of visiting, in the evening, various public-
houses, imposing on the frequenters of them a tale of the deepest
woe; and, in order to excite their sympathy, offering them
his shirt for sale, unbuttoning his waistcoat at the same time to
show he had none on ; then, pretending that he was reduced to
the most abject misery, he has generally been relieved. A few
evenings ago, however, a man, who suspected he was an impostor,
made him nearly tipsy, and the fellow then acknowledged, that he
had obtained for himself and wife a very comfortable livelihood, and

DOINGS IN LONDON. 135

resided in'genteel apartments, from whence he sallied every even-
ing, resorting to the above artifice. In the daytime he amused
himself by selling religious tracts.

An elderly gentleman now made his appearance, and stated,
" That, on the preceding Saturday, a person residing at Oaking-
nam, Berks, was walking along Holborn, when he was accosted
by two genteel-dressed men, wtio, by their insinuating manner,
soon got into conversation with him, and at last they adjourned to
the Three Tuns Tavern, in Chancery Lane, to procure some re-
freshment. Some wager was at length proposed, and, as usual,
the pigeon produced his cash, which amounted to eleven sovereigns,
which was deposited in the hands of one of his new acquaintances.
All the difficulty was now surmounted, and the gentlemen soon
found an excuse for leaving their friend for a moment, which they
did, together with eleven halfpence, in a piece of brown paper. It
is needless to say, that they did not again make their appearance."

The time was now fast approaching for Peregrine to meet his
friend, and he hastened to the inn, where Mentor had been waiting
for him. After the usual salutations. Mentor inquired as to the
success of his affair with Julia. Peregrine informed him of every
particular, and of his unfortunate regard for her. Mentor, with
the feelings of a father, depictured to him the folly of keeping her
in remembrance, as it was impossible for him to introduce her to
his family, and strongly urged him to try to forget her ; which the
better to effect, he laid before him schemes of fresh adventures,
which, he was in hopes, from the multifarious characters and
variety of scenes that would be presented to his view, might tend
to wean his mind from the present object of his affections. Pere-
grine listened with attention, and assured him he would follow
his counsel.

They now agreed to visit St. Giles's once more, to dine with
the worthy host of the " Beggars' Opera," and hear the finish of
his interesting history. While proceeding along Holborn, they
observed a decent woman sitting at a private door, crying most
piteously, with two young children at her breast. Peregrine, put-
ting his hand in his pocket, was about to relieve her, which a gen-
tleman prevented, by telling him, that she was a notorious impos-
tor ; that her name was M'Gregor,and that, not long since, she was
taken, together with another woman, with three children, before
the Lord Mayor, when an officer stated, " That it was the prac-
tice of the prisoner, Isabella M'Gregor, to post herself near the
Bank, or Royal Exchange, in the way of merchants, with her two
children at her breast, and to assume the appearance of being in
the extremity of illness or distress. The little girl at the bar, who
was about twelve or thirteen years of age, was with her, as one of
her children, and partook of the mother's extreme misery. At
other times, M'Gregor would appear in fits, with her helpless
little ones crying or screaming around her. The other prisoner,

18(J DOINGS IN LONDON.

Wilson, who was decently dressed, attended, to add to the in-
terest of the scene, by assuming the character of a compassionate
passenger, rendering all the assistance in her power, setting an ex-
ample to the charitable, by administering pecuniary relief, and up-
braiding the passers-by for their want of feeling. From the supe-
rior style of the performance, it was highly successful, and the
officer had seen it repeated at different times and places in the
city, the same children crying, and the same humane female pas-
senger administering relief, or actively exciting others to relieve.
At last, M'Gregor, the principal character, stopped to have a fit,
by the side of the walls of the Bank, when he took the whole into
custody, and he found, that the little gir lof twelve or thirteen years
of age, who pretended to be one of the children of M'Gregor, was
the daughter of the feeling passenger, Mrs. Wilson.

"The Lord Mayor said, this species of fraud was increasing
daily, and, as it was calculated to steel the heart against objects
of real charity, he should commit them all."

Peregrine and his friend having arrived at their place of des-
liiiotion, dinner was served up, and, upon its being over, the
landlord proceeded thus to dilate on the modes formerly adopted
to prevent mendicity.

" By statute 12 Richard II., c. 6., every beggar who is able
to work, shall be put in the stocks ; and such as are unable to
work, shall repair to their native places, there to remain during
their lives,

" The statute 19 Henry VII. enacts, that all beggars be set in
the stocks for a day and a night, without other food than bread
and water, and then sent to the place of their nativity.

*' By the statute 22 Henry VIII., persons unable to work
were furnished with licences to beg, within certain districts ; and,
if they were found begging without such licence, they were to be
set in the stocks for three days and three nights, and fed only
on bread and water, or else whipped. Persons being * whole and
mighty in body, and able to labour,' and found begging, were to
be whipped at the cart's-tail, till blood came, and then dismissed
to their own districts. Scholars at the universities, begging with-
out licences, to be punished as above. The licence was in these
words:—' Memorandum.— That A. B. of London, for reasonable
considerations, is licensed to beg within the county of M.'

"By the 27 Henry VLII., beggars offending, after the first
punishment, were to be marked, by cutting off the upper gristle of the
right ear ; and, if found still loitering in idleness, to be indicted
as felons, and, on conviction, to suffer death.

" At the commencement of the reign of Edward VI., it was en-
acted that any beggar, not being lame or impotent, after loitering or
idly wandering for the space of three days, who shall notoffer himself
to labour, shall, on conviction, be marked with a hot iron with the let-
ter V. on the breast, and shall be a slave for two years, and be fed

DOINGS IN LONDON. 137

on bread and water, or refuse of meat, and to be caused to work by
beating, chaining, or otherwise; and, if he shall escape while he
is a slave, he is to be sentenced to be marked on the forehead, or
ball of the cheek, with a hot iron, with the letter S., and adjudged
to be a slave for life.— All masters of such slaves may put a ring
of iron about their necks, arms, or legs, for safe custody.

" By the statute of 29 Eliz. c. 4. for the punishment of rogues and
sturdy beggars, by which houses of correction were for the first time
established, itis enacted, thatall persons calling themselves scholars,
and going about begging, fellows pretending losses by sea, fortune-
tellers, procurers, fencers, bearwards, minstrels, jugglers, &c.,
able in body, and refusing labour, all persons whatever that beg
in any manner, shall be punished by whipping till the blood comes
and passed to their parishes, or committed to the house of correc-
tion. If any do appear dangerous to the inferior sort of people,
or will not be reformed, they shall, if necessary, be banished from
the kingdom, or otherwise be sent to the galleys of the kingdom
for life, with pain of death, on returning from banishment. No
beggars to be imported from Ireland or Scotland. No beggar to
be suffered to repair to Bath or Buxton, for cure, unless he forbear
to beg.

" Such were the means devised, in former times, to prevent
public begging ; and, whatever may have been the other inven-
tions of the idle to obtain bread, that of begging, in all its ramifi-
cations, was the most ancient : the fraternity of mendicants have
resisted every attempt to dissolve their body, nor will they vanish,
till the last day shall remove every living creature from the face of
the earth. After the establishment of Christianity, flocks of Chris-
tians determined to devote themselves to the service of the Lord
in their icay, and work no more ; such were the pilgrims and
friars mendicant. The monasteries afterwards, acting upon a
mistaken idea of charity, gave alms, and fed the poor and idle in-
discriminately at their gates : thus, a wretch might invigorate his
body with the viands of the abbots and monks in the day, and
pass the nights in attacks upon the defenceless traveller, perhaps
often relieved in presence of the depredator by the blind religious.
In vain have the monarch, the law, and the judge, from the days
of the aborigines down to the present moment, exerted their autho-
rity and terrors to prevent mendicity.

'" I am sorry, gentlemen," said the landlord, "that T cannot
now enter upon the history of the ballad-singers, or street minstrels
of London — a class of persons possessing curious interest ; but,
at a future day, 1 shall feel a pleasure in giving you all the infor-
mation in my power on that subject." He now thanked them for
their patronage; and, conducting them safely to the street, bade
them farewell. It was now night ; and, as Peregrine was return-
ng to his inn, the description of London at midnight, by Mr. Mont-
gomery, author of that exquisite poem, " The Omnipresence of the
Peity," caiue forcibly to his remembrance : —

18

138 DOINGS IN LONDON.

*' How noiseless are the streets '. a few hours gone,
And all was fierce commotion ; car and hoof,
And bick'ring wheel, and crackling stone, and throats
That rang with revelry and woe — were here
Immingled in the stir of life, but now
A deadness mantles round the midnight scene ;
Time, with his awful feet, has paced the world,
And frowned her myriads into sleep ! 'Tis hushed !
Save when a distant drowsy watch-call breaks
Intrusive on the calm ; or rapid cars
That roll them into silence. Beauteous look !
The train of houses yellow'd by the moon,
Whose tile- roofs slaunting down amid the light,
Gleam like an azure track of waveless sea !

The past ! Oh ! who on London stones can tread,
Nor shadow forth the spirits that have been.
An atmosphere of genius genders here. —
Remembrance of the past ! the storied nurse.
The ancient mother of the mighty, Thou
Unrivalled London ! sages, poets, kings,
And all the giant race of glorious fame.
Whose world-illuming minds, like quenchless stars.
Burn through the wreck of ages, — triumphed here.
Or ravished hence a beam of fame ! And now,
Imagination cites these mighty dead
In dismal majesty from out the tomb !

And who shall paint the midnight scenes of life

In this vast city ? — mart of human kind !

Some weary of woe are lapp'd in sleep.

And blessed in dreams, whose day-life was a curse.

Some, heart-rack'd, roll upon a sleepless couch.

And, from tiie heated brain, create a hell

Of agonizing tlioughts and ghostly fears ;

While Pleasure's moths, around the goldfen glare

Of princely halls, dance oflF the dull wing'd hours ;—

And, Oh ! perchance, in some infectious cell,

Far from his home, unaided and alone,

The famished wanderer dies : — no voice to sound

Sweet comfort to his heart, — no hand to smooth

His bed of death, — no beaming eye to bless

The spirit hovering o'er another world !

And shall this city queen, — this peerless mass

Of pillar'd domes, and gray worn towers sublime,

Be blotted from the world, and forests wave

Where once the second Rome was seen ? Oh ! say,

Will rank grass grow on England's royal streets.

And wild beasts howl where Commerce stalk'd supreme.

Alas ! let mem'ry dart her eagle glance

Down vanish'd time, till summon'd eyes rise

With ruined empires on their wings ! Thought weeps

With patriot truth, to own a funeral day.

Heart of the universe ! shall visit thee,

When round thy wreck some lonely man shall roam,

And, sighing, say,—' 'Twas here vast London stood.'"

Mentor visited his friend Peregrine early the next morning, when
they steered their course to Billingsgate, and arrived when th«

DOINGS IN LONDON. 129

market was a scene of bustle and business. They took their
breakfast at a coftee-house on the spot, in order to have a better
view of the busy scene before them. " There is not," said Mentor,
" in any city of Europe, a fish-market that is so badly situated as
this Billingsgate. The approaches, you must have perceived, are
narrow and few, crowded with waggons and carts, and covered
with dirt. It is not half so large as it ought to be, considering it
is the only fish-market that has to supply the whole of the metro-
polis, now consisting of 1,400,000 persons ; and it is placed at
such a distance from the centre of the population, that one-fifth
cannot conveniently go there to purchase their fish; and, that it
should frequently be as scarce and as extravagantly high-priced
as if we lived 100 or 150 miles in the interior, will excite no as-
tonishment, after the statement of such a fact. Various remedies,
for what fish-dealers themselves own to be a serious evil, have
been projected. New markets, along the banks of the Thames,
to supply the different parts of the metropolis, as well as the
suburbs, for miles round, which receive fish from London, have
been devised ; but all the schemes are abandoned.

" The first record we have of the customs to be paid at Billings-
gate, or Belin's-gate (so named after King Belin), is in the reiga
of Edward III.

" In earlier days, the monarchs took care that their subjects
should not suffer from the avarice or combination of dealers, and
therefore fixed the price at which commodities should be sold : the
following are the terms on which some of the principal fish was
obliged to be vended at Billingsgate, in 1296, the time of Edward
I. : the prices of the present day are also given :

1296.

s. d.

" The best plaice . . . . 0 l| -

A dozen of soles ... 0 3 -

Best turbot 0 6 -

Best mackarel . . . . 0 0^ —

Best haddock .... 0 2 -

Best whitings, 4 for ..01 —

Best fresh salmon, 4 for . 5 0 —

" In May, 1099, Billingsgate was constituted a free and open
market for fish, six days in the week, and on Sundays for mackarel,
to be served before and after divine service.

" ' It has been repeatedly remarked,' says that late excellently-
good man and magistrate, P. Colquhoun, Esq., in his Treatise on
the Police of the Metropolis, 'that there is not, perhaps, a country
in the world better situated to be plentifully and constantly sup-
plied with fish than Britain, yet it is well known that in London fish
is seldom seen but at the tables of tlie rich, and, excepting sprats
and herrings, which are caughtonly during a short season, none are
tasted by the poor, though fresh fish, of some kind or other, might be

1828.

£.

s.

d.

0

0

6

0

13

0

1

5

0

0

1

0

0

1

0

0

1

6

0

3

0

per

lb.

140 DOINGS IN LONDON.

sold all the year much cheaper than butchers' meat, if no sinister
arts were used to prevent it.

" * As to fish brought to market by the fishermen, the fish-
mongers, in conjunction, employ persons, as the buyers at the
market, to take up all the best fish, and then divide it among them-
selves, by such lots or parcels as they thought proper; so that,
when it came to their shops, they enhanced the price at pleasure,
and were sure not to be undersold.

" ' When a new fish-market was, in the year 1794, attempted to
be established in Westminster, the trustees and inhabitants raised
a large sum of money by subscription, and purchased fishing-
vessels, to be employed solely in supplying this new market. Yet
such was the influence of the fishmongers and the fishermen, by
their interest, that, though they were bound down under covenant,
with large penalties, they broke through them all, so that the
market was deserted for want of a supply, and the subscribers
ultimately lost their money.'

" Many have been the attempts to put a stop to these frauds
and monopolies ; but to little purpose.

" Unfortunately," continued Mentor, " these are not the only
frauds practised in Billingsgate ; for 1 find that, in May, 1827, a
fish-dealer, who is much in the habit of selling stinking fish, was
summoned before the Lord Mayor, at the Mansion House, to ac-
count to his lordship for having sold, or hawked about for sale, a
quantity of that commodity. Mr. Goldham, the active superin-
tendant of the Billingsgate Market, detected the defendant in dis-
posing of some of what the latter called ' his live sole ;' but which
must have been dead for a considerable length of time.

" The superintendant assured the Lord Mayor, that he found
great difficulty in checking the impositions practised by such fel-
lows. The fish was exhibited. It appeared fast approaching to
decomposition.

" The Lord Mayor said, that he could at once decide, from the
application of no more than one sense, that the * live sole' was
unfit for the use of man.

** The defendant. — The Lord bless you, my lord ! the fish is as
fresh as any that ever swam. I just had some on it for my dinner
to-day, and I never tasted better. If you'd only just taste it,
you'll find it very good.

" The Lord Mayor said, that the appearance of the fish was
quite enough.

" The fish had by this time been long enough in the room to
reach the nostrils of all, whereupon the Lord Mayor made a re-
mark upon the eflluvia, condemned the fish to the flames, and or-
dered the defendant to find bail to answer at the sessions any
complaint which Mr. Goldham might think proper to bring against
him.

" Mr. Goldliam observed, that the tricks played by the venders
of bud fish were most ingenious, and many an economical lady,

DOINGS IN LONDON. 141

who attended the market early in the morning, for the purpose of
purchasing a cheap and fresh commodity, returned home with a
basket of as stale an article as ever beggar rejected. The cunning
fellows, who were on the look-out for ladies of that description,
generally painted the gills of the fish they had for sale, andstuft'ed
them with new bowels — the unerring criterion of a recent and
wholesome death. As soon, however, as the fish was dished, it
was found, in every instance of deception, that there was a more
extraordinary contrast between the body of the fish and the bowels
than philosophy could account for. It was the practice, also, of
the gentlemen of the market, to make their fish fat by stuffing
them. In fact, they could alter the appearance of the inhabitants
of the waters in such a manner as to make them look as if they
were just taken from the hook, or out of the net. This very de-
fendant had played a singular trick ofi" upon a lady, at whose house
a party were to dine. He exhibited a large Dutch plaice before
her eyes. It was painted and polished outside, and stuffed well
with the viscera of a cod fish and turbot. ' Bless my soul,' said
the lady, who was attended by a servant in livery, • what sort of
a fish is that? I never saw the like before.' She then turned up
the gills, which had just been rubbed over with an oyster-shell of
bullock's blood, and, finding that all was right, she asked the
vender the name of the fish. * Oh, ma'am,' said he, ' that's one
of the most delicious fish in the world ; it is a thousand times better
than a turbot.' ' Why,' said the lady, * it is wide, like a turbot.'
' It is a new fish, ma'am,' said he, ' just sprung, and we calls it a
turbanet ; most people would buy this sort, but they can't aiFord
to do so.' The lady, determined to astonish her company, pur-
chased the turbanet ; but how great was her astonishment upon
perceiving, when the covers were removed, that she was sitting
before a stale Dutch plaice, the smell of which was quite enough
to deprive her of every one of her guests.

" When salmon, turbot, soles, &c., have been long exposed to
the air, their gills and eyes lose the rosy brightness which they
had when first brought to market. In such cases, ill-principled
dealers resort to artifice, squeezing, from a small piece of sponge
or rag, concealed in their hand, bullocks' blood into the gills, and
about the mouth and eyes of the fish ; and this they call painting.

"Cod, haddock, and whiting, are blown, to make them appear
large and plump ; a quill, or the stem of a tobacco-pipe, being
inserted into the orifice at the belly of the fish, and a hole being
made under the fin, which is next the gill, the breath is blown in,
to extend the bulk of the fish. This imposition is detected by
placing the thumb on each side of the orifice, and pressing it hard,
when the air will be perceived to escape.

" When lobsters have been kept too long alive, they are called
spent lobsters, that is, their flesh becomes flabby and watery, and
indeed great part of it turns to water ; to make the most of it, how-
ever, and preserve the weight of the fish, the shell-fishraen plug up

142 DOINGS IN LONDON.

tlie holes where the water is likely to escape, with small pieces of
wood ; so, therefore, as soon as you open the lol)ster, the water
escapes, and a fish weighing a pound in the hand will not produce
more than eight ounces of flesh, and that not good. Tliis they
call plugging.

" The City inspectors of weights and measures, in surveying
the Billingsgate Market, in August, 1827, discovered that a novel
mode of swindling the public had been carried on there to a great
extent, by the second-hand fish-salesmen, in the following manner :
At the end of the scale beam a large hook was hung, for the pur-
pose (as a casual observer would suppose), of hanging salmon to
weigh, but, in fact, as it turns out, to give the scale a draught of
about six ounces, which the hooks generally weigh, and the pur-
chasers are cheated of that quantity in a pound. This system has
been carried on with impunity there for a length of time, and nu-
merous have the complaints been to the superintendant of the
market, who never before had an opportunity of catching them in
the fact : he took, in consequence, several standings from the guilty
parties.

" It is not known whether there was a clerk of the fishmarket at
Genoa, in 1664 ; but Sir Philip Skippon tells us, in his journal,
that whenever a fisherman or fishmonger was guilty of taking or
selling unwholesome fish, he expiated the crime, by standing for
some time exposed in an iron cage, with his thumbs tied together
behind him.

" Mr. Goldham, in his evidence before the House of Commons,
May, 1828, relative to the supply of the metropolis with water,
thus shows the cause of the falling-ofFof salmon, smelts, &c., which
heretofore were brought in such large quantities to Billingsgate.

" He says, ' My engagement as clerk of the market is to ascer-
tain the quality of the fish, to seize and condemn that which is
bad, and to receive the dues, and regulate the market. 1 was
yeoman of the market twenty-five years ago, and at that time
there were four hundred fishermen, each having a boat and a boy
fishing from about Deptford to Richmond, and the fish they caught
were roach, plaice, smelts, flounders, salmon, shads, eels, gud-
geon, dace, dabs, &c. These men were apprenticed to the busi-
ness. They gained their livelihood entirely by fishing in the
river. At that time I have known them to take ten salmon, and
as many as 3,000 smelts, at one haul, up towards Wandsworth,
and as many as 50,000 smelts have been brought daily to Bil-
lingsgate; some of these boats would earn as much as £6. per
week, and as many as 3,000 salmon have been brought to Bil-
lingsgate Market in the season, caught in the river Thames. The
Thames salmon were the best salmon, and would frequently fetch
3s. or 4s. per pound. There was no change in the quantity for the
first ten or eleven years that I was yeoman. The quantities did not
begin to fall off till about fourteen or fifteen years ago ; every year
s;nce that period, there has been a diminution in the quantity ; and

DOINGS IN LONDON. 143

now there are not two Imndred men engaged in this fishery, and
many of them are selling off their nets and boats ; last week one
man caught only twenty-six smelts, which he sold for 4s. 6d. I
reckon that this fishery is gone. There are no salmon now. I
consider it impossible there should be any. I have not seen
salmon for these ten years, except a straggling fish now and then,
caught high up or low down the river. I attribute the cause of the
loss of this fishery, — first, to the docks. Near the West- India
Docks, there was an inlet of ten or twelve feet water, where the
smelts used to resort, but the gates of the dock were occasionally
opened, and the water was let out, which was very impure, from
the bilge-water and the eftect of the copper-bottomed vessels;
and this I consider as the cause why all the smelts have left this
spot. This water is so impure, that, if a man falls into it, it ge-
nerally proves fatal. Another reason is, that all the common
sewers run into the Thames. There are now a much greater num-
ber of drains which run into the common sewers, as well as privies
and water-closets : formerly, the scavengers used to carry away
the soil at night, but that practice has of late years been much
diminished. The filth that they used to carry away is passed by
the drains into the sewers. In the river at Billingsgate, we have
many Dutch boats with eels ; I have been on board, and have seen
4,000 alive in the wells and cofFs, and the next morning three-
fourths have been dead, and the same proportion of loss has been
sustained by all the Dutch vessels. When there is but little water
in the river, they do not die so much, as the water is less disturbed ;
but on heavy rains, after a dry season, the filth which has been
accumulating in the drains and sewers is washed into the river, and
disturbs the general sediment ; the water is thus rendered very
impure, and contributes towards producing the above eftect. Other
causes of the increased impurity of the river, or its being worse
than it formerly was, arise from the accumulation of filth brought
down by rains after dry weather, the great fall at London Bridge,
and the steam-boats stirring up the filth of the Thames, and keep-
ing it in a state of almost continual agitation. Another nuisance
is the gas : I have noticed it at twelve o'clock at night; the gas
liquor is let out in the middle of the night; the river is often
covered with it, having the appearance of an oily substance, in
patches of three or four feet square. The tide ebbs seven hours,
and goes about three miles per hour, and this will carry it on this
side of Gravesend, and, as the tide flows five hours, this substance
returns with the tide. As a proof of the impurity of the water in
the Thames, the flounders which are brought up from sea-reach,
Medway, &c., when they get to Woolwich, fly about in the wells
of the boats, through which the water flows, and they turn up and
die. Flounders are brought, some from above and some below
bridge. I think they will not live in Thames water. They are taken
out of the wells about Woolwich, and put on the decks, then into
baskets, and brought up dry to market. White bait are obtained

144 DOINGS IN LONDON.

in greater abundance than formerly bj' poachers (viz., fishermen
who have been thrown out of their former employ) using unlawful
nets; it should,however, be observed, that white bait are taken at
particular times of the tide, as they are a salt-water fish, and come
and retire with the water, which is partially salt ; on this account
they are never known above Blackwall. It can be proved that
many fishermen have been ruined by the change in the water.'

" I need tell you little more of Billingsgate," said Mentor,
" only that it is famous for ladies, who, from time immemo-
rial, have possessed great volubility of tongue, employing vast
freedom and elegance of speech, blended with forcible and vitupe-
rative similitudes, which far-famed class of the softer sex are
hence designated ' Billingsgates,' or more coarsely, perhaps, ' fish-
fags.' The French call their vulgar fish-women poissardes, who
were foremost in action at the commencement of tneir revolution.

*' In 1585, there was an ale-house in Billingsgate, where the
arts of aitting purses and picking pockets icere tauykt scientifically.
It was kept by one Wotton, a gentleman born, and once a mer-
chant of good credit, but fallen by time into decay. Here was a
regular school for teaching youth the necessary dexterity of hand,
which was done by hanging up a pocket and a purse, one con-
taining counters, and the other silver, each of them being * hung
about with hawks' bells,' and having a little bell at top. The
pupil was instructed to take out the silver and counters without
jingling the bells, which, when he had accomplished, his proficiency
was rewarded, by styling him a nypper and a foyster: the former
term signifying a pick-purse or cut-purse, and the latter a pick-
pocket. This mode of instruction has been notoriously prac-
tised in our times, and was brougiit to a state of great ' scientific*
perfection by Barrington. Shakspeare says, * To have an open
ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse.'
Among the most celebrated cut-purses, may be mentioned John
Selman, a pupil of Wotton's, who was hung at Charing Cross,
the 7th of January, 1612, for robbing a lady of her purse in the
king's chapel at Whitehall, upon Christmas Day, in the presence
of the king. There is a print of this worthy in a cloak and ruff,
with a purse in his hand.

"Ladies, at this period, as at present, did not wear pockets;
they carried their money, &c., in a purse, as the ladies now do
in their reticules.

" Mary Frith, or, as she was generally called, Moll Cutpurse,
was another celebrated professor of the art of cutting purses. She
lived near Fleet-Street Conduit, and made it run with wine, on the
return of Charles I. from Scotland, in 1638 ; she took kim by the
hand, and welcomed him home. In the civil war, the women and
maids of every parish went, rank and file, with mattocks, shovels,
and baskets, to work at the fortifications round the city of London:
Moll was a superintendant over these women. She was a parti-
cipator in most of the crimes and wild frolics of her times, and

DOINGS IN LONDON.

1-^5

kept a regular correepondence with the thieves. Upon a sentence
in the Court of Arches, she did penance at Paul's Cross, for
wearing indecent apparel. Moll Cutpurse robbed the celebrated
General Fairfax on Hounslow Heath : she was the first woman
that ever smoked tobacco in England, and was also one of the
women barbers of Drury Lane, of whose history I will, some day,
give you many interesting particulars. When she found death had
ordered her to lay by her pipe and pot, she bequeathed the greater
part of her property to her nephew, with an order that he should
not lay it out foolishly, but get drunk with it while it lasted. She
died in 1662, aged 73."

Mentor and Peregrine now took their leave of Billingsgate, in-
tending to return to the Castle and Falcon ; but, being overtaken
on their way by a violent shower of rain, they sheltered themselves
in the parlour of a public-house, and in which room was a win-
dow, that gave them a view of the tap-room, where they saw

CJe Poings of tfte Honfion s'fiarjiere,

in fleecing a countryman of his money, by playing at cards.
'* Watch those knaves," said Mentor to Peregrine ; " they are of
the lowest order of public-house sharpers ; frequenters of horse-
races, cock-fights, &c. : many of them have run through a fortune in
the early part of their lives, by associating with gamblers and
sharpers (who, having eased them of their money, in return, com-
plete them for the profession by which they have been ^ uined j, set
19. L

148 DOINGS IN LONDON.

up for themselves, put honour and conscience at defiance, become
black-legs, are scouted out of even the gambler's company, and, as a
dernier resorte, are obliged to take to resorting to low pot-houses, and
robbing the poorest and most ignorant of society. That fellow, without
a hat, standing behind the countryman, is what they call working
the telegraph : he is a confederate sharper, and is looking over the
novice's hand, and telling his opponent, by his fingers, what cards
he holds; while another one is plying the countryman well with
liquor. They are playing at Put, at which game there is as much
cheating as in any. The game of put is played with an entire pack
of cards, generally by two, and sometimes by four persons. At
this game the cards rank difl'erently from all others; a tray being
the best, then a two, then an ace, then the king, queen, &c.

Laws of the Game.

*' When the dealer accidentally discovers any of his adversary's
cards, the adversary may demand a new deal.

" When the dealer discovers any of his own cards in dealing, he
must abide by the deal.

" When a taced card is discovered during the deal, the cards
must be re-shuffled and dealt again.

IV.

" If the dealer gives his adversary more cards than are necessary,
the adversary may call a fresh deal, or suffer the dealer to draw
the extra cards from his hand.

" If the dealer gives himself more cards than are his due, the
adversary may add a point to his game, and call a fresh deal, if
he pleases, or draw the extra cards from the dealer's hand.

"No by-stander must interfere, under penalty of paying the
stakes.

DOINGS IN LONDON. 147

" Either party saying ' I put,' that is, I play, cannot retract,
but must abide the event of the game, or pay the stakes.

TWO-HANDED PUT.

"The game consists of five points: they are generally marked
with counters, or money, as at whisl.

" On the commencement of the game, the parties cut for deal, as at
whist. The deal is made by giving three cards, one at a time, to
each player. The non-dealer then examines his cards, and, if he
thinks them bad, he is at liberty to put them upon the pack, and
his adversary scores one point to his game. This, however,
should never be done. It is always best to play the first card ;
and, whether your opponent wins it, passes it, or plays one of
equal value to it (which is called a tie), you are at liberty to put,
or not, just as you please, and your adversary only wins one point.

" If your opponent should say, • I put,' you are at liberty either
to play or not. If you do not [day, your adversary adds a point to
his game;, and, if you do play, whoever wins three tricks, or two
out of three, wins five points, which is the game. It sometimes
happens that each party wins a trick, and the third is a tie; in
that case neither party scores any thing.

Four-handed Put

" Is played exactly the same as two-handed, only each person
has a partner ; and, when three cards are dealt to each, one of the
players gives his partner his best card, and throws the other two
away ; the dealer is at liberty to do the same to his partner, and
vice versa. The two persons who have received their partners*
cards, play the game, previously discarding their worst card, for
the one they have received from their partners. The game then
proceeds as at two-handed put.

"There are as many kinds of gambling as there are trades,"
said Mentor, " and they move in as many spheres, from the most
noble duke or duchess, to the most abandoned chimney-sweeper;
pretenders to honour and honesty, versed in various tricks and
arts, by which many, among both nobility and gentry, have squan-
dered away their fortunes in accomplishing themselves for the
epithet of a complete gambler, or, in the true sense of the word,
an expert gambler.

148 DOINGS IN LONDON.

" If instances were necessary to prove the assertion, I could
produce hundreds within my own knowledge, many not above a
twelvemonth ago, that have been ruined by the pernicious itch for
gaming. Young noblemen and gentlemen, just come to clear es-
tates and affluent fortunes, have, in the hour of dissipation, been
waylaid by gamblers, and, through their arts, frauds, and decep-
tions, have been stripped of the last shilling. Tradesmen and
others, though not exactly in the same way, yet in ways similar lo
the before-mentioned, have been tricked by the gamblers of their
all, the consequences whereof have been emigration, bankruptcy,
or imprisonment. The lower class of mankind, having had their
share of the supposed run of ill luck, or frowns of fortune, as they
call it, and not knowing when they are imposed on, have become
sufferers in the last degree : many of whom, in order to retrieve
their losses, have had recourse to picking of pockets, shop-lifting,
and such like offences, till, emboldened by success, and for some
time escaping detection, they have then set ont on greater exploits,
such as breaking into houses by night, robbing on the highway, &c.,
till at length they finish their career at Newgate : when they have
declared, that the love of gambling was the first step that led them
on to the commission of greater crimes, for which they now justly
suffer.

" In this great city are several houses not only converted, but
others built, for the assembly of gamblers, into which, however,
none under a certain degree are admitted unless a friend of a sub-
scriber is introduced as a novice in the art, in order to be initiated
in those rules of fraud and cunning they square their actions by :
his admittance may be effected at the expense of five or ten thou-
sand pounds, and a qualification is given of his adeptness in the
science, which will enable him to exhibit with eclat at Newmarket
or York races.

"In short, there are so many gamblers to be met with in every
circle about this polite town, thatto give an account of them would
take up more time than we have at present leisure to apply
to it. I wish rather to point out the method of avoiding cheats and
their machinations, than to portray the various modes of accomplish-
ing their unlawful practices ; and, as I have given some account
of the most glaring, I hope you will be thereby warned against the
delusive frauds and insinuations of the gambler of every denomi-
nation.

" You will perceive," said Mentor, " when these sharpers have
cleaned out the countryman, as it is called, that they will then
sneak off one by one, from the table, leaving the poor dupe minus
all his property." In a short time, they perceived the countryman
stake all his money, and in a few minutes his opponent very deli-
berately took all the stakes, and, putting them into his pocket, and

DOINGS IN LONDON. 149

he walked off, leaving his two companions; but they shortly
after followed him. Peregrine, seeing the poor fellow in distress,
asked him to walk into the parlour, when he told his tale of woe :
that he had that day arrived from Lincolnshire, and on alighting from
the coach, was accosted by one of the sharpers, who, hearing
where he came from, claimed an acquaintance, saying he knew his
father, and many other people in the village, upon which, said the
countryman, * 1 asked him if he could recommend me to a safe
house to reside in while I remained in London, and he brought me
here, where, after we had drank a pint of ale, in comes the two
other men, one shortly after the other. They seemed to be all
strangers, but in the course of conversation, one of them chal-
lenged either of the others to play a game at put, which the man
who brought me to the house declined, telling me at the same
time, he was sorry he had no money to spare, else he would play
him, but that, if I was any thing of a hand, he would advise me
to play him for a trifle ; and which, after some hesitation, I agreed
to. I won,' continued he, * the first dozen games, when it was
proposed by the man I was playing with, to play for twenty
pounds, which, as I had been so lucky, I agreed to, and then I
lost' the whole, leaving me only a few shillings : but what surprises
me most is,' said the countryman, * what has become of my friend
who brought me here.' * Friend !' said Mentor, ' why, my good
fellow, they were all three arrant knaves and companions, and
their operations were planned immediately you entered this house.'
The poor countryman seemed lost in surprise, when he was told
how he had been duped ; he said what made the naatter worse
was, that he had been entrusted with the money by his father, to
pay a salesman in Smithfield for some cattle he had bought.
Mentor and Peregrine advised him instantly to return home,
and congratulated him that the loss was no greater. • The score
for liquor, amounting to seven shillings, they had also left the coun-
tryman to discharge, which, as he had hardly as much left. Pere-
grine and Mentor jointly paid for him, for which he seemed
very grateful, promising to return home, but lamenting his hard for-
tune the little time he had been in London ; he then took his leave.
, Mentor and his friend followed shortly afterwards, and on going
along Lombard Street, Peregrine remarked, whilst witnessing the
number of banking-houses, that money was the cause of every ill —
the very seed of human misery, and that it was a mistaken notion
to suppose it commanded happiness — that it brought with it, in ge-
neral, a thousand curses worse than poverty. I remember reading,"
continued Peregrine, " a poem on the Pleasures of Poverty, wherein
it says, —

Of all the plagues that torture hapless man.
Those that relate to money are the worst ;

And ever since the coining pest began,
Of mortal evils it has stood the first :

So hard to get — to keep, so hard to plan,
The very metal seems to be accurs'd ;

That even those vyho have the most, but find

It leaves a lasting fever in the mind.

150 DOINGS IN LONDON.

Else, why should thousands squander it so fast <

Drink — gamble — try a hundred ways to spend it:
If 'twere good, they'd strive to make it last ;

Not mar their health — toil day and night to end it.
Some risk it wholesale on a desperate cast —

Take shares in theatres, build bridges, lend it-
Others, as if they could not bear their sight on't,
Bury it, where the sun can shed no light on't.

Some, when they've got it, don't know what to do

To keep it from the prying eyes of men !
Try ev'ry art to shut it out from view.

Yet seem to wish to find it safe again :
Hide it in garrets, walls, and cellars, too,

Like some blacli proof of crime, from mortal ken !
Which proves that its possession but disgraces,
Or else why put it in such secret places ?

The wealthy scarcely know if those who speak

Their friendship, act from interest or love ;
They know not how the smile that decks the cheek,

The touchstone of adversity might prove ;
But they who kindly come the poor to seek.

To sooth — to aid — regard alone must move ;
They who have nothing in the world to spare,
May deem sincere the friendship that they share.

He who increaseth wealth, increaseth sorrow —

And yet man lays up all his treasure here ;
His joys, his hopes, still hang upon the morrow

Nor often are more certain, nor more near.
'Twere better toil like slaves, or beg, or borrow.

Than waste the day in care — the night in fear j
Dreaming of debtors, composition, losses —
And all the thousand terms of money's crosses.

All things alarm the money'd man — the wind,

Kaging at night, appals his soul with fears ;
lie dreads, when morning comes, that he shall fiad

Barns, or old houses, blown about his ears :
If it be moonlight, then his anxious mind

Thinks of his tenants — reckons their arrears —
And deems that he shall find them gone next day.
And neither goods nor chattels left to pay."

" Pr'ythee, my friend," said Mentor, " do not rail so against
money. You must consider our ancestors had as great a venera-
tion for this sort of dirt, as you call it, as the present age can' pos-
sibly bear towards it, as you may find by the excellent virtues they
ascribe to it in their old sayings : therefore, instead of slighting it,
endeavour to get it, and never rail against it till you are assured
you have enough to serve your turn. To despise riches when they
are out of your power, savours more of envy than philosophy ;
but to seem not to value wealth when you have it in possession, is
proof of generosity."

Peregrine and Mentor had now arrived at the inn, and, in the
course of conversation after dinner, relative to the transaction they
had witnessed that morning of the sharpers and the countryman,
the argument turned on the frequency, increase, and cause of

DOINGS IN LONDON. 1^1

crime, i4i the metropolis. " From what has been said, as well as
k consequence of the number of criminals and frequency of crime,"
said Mentor, " which have been voluminously dwelt upon by va-
rious writers, the uninvestigating inhabitant, or the inconsiderate
isitor of the metropolis, might be tempted to conclude that
within its limits there was no safety for property or life. But, al-
though there certainly are numerous classes of persons, consisting
of plunderers in every shape, from the midnight robber and mur-
derer, to the poor perpetrators of petty pillage, — from the culti-
vated swindler and sharper, to the daring street pickpocket, — and
although thousands of men and women, following the occupation
of roguery and prostitution, daily rise scarcely knowing how they
are to procure existence for the passing hour ; yet we submit that
it ought to be matter of especial surprise that so little open and
daring inroad is made upon our persons as we pass along the
streets, or upon property exposed in carts, warehouses, &c., when
the extent of the population, merchandise, and commerce, is con-
sidered. There are thousands of persons residing within this me-
tropolis, of which it may be said, from the early and late hours,
the night and day work necessarily pursued in so trading a city,
that it never sleeps ; who have been for years compelled to pass
along the streets without ever being robbed or seriously molested.
Robbers lay wait for the timid and the unwary, — the dissolute
and the drunken ; they seldom intercept the man that is steadily
pursuing his course without intermingling with suspicious com-
pany, or passing along by-streets. At night, persons should al-
ways prefer the leading public streets. In them, there are few
lurking-holes ; and besides, in cases of attack, there are almost
sure to be passengers travelling along who will render assistance
when they hear calls for help. Much depends on a person's own
resolution and discretion. If he resist attacks, he will generally
drive off interlopers ; and, if he keep the public roads, and avoid
companionship in the dead hours of the night, he may be watched
as a likely object of plunder, but he is tolerably sure of escaping
robbery.

" Amidst so vasta population, and where there are so many op-
portunities for villains to practise their depredations, and screen
themselves from detection, it is not surprising that so many
rogues by profession are collected together, and that, out of a great
number, so few are punished. To this great hive of human beings,
the most vicious, as well as the most learned, will resort, as the
best field of exertion. Mr. Colquhoun has enumerated and des-
cribed eighteen different classes of cheats and swindlers, who in-
fest the metropolis, and prey upon the honest and unwary; besides
persons who live by gambling, coining, housebreaking, robbery,
and plunder on the river. Although there may be, as there un-
doubtedly is, great truth, that villains of such descriptions inter-
mingle with honest, hard-working, or unsuspecting persons, we
Dxust again caution the reader against implicitly relying on round

152 DOINGS IN LONDON.

numbers and calculations in the lump, on subjects regarding which
Do human being has ever yet gained accurate information.

" Robbery and theft, in many instances, have been reduced
to a regular system. Houses, intended to be entered during
the night, are previously reconnoitred and examined for days
preceding. If one or more of the servants are not already as-
sociated with the depredators, the most artful means are used
to obtain their assistance ; and, when every previous arrange-
ment is made, the mere operation of robbing a house becomes
a matter of little difficulty. This information should serve as
a caution to every person in the choice both of male and female
servants, since the latter, as well as the former, are sometimes
accomplices in the most atrocious robberies.

" Night coaches promote, in many instances, the perpetration
of burglaries and other felonies. Bribed by a high reward, the
coachmen enter into the pay of nocturnal depredators, and wait in
the neighbourhood until the robbery is completed, and then draw
up, at the moment the watchmen are going their rounds, or
off their stands, for the purpose of conveying the plunder to the
house of the receiver, who is generally waiting the issue of the
enterprise.

"The sharpers, swindlers, and rogues of various descriptions
have undergone something like a classification by different writers ;
and, although such an effort must necessarily be imperfect, par-
tially to follow the example in this place may not be without its
use. The following is a list of some of the species of cloaked
marauders that beset the unwary in this great metropolis ; they
deceive none but the ignorant and unthinking — those, however,
afford too rich a harvest ; —

" 1. Sharpers who obtain licences to become pawnbrokers.
These are uniformly receivers of stolen goods ; and, under this
cover, do much mischief.

" 2. Swindlers who obtain licences to act as hawkers and
pedlars. These men establish fraudulent raffles, substitute
plated goods for silver, sell and utter base coin, deal in smuggled
goods, and receive stolen goods, with a view to disposing of them
in the country.

" 3. Swindlers who take out licences as auctioneers. These
men open shops in different parts of the metropolis, with persons
at the door, usually denominated barkers.

" 4. Swindlers who raise money by pretending to be dis-
counters of bills, and money-brokers. These chiefly prey upon
young men of property, who have lost their money by gambling,
or spent it in extravagant amusements.

" 5. Jews, who are found in every street, lane, and alley, in and
nearithe metropolis ; and, under the pretence of purchasing old
clothes, and metals of various sorts, prowl about the houses of
men of rank and fortune, holding out temptations to tbeir servants
to pilfer and steal small articles, which they purchase at a trifling

DOINGS IN LONDON. 163

portion of their value. It is calculated that fifteen hundred of
these people have their daily rounds.

" 6. Swindlers who associate together for the purpose of defraud-
ing tradesmen of their goods. One assumes the character of a
merchant, hires a genteel house, with a counting-house, and every
appearance of business : one or two of his associates take upon
themselves the appearance of clerks, while others occasion-'
ally wear a livery ; and sometimes a carriage is set up, in which
the ladies of the party visit the shops, in the style of persons of
fashion, ordering goods to their apartments. Thus circumstanced,
goods are obtained on credit, which are immediately pawned or
sold, and the produce used as the means of obtaining more, and
procuring recommendations, by offering to pay ready money, or
discount bills. After circulating notes to a considerable amount,
and completing their system of fraud, by possessing as much of
the property of others as is possible, without risk of detection, they
decamp, assume new characters, and generally elude all pursuit.

" 7. Sharpers, who take elegant lodgings, dress fashionably,
and assume false names. These men pretend to be related to
persons of real credit and fashion, produce letters familiarly writ-
ten, to prove intimacy, show these letters to tradesmen and others,
on whom they mean to practise, and, when they have secured
their good graces, purchase wearing apparel and other articles,
and then disappear with the booty.

" Besides these descriptions of rogues who ' live by their wits,'
there are villains who associate aystematically together, for the
purpose of discovering and preying upon persons from the country,
or any other ignorant person who is supposed to have money, or
who has visited London with the view of selling goods ; who
prowl about the streets Nvhere shopmen and boys are carrying
parcels, and who attend inns at the time that coaches and waggons
are loading and unloading. These have recourse to a variety of
stratagems, according to the peculiar circumstances of the case,
and, in a multitude of instances, succeed.

There are many female sharpers, who dress elegantly, personate
women of fashion, attend masquerades ; and instances have been
known, in which, by extraordinary effrontery, they have forced
themselves into the circle at St, James's. One is said to have ap-
peared, in a style of peculiar elegance, on the king's birth-day, in
the year 1795, and to have pilfered, in conjunction with her hus-
band, who was dressed as a clergyman, to the amount of £1,700,
without discovery or suspicion. Houses are kept where female
cheats dress and undress for public places. Thirty or forty of
these often attend masquerades, in different characters, wjhere
they generally realize a considerable booty.

•' Mr. Randle Jackson, the worthy magistrate of Surry, has recently
published a pamphlet, in the form of a report to the magistracy of
thatcounty, onthe increase and extent of crime, with its causes and
probable remedies. The convictions in England and Wales, we ,

20

154 DOINGS IN LONDON.

are a red by Sir Eardly Wilmot, were, in 1810,, 3,168 ; and, in
1826, 11,095, almost fourfold in sixteen years: while, during the
same period, the population increased not more than about one-
third !

" The author ascribes the present apparent degeneracy of the
people of England to the following causes — but there is one subject
he has forgotten— viz. the diminished rate of wages, throughout
the country, in proportion to the prices of human sustenance.

*• Those causes will be found to differ much in their degree ;
and, although several of them will point out their own remedies,
your committee will defer the consideration of those remedies un-
til they shall come to their third or remedial proposition.

" Among such causes your committee rank the following —
namely,

" The almost unchecked parading of the streets by the noto-
riously dissolute and abandoned of both sexes.
" The multitude of gin-shops.
*• The want of due control over public-houses.
" The existence of unlicensed wine-rooms, flash-houses, and
other receptacles for known thieves and loose women.

" Public fairs in London and its immediate neighbourhood.
" The utter fearlessness of punishment on the part of offenders.
" And, above all, the constant and daily addition of expert and
hardened criminals, who are in a state of continual return from
short transportations, from the hulks, the Penitentiary, and from
gaols and houses of correction. On the remedies, the author thus
expresses himself :

" * As far as the state of the streets contributetocrime, itcan only
be counteracted by a vigilant and efficient police, removing from them
the openly abandoned of both sexes. To accomplish this, it might,
perhaps, require some further legislative interference or exposition
of the law respecting vagrants and reputed thieves, strictly to
justify their apprehension, as well as a much more efficient night
and day patrol than exist at present. But, when apprehended,
whither, alas ! would you send them ? As the law stands at pre-
sent, after a few short weeks of maintenance at the expense of the
county, they return, for ever branded with infamy, cut oft' from all
hope of employment, advanced in the knowledge of every thing
that is bad and wicked, and left with scarcely any alternative but
plunder or starvation.'

" Upon that source and nurse of crime, the multitude of gin-
shops, your committee can say no more than that they concur in the
opinion of a former committee, whose reports stand in the Ap-
pendix as ratified and confirmed by the sessions ; and believg
with them, that there is no hope of relief, but by limiting the sale
of gin, and other spirituous liquors, to the hona-Jide keepers of
taverns, inns, coffee-houses, and ale-houses, as directed by the
16th Geo. II., cap 8, and to such of them only as shall have suf-
ficient accommodations and stock of good malt liquor, for those

DOINGS IN LONDON 165

•who prefer drinking it; and who, instead of the present gin-closets
in alleys and obscure places, will confine the sale of spirits to a
tap-room of suitable size, in which the bar should, as formerly,
be placed open to observation.

" * The want of due control over public-houses, as well as the
existence of unlicensed wine-rooms, flash-houses, and other re-
ceptacles for known thieves and abandoned characters, will f&il
generally under the consideration of public-houses, which it is prc--
posed to defer; especially as a bill is now pending in Parliament
which is said to have for its object a material alteration with re-
spect to the authority of magistrates in granting or withholding of
licences, when it will be important to consider the suggestions of
different members of your committee on that head.

" ' Your committeehave nothing to add upon the subject of fairs.
They have no wish to oppose such innocent recreations as relieve
the monotony of labour, or give joy to the youthful part of society.
It is only when fairs are not effectually superintended by the po-
lice, that they become, as has been fatally experienced, the means
of disorder, violence, and crime.'

" It would be idle," said Mentor, " to deny, that diminising the
number of gin-shops, those nurseries of vice and wickedness, would
be one of the efficient remedies ; and, not only lessening the
number of shops, but also increasing the price of gin, making it at
the present rate of brandy; for, 1 ask any man, of what use
IS GIN ? Are there any benefits derived from it? To be sure, it
brings in revenue to the state — but ministers ought to remember
it debases the mind of the people, and that it is the cause of such
dreadful crime : ten murders out of twelve may be ascribed to the
horrid habit of the perpetrators being drinkers of ardent spirits.
It was truly said, some time ago, in the House of Commons, of
the distilleries, that ' they take the bread from the people, and
convert it into poisons !' I wish the ministers of this country
would but visit the gin-shops of the metropolis, and there view
the tremendous collection of misery and mischief. — Intemperance !
Poverty ! Villany ! Murder ! Desolation ! Good God ! what an
assemblage is here ? how dreadful, and how real! Can it be
read without concern, or is it possible it should be seen with in-
difterence?* It was but last week," continued Mentor, " I lent a
poor hard-working man, with a large family, a few pounds, to pre-
vent his goods being seized for poor-rates ; and the very next morn-
ing, I saw many persons, who were in weekly receipt of money
from the overseers of the poor, reeling drunk out of a gin-shop ! — A
people corrupted by strong drink cannot long remain a free people.
" The amelioration of the present criminal code has engaged
the attention of some of the wisest men. Foreigners say the laws
of England are written in blood, alluding to the frequency of our
executions. That hanging is the worst use you can make of man,
is acknowledged by many ; and, indeed, except in cases of murder,
* See page' 17 of this work.

Iftfi DOINGS IN LONDON.

onr religion does not warrant us in taking the human life. —
Mr. Harmer gives it as his opinion, that hard labour would
more effectually prevent crime, than the dread of an ignominious
death ; for laziness is the mother of crime, and, to a lazy fellow,
death is far preferable to hard labour. England prides itselt
on being a civilized and refined nation ; yet no stranger would
think so, were he to witness the executions at the Old Bailey
(which, unfortunately, take place so repeatedly), and see with
what carelessness and disregard the people witness the dreadful
fulfilment of the law. Women— I almost blush to say it— gene-
rally are among the spectators ; and they, together with the ma-
jority of the men and boys, leave the dreadful scene with as much
apathy as if they had seen the ascent of a balloon, or any thing
else of a trivial nature. Most certainly, a repetition of the sight
tends to deaden the feelings, and render the mind callous, instead
of its being a lesson or warning to prevent people from violating
the laws.— Indeed, it must be the habituating himself to such sights,
that makes the executioner, or Jack Ketch, as he is called, go so
cold-bloodedly through his business : for, if the sheriffs could not
get any body to do that dreadful work for them, they must do it
themselves ; and then we should see how differently they would
go about it.

" The executioner is now called Jack Ketch ; but this title is
not of very remote origin : for it appears that, in 1534, the name
of the public executioner was Dun, and the executioners, long
after that period, went by the same name ; for Mr. Butler, 1663,
in his Proposals for Farming Liberty of Conscience, among many
resolutions, gives the following : ' To be delivered from the hand
of Dun, that uncircumcised Philistine.' — Dun's predecessor was
Gregory Brandon ; and from him the hangmen were called Gre-
gory, for some time. But this hero did not hold the office any
vast while ; for, in 1662, Jack Ketch was advanced to that office,
and who has left his name to his successors ever since.

" The present Jack Ketch is Ould Tom Cheshire. * Tom' is
nearly seventy years of age, and looks the character which he plays
in the great drama of the world admirably. He deduces his
descent from a family, of course, * of the highest respectability,' in
the county of Worcester, and in his younger days served his
country, in the support of those laws which he now JinisheSy in
the navy.

" On the morning of an execution, while the wretched convicts
were ruminating, in the dark and cold solitude of their cells, on
the few minutes left to them of mortality, * Tom' was amusing the
turnkeys, in a room near to the drop, in the detail of a few of the
incidents which have marked his eventful life, till the keeper en-
tered the room, and a new halter was shown to the orator. He
examined it with a scrutinizing eye, and, untwisting a part of it,
applied it to his nose, for, no doubt, the smell of a well-twisted
rope is as pleasant to * Tom's' olfactory nerves, as * the sweet

DOINGS IN LONDON, 167

south, breathing o'er a bed of violets.' Twice and thrice was the
rope snuffed at, when, at last, he held it at arm's length from him,
and broke out in the following eloquent cord criticism : — * Vy, I
say, master, it smells o' junk, andben't twisted as a hauler should
be ; now, here's one (making an extract from his pocket) summut
like ; it cost me eighteen-pence. I've tried all them there ropes
with my own weight, at a three-foot or three-foot-two drop, and
they'll bear any chuck.' Then turning round, and addressing a
respectable builder of the town, he added, * I'm a droll hand to
go loose.' There seemed to be a general coincidence of opinion
in this remark.

" * Tom' was asked how many of his fellow-creatures he had
relieved of their worldly cares ?

" * Vy, I've knocked off somewhere about five hundred and
fifty, and never had a haccident, because I always carries a good
rope. These three (adverting to the unfortunate sufferers about
to be consigned to his merciless hands) makes three more, and
then I've another at Oxford, and three more a' Wensday at New-
gate,— so it's busy work.' A loud yell, which ' Tom,' no doubt,
would call a laugh, marked the wretch's exultation at the thriving
state of his trade.

" In the course of the morning, ' Ould Tom' had made an in-
spection of the dreadful machine on which he was about to operate.
He was asked whether he approved the plan of it?

" • I calls it a foolish sort of thing; it's like going up a church
steeple to get a top on it.' It was intimated to him, for ' Tom
has always an eye to business, that one of the culprits had a good
watch in his pocket, which, by the bye, was not the fact, and was
named solely to excite his unfeeling rapacity. * Then it belongs
to me, and as soon as he's off, I'll bone it. I don't much mind
their clothes, and if their friends wants 'em, they shall have 'em for
a fair price.'

" ' Tom' now thrust his legs nearly into the ash-hole of the fire-
grate, and rubbing them with his hands (which seemed not to have
come in contact with soap for the last year), with an expression
of the highest satisfaction at his exploits, he entered into a long
narrative of some of the principal executions at which he had at-
tended : — • I did the business for Mester Fontilry (Fauntleroy) in
style; every body said I did it well ; and it was a good job, for I
got above £3 for his clothes. I tucked up Thistlewood, and all
them chaps, and held all their heads (another yell) in this here
hand,' spreading out his arm. ' There was a lot on 'em ; they
never complain after me !' 'Tom,' of course, judged this to be a
palpable hit, and its excellence called forth a reiterated howl of
exultation.

In this heartless way did * Mister Thomas Cheshire,' so he
designates himself, proceed, till it was announced that the prisoners
had finished their last devotions in the chapel, and then he hurried

158 DOINGS IN LONDON.

out to pinion them, with an alacrity which showed that his horrible
luode^ of life was to him a real pleasure !

" I think," continued Mentor, " this delectable biographical
sketch, must convince the most fastidious, that no human being-
could talk so unfeelingly, unless his senses and feelings had be-
come so deadened by the continual practice of such a wretched
calling ; and therefore the more frequently a person witnesses
executions, the sooner their feelings become blunt and callous."

"Enough of this subject," said Peregrine ; "let us haste to the
Borough, and keep good our appointment with your cousin." To
this proposal, Mentor acquiesced, and on their road thither, their
curiosity led thern into Union-Street Office, where several decent-
looking women were attending before the magistrate, for the purpose
of making the following complaint, and obtaining redress : — After
much whispering among them, one of the women, who was im-
pelled forward by her companions towards the magistrate's table,
dropped a low courtesy, requesting, on the behalf of herself and
fellow-sufferers, to state a shameful imposition which had been
practised upon them all by a barber. This person called at her
house a few days ago, and, having requested an interview, which
he said was of serious moment, was shown into the parlour. He
commenced by entreating her pardon for the liberty he was about
to take in asking her to take off her cap. She did as he wished,
and, having a good head of hair, he praised its beautiful colour
and softness, adding, that if he could prevail upon her kindness to
permit him to cut it off, she should have a guinea and two false
fronts to conceal that which she would lose incase she accepted of
the bargain. Being in want of money at the time, the poor woman
consented, and he immediately drew forth from his pocket a pair
of scissors, and cut all her hair off close round. " See, your wor-
ship," said she, " see what he has done," and, taking her bonnet
and cap off, exhibited her bare head, with the little left upon it by
the barber, sticking up like pig's bristles. There was a general
roar of laughter in the office, as the lady turned her body round,
to enable the magistrate to see the manner in which the fellow had
cropped her." She continued — "As soon as the barber had clip-
ped her so closely as not even to leave as much over her temples
as would bear a curl-paper, he thrust the whole of her hair
into the crown of his hat, and ran out of the house, without
giving her a half-penny for that of which he had deprived her. —
She had not seen him since until that morning, when she was
informed he had served many other females in the same manner."

Several of her fellow-sufferers here stood forward, and displayed
their heads, shorn of hair, to the magistrate, all of whom were
docked as closely of their hair as the former lady.— They all de-
clared that, since their husbands had found out the scandalous
way they had been tricked out of their locks, they had been
quite miserable. The officer said that within the last few days many

DOINGS IN LONDON. 159

complaints had been made to him by respectable females, who had
had their hair cut short off by a fellow answering the descriptioa
of the one alluded to by the present complainants. If the magis-
trates approved of it, he (the officer) would apprehend the man,
and he would also bring forward a score of women besides those
present, to prefer charges against him. The magistrate expressed
his surprise how women of the least particle of common under-
standing could allow their hair to be cut off under such circum-
stances. It was, he observed, a description of offence that had
never before been brought under his notice ; however, as the la-
dies had been so cruelly treated as to be deprived of so great an
ornament, he (the magistrate) would, in the event of the offender
being taken into custody, punish him in such a manner as would
effectually check such practices. The women then retired, thank-
ing the magistrate for his condescension in listening to their com-
plaints.

Scarcely had these foolish women retired, when a poor fellow,
u native of the Island of Sumatra, in the East Indies, appeared
before the sitting magistrate, to solicit his advice as to the means
of recovering a sum of money from the proprietor of a travelling
caravan, for exhibiting him as a ' Wild Indian.' When he was
engaged, the showman stipulated that he should allow his nose
and ears to be pierced, for the purpose of introducing large brass
rings into them ; his mustachios and beard were also suffered to
grow to an amazing length, in order the better to pass off for
an Indian warrior, just arrived from the back settlements of
America. He was to have twenty shillings a week, and sup-
port himself in victuals. For the first four months, he was
paid pretty regularly, but afterwards he received his wages by
dribs and drabs, until at length they were stopped altogether;
and, at the conclusion of the last Bartholomew Fair, he was
sent adrift starving, without being paid his arrears, amounting
to between two and three pounds. He said he had been basely
treated by Mr. Moon; for that person had made plenty of money
by showing him up ; and, at the last Bartholomew fair, between
12 and 1500 people paid their sixpences each to see him.

The magistrate asked him whether he appeared at the fair in
the dress he now wore ?

"No, sir," said he, in a very different tone, "I was then
strapped up in a buffalo -skin, and marched up and down in the
caravan with a large club in my hands, with which Mr. Moon
told his customers I had vanquished and killed more than a hundred
of ray enemies, A tomahawk was also put into my hands, and with
this instrument the showman declared to all that I had scalped
hundreds of my own countrymen, with whom, he said, 1 had been
at war a few months previous to the time I was then imposing upon
the public.

The magistrate then directed him to the Court of Requests,
where he could take out a summons against the person who was
in his debt.

160 DOINGS IN LONDON.

" This imposition of the poor Indians reminds me," said Men-
tor, "of the following anecdote, recorded in a York paper,
January, 1827 : — A woman in the York poorhouse has given to
the master there a strange account of herself, and of another female
impostor, who formerly travelled with Cooke's equestrian troop.
They appeared as men of colour, and in all the feats of the most
dexterous horsemanship were not to be surpassed by any others of
the company. In addition to this, being dressed in male attire,
and having their persons stained black, suspicion of their real sex
was readily subdued, by an allowance for the difference of personal
appearance which opposite climates generally occasion. The real
name of the woman now in the poorhouse is Ellen Lowther, but
when with Cooke's company she called herself John Clifford — she
is of eastern origin, though born in England; her grandfather,
she says, was called Signor Ramraapattan ; he was brought to
England from Bengal, by the late Lord Lowther, and, when
they arrived in London, his lordship changed his name to
Lowther; he afterwards resided in the north of England, and was
killed by a pitman at Sutherland, when he was one hundred and
six years and nine months old. Her father, she says, lives at
Tadcaster. She represents herself as being but twenty years of
age, and, having commenced her equestrian performances at five
years old, she has been with the two Cookes fifteen years. As
might have been expected, this vagabond way of life led to vice
and immorality, and the woman (alias John Clifford) was removed
to the parish of St. Martin, Coney Street, in a state of pregnancy,
and thence to the workhouse, where, on the 2d inst. " John" was
delivered of a still-born male child. The other woman, who
passed for a black man, in the same company, went by the name
of Pablo Paddington, and effected the deception so dexterously,
as to have even deceived those about her; and, by assiduous at-
tentions, gained the aflfections of a Miss King, who also travelled
with Mr. Cooke. The courtship thus commenced was carried on
for some time, till scandal whispered in the ears of the unsuspecting
fair one, that her favourite Pablo was too much a man of the world,
possessing more of female acquaintance than was consistent with
his solemn promises and plighted vows. A lover's quarrel was
the consequence ; and slighted attachment led to some estrange-
ment of the lady's affections. Misfortunes, however, often over-
take the faithless, and the fair are sometimes, in those cases, too
ready to forgive. This was the case with the parties in ques-
tion. Pablo had his arm broken soon after, and pity again called
forth the tender affections of Miss King, who, during her lover's
illness, attended him with peculiar care.

Mentor remarked, that the public would indeed be surprised,
did they know of half the impositions practised in the various
shows at fairs and other places. A man some short time since
had an exhibition of a non-descript animal, found near Worthing,
in Sussex, thai had upwards of a thousand eyes, which, in fact,
vvai^ a lump of stone, with thousands of exceedingly small fish

DOINGS IN LONDON.

161

of the limpet species, adhering to it : this show pleased (he cock-
neys for some time ; but, on Sir Joseph Bankes visiting the exhi-
bition, he immediately discovered tiie cheat, when the extraordi-
nary non-descript instantly disappeared.

On Mentor and his friend returning home, their attention was
drawn to a vast assemblage of persons in a church-yard ; and,
upon inquiry, they found it was a parishioner haranguing those
around him on

G^e Boims of ^tUtt Vt6trmtn.

**The feastings of these (mostly self-constituted) bodies,"
said Mentor, " are certainly very scandalous. It is, indeed,
astonishing, how respectable men can so far disgrace themselves, in
guttling and guzzling at the parish expense. They must have their
Easter dinner ! their venison feast ! dinners on auditing accounts !
visitation dinners ! St. Thomas's-Day dinners ! &c. &c. &c. ! ! !
while they rigidly refuse the deserving poor in their workhouses,
any little extra luxury ! Such proceedings must for ever rank
among the most shameful * Doings in London !'

" It will no longer excite wonder in the minds of people, wliy
some districts should be so heavily taxed with parish rates more
than others, when they peruse the following modest items of ex-
penditure of a select vestry dinner, and which was incurred in a
Jive-mile visit to a few pauper children !

21, M

162 DOINGS IN LONDON.

£. s. d.
Dinner and desert for 18 gentlemen - - - - 9 9 0
Lemon - - - - - - - - -010

Ten bottles of Bucellas 3 0 0

Two ditto of Sherry 0 12 0

Punch - - " 0 12 0

Four bottles of Champagne - - - - -280

Soda 0 16 0

Rose Water 0 2 0

Ice for wine - - - - - - - -020

Twelve bottles of Port 3 12 0

Five bottles of Sauterne - - - - - -2 00

Noyeau - - - 0 18 0

Glass 056

Tea and coffee 170

Three servants' dinners - - - - - -076

Waiters 090

26 1 0
To which are to be added, for coach-hire and turnpikes 8 1 L 6

Grand total £34 12 6

Sucb-like extravagances are, most assuredly, one of the causes
of the vast increase of poor-rates, which have now grown to so
an alarming a height. In 1688, the poor's-rate amounted to three
quarters of a million of money ; while, in 1827, the sum of six
million, one hundred and seventy-nine thousand, eight hundred
and seventy-seven pounds, eleven shillings, was levied in England
and Wales for the relief of the poor.

** Select vestries are differently constituted : some are established
by local acts of Parliament, with very extensive powers ; others
are self-constituted, while others are formed according to the pro-
visions of Mr. Sturges Bourne's General Act : these last-mentioned
being certainly most in the spirit of the British Constitution, because
the select are annually chosen by householders, of a certain rate ;
and the reports of their proceedings are published : but the best of
all are open vestries, Hke the respectable parish of St. Olave,
Southwark, where the annual income and expenditure is printed, and
a copy sent to every housekeeper. — This is as it should be ; and the
consequence is, the poor-rates are paid cheerfully, because it is
certain they are not wasted on dinners for the officers, but the ut-
most economy is used in every department. It would be well if
some of the great parishes, at the west end of the town, were to
follow the above example ; but it would puzzle one that I could
mention, to do so ; and, if the inhabitants had but gained the
cause they so nobly contended for, a precious mass of extrava-
gance and negligence would have been brought to light.

" If any proof was wanting of the evils resulting from select ves-
tries, it would be found in the fact that, in the county of Lancaster,

DOINGS IN LONDON. 163

where there are 213 select vestries, and £347,911. 18s being ex-
pended for the relief of the poor, in the year ending March 25, 1827,
the poor-rates iwcreaserf forty seven percent. ; while, in Middlesex,
where there are 17 select vestries, and £711,874. 16s. expended
for the poor, the rates increased only ten per cent. Again, in the
West Riding of Yorkshire, with 146 select vestries, and an ex-
penditure of £388,730. 9s., the rates increased 31 per cent. ; while,
in Kent, with 58 select vestries, and £392,253. 16s. expended
for the poor, the rates increased only three per cent. And this is
the case with nearly all the other counties, saving Berks, South-
ampton, and Suftolk, wherein the poor-rates have diminished in a
small degreee.

" As the condition of the poor and the indigent not only con-
stitutes an important feature in the state of society, but also in the
character of the government under which we live, it would be in-
teresting to give you some statements regarding the actual extent
and progress of pauperism and mendicity.

" Poverty has been well defined to be that condition in society
in which the individual has no surplus labour in store ; and, conse-
quently, no property but what is derived from the constant ^exer-
cise of industry in the various occupations of life : that is, the state
of every one who must labour for subsistence. Indigence, on the
other hand, is that condition which implies want, misery, and dis-
tress. Indigence, therefore, and not poverty, is the evil against
which good government must guard. Where indigence exists, the
burden of what are called paupers must follow ; or, which pos-
sibly is much worse, mendicity will ensue. Pauperism and men-
dicity have, of late years, become such evils as to call for Parlia-
mentary investigation, in the hopes of checking the calamities by
improved legislation.

" On the subject of pauperism, facts have been developed that
excite attention and demand further inquiry. The number of per-
sons relieved permanently, on an average of the years 1815, 1816,
1817, was 36,034; occasionally, being parishioners, 81,282; total
relieved, 117,316 : — so that the number of persons relieved from
the poor-rates appears to have been llf nearly in each 100 of
the resident population — while the number relieved in 1803, was
nearly 7|- in each 100 ; and that, while the population has increased
about one-sixth, the number of parishioners relieved has advanced
from 7|- to ll|. in each 100. The total of the money raised by
the poor-rates was £679,284, being at the rate of 13s. 5|-rf. per
head on the population, or 2s. bd. in the pound of the total amount
of the sum of £5,603,057, as assessed to the property-tax in 1815.
The amount raised by the same rates, in 1813, was £471,938 ;
being at the rate of 10s. 11 |^c?. per head. This, therefore, exhi-
bits an increase of nearly one-halj'm the amount of money raised
to relieve paupers, and 2s. 6|d. on the rate, per head, on the popu-
lation. In such manner," continued Mentor, "have the poor-
rates increased to their present enormous amount."
M 2

164 DOINGS IN LONDON.

" While Mentor and Peregrine were thus conversing, the latter
was agreeably surprised by a visit from a young friend, who had
come to London to finish his education as a surgeon, and attend
the lectures on anatomy. After the usual salutations, the conver-
sation turned on the present application to Parliament, relative to
the faculty being supplied with subjects for dissection. " I think,''
said Peregrine's friend, " it is a disgrace to England, that there is
no public theatre for lecturing on anatomy in London. Nearly all
that is done is done secretly. It has been well said, in the London
Medical Journal, that 'it is a remarkable fact, that, while the
medical profession rankshigherin England than in any other country
in Europe — giving to the honourable and learned practitioner in the
healing art a more eligible station in society than he could enjoy
in any part of the continent — yet, that the means of attaining that
knowledge on which his science, his usefulness, and, consequently,
his moral weight in the community, depend, are, in no other country,
so dangerous in the pursuit, or so difficult in the attainment. Much of
this certainly depends upon the system of exhuraationto which we are
driven, as a matter of necessity ; and which, revolting as it is to
the feelings, and contrary to the laws of the land, will always be
viewed by the public with abhorrence. This practice, from its
very nature, requires that the lowest and most abandoned should
be employed in it, because none else will undertake a business so
unpopular, and connected with such hazard. Accordingly, the
common executioner is not an object of greater antipathy than the
resurrection-men ; who are, indeed, regarded by the vulgar as so
entirely beyond the pale of the law, that they may be shot with
impunity, if surprised in the fulfilment of their unhallowed calling.

" * Less than a century ago, the same horror of dissection which
continues among us, likewise prevailed in some of those countries
where public feeling has since undergone a complete revolution. In
Italy, for instance, this was the case till the time of Benedict the
Fourteenth. He, only a private gentleman by birth, by his superior
talents and assiduity, raised himself successively, through different
gradations, until at length he mounted the papal throne, where his
zeal in the reformation of abuses acquired him the designation of
the Protestant Pope. While pursuing his studies at Bologna, his
native city, he had often witnessed the extreme difficulty and
risk young men were exposed to in procuring bodies for dissection ;
and the subject occupied his attention after he had attained the
tiara. The plan which he adopted was that of endeavouring to
undermine the prejudice, by removing some of the circumstances
which supported it ; and with this view he issued a decree, by
which it was prohibited, in express terms, to deliver over for dissec-
tion the body of any felon, how heinous soever his crime. All
were amazed at this edict, but most of all the doctors, who beheld
in it nothing short of an absolute prohibition of anatomy, and the
consequent ruin of their art. In a short time after, there followed

DOINGS IN LONDON. 166

another papal decree, but extending only to Bologna, that no
patients should be admitted into'any of the hospitals without giving
their own previous consent, and obtaining the concurrence of their
friends, that, in the event of death, their bodies should be dissected;
at the same time enjoining the utmost decorum to be observed in
conducting the process. The effect of this decree, as might have
been expected, was, in the first instance, to render the hospitals
nearly deserted. No abatement from the letter of the edict was
permitted, and, after a time, the necessities of the living became
more imperious than their prejudices with regard to their treatment
when dead, and the public charities became filled as before. In
order to allay the apprehension of any unnecessary indignity to the
body, the relations of the deceased were permitted to be present;
while, at stated times, these dissections were conducted in public,
and all persons engaged in scientific pursuits invited to attend.
These judicious measures had the effect, not only of reconciling
the Bolognese to the innovation, but of attracting students from
every part of Italy ; so that the neighbouring states were soon
compelled to adopt the same method, or to behold their anatomical
schools deserted. Might not some advantage be derived from the
views of this enlightened pontiff? Is it not impolitic to constitute
dissection an aggravation of punishment for the most heinous crimes?
At all events, the law at present is irjjperfect, because the provision
it aflfords is quite inadequate to the demand it creates. The legis-
lature requires (through the medium of certain established autho-
rities) that any one who practises the healing art shall have pro-
fessed dissection for a given period, while it affords no means — ■
that is, no sufficient means — of complying with this enactment;
and, consequently, bodies are procured elsewhere — that is, by
methods not only not countenanced by authority, but which are
positively illegal. In other words, the enactments of the legisla-
ture can only be cairied into effect by violating the law.

" • The necessity of some reformation in this respect is too ge-
nerally acknowledged to require that we should insist upon it : the
great object is, to determine the means by which it may be best
accomplished. It has been proposed, we understand, to give for
dissection the bodies of those who die in the hulks, or similar
situations, and of persons dying in workhouses, when they are not
claimed; of all persons who commit suicide; to allow individuals
to dispose of their own bodies before death, and to empower their
executors, under certain circumstances, to do so afterwards. It
is not easy, perhaps, to say what effect the latter of these methods
might have. In London, no doubt, there are many who would
dispose of the bodies of their relatives, if authorized by law to do
so ; but the first is calculated to foster, rather than abate, those
feelings which, after all, appear to us to constitute the great ob-
stacle to be overcome. It is scarcely credible that, if the idea of
indignity attached to dissection were removed, those who, while
living, submit their persons to an examination necessary to the

160 DOINGS IN LONDON.

restoration of health — who consent to undergo the most formidable
operations — and who often present themselves, without shrinking,
to the knife of the surgeon — should show such an abhorrence of the
same treatment after death, When they can no longer feel it. Per-
haps one of the considerations which influence the mind, under such
circumstances, is the implied absence of the burial service and
funeral rites ; but were bodies supplied under the sanction of the
law, there would be no necessity for these being omitted : indeed,
the price paid for the privilege of dissection might enable the
friends themselves to have these ceremonies performed, instead of
their being done by the parish, against which there is generally a
great dislike.

" ' Therehaving been amotion for the appointment of acomraitlee,
to inquire into this subject, and as the matter has met with the consi-
deration it deserves, from some of the leading men on both sides of the
house, we are inclined to hope that some effectual means may be
devised for remedying the evil. The question, however, is by no
means so simple as it might at first appear. The practice of dis-
section seems repugnant to the strongest prejudices of the people
in this country, — a repugnance which is by no means limited to the
lower classes of the community, but which at present pervades
nearly all, and which has unfortunately been increased, if not
originally produced, by dissection having been made to constitute
part of the punishment of the most aggravated felonies, and thus
associated in the public mind with crime and degradation.

** * It is matter open to discussion, and ought, in our opinion,
to be made the subject of deliberate investigation, whether this
part of the law ought not either to be abrogated, or rendered more
eflBcient, by extending the penalty of dissection to all who have
forfeited their lives. The latter would unquestionably produce the
more immediate relief; but it is questionable whether the former
would not ultimately prove the more beneficial, by removing a
principal source of that abhorrence which at present exists against
the examination of bodies after death.

" * Some who have spoken in Parliament seem to have rather
odd notions on the subject. Thus, Sir J. Yorke is reported to have
said, that one of the best means was, to allow the poor to sell theil
own bodies ; and that a pauper would not resist the temptation o.
£10, while alive, on condition of leaving his body, after death, to
the surgeon. Does he really suppose that any surgeon would be
such a noodle as to pay £10 on these conditions, and to purchase
of the living man the reversion of his body ? Does Sir J. Yorke
intend that we should buy a poor man alive, and kill him when we
want him ? We can only make the bargain with a healthy man
(the objection to which is, that they may die at a distant period)
or with a sick man who might recover, or with one dying of a faia,.
disease, the eifect of which on the patient's mind would probably
be of the most unfavourable nature.

" * It appears to us, that the only rational method would be, to

DOINGS IN LONDON. 1G7

appoint a committee to cali evidence, and investigate the matter
coolly, aided by the opinions of those best able to assist them.'

" Certain it is, the surgeons will, in ' spite of old Harry,' have
subjects for dissection." *' And it is very proper they should," re-
joined Mentor ; " all the precautions with patent coffins will never
prevent it. I remember the riots which took place in London, in
1795, upon this very subject. Twenty of the parishes of the me-
tropolis and its neighbourhood coalesced to prevent the robbery
of churchyards. They set forth the dreadful scene that had just
taken place in Lambeth burial-ground. One night three men were
discovered conveying away five human bodies in three sacks. la
consequence of this, people of all descriptions, whose friends had
been recently buried there, assembled on the ground the next
morning, and demanded to be allowed to examine the graves. This
being refused, a furious contest took' place between the populace
and the peace-officers, who were soon overpowered. The assail-
ants now rushed into the burial-ground, and began to tear open the
graves, when an immense number of the coffins were found to be
empty. Many of the people, in a kind of phrenzy, snatched up the
empty coffins of their deceased relations, and ran with them through
the neighbouring streets. The committee proceeded to state, that
they had ascertained that the grave-digger was the chief robber ;
and that eight eminent surgeons were in the habit of buying these
budies : that they retained in their pay fifteen body-stealers, and
five shillings were given to the grave-diggers for each corpse they
permitted to be taken. Thirty burying-grounds had been robbed.
The surgeons paid for each adult corpse, if not green or putrid,
two guineas and a crown ; and for persons under age, six shillings
for the first foot, and ninepence per inch for all above it. One
eminent quack, who styled himself an Articulator, was proved to
have made a wanton use of these bodies, by using the skulls
for nail-boxes, soap-trays, &c., and his child had an infant's
skeleton to play with as a doll. The committee also stated, that
much of the human flesh had been converted into an adipose sub-
stance resembling spermaceti, and burnt as candles, whilst some
had been converted into soap.

" It is not long since," continued Mentor, " that an extraordinary
attempt was thus made to steal a dead body for the surgeons. In
April, 1827, a gentleman of very respectable appearance was pro-
ceeding through Russell Square, when he was seized with a fit of
apoplexy, which caused him to fall down in a state of insensibility.
A crowd of persons immediately surrounded him, and rendered
every assistance, and ultimately conveyed him to the house of a
medical gentleman in the neighbourhood, where, on examination,
he was found to be quite dead. The body was conveyed to St.
Giles's workhouse, where, on being searched, s, pair of silver spec-
tacles, and nine shillings in silver, were found in the pockets, but
nothing whatever to lead to a discovery of who or what he was.
The parish-officers instantly forwarded information of the circum-
stance to the coroner, to hold an inquest, and caused bills to be

ltJ8 DOINGS IN LONDON.

printed and circulated, giving an accurate description of the de-
ceased's dress and person, in order that it might be claimed by his
friends. The coroner attended, and the jury, after investigating
the matter, returned a verdict of * Died by the visitation of
God.'

** Immediately after the inquest, a female of respectable demean-
our called at the vporkhouse, in a state of the most anxious agi-
tation, and requested to have a sight of the deceased's body,
stating that she felt assured that it was her uncle, who had been
missing from his home since Wednesday morning last. Her re-

auest was of course immediately granted, and, on entering the
ead-house, where the body lay, on beholding the countenance,
she gave a shriek, and exclaimed, * My uncle, my dear uncle !'
and, embracing the body, she caressed it repeatedly, and appeared
to be almost heart-broken with grief. Indeed, the officers had
considerable difficulty in causing her to quit the place, prior to do-
ing which, she steadfastly gazed on the remains of her ' dear uncle,'
and at length was obliged to be supported froni the place. When
in the governor's room, she, with the most urgent entreaties, re-
quested that the body might be sent home immediately, as his
family were in the utmost distress on account of the melancholy
circumstance. This, however, was prudently avoided, until proper
inquiries were made; and, on being asked for the address of the
deceased, she said, ' Mr. Williams, Blackfriars Road.' Previous
to her leaving the place, a young man, who had to transact some
business at the workhouse, entered, and, hearing that the lady
had made application for a dead body in the workhouse, his mind
was instantly struck with suspicion, as he identified her as the
person whom he had seen a short time before conversing at the cor-
ner of Belton Street, Long Acre, with as notorious a resurrection-
man as any in London ; and he intimated his suspicions to the
parish-officers, who determined on being on the alert. The beadle,
and the young man who made the discovery, repaired to Black-
friars Road, when, on making inquiry, they found that it was kept
by an honest blacksmith, who knew nothing at all of Mr. Williams,
or the death of any of his relations. They, however, traced the ap-
plicant to a brothel in Dawson Street, Kent Road, and ascertained
that she was a complete adept in such practices, and was con-
nected with a gang of resurrection-men, and that her husband had
been transported. This information they imagined to be sufficiently
strong to warrant the detention of the woman, until the matter was
thoroughly investigated, as it was anticipated that she could be
traced, so as to link her with an organized gang of ' body-snatchers,^
who have indulged in similar practices with impunity, through the
medium of her assistance. In the course of the investi.;^ation, se-
veral well-known resurrection-men were observed lurking about the
neighbourhood, no doubt waiti-ng to ascertain the result of their
fair colleague's application ; and, on being spoken to upon tho
subject, by one of the beadles, they attacked him with the most
violent abuse. It is presumed that, had she gained her point with

DOINGS IN LONDON. 169

the parish-officers, by having their consent to take the body away,
she would have called in her companions, who were in readiness,
and the body would have been consigned instanter to one of the
dissecting-rooms of a celebrated anatomist, not far distant from St.
Giles's, at the west-end of the town."

" As you are talking of body-stealing," said Peregrine, " I
veil! read you that clever jeu (Tesprit, written by Mr. Hood, on
the subject. It is an admirable burlesque parody on Mallet's
poem of William and Mary : —

* 'Twas in the middle of the night,
To sleep young William tried ;
When Mary's ghost came stealing in,
And stood at his bedside.

" Oh ! William dear ! Oh ! William, dear,

My rest eternal ceases ;
Alas ! my everlasting peace

Is broken into pieces.

I thought the last of all my cares'

Would end with my last minute ;
But, though I went to my long home,

I did'nt stay long in it.

The body snatchers they have come

And made a snatch at me :
It's very hard these kind of men

Won't let a body be.

You thought that I was buried deep,

Quite decent-like, and chary;
But from her grave in Mary- Bonne,

They've come and boned your Mary,

The arm that used to take your arm.

Is took to Hr.Vyse;
And both my legs are gone to walk

The hospital at Guy's.

I vow'd that you should have my hand,

But fate gives us denial ;
You'll find it there at Dr. Bell's,

In spirits and a vial.

As for my feet— the little feet,

You used to call so pretty,
There's one I know^, in Bedford Row-

The other's in the city.

I can't tell where my head is gone.

But Doctor Carpue can ;
As for my trunk, it's all pack'd up

To go by Pickford's van.

I wish you'd go to Mr. P.

And save me such a ride —
I don't half like the outside pl'aoe

They've took for my inaide.

\fJQ DOINGS IN UONDON.

The cock it crows — 1 must be gone ;

My William we must part ;
But I'll be your's in death, although

Sir Astlev has my heart.

Don't go to weep upon my grave.

And think that there I be :
They hav'nt left an atom there

Of my anatomie.' "

*' Instances have been known," said Peregrine's friend, '* o
persons having voluntarily sold their bodies to be anatomized, after
their death ; particularly one James Brooke, who, in 1736, sent
the following letter to Mr. Goldwyr, surgeon, of Salisbury, which
was found among that gentleman's papers : —

* To Mr. Edward Goldwyr, at his house in the close of Salts-
bury.

t SiR^ — Being informed you are the only surgeon in this city
(or county) that anatomises men, and I being under the unhappy
circumstance, and in a very mean condition, would gladly live as
long as I can, but by all appearance I am to be executed next
March, having no friends on earth that will speak a word to save
ray life, nor send me a morsel of bread to keep life and soul to-
gether, until the fatal day : so, if you will vouchsafe to come
hither, I will gladly sell ray body (being whole and sound), to be
ordered at your discretion ; knowing that it will rise at the general
resurrection, as well from your house, as from the grave. Youi
answer will highly oblige your's, &c.

• James Brooke.'
' Fisherton- Anger Goal,
October 3, 1736.'

" But, perhaps one of the most extraordinary circumstances
transpired in London, a few months since: it was this — ' A poor
fellow of the name of John, who used to attend horses, died in
distress ; and his faithful and affectionate rib, not having the means
of burying him, hit upon a notable expedient to save herself the
trouble and expense of a funeral, and all " that' solemn mockery
of woe," by offering his body to the surgeons for dissection : the
bargain was soon struck, and poor John was taken away. The
neighbours were surprised they saw no preparation for John's fune-
ral, especially as they had subscribed towards defraying the ex-
penses of burying him ; and much more so, when they ascertained
he was missing : at length, she acknowledged that she had sold him,
saying, she had no idea the " nottamizers" would have given so
much for John's body ; and that she was sure, her poor husband,
if he knew it, would feel happy he had been made the means of
adding to her comforts; "for," said she, wiping her eyes, " Ae,
poor soul, was a kind and an indulgent husband !" The neighbours
thought this a very strange mode of showing her affection to her

DOINGS IN LONDON. 171

husband, and deprecated most loudly her unfeeling behaviour : in-
deed, she was forced immediately to leave the neighbourhood, or
else, in a short time, most likely, she vi'ould have been herself a
subject for the " nottamizers.^"

There is no doubt, many ))eople are privy to the stealing of their
friends' bodies; and it is not long since a corpse was left in a
room, with the window a little way open, when, in the morning,
on looking into the coffin, the body was gone. It must have been
taken down stairs. "This circumstance," said Mentor, " reminds
me of an anecdote, of a person, who, on passing a church -yard,
and seeing a funeral, asked who's it was? * It is our parish
lawyer,' replied a by-stander. ♦ What !' said the other, ' do
you bury your lawyers V ' Yes, certainly,' said he, * pray, what
do you do with them ?' ' Why,' he replied, ' when they die, we
put them in a room over night, and throw open the window, and
in the morning we are sure to find the lawyer gone ; the only dis-
agreeable thing is, the room smells rather of brintstone !""

" In London," said Mentor's friend, " even the poor surgeons
are cheated: you probably remember the transaction of Mr. B,,
the celebrated anatomist, and the body-stealers : it is thus related,
and may be relied on as a fact : —

A man at a tavern made so free,

With Perkins' best entire,
He fell from his seat, and asleep laid he.

Before the parlour fire.

The landlord, who wish'd to shut up shop,

Cried, " Hang this drunken clown !
Whoe'er will turn him out neck and crop,

I'll give him half-a-crown."

A wag, who was taking his parting cup,

Cried, " Done — ^just give me a sack,
I'll put him in gently, tie him up,

And take him away on my back."

So said, so done — at a surgeon's door,

He gives a gentle kick ;
" I've brought you a subject — five pounds — no more,

Here— give me the cash — be quick !"

The bargain is struck — the money is paid.

The fellow cries out, " All's right !"
The drunken man on the floor is laid,

And the surgeon says, " Good night,"

But either the jostling had conquer'd the beer.

Or by time its strength had fled ;
For noises came to the surgeon's ear,

That a body can't make that's dead.

Enraged at the trick, he follow'dthe man.

And cried, " How dare you connive
At an action so base ? — but I'll foil your plan ;

Why, knave ! the fellow's alive !"

172 DOINGS IN LONDON.

" Alne ! you don't say bo," he dryly said,

(It seemed not the least to daunt him) :
••* He'll keep the better — don't be afraid,

You can liill him whenever you want him." '

"This is the way," said Peregrine's friend, laughing, "the
surgeons are served in London ; and dearly, indeed, they pay for
subjects, at the mention of which so many people shudder. Some
say, if the doctors are in want of subjects, let them begin by
giving the bodies of their deceased relations, and leaving their
own persons for dissection ; but, were they to do so, it would con-
tribute littletowards remedyingthe evil ; for the ideais founded upon
the erroneous supposition that they have not, generally speaking,
the same feelings as the rest of mankind. There are few medical
men so much above or below the common weakness of our nature,
as not to admit the force of the general sentiment; and where, in
a few instances, they have left their bodies for dissection, it has
been looked upon rather as a mark of eccentricity than of superior
mind. Besides, this and all similar views of the subject have the
great fault of regarding the dead and not the living. It is the
feelings of the survivors which alone we have to consider, and
which would be as much outraged by the dissection of a ' doctor'
as of any other individual. Trace to its source the general senti-
ment of repugnance to dissection — remove this, if possible, and
nothing further is required. But, if this cannot be done, then, the
necessity of anatomical pursuits being granted, let the supply of
the necessary means come from those who have no friends to claim
an interest in them. As society is constituted, the number so
situated, we fear, is far greater than would be required.

" What a dreadful state we should be in," said Mentor, " were
it not for the skill of the regular-bred practitioners ; we should be
then under the care of that murdering class of impostors, the
quack doctors ; for the man who, without experience or education,
undertakes to administer remedies for the diseases of the hu-
man body, of which he is ignorant, is a curse and a pest to
society, and an enemy to all around him. Quackery is an ancient
profession in London. In King Edward the Fourth's reign, seve-
ral practisers of physic were examined by the college, and found
so unfit for the practice of that art, that they were rejected; some
were punished according to public statutes, and others fined. In
the fourth year of this king's reign, in the month of September,
one Grig, a poulterer of Surrey, taken among the people for a pro-
phet, in curing of divers diseases, by words and prayers, and say-
ing he would take no money, &c., was, by command of the Earl
of Warwick and others of the council, set on a scaffold in the
town of Croydon, in Surrey, with a paper on his breast, wherein
was written his deceitful and hypocritical dealings : and after that,
on the eighth of September, set on a pillory in Southwark, being
then our Lady Fair there kept, and the Mayor of London, with
his brethren, the aldermen, riding through the fair, the said Grig

DOINGS IN LONDON. itS

asked them and all the citizens forgiveness. Of the like counter-
feit physician, saith Stowe, have I noted in the summary of ray
Chronicles, anno 1382, to be set on horseback, his face to the
horse's tail, the same in his hand as a bridle, a collar of jordans
about his neck, a whetstone on his breast, and so led through the
city of London, vi'ith ringing of basins, and banished.

" Henry VIII. despised them, and endeavoured to suppress
their nostrums, by establishing censors in physic.

** Quack doctors used formerly to go about, attended by their
servants ; and the first itinerant doctor on record is the celebrated
Andrew Borde, and from this man is derived the name of Merry-
Andrew, for he was as facetious as he was erudite : his speeches,
from the singularity of their style, were received with universal ap-
probation by the people, and the cures he performed were very-
many, he being a man of most extraordinary attainments.

" It was truly said by the notorious quack, Dr. Rock (who shines
so conspicuously in Hogarth's prints), when asked how he, who
was so utterly ignorant of physic and surgery, could have amassed
such a fortuue by doctoring, thus replied (taking the person to
the window) : there, said he, out of every thousand people that pass,
nine hundred are fools, and they are my customers ; the other
hundred go to the regular M. D's. If people would but apply,
in the first instance, to men of acknowledged medical skill, instead
of going to cheap quacks, what money it would save them; and
hundreds of persons would be saved from a premature grave, or
from passing a lingering life of misery and pain.

'* Among the many eminent quacks, were Doctor Benjamin
Thornhill, the seventh son of the seventh son, and Doctor Bossy,
also the seventh son of the seventh son : this latter was the last moun-
tebank doctor who exhibited in the British metropolis, and his
public services ceased about forty years ago. Every Thursday, his
stage was erected opposite the north-west colonnade, Covent
Garden. The platform was about six feet from the ground, was
covered, open in front, and was ascended by a broad step-ladder.
On one side was a table, with medicine-chest and surgical apparatus,
displayed on a table with drawers. In the centre of the stage was
an arm-chair, in which the patient was seated ; and, before the
doctor commenced his operations, he advanced, taking off his
gold'laced hat, and, bowing right and left, began addressing the
populace, which crowded before his booth. The following dia-
logue, ad literatim, will afford the reader a characteristic specimen
of the customs in London of the last age. It should be observed, the
doctor was a humourist. — An aged woman was helped up the lad-
der, and seated m the chair, — she had been deaf, nearly blind, and
was lame to boot ; indeed, she might be said to have been visited
with Mrs. Thrale's three warnings, and death would have walked
in at the door, only that Dr. Bossy blocked up the passage. The
doctor asked questions with an audible voice, and the patient
responded — he usually repeating the response in his Anglo-Germaa

174 DOINGS IN LONDON.

dialect. Doctor— dis a poora voman vot is — how old vosh you ?
Old woman— I be almost eighty, sir; seventy-nine last Lady-Day ,
old style. Doctor — Ah, tat is an incurable disease. Old woman
— Oh, dear! Oh, dear ! say not so— incurable ! Why, you have
restored my sight — 1 can hear again, and I can vt^alk without my
crutches. Doctor (smiling)— No, no, good voman, old age is vot
is incurable, but, by the plessing of God, I vill cure you of vot
is elshe. Dis poora woman vos lame, and deaf, and almost
blind. How many hossipals have you been in ? Old Woman —
Three, sir; St. Thomas's, St. Bartholomew's, and St. George's. —
Doctor — Vot, and you found no relief? vot none — not at alls ? Old
Woman — No, not at all, sir. Doctor — And how many medical
professioners have attended you ? Old Woman — Some twenty or
thirty, sir. Doctor — O mine Gote ! Three sick hossipals and dirty
(thirty) doctors ! I should vonder vot if you have not enough to
kill you twenty time. Dis poora voman has become mine patient.
Doctor Bossy gain all patients bronounced ingurables ; pote, mid
de plessing of Brovidence, I shall make short work of it, and set
you upon your legs again. Coode beoples, dis poora vomans vas
teaf as a toor nail : (holding up his watch to her ear, and striking
the repeater), gan you hear dat pell? Old woman — Yes, sir.
Doctor — O den, be thankful to Gote. Can you valk round dis
chair? (offering his arm^. Old icoman — Yes, sir. Doctor — Sit
you town again, good voman. Can you see? Old woman —
Pretty so-so, doctor. Doctor — Vot gan you see, good woman ?
Old woman — I can see the baker there (pointing to a mutton-pie-
man, with the pie-board on his head — all eyes were towards him).
Doctor — And vat else gan you see, good vomans? Oldivoman —
The poll-parrot there (pointing to Richardson's hotel).| * Lying

old ,' screamed Richardson's poll-parrot ; all the crowd

shouted with laughter. Dr. Bossy waited until the laugh had
subsided, and looking across the way, significantly shook his
head at the parrot, and gravely exclaimed, laying his hand on his
bosom, * 'tis no lie, you silly pird, 'tis all true as de gospel.' Those
who knew Covent Garden half a century ago cannot have forgotten
ihe famed Dr. Bossy."

Peregrine and his friend enjoyed Mentor's description of poor Dr.
Bossy ; and the latter, taking up the tankard, and drinking a good
draught of Calvert's entire, asked whether Mentor thought ^Bossy
recommended his patients to drink London porter. " I cannot
answer that question," replied Mentor; "perhaps the price was
too high for his patients ; but, if it was for them, it was not for
the generality of the people, it we are to judge from the immense
quantity of it brewed. The prices of this important article of
consumption were regulated by statute, as early as the reigns of
Henry HI. and Henry I., which enacted that they should rise
or fall with the price of corn. The scale of prices may be seen
in Strype's Stowe.

** In 1468 (8 Edward IV.), according to an assize then -made.

DOINGS IN LONDON. 176

it was ordained— that, if the brewer bought the quarter of malt
for two shillings, he was to sell a gallon of the best ale for a
halfpenny, and was to make forty-eight gallons of a quarter of
malt. If the quarter of malt was three shillings, the gallon was
to be three farthings; if four shillings the quarter, one penny the
gallon ; * and so on of the shilling the farthing.' To prevent
frauds, both as to quality and quantity, no brewer was to sell ale
till the aletaster had tasted it ; and he was to have * mesurys assized
and asselid.' A breach of these ordinances subjected the brewer,
for the first and second offences, to fines, and, for the third, to the
punishment, ' first of the lockyng-hole, and aftyr to the pillory.'

*' The great breweries, or ' bere-houses,' as they are called in the
map of London, in Civitatus Orbem, &c., stood on the Thames
side, below St. Catherine's, though they afterwards extended from
thence, westwards, as far as Milford Stairs ; and they were, as well
as the beer they brewed, under the control of the officers of the
crown. Henry VII., in 1492, licensed one John Merchant, a
Fleming, to export fifty tons of ale, called beer; and, according to
Maitland, in the same reign, Geoffrey Gate, probably one of these
officers, ' spoiled the brewhouses at St. Catherine's twice, eitlrer
for sending too much abroad unlicensed, or for brewing it too
weak for their home customers.' The demand for this article from
foreign parts increased to a high degree in the reign of Elizabeth,
particularly about the year 1580; but the exportation of it was
often prohibited by royal proclamation, as a cause, in times of
scarcity, of enhancing the price of corn. * Yet, even upon prohi-
bition,' Stowe tells us, ' special licences were granted by the Lord
Treasurer. Thus, he allowed one Lystel, in the month of Novem-
ber, to brew and transport 500 tons of beer, for tlie queen's use;
and, in the same month, another ship was laded with 360 barrels
of beer to Embden ; and, in the same month again, a ship of Am-
sterdam laded 300 barrels more ; and, in the same month, four
ships of Embden were laded with 800 barrels more, which shows
in what request our English beer was then abroad.'

" In 1585, the quantity of beer, siron^' andswio/Z, brewed in Lon-
don, in one year, by the twenty-six brewers in the city, suburbs,
and Westminster (whereof the one half were strangers, the other
English), was thus calculated : — Most of them brewed, in general,
six times a week, and twenty quarters at a time, which yielded, in
small beer, at least 100 barrels, and 60 in strong. One with
another, they brewed 420 barrels weekly a-piece, which amounted
to 2,496 barrels yearly ; so that the whole number of brewers
brewed, at that rate, 648,960 barrels. The quantities sent abroad,
near the same time, were estimated in a similar manner, viz. : ' That
there were twenty great brewhouses, or more, situate on the Thames
side, from Milford Stairs, in Fleet Street, to below St. Catherine's,
which brewed yearly the quantity of seven or eight brewings of
sweet beer, or strong beer, that passed to Hoad, Embden, the
Low Countries, Calais, Dieppe, and thereabouts; and account

176 DOINGS IN LONDON.

but 600 brewings, it makes 26,000 barrels ; which, at seven to a
tun, make 3,771 tuns.'

" The contrast in modern times is amazing. In the year ending
June, 1760, 425,959 barrels of beer were brewed. From Midsum-
mer, 1786, to Midsummer, 1787, the number of barrels of strong
beer alone, brewed in London, was 1,176,856 : of these, Whit-
bread's house (which then stood first) brewed 150,280 barrels;
Calvert's (Felix), 131,043 barrels ; and Thrale's (now Barclay
and Perkins), 105,559 barrels ; and the duty on the malt, for the
preceding year, was one million and a half of money. In the
year ending July 5, 1827, 1,412,590 barrels of beer were brewed.
The sight of a London brewhouse presents a magnificence un-
speakable. The vessels evince the extent of the trade.

" Vessels of beer and ale were not gauged by statute before the
23d of Henry VIII. Defects were punishable, upon presentment
of juries, by the magistrates. The price of a quarter of wheat was
then 6s. 6d. ; the quarter of malt, 4s. or 5s. ; and a quarter of oats
cost 2s. 8d. The price of a cwt. of the best hops was 6s. or 6s. 8d.
Beer sold for —

C Tlorrol^ .^* «o ("And the barrel of the best beer,

The last for { ^f,'.'! ?';„: 'l . { or ale, sold then for 3s. 8d. or
|K.lderkms,at5s. ^ ^^ The lid. beer for 3s.

In the beginning of the same reign (1512), the remaining stock of
malt liquor in the cellar of one of the noblemen of the court is
valued as follows : —

" • Of ale, vij gallons, after \jd. the gallon, xiiijd.

" • Of beire, xiiij hogisheds, dimid' conteyning D. iiij score, xvj
gallons, after oboV quadr" the gallon, xliiijs. vjd.'

" N. B. — Malt was then 4s. a quarter, and hops 13s. 4d. the
cwt. It was probably a scarce season for the latter article.

" Ale and beer at this time, and long afterwards, were the com-
mon beverage for breakfast, and were generally accompanied by
dried or salted fish, and meat. A quart of beer is the quantity
ordered to be brought to my Lord of Northumberland's table, every
morning at breakfast, in the reign of Henry VII., and a pottle to
each person of his household. The common people are also spoken
of, somewhat later, as consuming great quantities of beer, double
and single (i. e. strong and small.) ' This they do not,' says a
contemporary writer, ' drink out of glasses, but from earthen pots
with silver handles and covers, and this even in houses of persons
of middling fortune ; for, as to the poor, the covers of their pots
are only pewter, and in some places, such as villages, their pots
for beer are only made of wood.'

" Our ancestors were not unacquainted with some of the modern
methods of adulterating this article. In the reign of Elizabeth, the
brewers were complained of for brewing towards, the close of the
year, with bad, or what was called weavy malt, being the bottom
and sweepings of their granaries, to make room to bring in new

DOINGS IN LONDON,

177

corn. It was also reported that they put in darnel rosin, lime,
and chalk, and such like ; ' to make,' says Stowe, ' the drinkers
thirsty, that they might drink the more ; and that for cheapness,
when hops were dear, they put into their drink, broom, bay-berries,
ivy-berries, and such like things,'"

At this instant, a respectable gentleman, a Quaker, entered the
coffee-room, in a state ol" great vexation. " Friends," said he, " I
have been sorely used ; I have just been made a sufferer, by the

iBotngs of tfiz ilDiiltDn ^tc&pocttetg.

This afternoon, on my way from the Bank, coming along some
of the by-streets, a fellow, with a cigar in his mouth, came close
up to me, and puffed a cloud of noxious smoke in my face ; when,
on raising both my hands, instinctively, as it were, to preserve my
eyes, I felt a tug at my coat-pocket ; but, before 1 could recover
myself (for I was astounded at the singularity of the attack, and
the pain in my eyes was very acute), the villains were off, and
ran, I suppose, down some of the courts. I then found I was
robbed of my pocket-book." " I hope, sir," said Mentor, •' there
was not much property in it." " I thank thee, friend," said the
gentleman, " there were but a few notes, and some private
memorandums, which I had put very carelessly in my coat-
pocket ; for, certainly, in London, where a person has money
about him, he ought always to place it where he can, as he walks,
feel that it is safe : for instance, inside his waistcoat, and
button his coat, keeping his arm over where he knows the money
23. N

17i\ DOINGS IN LONDON.

is, not in a stiff manner, so as it might appear he was guarding- his
property, but in a free position : if he does so, and never looks
into print or other shops, or stops to witness sights, or disturbances,
or accidents, but goes straight forward, until he has paid away, or
deposited his money safely at home, it is a hundred chances if
ever he is robbed. If a stranger wants to see any sights in London,
let him look at them when he has no property about him. It is
also a very careless custom of country people and strangers, when
they receive any money at a banker's, to come out of the office
with the money in their hands, and place it in their pockets in the
streets : this has been the cause of many persons being robbed ; for
the thieves are always on the look-out for Jiats, as they call them.
It is best, when at the banker's, or any other place where you are
receiving money, to deposit it safely while in the office, and to go
straight forward home, as I just mentioned. I knew," continued
the friend, " a poor man, a master of a Sunderland collier, who
had received £40 in Lombard Street, and, when he arrived on
board his ship in the river, he, to his grief and astonishment, found
he had been robbed of all the money. He immediately went to
the police-officers, who asked him whether he recollected stopping
any where in the streets ; he said, he was satisfied the money was
in his breeches' pocket, for, to be certain, he counted it in the
street, and buttoned, up his breeches' pocket ; and that he only
stopped a few minutes to see two men fight on Tower Hill. ' Now,
eaptain,' said one of the police-officers, ' you were watched counting
your bank-notes, and where you put them ; and the pickpockets
had not an opportunity, before you arrived on Tower Hill, of
robbing you ; when some of the party made a show of a fight, to
draw your attention, in which, unfortunately, they succeeded ; and
there they robbed you. But yours is a case of almost every day's
occurrence. The cause of countrymen being often robbed, arises
chiefly from their over-caution. It was but the other day, a trusty
old man was sent to receive £2000, which he did in two notes :
the anxiety of having so much property about him, made him
almost every minute put his hand in his pocket, to feel that it was
safe ; but, by the time he got to Burlington Gardens, he ascertained
that he had lost the money ; for, by so repeatedly placing his hand
in his breeches' pocket, and it being a very hot day, and he walking
fast, it is supposed, he drew the notes out, his hands being in a state
of perspiration. Fortunately for his employer, a poor washerwo-
man's boy found the two notes, who immediately hastened with
them to the place where they were advertised to be taken, and re-
ceived a reward of £100. It appeared, also, that the lad, although his
mother was in a state of poverty, had received avery good education,
and was of an undeniable character; he was therefore received at the
office of the gentleman whose property the notes were, and where
he now is, a man of worth and respectability, — such are the good
effects of honesty r This police-officer told ray friend," continued
the Quaker gentleman, ** that the very day previous, a north-country

DOINGS IN LONDON. 179

captain, while going along Wapping, it raining at the time, was
overtaken by a mob of people witnessing the dancing of some
chimney-sweepers: on an instant, he was surrounded by a party
of young fellows, who pressed closely on him, and kept both his
arms up, in holding his umbrella; when, all on an instant, they
liberated him, and, in a few minutes, after casting his eyes down,
he found his watch, with the appendages of five large seals and
two keys, were all vanished."

" The love for thieving," said Mentor, " is, I think, born with
many people. They only value that which they have had the
pleasure of thieving ; as has been evinced in the cases of many per-
sons of property and of consequence being detected repeatedly in
the act of pilfering. Mr. Cunningham, a surgeon in a convict-ship,
in his work, entitled Two Years in New Smith Wales, says, 'Thieves
generally affect to consider all the rest of mankind equally criminal
with themselves, only being either lucky enough not to be found
out, or committing actions which (though equally bad in the eye of
the Divinity) are not so tangible in that of men. It is their con-
stant endeavour to reduce every one, in fact, to the same level with
themselves, while fate, they believe, impels them on to do the deeds
for which the world condemns them : — to thieve is their destiny,
and against this how can they contend ? Indeed, the conscience-
comforting doctrine of predestination derives very considerable
force from the fact, that no convict-ships have been lost since the
first settling of the colony; demonstrating, what a safe conveyance
such a ship is, seeing there are too many destined to be hanged
aboard, for her company to run any risk of being drowned. The
life of a thief is indeed calculated like the success of a new play ;
and such a one is said to have a good or a bad run, according to
the length of time he has been able to evade the penalties of trans-
portation or the gallows. You will often hear old acquaintances,
when they meet during fresh debarkments, from England to Botany
Bay, on inquiring how Bill or Sam such a one fares, and hearing
he is still " a-going at it," exclaim, in surprise, "What a lucky dog!
what a good run he has had !" Of all those I ever heard of,' con-
tinues Mr. Cunningham, ' who have manifested the " ruling passion
strong in death," George Breadman proved one of the staunchest.
He was a \>oor yokel, foisted upon me in the last stage of consumptimit
and who remained bed-ridden until our arrival in the colony. He
fell away so fast that I never expected to land him alive, and cer-
tainly it required the most anxious attention to retain the glimmering
spark. I fortunately, however, possessed a very facetious fellow
among the batch, to whom this poor dying creature became strongly
attached, never being a day happy whereon his friend neglected to
visit him, and often begging me to send this man to him for com-
pany, which I gladly did, seeing it invariably put him in good
spirits. Wondering what could be the cause of this extraordinary
liking, I inquired, and found that Breadman had been a great pig-
fitealer in his day, which, being considered a very vulgar calling
N 2

180 DOINGS IN LONDON.

among the professional classes (particularly among the townies),
tie could get no one to listen to his adventures except this joker,
who would laugh with and quiz him on the particular subjects of
his achievements ; praise the wonderful expertness with which he
had done the farmers out of their grunters, and propose a partner-
ship concern on reaching the colony, if the pigs there were found to
be worth stealing ! I really believe the poor creature was kept in
existence a full month solely by the exhilirating conversation of his
companion. On anchoring at Sydney, no time was lost in convey-
ing Breadman ashore, he being so weak that he could not even sit
up without fainting : yet, in this pitiable state, supporting himself
round the hospital-man's neck, while the latter was drawing on his
trousers for him, the expiring wretch mustered strength enough to
stretch out his pale trembling hand toward the other's waistcoat-
pocket, and pick it of a pocket-comb and penknife ! Next morn-
ing he ivas a corpse, thus dying as he had lived. Yet, during his
whole illness, this man would regularly request some of the sober-
minded rogues to read the Scriptures to him, and pray by his bed-
side! Indeed, ill practices become ultimately so habitual with
many, as to be no longer deemed such : and hence, no wonder we
so often see religion and knavery intimately blended.'

" To what magnitude thieves would carry their depredations,"
observed the Quaker, " if it was not for the publicity given to their
exploits by the newspapers !" ** They would, indeed," rejoined
Mentor ; " and, apropos, I have in my pocket-book a clever
burlesque narrative of a professional meeting of thieves, which I
copied from a Sunday paper, called Bell's Dispatch. I preserved
it on purpose to read it to you (addressing himself to Pere-
grine). It is necessary to remark, that it was written at the time
when the judges prohibited the publishing of police reports previous
to the trial of the parties accused. It is as follows : —

" Monday last a meeting was held at the sign of the Nimble-
fingers, in Rosemary Lane, by the thieves, pickpockets, duffers,
swindlers, housebreakers, footpads, bludgeon-men, and other
rogues of the metropolis, for the purpose of passing a vote of
thanks to the Judges, for their spirited and praiseworthy attempt
to abolish the publication of Police Reports. Bill Soames having
been called to the chair by acclamation, opened the business of
the day in a neat and appropriate speech. — The chairman pro-
ceeded to take a view of thieving, from the earliest period down
to the present time, observing, at some length, on the antiquity of
the custom, which was coeval with property itself. What were
called honest men must live, however, as well as prigs*; it was
but fair they should, and laws were accordingly invented for their
protection. He did not object to laws; quite the contrary, he
approved of laws ; no rogue, who knew his own interests, would
object to laws — were it not for laws, every man would be on his
guard, and would take care of himself, and instant punishmeai
• Thieves — See Jonathan Wild's definition of this word.

DOINGS IN LONDON. 181

would be inflicted on the detected thief; but under laws, he meant
8uch laws as those of England, when caught in the fact, how many
chances of escape presented themselves to the thief. A word, a
letter, a slip of the pen in framing the indictment, prove a loop-
hole for the prisoners escape. These, and a thousand others,
were the chances in favour of the detected thief. Now and then,
punishment overtakes a thief, and it is well that it should do so ;
were it not for the gallows, all men would be thieves, and then
what would become of the profession ? Why, it would resemble a
fish-pond of pikes; it would be over-run, over-stocked, like the
law, the army, the navy, and the church. Occasional punishments,
therefore, were like high duties to certain trades ; they secured a
sort of monopoly to the adventurous, and deterred small souls from
embarking in concerns above their resources. He liked, then, to
see honest men in the world, and he liked to see such laws as
those of England framed for their protection — that was all fair.
But he did not like the tell-tale practice they were that day met
to condemn— the tell-tale practice, he would call it, of police-
reporting. Formerly, a gentleman contrived some stratagem to
take in the unwary, which lasted him his life ; but now the trick
which is invented and successfully practised to-day, is blown all
over the town in twenty-four hours, and is no trick for to-morrow ;
nay, it is at the Land's End and Johnny Groat's House in a week ;
every mop-squeezer in London is up to the most knowing go, a
few hours after it has first been shown up at a police-ofHce exa-
mination. Prigs had fine invention — no man was fit for the busi-
ness without it; but no invention could stand this daily demand.
They cannot be eternally shifting their ground or contriving new
tricks for every day in the year. Let them look at the swindlers,
the dufl'ers, the brick-bat parcel folks, and others in that line; they
hit on a clever scheme to-day and do a little business, but to-mor-
row comes a police report, and every one is up to it, and on his
guard. What with the gas and the newspapers, with lighting the
streets by night and blabbing by day, a thief's business was not
now what it was formerly. Leave the law to itself to take its
course, as it used to do, and leave the attorneys for the prosecu-
tion to hunt up what evidence they can ferret out, and to get their
honest earnings by it; this was the good old plan. We are all
innocent, gentlemen, in the eye of the law, and is it not a shame
that people should suspect us of being thieves against a maxim of
the constitution [much applause] * Folks were getting so woundy
suspicious now, there was no doing business with them, and all
along with those cursed reports in the papers. But what would
be the upshot of all this here ? Why, there would be no thieves,
and then what would become of the lawyers ? It did his heart
good, however, to see that the Judges had taken the matter up.
The Judges, God bless them, would give fair play to the thieves
floud and continued acclamations of applause] ; and it was right
they should do so, for if there were no thieves there would be no

i02 DOINGS IN LONDON.

Judges. He concluded by proposing a toast (pipes, tobacco, and
punch had been introduced) —

" * The abobtion of PoUce Reports," with nine times nine.

" ' Tune — " Let us take the road."

" ' After the uproar had subsided, Filch, a well-known public
character, rose and observed, that he had not, like the honourable
chairman, the gift of the gab, but he should just say a few words
about this here matter. A prig was for all the world like a fox,
the cunningest chap as is — the fox is caught in a trap; veil, he's
taken good care of and clapped in a bag, to be turned out
afore the hounds, the 'squire and big-wigs all agog to ride after
him ; but they gives him good law, and that's a main good start,
and off he sets, as thof the devil was ater him. Now, if so
be a clod with a long pole vere to come across of the wermin,
and to floor the fox with a lick on the pate, blow him, vat a
row the sporting gemmen would make — how the vips and tongues
would go to work on him for spoiling the run; they loves to
catch the wermin in their own way, and vould sooner see
him bolt clean away than catch him contrary to sportsman's law.
It's just for all the world the same when the law gets hold of a
prig — first, the beak catches him in a trap, and, lord ! what a
mortal sight of care he takes of him. " Mind, don't say nothing
to hurt yourself, my honest fellow," says he ; " take care you don't
commit yourself, whatever you do" — 'cause, if he did, 'twould
spoil the run. Then comes the trial, like the hunt, and we are
slipped out of the bag with plenty of law and its odds, but with
that start we gets clean off : but here comes the press-gang, like
the clod with the pole, and hits us an ugly vipe with its news.
" Blow me tight," says the huntsman, and that's the judge, "but
that's foul, rat me if it ant." " Vy, did not you vant to catch

him?" says the clod. " Not that vay, you son of a ," says

the judge ; " ferret me, if I don't set my hounds on you, you nation
spoil-sport, for a poaching wagabond, as you be, and be hanged to
you, to go and catch the wermin in that ere manner; vy, it's not
giving him a fair run, I'm blowed if it is ;" and then he takes and
wallops the clod. Fair play's a jewel, and lawyers serve the
thieves as 'squires do foxes ; they preserves 'em all carefully for
their own sport, and loves to give them a sight of chances to get
oft", for that makes the fun of the run. And lord, gemmen, vhen
ve sees the court a setting at sizes, with its counsels and judges
all so big and grand like, ve should take a pride to think it's ve
that keeps 'em all ; they owes all to us ; ve causes it all ; and
tliey should be grateful ; and now, gemmen, having no more to
say at this present, 1 propose a toast, I am certain sure you will
all drink with hearty good will — the law, gemmen.

" ' The law' — Air " The Rogues' March.''

" ' Mr. Chousen, a swindler, in very extensive business, then
rose, and observed, that the exposure of their pri"ate aftairs in
the public prints was fatal to the prosperity of the profession. The

DOINGS IN 1-ONDON. 183

measure meditated by the judges of putting down those obnoxious
publications, could alone save them from impending ruin. He
begged to offer a toast that could not be other than acceptable to
the meeting.

*' * The wooden heads of old England.' — Tune, " Ye Gentle-
men of England."

'• ' Jack Midnight, a housebreaker of note, said, that among
prigs there could be but one opinion concerning the injurious ten-
dency of police reports, which were as barking dogs and gas-
lights to their operations. If the judges had not humanely con-
sidered their hard case, he, for one, should have been compelled
to adopt another line of business. He had some thoughts of prac-
tising, according to the Court of Chancery law, that is to say, of
burglariously entering and robbing houses of ill-fame, and forcibly
taking from dwelling-houses in general all species of property of
a paw-paw nature, or contra bonos mores. Our fine houses were
rich in plunder of this description, the forcible abstraction of which
would, by the famous decision of the Court of Chancery on literary
property, be regarded as no crime, or rather as a decided public
benefit. The speaker gave, as a toast, •' The beauty of appropria-
tion."

" ' Air — " At the silent midnight hour."

** ' Billy Brainem, a footpad, then rose and observed, what a
singular blessing it was, that in this country punishments were re-
garded with more horror than crimes. The extreme severity of
punishments softened the hearts of prosecutors, and was the best
safety of the prig. He therefore proposed — " The Criminal Code."

" ' Air — " The groans of the dying."

" * Mr. Filch again got on his legs, and moved that the thanks
of this meeting be given to the judges for their spirited, praise-
worthy, and truly constitutional attempt to put down the publica-
tion of police reports ; and that a committee, consisting of the fol-
lowing persons, be appointed to convey the same : — Bill Soames,
Nimming Ned, Lady Barrymore, Filch, Billy Brainem, and Light-
Fiiigered Jack.

" ' Lady Barrymore seconded the motion, observing, that no
lady had suftered more than herself in reputation, from the ptjSli-
cation of the police reports.

" ' Billy Brainem moved, as an amendment, that with the first*
fruits of their industry, after the suppression of police reports, 8.
piece of plate should be purchased and presented to the judges, in
commemoration of the signal service they had rendered to tha
profession.

" ?Lady Barrymore did not like the idea of shelling out ; sfi&
thougbit the money would be better laid out in blue ruin.

" ' Filch — It's no expense ; we can always steal the plate again
vhen ve vants it.

** * The amendment was carried.

134 DOINGS IN LONDON.

** * On which Lady Barryniore knocked down the chairman, and
the meeting was tuniultuously adjourned.

" * A large body of watchmen attended the meeting, but were
not permitted to mix in the deliberations, as not being strictly
professional ; in the course of the proceedings, however. Filch
proposed the toast of " The Watchmen."

•• ' Air — " Charley is my darling." '

"The landlady of the house where I reside while in town,'
said Peregrine's friend, " was lately robbed in a singular manner;
which shows how careful all persons ought to be who let lodgings :
she told me that a young female, apparently about eighteen or
twenty years of age, who represented herself as being a servant to
an elderly lady of an independent fortune, went and took lodgings
for the said lady and herself, and, in order to gain her point, had
recourse to the following stratagem : — She went about eleven o''cIock
in the morning, and, after inquiring the terms, went away with a
pretence to inform her mistress, who, she said, was lodging at
Brompton Row, near Hyde Park, and where a satisfactory cha-
racter would be given, if required. After the lapse of about two
hours, the said female returned, and said that her mistress would
make trial of her choice, and that she was to stop and get a good
fire in the sitting-room, — that she would follow with the luggage,
and, to satisfy the landlady, would pay a month's lodgings in ad-
vance, and tiiat; if she found herself comfortable, she should con-
tinue them. After the girl had made the tire, she asked the land-
lady to lend her a basket and basin to fetch some meat in, from
an eating-house in the street, to be ready for her mistress on her
arrival, which the latter readily complied with ; but, not returning
after a sufficient time had elapsed, the landlady began to think
that all was not right, and, on examining the premises, found that
she had decamped with two silver table-spoons, two tea-spoons,
a pair of silver sugar-tongs, and a tortoise-shell tea-caddy.

"The young thief was of middle stature, but rather slender,
a fresh-coloured good-looking giil, and rather prepossessing in her
manners ; had on a black bonnet, a white spotted shawl, a red
gown, with black stripes, and a white apron."

Mentor observed, " That cases of robbing ready-furnished lodg-
ings were unfortunately very common ; to recite half the in-
stances, would almost fill a volume. Indeed, very few persons
are greater sufferers, by the vicious artifices of the swindler. I
remember," continued Mentor, " about two months since, a lady,
elegantly dressed, took expensive lodgings at the house of a trades-
man in the Strand. On the credit of her appearance, she ob-
tained goods from several shopkeepers, without prompt payment.
She appeared en famille, and no person imagined her accouchement
far distant. A milliner and dress-maker, near Essex Street, was
employed to make her a morning-dress, and other articles, which
came to 8/. She carried the things home, and the lady's daughter

DOINGS IN LONDON. 185

saiil, her mamma, being indisposed, had retired to her chamber ;
therefore begged she would call again next morning. The young-
woman went the following day, and saw the lady, who expressed
herself quite satisfied with the dress, and gave another order,
observing, * When you have finished this dress, bring your bill,
and take the money.' After leaving the house, she reflected, being
but lately engaged in business, that she ought not to execute the
second order unless the first was paid for ; she, consequently,
returned, and informed the daughter, that she really had not the
means of purchasing materials for the last order, unless the lady
would pay her for the dress sent home. The daughter acquiesced
in the reasonable representations made by the dress-maker, and
appointed her to come at nine o'clock on Thursday morning, when
she said the money should be ready. The young woman was
punctual ; but, instead of paying for her goods, she found the
i'amily of the tradesman, who kept the house, in great consterna-
tion. At eight o'clock the preceding evening, the lady was deli-
vered of a fine infant, and at dead of night, before any person in
the house was stirring, she contrived to remove the child, herself,
her daughter, and a trunk, containing every article she had of
value, as it is supposed, to a coach, in which she drove oft' before
the family could have the least suspicion of her departure. The
servant in the house first discovered the ladies' apartment unoccu-
pied, and the street-door open. Besides eight weeks' arreas of
board and lodging, she has left unpaid debts amounting to a con-
siderable sum.

"There is also," continued Mentor, " a species of swindling now
in practice, which cannot be made too public, as it has hitherto
been very successful. Two persons, forming, it is supposed, part
of a gang, go and take lodgings in respectable houses, and adver-
tise for ' several respectable young women, who may be taught a
genteel business, at which they can earn from \bs. to ?5s. per
week, and have constant employment." The advertisers generally
have numerous applicants, from each of whom they obtain 1/. as a
premium for teaching young women to bind shoes. About a fort-
night ago, a man and woman, calling themselves Mr. and Mrs,
Bennet, went to a house, and, after viewing a suite of apartments,
took them for twelve months certain. In consequence of an adver-
tisement of the description before alluded to, five young women
were engaged to work at the above-mentioned house ; but, after the
swindlers had obtained various articles of jewellery and wearing
apparel, to the amount of about QL, from the landlady, they de-
camped, leaving the young women the dupes of their artifices, their
lodging and every other demand unpaid, and taking with them also
several articles of value. During their stay, the female requested
to have the initials H. I. J. erased from a dozen silver spoons and
other articles, under the specious pretext that they were the pro-
perty of her first husband. From the circumstance of the parties

24.

186 DOINGS IN LONDON.

having an abundance of plate and linen with them, no suspicions
were entertained of their respectability."

The following case is somewhat similar. — " A man and woman,
who stated their names to be Mr. and Mrs. Bull, and of decent
exterior, lately took lodgings, and introduced tlieraselves as being
in the fancy line ; that they had just arrived from Bristol, where
they had a house, and moreover, that they carried on a flourishing
business in the above line in Paris. The female mentioned to the
landlady, that their luggage had »ot arrived from Bristol, and
begged of her to lend them the linen requisite for their use, until their
boxes reached them, which were daily expected by the waggon.
They had with them a large box, which seemed to contain nothing
but some working-implements. On the following Monday, a very
pompous advertisement appeared, purporting to teach young ladies
a very lucrative and advantageous business in a very short time.
This seemed to take with the ladies ; for upwards of one hundred
in the course of the week made application into the nature of the
employment, and a considerable number of them engaged to learn
the business ; different sums of money were exacted from them as
the terras of their initiation, according to the nature of their agree-
ments. No less than fifteen were set down to work in the house,
for which purpose the parlour and bed-rooms were put in requi-
sition, and turned into workshops, to the great annoyance of the
andlady. Those females who were unfortunate enough not to find
room on the premises, were obliged, n addition to the sum paid
for learning the business, to leave a handsome deposit for the work
which they took out. All went on very smoothly for a few weeks,
when, on the ladies coming as usual to *heir regular employment,
they had the unwelcome intelligence do.ed out to them, that their
employers had decamped the evening before, no one knew whither." ,'

But, of all depredations, none is more in practice than that
of robbing dwelling-houses; and the public, and servants in
particular, cannot be too much on their guard against the ad-
mission into their masters' houses, of a gang of itinerant ven-
ders of different articles, — such as fruit, oranges and lemons,
wooden and earthenware, and other such commodities, — who at
present infest the metropolis and its environs, and assume these
businesses as a mere cloak, to enable them the more easily to ob-
tain access to the premises, and carry on without detection their
game of plunder. In many instances, though not themselves the
actual perpetrators of the robberies, they are what are called the
putters-up, by describing to their companions in crime the situation
of the houses, and the means through which an easy entrance can
be obtained to them. They also find out, from the servants, the
time at which the family retires for the night, or whether they are
in the country, or get at such information as very much assists
their purposes. Complaints are every day made, when too late,
of robberies accomplished through their instrumentality.

DOINGS IN LONDON. 187

** It is a pity," said Mentor, " that servants are not made better
acquainted with the schemes of plunder practised in London ;
among them may be mentioned the following : —

" A system of fraud is now practising in the metropolis, hy a
set of swindlers, at gentlemen's private houses and offices, by
which they levy very considerable contributions on the public.
Their plan is to watch the absence of the master from home, then
ascertain his name, and, after a reasonable lapse of time, apply at
the house with a small parcel, and inquire if he has returned home.
Being answered in the negative, the fellow instantly replies " Oh,
then, t was desired to apply to the servant for payment." In
most instances the demand is thoughtlessly com.plied with. Upon
inspection, the parcel is found to contain some trifling article, of
little or no value. This trick was successfully played off, at an
office in Somerset House, after the close of business, and, during
the absence of the gentleman residing there, some shillings were
obtained from the servant, for a small bottle of ink; which, he
pretended, was ordered from a stationer in Throgmorton Street.

" A few evenings ago, one of those many ingenious devices
that are daily practised by the thieves of the metropolis, for the
purpose of plundering dwelling-houses, was carried into successful
effect at the residence of a lady of fortune, living in Pall Mall.
Just as the family had finished dinner (about seven o'clock), a
man knocked at the street-door, and handed in a letter, addressed
to Mrs. M., which, he said, required an answer, and which the
servant, who had been waiting at dinner, carried in to his mistress,
leaving the man standing at the street-door. Mrs. M., having
read the first few lines of a very long epistle, saw that it was an
application from the writer, who said that he had been recom-
mended to Mrs. M.'s family to be hired as a footman, and she
desired the servant to say that she was not in want of any foot-
man, at the same time observing that houses were frequently
robbed by persons bringing letters on such pretences. The servant
having delivered his mistress's answer to the fellow, who still stood
at the hall-door, the latter, with the mostcool efirontery, requested
that, as the contents of his letter could not be complied with,
it might be given back to him, which was accordingly done, and
he took his departure, without having excited the slightest suspi-
cion as to his having accomplished any robbery. Soon after he
was gone, however, the servant had occasion to go into the pantry,
where a quantity of plate lay, part of which had been just
removed from the dinner-table, when he found that the whole,
in value upwards of £100, had been carried off, consisting chiefly
of very massive sets of spoons and forks, king's pattern, marked
with the initial M. only, together with a silver teapot, cream-jug,
&c. It was clear that the fellow who brought the letter did not
himself confmit the robbery ; but, no doubt, while he stood at the
street-door, waiting a reply to his letter, he let some person into
the house, who knew where the plate generally lay at that hour,

180 DOINGS IN LONDON.

and, proceeding directly to the pantry, had time to carry away his
spoil, unperceived by the servants.

" About twelve o'clock on a Sunday, while the family were at
church, and no person in the house, but one female servant, two
men, disguised as fashionably dressed females, inquired for Mrs.
G. ; and, on being told by the servant, that she was not at home,
they asked permission to wait in the house until she should return,
which, however, the girl very properly refused to grant, as they
were entire strangers to her. The prisoners then endeavoured to
induce her out of the passage; but, in resisting their attempts, she
lifted up the veil which hung over the face of one of them, and dis-
covered, by a black beard, that it was the face of a man. She
then called out ' Thieves ! Robbers !' &c. as loud as she could,
and, the hall-door being open, the people in the street heard hei
cries. The thieves on this alarm ran out of the house, and were
joined by another, who, it appeared, had been waiting outside, and
all three ran away together : they were, however, pursued by
several persons, and, after a short chase, taken into custody.

" During the pursuit, one was seen to fling away a large pistol
from under his shawl, which was picked up, and the one who
was not dressed in female attire was also observed to throw away
some housebreaking implements, which were also picked up and
produced.

" The prisoners appeared at the bar in their female apparel —
namely, bombasin gowns, silk shawls, Leghorn bonnets, lace veils
and caps, with a profusion of artificial curls and ringlets hanging
down their faces. In their defence, they said, that they went to
the house merely to have a lark with the servant, and not with
any intent to commit a robbery."

There are no thieves against whom servants ought to be more on
their guard, than those fellows who go out on the morning sneak, as it
is termed : that is, watching gentlemen's servants, when they open
the house early in the morning, and perhaps leave the area-gate
open, they sneak down, and steal what may be in the kitchen,
while the servant is lighting the parlour fire ; or else they steal, ii
they can, the bolts of the shutters, in order that, at night, they may
the more easily enter the premises. Many robberies are thus com-
mitted ; and many a good servant suspected, by the depredations
of dustmen, or sweeps, who purloin spoons, or any thing they can
lay their hands on ; and, because they are missing, the poor ser-
vant is supposed to have carelessly lost them, and is discharged. It
is incredible the property that is carried away with the dust ; and
the following case will give you some idea of the profits of dast-
sifting : — "Some time ago, a decent-looking woman was put to
the bar, charged with felony, by Mary Collins, a dust-sifter, whose
evidence was remarkable for the extraordinary disclosures it inci-
dentally contained of the large profits obtained from the apparently
humble vocation of dust-sifting. The detail will be at once in-
teresting and instructive to the public. The complainant stated.

DOINGS IN LONDON. 189

that the prisoner had been employed by her to sit up with a sick
child, and that, during the time she was thus employed, an old
pocket, containing a great variety of valuables, was abstracted
from its usual place of deposit. The prisoner having access to
the [ lace, suspicion fell upon her. The contents of the pocket
wen, thus described : — One coral necklace, large beads ; one ditto,
witi I pearl clasp ; several handsome brooches ; five gold seals ;
som> gold rings; several gold shirt-pins; a quantity of loose
beads; broken bits of gold and silver, &:c. The magistrate ex-
pressed his surprise at her having such a motley assortment of
valuables by her. Complainant — Your worship, we find them
a.7»ongst the dust. Magistrate — Indeed ! what, all these articles ?
Conq)lainant — Oh, your worship, that's nothing; we find many
more things than them : we find almost every small article that
can be mentioned. We are employed by the dust-contractor, who
allows us 8rf. per load for sifting, besides which, we have all the
spoons and other articles which we find among the dust. Magis-
trate— That's dustman's law, I suppose; but pray, how many
silver spoons may you find in the course of the year ? Complainant
— It is impossible to say : sometimes more, and sometimes less.

The magistrate declared, that what she had been telling him
was quite novel to him. The urbane manner of the worthy magis-
trate won upon the old lady, and made her quite communicative.
She had followed her occupation eight years, and what with the
" perquisites" {id est, articles found), and the saving from " hard
labour," she had realized quite enough to think about house-
building, and had then a house erecting, which she expected would
cost her at least £300. She had deposited £100 in the hands of
Mr. Kelly, in part-payment, and, as a proof that all was not vaunt-
ing, she produced her box, in which was counted thirty-nine sove-
reigns, two five-pound bank-notes, and several guineas and half-
sovereigns. She produced, also, a variety of duplicates of different
found articles, which she disposed of by pledging to different
pawnbrokers. They consisted of finger-rings, silver table and
tea spoons, silver forks, gold brooches, &c. In respect to the
poor woman accused, no evidence was adduced to corroborate the
suspicion, and she was therefore discharged.

" The recital of the many acts of deception we have just heard,'*
said Peregrine, addressing himself to the Quaker gentleman,
" makes us deplore that so much ingenuity and industry should
have been devoted to tlie perpetration of such bad practices." " It
does truly, friend," replied the gentleman ; " and it is singular,
that many men who are too lazy to work at any honest employ-
ment, yet will toil day and night, undergo every fatigue, brave
every danger, and persevere with a zeal that in any other cause
would do them honour — to accomplish the robbery they have in
view : it must be the pleasure they inwardly feel in possessing
that which they know belongs to another, that makes them show
such energy, which in all honest engagements they are so tetany

190 DOINGS IN LONDON.

devoid of." " It is indeed astonisliiDg," said Peregrine ; " but
come sir," taking up his glass of wine, " I have the pleasure of
drinking to you, wishing you a long continuance of health." " I
thank thee, friend, for thy good wishes," replied the gentleman, "I
will join thee in a bottle; " but I cannot return the compliment,
for tve never drink healths, although the custom is as ancient as
the time of the Greeks and Romans, who used at their meals to
make Wbations, pour out, and even drink wine in honour of the
Gods, as well as drinking to the healths of their benefactors and
acquaintances. Besides which, the men of gallantry (as we learn
from Martial) used to take oiF as many glasses to their respective
mistresses as there were letters in the name of each. The Taller
(No. 24) gives a curious account of the origin of the word ' Toast,'
as used in the drinking of healths. It states that it had its rise
from an accident at Bath, in the reign of Charles IT. It happened
that, on a public day, a celebrated beauty of those times was in
the Cross Bath, and one of the crowd of her admirers took a glass
of the water in which the fair one stood, and drank her health to
the company. There was in the place a gay fellow, half fuddled,
who offered to jump in, and swore, though he liked not the liquor,
he would have the toast. He was opposed in his resolution ; yet
this whim (says the paper in question) gave foundation to the pie-
sent honour which is done to the lady we mention in our liquor,
who has ever since been called a toast. There are writers, how-
ever, who dispute this origin of the term, and assign it (used in
this sense) a much more ancient one — an opinion apparently cor-
roborated in the following lines of Hudibras, which was published
before the period alluded to :

' Who would not rather suffer whipping,
Than swallow toasts of hits ofribbin.'

And indeed the Tatler^'s anecdote seems likelier to have been a
consequence, than the cause, of this singular use of the word."

One Stephen Perlin, a French ecclesiastic, who was in London
in the reign of King Edward VI. speaks, perhaps in just terms,
of what was a great fault in the character of the English then, and
is so now — the fondness for drink : he says " The English are great
drunkards. In drinking or eating, they will say to you a hundred
times, * / drink to you;'' and you should answer them in their
\3ingusige, ' I pledge you.' When they are drunk, they will swear
death and blood that you shall drink all that is in your cup."

" The word jiledge," continued the Quaker, " is probably derived
from the French ' pleige,' a surety or gage. The expression of
' I'll pledge you,' is by most writers deduced from the time of the
Danes' ruling in England. It being said to have been common
with those ferocious people to stab a native, in the act of drinking,
with a knife or dagger ; hereupon people would not drink in com-
oany, unless some one present would be their pledge, or surety,
that they should receive no hurt whilst they were in their draught ;

DOINGS IN LONDON. 191

and hence is thought to come the following expression from Shair
speare, in his Timon of Athens : —

«IfI

Were a huge man, I should fear to drink at meals,
Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes :
Great men should drink with harness on their throats."

" The old manner of pledging each other, according to Strutt
(an eminent investigator of antiquities of this kind), was, the per-
son who was going to drink, asked any one of the company who
sat near him, whether he would pledge him; on which he answered
that he would, and held up his knife or sword, to guard him whilst
he drank ; for, whdst a man is drinking, he is necessarily in an
unguarded posture, exposed to the treacherous stroke of some
hidden, or secret enemy. The same author, to corroborate what
he advances, gives, in the part of his works mentioning this custom,
a print, from an illuminated drawing of the time ; in the middle of
which is a figure, going to drink, addressing himself to his compa-
nion, who seems to tell him that he pledges him, holding up his
knife in token of his readiness to assist and protect him. Some
authors say the custom took rise from the murder of Edward the
Martyr, who was barbarously stabbed in the back, on horseback,
by an assissin, whilst drinking at Corfe Castle, the residence of
Elfrida, the widow of Edgar.

"The term ' hob-nob,' is said to be a north-country expression,
and to mean sometimes ' a venture, rashly.' And the question,
' will you hob-nob with me ?' Grose explains, in his Classical Dic-
tionary of the Vulgar Tongue, as being one formerly in fashion at
polite tables, signifying a request or challenge to drink a glass of
wine with the proposer. He says further, that in the days of Queen
Bess, when great chimneys were in fashion, there was at each
corner of the hearth, or grate, a small elevated projection, called
the hob, and behind it a seat. In winter-time, the beer was placed
on the hob to warm, and the cold beer, or that not intended to be
warmed, was set on a sjnall table, reported to have been called a
nob. So that the question, will you have hob or nob ? seems only
to have meant, will you have warm or cold beer : i. e. beer frow
the hob, or beer from the nob.

" Formerly, in the churches in London, and other parts of Eng-
land, a whip was hung up to punish all drunkards. The emblem
of them was a barrel standing on end, with a bung-hole above, and
a spigot beneath. Accordingly, a tub was put over them, with
holes made for the head and hands, and so they were obliged to
walk through the streets."

" I wish," said Mentor, •' the ancients had left us also some
eflFective punishment for impostors, as well as drunkards ; for
really the metropolis swarms with them. In addition to the very
many cases I have already made you acquainted with. Peregrine,
I will tell how a friend of mine, Mr. L., was deceived by a fellow
of the name of Patrick Murphy, who for the last three years has

102 DOINGS IN LONDON.

picked up a good deal of money by a troublesome cough, attended
with spitting of blood : he was brought before the magistrate at the
instance of my friend, who stated that he had been several
times imposed upon by this worthy and his malady. Several
months ago, he saw him in St. James's Park, coughing violently,
and spitting blood, and surrounded by several respectable
people, who were giving him money. Mr. L. also gave him money,
and moreover offered his assistance, if he would try to walk to
some place where he might be taken care of. To this friendly
offer, Pat Murphy replied only by a fit of more coughing, and an
intimation that walking was quite out of the question in his case ;
but upon Mr. L. stating his intention of going for some constables
to carry him, he took to his heels, and scampered away up Con-
stitution Hill, as if nothing at all was the matter with him. This
conduct determined my friend to punish him, should he ever
have an opportunity, and seeing him again next day, displaying
his cough, &c. in Russell Court, he caused him to be apprehended.
Patrick, in his defence, assured the magistrate, that the gentleman
was mistaken in the Park story, and said he certainly had been
very ill a long time — the more was his misfortime. The magis-
trate prescribed him two months' exercise in the Cold-Bath tread-
ing-mill; and told him he had no doubt it would restore his
health.

" The way this impostor contrives to spit blood, is by always
having in his mouth a small bladder of bullock's or sheep's blood,
and which, whenever he wants any, he squeezes with his teeth,
and it gives him as much as needs his present purpose.

" You probably remember, Peregrine, I told you, some days
past, of that sad fellow, the cabbage-eater*." " I do well remember
his history," replied Peregrine ; " but what about him ?" " Why,"
said Mentor, '« he has been taken again before the magistrate, by
the officers of that very useful association — the Mendicity So-
ciety ; when it was stated, that since his liberation recently from
gaol, he had left off raw cabbage-eating, and was to be seen daily
about the town now, picking up any description of offal that came
in his way, and pretending to devour it voraciously. That morning
he was watched, and observed to pick up the head of a mackerel
that was lying in the kennel, with which he smeared his mouth so
as to impress a belief that he had swallowed it. Many persons,
believing this, gave him money ; and, when the officer who appre-
hended him made his appearance, he endeavoured to escape, and,
on examining his pockets, the head of the fish, which he was sup-
posed to have devoured, was found therein. — He was committed
for three months to Brixton.

And there is another species of imposition that cannot be
made too public : it is this — Boys and grown persons are fre-
quently seen to grope about kennels and hunt on the pavement
for money that some lad, who is said to have been sent on an
* See page 8 of this work.

DOINGS IN LONDON

lf»3

errand by his parents, has lost, and, from the dread of chastise-
ment, they pretend to fear returning home. In many of these
cases, humane persons have been induced to reimburse him, and
the boy has been enabled fearlessly to proceed to his home. These
misfortunes have now^ become very prevalent, and have been re-
sorted to by sharpers connected with children, who are disposed
of in various parts of the metropolis to practise this system of
imposition.

" In truth, friend," said the Quaker, " although every means
are used to give publicity to such disgraceful doings, in order that
the public may be on their guard, it seems there are some people
that will never gain wisdom ,- and those must be left to their fate.
But I beg, noWj my friends, to wish thee farewell, thanking thee
for thy company ;" and, after a cordial shake of the hand, he
withdrew. Mentor, Peregrine, and his friend Wilraot soon fol-
lowed, having previously agreed to be present the next day at
a sparring exhibition. Accordingly, they met the following morn-
ing, and repaired to Windmill Street, Haymarket, to witness

€^t JDofngs (ft t^e tKcnnis CTotirt ;

There being a grand display of the manly art of boxing, for the
benefit of a celebrated pugilist.

They were highly delighted with the setting-to of Spring and
Peter Crawley, as well as the wind-up of Jem Ward and Jack
Carter. At the concliision of the sports, Mentor, Peregrine, and
his friend Wilmot retired to the ex-champion Cribb's, where thev

25. o

194 DOINGS IN LONDON.

had an opportunity of witnessing the general unassuming behaviour
of the pugiHsts. Having called for some refreshments, which
were served in the first style by the worthy host, the conversation
turned upon boxing.

" Figg," observed Mentor, " erected, in 1^725, the first amphi-
theatre for sparring in England, at the top of Wells Street, Oxford
Road, then called Marybone Fields, which seems to have been
much frequented, if we can judge by the following lines, composed
by one of the writers in the Spectator : —

* Long was the great Figg, by the prize-fighting swains.
Sole monarch aclinowledged of Rlarybon plains,
To the towns far and near did his valour extend,
And swam down the river from Thame to Gravesend.
There lived Mr. Sutton, pipe-maker by trade,
Who, hearing that Figg was thought such a stout blade,
Resolv'd to put in for a share of his fame,
And so sent to challenge the champion of Thame.
With alternate advantage two trials had pass'd,
When they fought out the rubbers Wednesday last.
To see such a contest the house was so full,
There hardly was room left to thrust in your scull.'

** In 1781, Figg opened an exhibition-room for sparring in Ca-
therine Street, Strand, which was a favourite resort for many years,
until the Fives' Court, St. Martin's Street, Leicester Square, was
found more advantageous. It was here I witnessed," continued
Mentor, " the sparring between Molineux and Cribb. I got into
tlie gallery, commanding a fine view of the stage and all the pro-
ceedings of the day. So crowded was the court, so closely
wedged together were tlie spectators, that when, on the cry of
* hats off,' all eyes were raised and directed towards the stage,
the vast and crowded area below seemed thickly paved with
human faces : —

The Fives' Court rush — the flash — the rally.
The noise of 'Go it, Jack' — the stop — the blow —
The shout — the chattering hit — the check — the sally !

" This, then, said I, mentally to myself, is the Fives' Court —
the amphitheatre wherein the free gladiators try their skill pre-
vious to more serious combats : here, for many years past, the
leary professors of that art so necessary to men, and so much
despised by canting hypocrites, have displayed in public the sci-
ence gained by long and patient practice in private. Here the
slaughtering Jem Belcher peeled, and here his first conqueror, the
gallant Pearce, exhibited his finished person ; — on that stage, ren-
dered as it were a classic spot by the efforts of those giants of the
ring, Cribb, Molineux, Spring, Randal, Turner, &c., and others,
having put in many a striking claim to distinction.

" Here were to be seen some of the first noblemen in the land,
huddled together with the vilest blackguards — but Fives' Court is
no more ! The improvements in the neighbourhood caused its walls
fo be levelled with the ground ; and the amateurs and professors

DOINGS IN LONDON. 106

of boxing have since resorted to this Tennis Court, the first be*
nefit being for the black, Richmond, on February 28, 1820.

" It was Broughton who introduced the use of gloves in spar-
ring. The Roman gladiators used to arm their hands with a
tremendous kind of caestus, composed of several tliicknesses of
raw bides, strongly fastened together in a circular form, and tied
to the hand and part of the fore -arm.

" Sir John Perrot fought the first boxing-match upon record, in
Southwark, where he beat two of the king's yeomen of the guards,
an action which brought him into public notice at that time. He
was the supposed son of Henry VIII. by Mary, wife to Thomas
Perrot, Esq., of Haroldstone, in the county of Pembroke. In
his stature and high spirit he bore a strong resemblance to that
monarch. At the beginning of the reign of Mary, he was sent to
prison for harbouring Protestants ; but, by the interference of
friends, he was discharged. He assisted at the coronation of
Queen Elizabeth, who sent him to Ireland as Lord President of
Munster, where he grew very unpopular by reason of his haughty
conduct; he was recalled, unjustly accused, and condemned of
tieason. In 1592 he was tried by a special commission, brought
in guilty of high treason, and sentenced to die. He was, however,
respited by favour of the queen, but died of a broken heart in the
Tower.

*' Much has been said," continued Mentor, " both for and
against the art of boxing; but it must be admitted it is in perfect
unison with the feelings of Englishmen. It is from such open and
manly contests in England, that the desperate and fatal effects of
human passion are in a great measure, if not totally, prevented.
The sons of our nobility and gentry now universally acquire the
art. The national character for skill in this science is universal in
foreign countries. This opinion is highly convenient, and is often
sufficient to protect our countrymen from insult. Foreigners, in
general, know nothing of it; they handle their arms like the flap-
ping of the wings of a duck, and, they are conscious, but with little
effect ; and they dare not await the assault of the British battering-
ram, preparing to be put in motion. When they hear the blessing
which an Englishman in his wrath pronounces o-n their eyes, and
see his uplifted arm, it is as if they heard the roar, and wete about
to encounter the paw, of a lion. Thus, a Briton, trusting in native
strength, moves among them like Achilles amongst the Trojans.

" I agree with the opinion of that late revered patriot, Whit*
bread, in thinking that such combats ought not to be prohibited,
but winked at as the most innocent mode of abating the violence
of human passions. It might be well, perhaps, if men were to
become gentle as lambs (yet even lambs butt and box together),
but men are still far from that meekness of temper, and we must
allow passion to work itself off.

" I venture to affirm that the common people, in settling their
disputes by the fist, act much more wisely, humanely, and philo-
O 2

106 DOINGS IN LONDON.

sophically , than the nobility and gentry, who decide their quarrels
by more deadly weapons. Lead is very unwholesome to the con-
stitution, and, taken inwardly, every medical man knows, often
proves fatal, and there is no way so dangerous of administering
this remedy as from the mouth of a pistol. This remedy for abating
the violence of human passions is, therefore, worse than the dis-
ease. Steel is very little better : the surgical operations which the
offended parties perform upon one another are often highly inju-
rious. A sword is a very fearful kind of thing ; it is very hand-
some in the hands of an oflScer, and is a very useful instrument of
war at such places as Trafalgar and Waterloo ; but ought never
to be used by one fellow subject against another. It is, after all,
but a piece of cold, very cold iron, and, as Hudibras says —

♦ Ah me ! what troubles do environ,
The man who meddles with cold iron.'

•' It is at all times much better for men to appeal to the fist in tho
centre of the ring, before a jury of their countrymen to see fair
play, than to have recourse to such deadly weapons.

" If we look abroad, into foreign countries, we shall see the
desperate and fatal effects of human passion, for want of a regular
and innocent mode of working itself off. In some countries, men
administer the poisonous draught, and dreadful and secret ven-
geance-is thus taken; in others, as in Portugal and Spain, and in
Italy, and formerly before the French system of police, the dagger
has, from time to time immemorial, administered to offended pride,
the vengeance of death. In Holland, the peasants were wont to fight
at snick-en-snee : that is, to cut each other with knives. In
France, from the military habits of the people, the use of the sword
is not unusual, even with the lower orders, and death often en-
sues, or, what is worse, the parties are maimed for life. In the
southern states of North America, the practice of gouging, or
forcing out the eyes, is not unusual : all these substitutes are infi-
nitely worse than a moderate hammering in a fair contest with the
fist, in which each party may acknowledge himself best, when he
feels he has enough; animosity ceases, and in a few days every
thing is over.

"There is something fair and honourable in an appeal to pugi-
listic strength and science. It is done openly, not in secret ; it is
in the presence of umpires to see justice done; no foul blow must
be struck ; a man is not to be struck when he is falling ; he is
helped up, and time is given him to recover ; and, when he allows
himself to be pronounced vanquished, his person is secure against
all further violence. Voltaire was much delighted with the sight
of a pugilistic contest in London ! and, in his works, describes it
as a decided proof of the love of justice and fair play in the British
populace.

" A spirit of humanity towards an enemy is hereby engendered :
he is not to be struck when on the ground, and every act of gene-

DCINGS IN LONDON. 107

rous forbearance meets with the applause which is its due. No
sailors or soldiers show so much mercy to a fallen foe, as the
British ; and it is to their early acquaintance with the ring that
they owe this quality.

"There is something nobly generous implanted in the breasts
jf the British youth, by the custom of shaking hands with their,
jintagoiiist, before they begin to decide any dispute with their fists ;
and the same manly and truly English token of good-will and for-
giveness is resorted to, when the battle is ended. What a glo-
rious sight it is to see two youths, after a boxing-match, approach
each other, and offer the hand of friendship, as a token and proof
that no animosity exists in the breast of either party ; and that all
their differences are forgotten and forgiven.

"This custom of shaking hands is exclusively British. Mons.
Grossby, in his Travels, thus humorously describes it : * To take
a man by the hand,' says he, * and shake it till his shoulder is almost
dislocated, is one of the grand testimonies of friendship which the
Icliigiish give each other, when they happen to meet. This they
do very coolly : there is not any great expression of friendship in
their countenances, yet the whole soul enters into the hand which
gives the shake ; and this supplies the place of the embraces and
salutes of the French.'

" It is well known, as I before remarked, that the English na.r
tion are, by pre-eminence, above all nations, ancient and modern,
a boxing nation ; and London is, in a pre-eminent degree, the me-
tropolis of pugilistic science — the grand centre of the amateurs
and performers. Boxing, throughout England generally, and in
London in particular, is an elementary part of education ; and
behold the consequence, — no people on earth are so distinguished
for generosity of feeling, for humanity, for charity towards distress,
as the English ; and, whilst we are proud of every inch of land
that may be called England — of our metropolis, we are more than
usually proud ; for it is the concentration of all that is noble, in
human nature, and its whole population are actuated by a love of
justice, benevolence, charity, and humanity, of which the limits of
the habitable world alone form the boundary.

" There are many persons who despise all English sports and
pastimes, as not consistent with the present refined state of society;
and that they tend to blunt the feelings. Our present king knows the
value of such recreations to his people. ' Meddle not with the pas-
times of the people,' said his majesty to some puritanical would-be
emaculates,who were railing against the various modes of amusement.

" Let us take a glance at the effects of the present reined state
of society, and of those of the barbarous ages, when boxing, bear
and bull-baiting, &c., were witnessed without fainting. In the
first place — at what period did the people live, who founded most
of those charitable institutions, such as alms-houses, hospitals,
&c., which are in London and its vicinity ? Why, in the barbarous
ages. Old Corauj, fiie founder of the Foundling Hospital, was

19f» DOINGS IN LONDON.

a frequenter at Figg's ; yet his heart was in the right place. Guy,
the founder of Guy's Hospital, too, was of the old school ; there
was none of the present refinement about him. Dean CoUett founded
St. Paul's School ; yet he was of the bull and bear-fighting period :
and a thousand other instances might be quoted, of the real genuine
truly British charitable disposition of persons who lived in the
barbarous ages, as they are falsely called. Read the histories of
those splendid monuments of charity, the alms-houses ; and you
will find the founders were of olden times. — Where are the proofs
of individual charitable munificence of the present refined age ? It
would take some time to find them. It is, indeed, a sad -pity, that
so muck refinement produces so little charity ; and that crime keeps
pace with i-efinement. Oh, no ! it is not refinement the present
age possesses : it is pride, beggarly pride — puritanical pride —
cold-blooded pride — that is now making such rapid strides in
society in England, and not refinement. The good old blunt feel-
ing is giving way to a narrow-minded jealousy, and to a total want
of confidence.

" What has become of the English cheer, of the gambols, of the
feastings, of the hospitality among neighbours and tenants, which
marked the period of good Queen Bess ? Where are they to be
found now ? No where. — The people are too refined to attend to
such aft'airs now a-days : and, as to asking them to witness a
bear-bait, why they wo;ild swoon at the very mention of it.

" It is true, that, in the reign of Elizabeth, the practice of bear-
Daitiiig, and the fighting of other beasts, was carried to a great
extent, as may be inferred from many black-letter advertisements
in those times. The following may be taken as proofs of the truth
of the remark.

" • At the boarded house in Marybone Fields, on Monday, the
24th of this instant (July), will be a match fought between the
wild and savage panther and twelve English dogs, for £300. This
match was made between an English gentleman and a foreigner ;
the latter was praising the boldness and fierceness of the panther,
and said he would lay the above-named sum that he would beat
any twelve dogs we had in England. The English gentleman laid
the wager with him; the other has brought the panther; and,
notwithstanding the boldness of the creature, he desires fair play
for his money, and but one dog at a time. Fkst gallery, 2s. Gd. ;
second gallery, 2s. No persons admitted on the stage but those
belonging to the dogs. The doors to be open at three o'clock, and
the panther will make his appearance on the stage at five precisely.

" ' Note. Also a bear to be baited, and a mad green bull to
be turned loose in the gaming-place, with fireworks all over him,
and a comet at his tail, and bull-dogs after him; a dog: to be
drawn up with fireworks after him in the middle of the yard; and
an ass to be baited upon the same stage.' — Weekly Journal, July
2-2, 1721.

*•' ' At the particular request of several oersons of distinction.

DOINGS IN LONDON. 199

the celebrated white sea-bear, which has been seen and admired
by the curious in most parts of England, will be baited at Mr.
Broughton's Amphitheatre, this day, being the 29th instant. This
creature is now supposed to be arrived at his utmost strength and
perfection, so that he will afford extraordinary entertainment, and
behave himself in such a manner as to till those who are lovers of
diversion of this kind with delight and astonishment. Any person
who brings a dog will be admitted gratis.' — Daily Advertiser,
January 29, 1747.

" • We hear there will be a large he-tiger baited on Wednesday
next at Mr. Broughton's Amphitheatre, in Oxford Road, being
the first that was ever baited in England. He is the largest that
was ever seen here, being eight feet in length. He is one of the
fiercest and swiftest of savage beasts, and it is thought will afford
good sport.'

" We cannot have a better idea of the amusements of the days
of good Queen Bess, than from the following passage in one of
Rowland White's letters to Sir Robert Sydney : — * Her majesty
is very well : this day she appoints a Frenchman to do feats upoa
a rope in the Conduit Court; to-morrow she hath commanded the
bears, the bull, and the ape, to be baited in the tilt-yard ; upon
Wednesday she will have solemn dawncing.' — 1600.

" The following is a copy of an advertisement from a bear-
garden, kept by Alleyn the performer : —

** * To-morrow, being Thursdaie, shall be seen at the bear-
garden on the Bankside, a greate match plaid by the gamesters of
Essex, who hath challenged all comers whatsoever, to plaie five
dogges at the single beare, for £5 ; and also to wearie a bull dead
at the stake ; and for their better content shall have pleasant sport
with the horse and ape, and whipping of the blind bear.'

" Hentzner's Itinerary explains blind-bear whipping in the fol-
lowing manner : — ' Whipping a blind bear is performed by five or
six men standing circularly with whips, with which they flagellate
his loins without any mercy, as he cannot escape from them by
reason of his chains,' Such was the rage for the baiting of bears
and other animals in tliose times, that persons were empowered to
seize and take away such bears, bulls, and dogs, as were thought
meet for the royal service. In the old records, we find an engage-
ment signed by certain persons of the town of Manchester, wherein
they promise to send up yearly, ' A masty dogge or bytche, to
the bear-garden, between Midsomer and Michaelmasse ?' Alleyn,
the great keeper of the bear-garden, in a petition addressed to
James the First, complains of the loss which he had sustained in
consequence of that monarch's prohibition of public baitings on
Sundays in the afternoon. In this curious petition, the writer
mentions the loss of a * goodly beare of George Stone, who was
killed before the King of Denmark.' And also of ' little Bess of
Bromley, who fought, in one day, twenty double and single courses
with the best dogs in the country.' "

200 DOINGS IN LONDO-N.

Pipes and tobacco were introduced after dinner ; and, as Mentor
and his friends would not appear singular, they too " blowed a
cloud ;" but not very cheerfully on the part of Peregrine. " Per-
haps, Sir," said a gentleman to him, " you have a dislike to to-
bacco?" " Not exactly," replied Peregrine; for he was ashamed
to acknowledge he had never smoked a pipe. " There is nothing
more astonishing in the history of the human mind," said the
gentleman, (a person of great literary attainments) than that
unaccountable sort of prejudice, which some people evince
at the introduction of any thing to which they have not been ac-
customed, be the thing ever so good or advantageous. This kind
of feeling occasioned it to be debated, on first adopting the use
of potatoes, whether they were really fit for food, or were not
rather a vegetable poison ; it occasioned the resistance of small-
pox inoculation years ago, and of the vaccine in the present day,
as " flying in the face of God," to adopt a phrase of some old
ladies, as great fatalists in these matters as the Turks ; but it is
in no instance more strikingly exhibited than in that of the first
bringing of Tobacco into this country. Who would have thought
that a king of England, two centuries back, and that one of the
poorest and neediesjt of our monarchs, would have written a tract,
in the bitterest style of invective, expressly to hinder the use of a
commodity, the duties on which now yield to the state more than
the amount of his whole revenue. Not but we believe, could his
majesty have been sensible of what it might have been made
to produce (such was his love or want of money), he would have
spoken of it in more moderate terms than he has done in the follow-
ing extract. The king we allude to is James I., who, in his
♦• Counter-blast to Tobacco," says,—

" ' That it is not only a common herbe, which, though under
divers names, grows almost every where, but was first found out
by the barbarous Indians ; and asks his good countrymen to con-
sider what ' honours or policy can move them to imitate the man-
ners of such wild, godlesse, and slavish people ?' He proceeds :
— ' It is not long since the first entry of this abuse amongst us here
(as this present age can very well remember, both the first author,
and forms of its introduction) ; and now many in this kingdome
have had such continuall use of this unsavourie smoke, that they are
not able to forbeare the same, no more than an old drunkard can
abide to be long sober. How several are, by this custome, dis-
abled in their goods, let the gentrie of this land bear witnesse;
some of whom bestow £300, some £400 a-year, on this precious
stinke. And is it not great vanitie and uncleanlinesse that at the
table, a place of respect, men should sit tossing of tobacco-pipes,
and smoking of tobacco, one to another ; making the filthy stinke
thereof to exhale across the dishes, and infect the wine. But no
other time nor action is exempted from the publicke use of this
uucivill tricke ; for a man cannot heartily welcome his friende at
his home, but straight they must in hand w: h tobacco; yea, the

DOINGS IN LONDON. 201

niistresse cannot m more mannerly kind entertalne her servant,
than by giving him, out of her faire hand, a pipe of tobacco. — A
vi'eed,' he adds, * the smoaking whereof is loathsome to the eye,
hateful to the nose, harmfuli to thebraine, dangerous to the lungs,
and, in the blacke stinking fumes thereof, nearest resembles the
Stigion smoke of the pit that is bottomlesse.' He is still more
bitter in his ' Witty Apophthayms,' in which he avers that ' To-
bacco is the lively image and pattern of hell ; for that it has, by
alUusion, in it all the parts and vices of the world, whereby hell
may be gained. For, first, it is smoke ; so are all the vanities of
this world. Secondly, it delighteth them that take it ; so do all
the pleasures of the world. Thirdly, it maketh men drunken and
light in the head ; so do all the vanities of this world. Fourthly,
he that taketh tobacco saith he cannot leave it ; it doth bewitch
him — even so the pleasures of the world make men loth to leave
them ; and, further, besides all this, it is like hell in the very sub-
stance of it; for it is a stinking loathsome thing; and so is hell.'
And further, his majesty professed, that ' where he to invite the
devil to a dinner, he should have three dishes : first, a pig ; se-
cond, a poll of ling and mustard ; and, third, a pipe of tobacco for
digesture.'

" The king's aversion was adopted by his courtiers, as a matter of
courtesy, who all pretended a great horror of smoking. The
people generally, however, paid no attention to this, or all the
other methods which were used to discountenance it; and, in
some respects, even carried it to a greater excess than at present,
particularly by smoking tobacco in the theatres. Malone (Hist,
of the English Stage), mentioning the custom, in Shakspeare's time,
of spectators being allowed to sit on the stage during perform-
ances, says, * They were attended by pages, who furnished them
with pipes and tobacco, which were smoked there, as well as la
other parts of the house : —

'' When young Roger goes to see a play,

His ■p\easare is, you place him on the stage.
The better to demonstrate his array, '

And liow lie sits, attended by his page.
That only serves to fill those pipes with smoke.
For vyhich he pawned hath his riding-cloak."

Springs to catch Woodcocks— \(i\Z.

" And earlier, in Skialethia, a collection of epigrams and satires,
1598 :—

" See you him yonder, who sits o'er the stage,
With his tobacco-pipe now at his mouth?"

"This, however, was a custom much excepted against by some,
as appears from a satirical epigram, by Sir John Davis, 1598 : —

" Who dares affirm that Sylla dares not fight ?
He that dares take tobacco on the stage ;
Dares d=ince in Paul's,' &c.

26.

202 DOINGS IN LONDON.

" But Htiitziiei's account, at this same period (1598), which
Mr. Malone has omitted to quote, as to the custom mentioned, is
far more explicit and amusing. Speaking of the London playhouse
then, he says, ' Here, and every where else, the English are con-
stantly smoking of tobacco, and in this manner : — they have
pipes on purpose, made of clay ; into the further end of which
they put the herb, so dry, that it may be rubbed into powder; and,
putting fire to it, they draw the smoke into their mouths, which
they puff out again through their nostrils, like funnels, along with
it plenty of phlegm and defluxion of the head.' — Paul Hentzner^s
Journey into England, 1598.

" Sir Walter Raleigh is well known to have first introduced the
use of tobacco into England, and is the person King James hints
at, when he speaks of the first author and introduction of it being
then well remembered ; and is said to have been so partial to it,
that he took, says a nearly contemporary writer, 'a pipe of to-
bacco a little before he went to the scaffold, which some formal
persons were scandalized at; but, I thinke,' he adds, ' 'twas well
and properly done to settle his spirits.' And the same author
adds the following curious anecdotes on this subject : ' In my
part of North Wilts (Malinsbury hundred), it were brought into
fashion by Sir Walter Long. They had, at first, silver pipes', the
ordinary sorte made use of a walnut-shell and a straw. I have
heard my grandfather, Lyte, say that one pipe was handed from
man to man round the table. Sir Walter Ilaleigh, standing at a
stand at Sir Robert Poyntz' Parke, at Acton, took a pipe of to-
bacco, which made the ladies quit it till he had done. Within
these thirty-five years,' he adds (about 1680), ' it was sold then
for its weight in silver. I have heard some of our old yeomen
neighbours say, that when they went to Malmsbury or Chippen-
ham market, they culled out their biggest shillings to lay in the
scales against the tobacco. Now the customs of it are th^
greatest his majesty (Charles II.) hath."

"Now, I am one," continued the gentleman, "who thinks
that King James, although he has been called a second Solomon,
was none of the wisest.

" Barton, in his Anatomic of Melancholy, calls tobacco the
divine, rare, super-excellent tobacco ; a sovereign remedy for all
disorders; a virtuous herb, if opportunely taken, and medicinally
used ; but as it is commonly used by most men, it is a plague, a mis-
chief, a violent purger of goods, lands, health : hellish, develish,
and damned tobacco, the ruin and overthrow of body and soul.

" Raphall Thorias, who wrote a book called Hymnus Tabaci,
has this invective against tobacco : —

Let it be damned to hell ! and called from thence,

Proserpine's wine, the furies' frankincense,

The Devil's addle eggs ; or else to these,

A sacritice grim Pluto to appease,

A deadly weed, which its beginning had,

From the foam Cerberus, when the cur was mad.'

DOINGS IN LONDON. 'i03

Howell, in his Letters, 1678, says — 'Tobacco is good for many
things, if moderately taken : it helps digestion ; it makes one void
rheum ; it is a good companion to one that has been long- poring
over a book, and stiipified with study ; it quick'neth him, and
dispels those clouds that usually oversets the brain. The smoke
of tobacco is one of the wholesomest scents that is, agailist all con-
tagious airs, for it over-masters all other smells. Tobacco is good
to fortify and preserve the eyesight, the smoke being let in round
about the balls of the eyes once a week, and frees them of all
heum, and

" Plumb-tree gum, such as is in old men's eyes."

Besides, being taken into the stomach, it will heal and cleanse it.
In Barbary, and other parts of Africa, they put the tobacco under
the tongue, which affords them perpetual moisture, and takes off
the edge of the appetite for some days.'

" My pipe," continued the gentleman, "is one of my greatest
luxuries : it is the —

Charm of the solitude I love.

My pleasing pipe ; my glowing stove I

My head of rheum is purged by thee,

My heart of vain anxiety.

Tobacco ! fav'rite of my soul !

When round my head thy vapours roll,

When lost in air they vanish too,

An emblem of my life I view.

I view, and hence, instructed, learn,

To what myself shall shortly turn —

Myself, — a kindled coal to-day,

That wastes in smoke, and fleets away.

Swiftly as then, confusing thought,

Alas ! I vanish into naught.

'* Some say tobacco takes its name from its being first discovered
in 1520, nearTobasco, in the Gulf of Mexico. Others say, it is
named from Tobago, one of our West India islands, whence it was
first brought to England in 1585, by Sir Francis Drake, the great
circumnavigator, and that Sir Walter Raleigh taught the English
how to smoke it.

" That King James was not the only mortal enemy to tobacco, is
evident, from the following singular will : Peter Campbell, a Derby-
shire gentleman, made his will 20 Oct. 1616, and therein was the
following extraordinary clause. ' Now for all such household
goods at Darby, where John Hoson hath an inventory, my will is,
that my son Roger shall have them all toward house-keepinge, on
this condition, that yf, at any tyme hereafter, any of his brothers or
sisters, shall fynd him taking of tobacco, that then he or she so
fynding him, and making justproofe thereof to my executors, shall
have the said goods, or the full value thereof, according as they
shall be praysed, which said goods shall presently after my death be
valued and praysed by my executors for that purpose.'"

204 DOINGS IN LONDON. i

" I was reading the other day," said Mentor, " that every pro
fessed, inveterate, and incurable snuff-taker, at a moderate com-
putation, takes one pinch in ten minutes. Every pinch, vt^ith the
agreeable ceremony of blowing and wiping the nose, and other in-
cidental circumstances,' consumes a minute and a half.

" One minute and a half, out of every ten, allowing sixteen
hours to a snuff-taking day, amounts to two hours and twenty-four
minutes out of every natural day, or one day out of every ten.

" One day out of every ten amounts to thirty-six days and a
half in every year.

" Hence, if we suppose the practice to be persisted in forty years,
"wo entire years of the snuti-taker's life will be dedicated to tickling
tiis nose, and two more to blowing it.

" The expense of snuff, snufi-boxes, and handkerchiefs, en-
croaches as much on the income of the snuff-taker, as it does on
his time ; and, by the money thus lost to the public, a fund might
be constituted for the discharge of the national debt.

«' Certainly, so many people would not take snuff, if they knew
"low much of it was adulterated. The following is the manner
liemdne Macouba is made : — Cheap tobacco-powder, savine, yel-
'ow sand, old rotten wood, and almost any vegetable substance,
Doth dry and green, mixed into a body, and coloured with red
pchre, amber, or other noxious red or brown colour, moistened
with water or molasses. The whole is passed through a hair sieve,
to mix it more intimately, then placed in a heap for some time, to
BuJority, or sweat, as the snuff-takers have it, which makes it all
over equally moist, and imitates the oiliness which the real Ha-
vannah possesses. It is then placed in cannisters, or jars, and an
ill-printed label in Spanish pasted outside. This is the genuine
Macouba sold in London; and much of it is exported in large
quantities to the East Indies, too."

Cribb's celebrated dwarf, which he humanely keeps in his ser-
vice, having entered the room with some liquor, attracted the
notice of Peregrine, not only from the smallness of his stature, but
from his symmetry, and his neatness of dress. *' These dwarfs,"
said Mentor, " are very curious proofs of the freaks of nature ; and
their history is full of interest, which, some day, I will lay fully
before you, when we go and visit the various exhibitions in the
metropolis ; but certainly one of the greatest curiosities ever wit-
nessed in London, was the celebrated Matthew Buckinga, * the
wonderful little man of Nuremburg,' as he was styled : he was
really a singular creature, being born without hands, thighs, or
feet; and yet he could play at skittles and nine pins, was a good
musician, and a respectable mechanic, in constructing machines
to perform on all sorts of music.

" Among the most remarkable of his drawings, is his own
portrait, and in the wig he has most ingeniously contrived that its
curls should exhibit, in several lines, the 27th, 121st, 128th, 130lh,
140th, 149th, and the 150th psalm, concluding with the Lord's

DOINGS IN LONDON. i!f>6

Prayer. He was only twenty-nine inches higli. — I bought, this
morning, this Specimen of his writing."

" Do but observe," said Peregrine, *' how smart the dwarf is
about his shoes ; he seems a patron of those illuminators, the
blacking gentry." " He does, indeed," replied Mentor; and it
is astonishing how the public allow themselves to be humbugged
by purchasing blacking at such an enormous rate. The bottles
seem large to the sight, tall and big ; but, if you take the
trouble to dissect one. Master Wilraot, you will find great
ingenuity displayed : the inside shows a regular row of projected
lines, like the worm of a screw, to prevent the bottle holding too
much ; the top of the bottle is wide, but it slopes gently, so that
the bottom is considerably less than the top : which bottom is
completely convex : and, on breaking the bottle, you will find
it immensely thick; so that a pint bottle holds barely half a
pint. It is no wonder these gentry can ride in their carriages,
when their profits are so immense. In these hard times, and when
the lustre of the shoe is such an indispensable part of the dress, it
is surprising persons do not make their own blacking; which, if
they were to do, they would find, where much is used, it would
save them money. The following is a good receipt to make the
real Japan:

" Take three ounces of ivory black, two ounces of coarse sugar,
one ounce of sulphuric acid, one ounce of muriatic acid, one
lemon, one table-spoonful of sweet oil, and one pint of vinegar.
First mix the ivory black and sweet oil together, then the lemon
and sugar with a little vinegar, to qualify the blacking ; then add
the sulphuric and muriatic acids, and mix them well altogether.
The sugar, oil, and vinegar, prevent the acids from injuring the
leather, and add to the lustre of the blacking.

200 DOINGS IN LONDON.

Mentor proposed, as the company in the room was highly
diverting, and much information could be gained by joining
in the conversation, that they should stay and take tea there,
which was agreed to; and, during their repast, Peregrine's friend
remarked how excellent the bread was ; and that to get it in such
perfection in London was a great luxury. " The history of this
important necessary of life," replied Mentor, " is at all times in-
teresting ; and I have lately made myself acquainted with several
particulars as to the weight, price, and quality, of the different
kinds of loaf made anciently. In old times, it appears that wheat
was by no means the general bread corn used (and, indeed, is
hardly yet in some northern countries), but that rye, barley, or
oats, were the common food of the middle or lower ranks of
people, who now (in the southern parts of England, at least) dis-
dain any but the finest wheaten bread. Even as late as the reign
of Queen Elizabeth, when great advances had been made in
luxury and refinement, the lower sort of people fed upon what
would at this time scarcely be offered to dogs. This we learn from
several contemporary authorities, and particularly from the descrip-
tion of England, prefixed to IJoUingshead's Chrmiicles (edition
1582), where we are told that * the bread through the land is made
of such grain as the soile yieldeth. Neverthelesse the gentilitie
commonlie provide themselves sufEcientlie of wheat for their own
table, whilst their household and poore neighbours, in some shires,
are forced to content themselves with rie or barleie, — yea, and in
time of dearthe, manie with bread made either of beans, peason, or
otes, or of altogether, and some acorns among. I will not say
that this extremitie is oft so well to be seene in time of plentie, as
of dearth, but if I should, I could easily bring my trial.' He
aftCTwards speaks of the artificer and poor labouring man, as
seldom able to taste any other than the bad bread above mentioned ;
and proceeds to describe more particularly the several sorts of
bread usually made in England, viz., inanchet, cheat, or wheaten
bread, another inferior sort of wheaten bread, called ravelled, and
lastly, broicn bread, ' of which,' says the writer, ' we have two
sorts, one baked up as it cometh from the mill, so that neither the
bran nor the floor are anie whit diminished ; the other hath little
or no floure baked therein at all, and it is not only the worst and
weakest of all the other sorts, but also appointed in time for ser-
vants, slaves, and the inferior kinds of people to feed upon.
Hereunto likewise because it is drie and brickie in the working.
Some adde a portion of rie meale in our time, whereby the rougli
drinesse thereof is somewhat qualified, and then it is called
viasceiin, — that is, bread made of mingled corne. Albeit that divers
do sow or mingle wheat and rie, and sell the same at the markets,
und-er the aforesaid name.' He adds, 'in champeigne countries,
much rie and barleie bread is eaten.' By which addition of ' the
rie meale in our time,' it may fairly be concluded that it was then
no distant period when the bran corn was baken for servants.

DOINOS IN LONDON. 'JiOl

*' In the ancient ordinance for the Assize and Weight of Bread,
copied in Strype's Stowe, from the * Old Book of Customs,' at
Guildhall, the weight and price of the different sorts of loaf in use
are stated, taking the price of wheat from three shillings to twenty
shillings per quarter. The species of loaf named is, ' i\\e fer thing
simnel; the fer thing whyt loof cocket ; the penny ivhyt loof; and
the penny whet loofofallgraynis.' By this ordinance it was fixed,
that * the halfpenny loof whyt of Stratford' was to * way twoouncis
more than the halfpenny whyt loof of London ; the halfpenny whet
loof three ouncis more ; the penny whet loof six ouncis more ; the
three halfpenny whyt loof as much as the London penny whet
loof; and the loof all graynis, as much as the penny whet loof,
and the halfpenny whyt loof.' The comparison of the London
bread with that o( Stratford, here mentioned, arose, it seems, from
the bakers' having lived in former times at Stratford-le-Bow, who
supplied the city with bread, and which they brought in carts to
the London markets.

" These ordinances were confirmed by Queen Elizabeth and her
council, towards the latter part of her reign ; and, again, in that
of her successor, James, in a book called ' The Book of Assize,'
by which it was ordered, that no other bread should be baked, and
sold publicly, than ' symnel bread and wastel ; white wheaten,
household, and horse-bread.' And bakers were restrained, upon
pain of forfeiture, from making any loaves of a larger size (except
at Christmas time), than the farthing white bread, halfpenny white,
halpenny wheaten, penny wheaten bread, penny household, and
two-penny household loaves.

" Inl468, itis mentioned in a book of the ancientlaws and orders
as to bread, " that alle maner of bakers dwellyng out of the cities
and burgh townes, as bakers dwellyng in villagis, &c. their peny
lof be what corn soever it be, be it white bredo or browne, should
weigh more than the peny lof in the town or city by x's, and the
halfpenny lof by v's.' And the reason assigned, is, ' because they
bere nat sich chargis as bakers in the citees doon, and townes.'
In another old assize, ' theferthing wasteV is mentioned, the symneU
(siminell) and the halfpenny wheaten, or ' cribel-lofe.'

" To prevent the imposition of a bad or spurious article upon the
public, and particularly of the lower sort, it was, by another regu-
lation, ordered, that no bran loaf should be made that ' was worse
in breaking than it appeared with outside,' (not deceptively made).
And the bakers were forbid by the same, to go into St. Michael's
(Cornhill) church-yard, or the markets of West Chepe (Cheapside),
Gracechurch, or Belingsgate, nor to Botolph Wharf, nor Queen
Hythe, nor aboard of any ship, to buy corn, * before the first ring-
ing.' This was probably intended to afford a fair competi-
tion in the market, and prevent forestalling. ' For there appears of
old,' says the commentator on Stowe just quoted, ' to have been
bells rung in several church-steeples of the city, as Bow, for one,
at certain hours of the day, and that both for devotion and busi-

208 DOINGS IN LONDON.

ness ; and before the first ringing in the inonilng, none might gd
out to buy provisions.' By this regulation, also (and it confirms
the statement just made as to the very bad quality of some of the
bread at this time), bakers were not to make meal of Felger,* of
sticks (probably meaning bark), of straw, nor of rushes. And, in
regard to short weight, it ordained that the baker, if there
lacked an ounce-weight in a loaf, should be fined twenty pence j
if an ounce and a half, two shillings ; and if he ' should bake over
the assize, then he should be judged into the pillory.'

* Manchet loaves, and wastel bread, are mentioned by Shaks-
peare, as also in a Christmas Carol of the thirteenth or fourteenth
centuries, translated from the old Norman French, by Mr. Douce,
in his illustrations of that author, in the following Hues :—

* His liberal board is deftly spread
: With manchet loaves, and wastel bread.'

" A physician, who wrote in 1572, speaks of the Yorkshire
bread as the finest he then knew of. ' Bred,' says he, ' of dy vers
graines, of dyvers formes, in dyvers places be used ; Bome in form
of manchet, used of the quality ; some of greate loves, as is usual
among yeomenry ; some between both, as with the franklings;
some in forme of cakes, as at weddings ; some roundes of hogs,
as at upsittings ; some seninels, cracknels, and buns, as in the Lent ;
some in brode cakes, as the oten cakes in Kendall, on yrons ;
some on slate-stones, as in Hye Peke ; some in frying-pans, as
in Derbyshire ; some between yrons, as wapons ; some in round
cakes, as byskets for the ships. But these and all other the
mayn br^ad of Yorkshire excelleth, for that it isof the finest floure
of the wheat well-tempered, best baked, a patterne of all others
the fineste.' And one Perlin, a French ecclesiastic, and tra-
veller here, in the reign of Edward VI., says (notv/ithstanding
what has been stated), that the bread eaten in London was much
whiter than that commonly made in France, although it was as
cheap as that sold there. We may presume, however, that
he only partook, while in England, of the better sort of bread.
He adds, 'They (the Londoners) have a custom of eating with
their beer very soft saffron cakes, in which there are likewise
raisins, which give a relish to the beer.' "

The hilarity of the company was heightened by the inimitable
comic powers of one of the party, in reciting a ludicrous description
of " Going to a Mill," written by the celebrated Pierce Egan ; and,
to give a zest to the treat, the worthy landlord also chaunted : in
this manner they passed a very pleasant evening. At length, it
was time for the company to separate, which they did, in the utmost
good humour, all seemingly highly delighted with the entertainment.
Mentor parted with his friends, Peregrine and Wilmot, until the
next day, when they agreed to go in search of fresh adventures.

* ' Farinare faciant felgere.'

DOINGS IN LONDON.

20D

Of. heir way home, Peregrine and his friend Wilniot, havine
stopped at the corner of a street, were rudely desired by a watch-
inan to'iuove on at the same time putting his lantern up to their
aces which W.lmot, considering a great insult, instantly demo-
lished It with his walking-stick; upon which round went the
watchman's rattle, and a host of charleys came to his assistance,
and walked them off to where they might see—

Cfie IBotngs in a ^laaatct^ouse. ^

His honour, the constable of the night, was a miserable half-
starved tailor, proud, insolent, and saucy, with a nose as long as
a rolling-pin, set with carbuncles and rubies, looking as fresh as
the gills of an angry turkey-cock. After taking about twenty
puffs at his pipe, he very leisurely, resting his arm on the chair,
asked the watchman what the /e//ars had been at. " Breaking my
lantern, sir, and also the king's peace," said the watchman. " The
king's peace!" replied the tailor; "it is indeed a shame his
majesty's sleep should be disturbed at this time of night — shut
them up below, traitors and villains." " I beg your pardon," said
Peregrine, " we have committed no oflence." •* No offence !"
quoth the constable, " do you call breaking the peace of the king,
no offence ? Away with you." ' The watchhouse-keeper was
about placing them in the black-hole, but giving him aome sterling
reasons why they shoidd not be so incarcerated, they were handed
to a small two-bedded room, for the use of which they were
27 P

DOINGS IN LONDON.

charged the moderate sum of five shillings each. Here they re-
mained till the morning, and, as a memento of their feelings on the
unjust behaviour of the constable, Wilmot wrote the following
lines with his pencil, which be affixed to the wall of the room,
addressed —

TO THE CONSTABLE OF THZ NIGHT,

May rats and mice

Consume his shreds,
His patterns and his measures ;

Rlay nits and lice

Infest his bed.
And care confound his pleasures.

Rlay his long bills

Re never paid ;
And may his helpmate horn him ;

May all his ills

Be public made,
And may his workmen scorn hira.

May cucumbers

Be all his food,
And small beer be his liquor ;

Lustful desires

Still fire his blood,
But may his reins grow weakoT

When old, may h™

Reduced be,
From constable to beadh:*

And live until

He cannot feel
His thimble from his needle.

About ten o'clock, a hackney-coach was brought' to the watcli-
house, into which Peregrine, Wilmot, and the watchhouse-keeper
got, and drove off to the police-office. Peregrine having caused a
letter to be conveyed to Mentor, relating the adventure, he was
found waiting their arrival ; and, it being a regular charge, it
was obliged to go before the magistrate, else Mentor would have
been happy to have settled it without the beak's assistance. An
officer in court, learning the nature of their business, told them it
would be better to retire to an adjoining public-house, and he
would call them in time to meet the charge : they cordially thanked
him for his consideration, and left the court, under the care of the
watchhouse-keeper, and, while in the parlour of the public-house,
they learned the particulars of the multifarious business that was
to come on for hearing before the magistrate that morning. — Among
them a man was charged by a sailor with the trick of duffing. The
complainant, a few days preceding, was crossing Tower Hill, where
he was met by the prisoner, who appeared in the garb of a sailor,
and, calling him aside, said, " Shipmate, do you want a watch ? I
have one that cost me £14, but, being in want of money, you shall
have it for £C.'' At this moment an old clothesman stepped up

DOINGS IN LONDON. 2U

and said, "I'll give you £7 for it." The duffer answered, " B«^^
gone, you rascal : I've been once tricked by a Jew, and shall
never deal with one again." The associate departed, and the tar,
become the dupe of the prisoner, purchased the watch for six
sovereigns. The sailor shortly after called at a watchmaker's,
where he discovered that the watch was hardly worth twenty
shillings. Some time after, he happened to meet the prisoner near
the same place, and, on threatening to charge him with the fraud,
he said, " If you come with me to my house, and give me up the
watch, I'll give you a note of hand for the money." The com-
plainant consented. On the note falling due, he demanded pay-
ment of it, when he was turned out of doors by the prisoner, who
told him to get the money " how he could."

Another case was of a servant girl, who applied for advice, as
to what steps she could pursue to apprehend a man who had de-
frauded her of £6, the amount of all her savings since she had
been in service. The fellow, the complainant said, was one of
those people called " Duffers," and the girl, being at her master's
street-door, he forced his way in, and insisted on showing her his
valuable assortment of shawls and gold watches, which, he said,
from particular circumstances, he was enabled to dispose of re-
markably cheap. After much persuasion, he prevailed on the
foolish woman to purchase what she supposed was a camel's-hair
shawl and a gold watch for £6 ; and, on showing her prize
shortly afterwards to a neighbour, it was readily discovered that
she had parted with her money for trash, which, at its utmost
value, was not worth more than a pound.

The officer now entered the room, telling Mentor and his
friends that their case was expected to be called next, and re-
quested them to be ready ; they immediately accompanied him to
the office, where a laughable charge of crim. con. was being
heard.

Mr. Daniel Sullivan, greengrocer, fruiterer, coal and po-
tatoe-merchant, salt fish and Irish pork-monger, was brought
before the magistrate on a peace-warrant, issued at the suit of his
wife, Mrs. Mary Sullivan,

Mrs. Sullivan is an Englishwoman, who married Mr. Sullivan
for love, and has been " blessed with many children by him." But,
notwithstanding, she appeared before the magistrate with her face
all scratched and bruised, from the eyes, downward, to the very
tip of her chin; all which scratches and bruises, she said, were
the handiwork of her husband.

The unfortunate Mary, it appeared, married Mr. Sullivan
about seven years ago ; at which time he was as polite a young
Irishman as ever handled a potatoe on this side channel; he had
every thing snug and comfortable about him, and his purse and
person, taken together, were quite ondeniable. She', herself, was
a young woman genteelly brought up — abounding in friends, and
acquaintance, and silk gowns, with three good bonnets always in
p2

212 DOINGS IN LONDON.

use, and black velvet shoes to correspond — welcome wherever
she went, whether to dinner, tea, or supper, and made much of by
every body. St. Giles's bells rang merrily at their wedding ; a
tine fat leg of mutton and capers, plenty of pickled salmon, three
ample dishes of salt fish and potatoes, with pies, puddings, and
porter of the best, were set forth for the bridal supper; all the
most considerablist families in Dyott Street and Church Lane
were invited, and every thing promiseil a world of happiness ; and,
for five whole yoars, they were happy. " She loved," as Lord
Byron would say, " She loved and was beloved ; she ador'd, and
she was worshipped;" but JMr. Sullivan was too much like the hero
of his lordship's tale — his affections could not " hold the bent ;"
and the sixth year had scarcely commenced, when poor Mary dis-
covered that she had " outlived his liking." From that time to
the present he had treated her continually with the greatest cruelty ;
and, at last, when by this means he had reduced her from a
comely young person to a mere handful of a poor creature, he beat
her, and turned her out of doors.

This was Mrs. Sullivan's story ; and she told it with such
pathos, that all who heard it pitied her— except her husband.

It was now Mr. Sullivan's turn to speak. Whilst his wife was
speaking, he stood with his back towards her, his arras folded
across his breast, to keep down his choler, biting his lips, and
staring at the blank wall ; but the moment she ceased, he abruptly
turned round, and, curiously enough, asked the magistrate whether
Misthress Sullivan had done spaking ?

"She has," replied his worship; "but suppose you ask her
•whether she has any thing more to say."

" I shall, sir," replied the angry Mr. Sullivan — " Misthress
Sullivan, had you any more of it to say ?"

Mrs. Sullivan raised her eyes to the ceiling, clasped her hands
together, and was silent,

" Very well, then," continued he ; " will I get lave to spake, your
honour ?"

His honour nodded permission, and Mr. Sullivan immediately be-
gan a defence, to which it is impossible to do justice ; so exuberantly
did he suit the action to the word, and the word to the action. " Och !
your honour, there is something the matter with me," he began ;
at the same time putting two of his fingers perpendicularly over his
forehead to intimate that Mrs. Sullivan had played him false. He
then went into a long story about a Misther Burke, who lodged in
in his house, and had taken the liberty of assisting him in his con-
jugal duties, "without any /aue from Am at all." " It was one
night in partickler,^'' he said, " that he went, he himself, went to
bed betimes in the little back parlour, quite entirely sick with the
headache. Misther Burke was out from home, and, when the
shop was shut up, Mrs. Sullivan went out too ; but he didn^t much
care for that, ounly he thought she might as well have stayed at
home, and so he couldn't go to sleep for thinking of it. Well, at

DOINGS IN LONDON, 213

one o'clock in the morning," he continued, lowering his voice into
a sort of loud whisper, " at one o'clock in the morning, Misther
Burke lets himself in with the key that he had, and goes up to
lied, and I thought nolliing at all; but presently I hears some-
tliiiig come tap, tap, tap, at the street-door. The minute after
comes down Misther Burke, and opens the door, and sure it was
Mary — Misthress Sullivan that is, more's the pity! and d — 1-a-bit
she came to see after me at all in the little back parlour, but up
stairs she goes up after Misther Burke. — ' Och !' says I, ' but
there's something the matther with me this night !' and I got up
with the nightcap o'th' head of me, and went into the shop to see
for a knife, but I couldn't get one by no manes. So I creeps up
stairs, step by step, step by step (here Mr. Sullivan walked on tip^
toe all across the office to show the magistrate how quietly he
went up the stairs), and when I gets to the top I sees 'era, by the
(fash (gas) coming through the chink in the windy-curtains — I sees
'em, and ' Och, Misthress Sullivan !' says he ; and ' Och, Misther
Burke !' says she ; and * Och, botheration !' says I to myself, • and
what will 1 do now V " He saw enough to convince him that he
was dishonoured ; that, by some accident or other, he disturbed
the guilty pair ; whereupon Mrs. Sullivan crept under Mr. Burke's
bed to hide herself; that Mr. Sullivan rushed into the room and
dragged her from under the bed, by her •' wicked leg ;" and that
he felt about the round table in the corner, where Mr. Burke kept
his bread and cheese, in the hope of finding a knife.

"And what would you have done with it if you had found it ?"
asked his worship."

^' Is it what I would have done with it, your honour asks ?" ex-
claimed Mr. Sullivan, almost choked with rage. " Is it what I
would have done with it? — ounly that I'd have dagged it into the
heart of 'em at that same time?" As he sg,id this, he threw him-
self into an attitude of wild desperation, and made a tremendous
lunge, as if in the very act of slaughter.

To make short of along story, he did not find the knife, Mr,
Burke barricadoed himself in his room, and Mr. Sullivan turned
his wife out of doors.

The magistrate ordered him to find bail to keep the peace
towards his wife and all the king's subjects: and told him, if his
wife was indeed what he had represented her to be, he must seek
some less violent mode of separation than the knife.

No sooner was this case disposed of, than another, developing
the extreme folly of young countrymen, and showing how they are
fleeced at a certain game, once all the go, but now rapidly going
out, was next brought under the notice of the magistrate ; thus : —

A poor harmless translator of old shoes was placed at the bar
by a city officer, upon a charge of having stolen, or otherwise im-
properly obtained, a check for £300, from one John Freshfield,
Esquire,

This John Fecshfield, Esq. was a dimiuutive forked-radish sort

214 DOINGS IN LONDON.

of a young man ; very fashionably attired — or, as he would say,
Mddily togg'd; and, though it was scarcely noon, rather queer in
the attic — that is to say, not exactly sober.

He stated his case in tliis manner : — " Here — I wish this fellow
to say how he got hold o' my check for three hundred — that's all,
you know, let him come that, and 1 shall be satisfied — rum go —
had it last night, miss'd it this morning; d— d rum go. Here —
here it is, see ! payable at Hankey's — all right ; grabbed him my-
self. Went to Hankey's two hours 'foie Bank opened — waited
two hours — sat upon little stool, — wouldn't be done, you know. —
In he comes with it — grabs him ! There he was — looked like a
fool. Hollo ! says I — how did you come by it? Mum. Hadn't
a word, you know. Only let him come it now — all about it, and
I'm satisfied. Don't like to be done — a rum go, but can't stand it.
That's all."

The city officer said he had been sent for to Hankey's, to take
the prisoner into custody ; and, having done so, he carried him
before the Lord Mayor : but, as it appeared the offence, if there
was any, had been committed in the county, his lordship had re-
ferred the matter to Bow Street.

The magistrate asked to see the " check," as the esquire called
it. The officer produced it, and it proved to be not a check, but
an acknowledgment from Messrs. Hankey and Co., that they had
received £300 from John Freshfield, Esq., for which they woidd
account to him on demand.

" Pray, have you an account at Hankey's, Mr. Freshfield V
asked the magistrate.

Mr. Freshfield replied, " Who — 1 ? not a bit of it. I'm from
the country, you know. D — n town — had enough of it almost.
Diddled in this manner. It's a sick'ner. Got it again, though —
only want to know how that fellow — the long one there — came by
it. Put the blunt at Hankey's to be safe — 'cause wouldn't be
done, and then lost the check! that's a rum go, isn't, your
worship ?"

The magistrate asked the prisoner how he came by it ?
He said he lodged at Mister Burn's, the Jighting man, and two
gentlemen there, whom he did not know, gave him the " check"
to get cashed.

His worship directed an officer to go to Burn's house, and in-
quire about it.

In about half an hour he returned, with blister Burn in company.
" Burn, do you know any thing of this business ?" asked the
magistrate. " Who was it gave this paper to the man at the bar ?"
" Who gave it him, your worship V said Mister Burn ; " why,
I did." " You did ! and pray how did you come by it ?" — " Why,
I won it, your worship — won it by shaking in the hat !" replied
Mister Burn, squeezing the sides of the hat together, and giving
it a hearty shake, to show his worship the trick of it.

The real truth was, the stcell called upon Ben, praised his

DOINGS IN LONDON. 215

prowess as a boxer, and lie, being a little man with a big heart,
was in want of a teacher who could qualify him not to be Jiice in
giving a stone or two away to a countryman. Ben stroked his
forehead, and nodded assent with a comjec or two. The 'squire
said he had come to London for a day or two's lark; he had been
at Spring's new house, and another or two, and would Ben go and
take champagne with him? "To be sure," said Ben; "1 like
a swell's company ;" and, after spattering a little broad Durham,
off they went. Nothing less than goblets would do fur the wine,
and the 'squire proposed tossing for a sovereign a time. At it
they went, and played for several hours, and changed their game
to magging in the shallmo, or, in other words, to shaking in the hat.
Ben won £150, after several hours' play, and they had the last
shake for the £300 at two and three, which the 'squire lost, and
paid Burn the check or receipt, on his undertaking not to make
a talk about it. When the effluvia of the champagne became
cooler with soda, the 'squire stopped payment of the check at
Hankey's. They travelled in a coach together, seeing life all night.,
and the 'squire made two other matches afterwards, for Spring to
fight Burn on Monday, and to bring another man to beat him in
half an hour.

The magistrate looked at Mr. Freshfield, who looked at Mr.
Burn, who looked boldly round at every body, as if nothing was
the matter; and at last Mr. Freshfield ejaculated, " Well, that is
a ruvi go, howe-'er ! D — me, never thought of that, you know.
Don't believe it, though. Coming it strong, eh ! Burn ! may be,
though — won't be sure."

After soliloquizing some time in this style, he began a long his-
tory of his having gone from Burn's to Spring's, and Spring's to
Burn's, and betting upon the " match for Monday ;" and taking
the long odds at one place, and giving them at another, till the
magistrate and every body else was quite weary of it. So his
worship discharged the prisoner, recommended Mister Burn not
to addict himself to " shaking in the hat," directed the city officer
to return Mr. Freshfield his £300 '' check," and advised Mr.
Freshfield to put it into his pocket, and return to his home in the
country as soon as possible.

Peregrine and A^'ilniot were now ordered to attend before the
magistrate, when the watchman opened the business, by telling
his worship, that these sicells were in a state of bastely drunken-
ness, exttanielg disorderly, infesting n)y bate, by laughing and
talking in it: it was King Street, ^our honour, the same I'm now
spaking about. Well, your honour, they, the self-same gentlemen,
were, as I said, braking the king's peace, becase it was in King-
Street : and becase 1 tould 'em to hobscond, and not remain there
like bastes, they, one of 'em, the biggest of the two, without saying,
" by ver lave,^'' took my lantern a mighty dacent stroke, which
shivered it thus, your worship (holding up the lantern); and then
they Icickcd up a Iinbbaboo, dune contrary to all sorts of datciwy i

216 DOINGS IN LONDON.

and I and my comrades took 'em both, and lodged 'em in the
watchhouse, and that's all the matter, your worship. The magis-
trate asked Peregrine and Wilniot what they had to say to the
story of the watchman ; when the former assured his worship that
there was no truth in the watchman's statement, but the breaking
of the lantern, and that would not have been done, had he
not rudely put it so close to their faces. " You must pay
for the lantern, young gentlemen, and then you are discharged,"
said the magistrate ; which being done, they left the oflSce, asking
the officer, who had been so kind as to attend them, to go and take
some refreshment with them ; which invitation he accepted.

Mentor jocularly complimented Peregrine and his friend, on
the happy termination of their exploit. " ]Vot so happy,'' said
Peregrine : " it is scandalous a person should be dragged through
the streets, and lodged in a watch-house, merely on the word of a
vagabond watchman." * I should have liked," said Wilmot," to
have given my friend, the tailor constable, a good drubbing.
I never shall forget the insolence with which he ordered us, last
night, to be taken away — 1" — " Hold your tongue," said Mentor,
*' here comes the officer : he is a civil communicative fellow ; and
I have no doubt will give us some information relative to the
thieves and disorderlies :" while they were having a luncheon, the
officer, addressing himself to Mentor, said, "I suppose these tw)
gentlemen are from the

affirmative, telling him he should feel obliged by his giving theiK
a description of the thieves and swindlers they saw at the office
this morning. " Most of them are going to prison ; but if you
wish it, I will accompany you to Newgate and show you many
such." With this proposition, they were highly pleased, and agreed
to accompany the officer.

" The thieves in London," said Mentor, " are, after all that has
been said of them, a most singular set of people.

" Perhaps, you will think that I am wandering, when I give
you a panegyric upon thieving, for I undertake to prove, that
filching is as old as the world ; that it has been the practice of all
nations and ages; that the best of men have endeavoured to keep
it in countenance ; and, in short, that, without it, we had, as the
song says, neither philosophers, poets, nor kings. In a word, I
can prove, that all men are thieves, though very few have the
honesty to confess it.

'• The first theft was committed in Paradise ; and the first thief
was our universal mother, to the honour of the fair sex be it spoken ;
who, influenced by so good an example, have to this day kept up
their laudable appetite for pilfering, as appears by the numerous
complaints you hear of doleful swains whose hearts have been
purloined. In this, I think, they have got the start of us : we can
prove our first sire no more than a receiver, at best ; and the pro-
verb will not allow the receiver to be as good as the thief,

" After this, n body will controvert the antiquity of this art : it

DOINGS IN LONDON. 217

remains, then, that something be said for the honour of our own sex,
who, though they cannot boast of being the inventors of it, yet I
hope to show, that they have made as many improvements on it,
and carried it to as high a pitch, as it would bear. The Jews steai-
iiig every thing they could wrap and rend from the Egyptians at
their departure, is an exploit that we shall come in for at least half
the glory of, though it should be allowed that the ladies, as it
often happens in modern marches, carried the knapsacks, and the
men oidy bore the arras.

" He must be very ignorant of history, who knows not that the
lilgyptians, a learned and wise nation, held this art in such high
esteem, that they punished severely ignorant pretenders to it.
Ancient writers assure us, that a theft, cleverly performed, entitled
the artist to the booty purloined ; but, if he was so awkward as to
be detected before the completion of his purpose, he was turned
over to the hands of old Father Antique, the Law ; as Butler
says, —

' For daring to prophane « thing
So sacred, tvith vile bungling.'

The Lacedemonians were so well apprised of the great use and
advantage of this art, that they early instructed their children in
the commendable art of filching ; and every one knows that the
Lacedemonians were always reputed a wise and famous people,
though it be certain that no other of the polite arts or sciences ever
got footing among them.

" So remarkable an instance as that of Romulus must not be
adnrtted : he very wisely raked together a party of thieves ; and they
became the progenitors of a set of people, who, while they kept
up to the virtues of their ancestors, were the most powerful, the
most learned, and the most polite nation in the world : but, when
they grew rich, and their opulence set them above practising those
virtues, they dwindled into nothing.

"That it has been the universal practice (and often the only know-
ledge) of all philosophers, will be evident upon a comparison of
their several notions and systems. I would avoid an ostentation
of learning, or 1 could make you stare in discussing the tenets, and
discovering the thefts, of the ancients, one from another ; but fa-
miliar examples will perhaps be more suitable: therefore it is only
necessary to mention the South Sea scheme, the bubbles of 1824-5,
&c. &c.

" Authors and parsons are great pilferers ; particularly the former,
who possess themselves of some author's work, of ancient date, and
steal out the good things it contains ; or, if they fortunately hit upon
a manuscript that has been hid for centuries in some library, it is
indeed a harvest ! — they transcribe its essence, and send it out to
the world, as their own original ; as poor Dibdin sings —
'My uncle, the auflior, stoleother men's, thoughts;
My cousin, the bookseller, sold them.

'•The parsons are sad dogs at purluiiiing. — If you pay attention,
28.

218 DOLNGS IN LONDON.

you will hn^ many of their sermons are made up out of Porteus,
Hurd, Lowth, &e. &c. and better so, than preach nonsense of
their own composition."

"You are talking of pilferers, sir," said the officer, " of whom I
have no knowledge. As for my part, I think the impostors are
more numerous than thieves in London, and many of their tricks
far more reprehensible than the depredations of the robbers.

" I was told yesterday," said Wilmot, " of a vile trick played off
on a young student, by an old soldier : his mode for provoking
compassion was to get some sheep's blood and a handful of flour,
which he put so artfully upon his knee, as to make the passengers
who saw it believe it to be a mortirication in his leg and thigh.
— This fellow had taken his stand one morning in a part of the
Borough, where this young surgeon, who was walking one of the
hospitals, happened daily to pass. The lamentation of the Gagger
at once seized his ear and attracted his eye. Being a young man,
full of the milk of human kindness, he stopped and demanded
of the impostor, whether he did not dread a mortification ; the gag-
ger replied that, ** he was in great pain, and that was all he
knew about the matter." The young student gave him sixpence,
and promised to get him into the hospital, whither he scoured
away, assembled the pupils, and informed them of the shocking
case which had occurred to him that morning as he passed along
the Borough : he had seen a ])oor man sitting upon some straw,
whom he believed to have gotten a mortification in his leg and
thigh; and he begged them for the sake of humanity to join him
in soliciting the head of the hospital to admit the poor wretch as
a patient. The head of the hospital was applied to ; but a nega-
tive was given to the application.

** This disappointment excited a double spirit in the young gentle
men, who immediately subscribed upwards of five guineas; and
one of them was desired to hire a room with a bed in it. The
next thing was to get two men with a hand-barrow and some straw,
when off they set, in a body, to fetch the old soldier. My friend
arrived first, and desired him to be of good cheer, for, though they
were not going to take him to the hospital, he should be full as
well treated where they would carry him ; and he doubted not
but that they should make a cure of him without cutting oft" his
leg. When the gagger saw the two men, the hand-barrow, the
straw, and the young surgeons, he jumped up, and scampered
through the crowd, as if the devil was in him ; to the admiration
of the mob, who huzza'd the surgeons, by way of applauding theii
skill in surgery.

" I am sorry to interrupt you, gentlemen," said the officer,
"but if you wish to go to Newgate to-day, you must go directly."
The reckoning was immediately paid, and the four took a hackney-
coach and drove to the prison ; the inside of which filled the
visitors with dismay, in witnessing such a mass of wretchedness,
misery, and crime. The oflicer told them it would be desirable

DOINGS IN LONDON. 219

for them to leave their watches, handkerchiefs, and money they
had about them, with his friend, before they entered the prison,
for tear some one should take a fancy to them.*

"That man," said the officer, " with a great scar across his
forehead, you must take particular notice of: his companions in
crime call him captain ; he is a man of great reputation among
birds of the same feather, who T have heard say thus much in his
praise, that he is as resolute a fellow as ever cocked a pistol upon
the road. And, indeed, I do believe he fears no man in the world
but the hangman, and dreads no death but choking. He's as
generous as a prince; treats any body that will keep him com-
pany ; loves his friend as dearly as the ivy does the oak ; and wiU
never leave him till he has hugged him to his ruin. He has drawn
in twenty of his associates to be hanged, but had always wit and
money enough to save his own neck from the halter. He has
good friends at Newgate, who give him now and then a squeeze,
when he is full of juice ; but promise him, as long as he's indus-
trious in his profession, and will but now and then show them a
few sparks of his generosity, they will always stand between him
and danger.

" That tall curly-pated Irishman, sitting alongside the fellow with
a wooden leg, is a notorious oftender : he is under the sentence of
transportation for life, for swindling the wife of a poor sailor out of
£50, the hard savings out of a seven years' voyage. She accom-
panied her husband to receive his pay, and, on their return, they
were accosted by a stranger, who said he could procure * Roger' a
ship; and, for the purpose of giving a direction, took them into a
public-house in Fetter Lane. At this house they found a man
sitting in the parlour, and shortly after the prisoner entered, in a
swaggering manner, saying he was a Welsh farmer, and had just
received £1100 at the Bank. He then began to • flash' some
notes and sovereigns, and a bet was made between him and the
stranger about some chalks, and they requested witness's husband
to put his hand on a pint-pot, under which they placed a halfpenny;
he did so, and on the pot being lifted up, the stranger said he had
won a sovereign, which the prisoner paid, but the former returned
it. During the transaction, they pretended not to know each
other. The prisoner soon after said they were all poor people, and
wanted to rob him. Witness at this time was putting the direction
in her pocket-book, when her husband said, ' Let him see the notes,
and that we are not poor people, or want to rob him.' The stranger
instantly snatched tne notes, threw them into the prisoner's hat,
and ran off. The prisoner also endeavoured to escape, but was pre
vented, when he returned the notes, and beaged witness to let hini
go. This, however, was refused, and he then began destroying what
appeared to be Bank-notes, but, in reality, were nothing but sham-
notes, one of them commencing with, ' One Bonassus. — Pay to the
Governor and Company of tiie Bank of England one most, ex-
traordinary Bonassus,' Ac. D() you perceive," said the otliccr.

♦220 DOINGS IN LOM>()N.

' that lad, with a plaid cap on ? He is here for trial. He played
oft" cruel and malicious hoaxes «)n some people in Dundee, some
time since. One gentleman was informed that his mother, re-
siding at the Spittal of Gleushee, had died suddenly — he arrayed
himself in the necessary funeral garb, with a large knot of crape
flowing from a hatband of the same, and proceeded post haste to
the abode of his parents, where, to his utter astonishment, he be-
held the aged dame amusing herself with a spinning-wheel, and
" crooning o'er an auld Scots sonnet." Both parties stood dumb-
foundered for a time — the one at seeing the other arrayed in
blnck, while the son stood petrified with joy at beholding his
mother in the body. A merchant got a similar route, and,
having had a new suit of black prepared, set out at mid-
night on a journey of nearly thirty miles. Another was in-
formed that his father, a commissioner of supply, was at the
point of death ; and, having procured the attendance of an eminent
physician, both set out together to the family mansion, where
neither death nor the doctor found a patient. A clergyman was
informed at a late hour that it was necessary he should also bcr
take himself to a death's dance; but, not being prepared, he put it
ort" till another day, when, luckily, the hoax was detected. Ano-
ther person was told a similar errand awaited him; and the in-
formant, ns usual, having demanded a simi to procure lodgings for
himself and horse, was asked where the latter was stabled, but did
not give a satisfactory answer. The person, however, procured
and paid for a bed for him ; but, having entertained doubts as to
the veracity of the mission, next morning went and secured the
juvenile, just as he was preparing to depart, and lodged him in
gaol.

" And who, pray, sir," said Mentor, " may that genteel youth be,
who seems in such bitter anguish, talking to the elderly lady ?"
" He, sir, was a contidential clerk at a merchant's house ; but,
having, unfortunately, become a frequenter of those horrid sinks of
iniquity, the saloons at the west end of the town, he fell a prey to
the artful snares of a woman of the town; and, to support her in
her extravagance, he first robbed his employers, and then, in the
false and fatal hopes of making things better, fell to gambling ; and
when, poor fellow, he could no longer keep the woman — wretch, I
mean — in her luxury, she went and informed his employers, who
apprehended him ; and, on his trial, became the principal evidence
against him — producing the identical things he stole at her request.
Women, sir," continued the officer, " can either make themselves
angels or devils — they can render the marriage state a heaven or a
hell. — This poor fellow is much pitied : great intercession is being
made for him; and, it is generally expected, his sentence will be
mitigated. The lady he is talking to is his unfortunate mother.

" Here is a lesson," said Mentor to Peregrine and ^Vilmot, " for
ali young men, — another martyr to that dreadful mania of gambling :
but the corruption of the times has made gaming a trade. Be very

DOINGS IN LONDON. 221

caieful that playing is only followed as an amusement; for, if you
suffer it to become a passion, it will presently terminate in a rae;e
for play. A professional player, who exposes to the hazard of the
dice, or a card, his paternal fortune, or the dowry of his wife, gene-
rally ends his days in a wretched workhouse, with the bitter re-
marks of the public on his conduct. You will never see a man
of information, who is master of his passions, sacrifice the pleasures
of a fine day or a tranquil night, in the foolish expectation of ob-
taining a fortune, which is but very seldom acquired, and never
but at the expense of honour. Keep in your memory the saying
of Madame Deshoulieres on a gamester, who is one that ' begins
by being a dupe, and ends by becoming a rogue.' We are lost if,
after judicious reflection, we still resolve to have recourse to gaming.
Madame Deshoulieres played, but she did not gamble ; she had felt
all the bitterness of disgrace, and all the pains of severe illness;
however, although death menaced her with his icy hand, and sick-
ness preyed on her beauty, and misfortune haunted her like a
spectre, yet she fortified her mind by solid reflections, and indulged
in innocent pleasures ; she played no more than two hours a day,
and then on so low terms, that she never felt the hope of winning,
nor tiie fear of losing.

"There are some games very proper to be learned, such as chess ;
this game, when well played, may reasonably give rise to feelings
of exultation; however, they should not be indulged in.

" It has been said that the disposition of a man is better known
when he has taken a quantity of wine, or w1ien he is engaged in
play, than in any thing else; this is not a certain way of arriving
at a correct conclusion of his disposition : however, I am inclined
to believe that he who is ready for dispute under the eflects of
wine, or who regrets the money he has lost in play, is not either
very liberal or very pacifically inclined. Inquietude betrays a
narrowness of mind, and anger or avarice shows a littleness of
soul. If a person has suflScient strength of mind to hide his de-
fects and his vices, even if he is naturally rude or avaricious, he
will appear complaisant or generous ; but if he does not support
this hypocrisy when playing, if an accidental failure in an expected
event arises, and the individual is soured by it, we may judge,
without fear of inaccuracy, that the natural temper is exposed,
and that the mind is unmasked ; and we may reasonably con-
clude that the first movement which escapes, is a better criterion
to judge of his character, than all the parade of those false and
studied virtues : he thus loses in one moment all that had been ac-
quired by long expedients.

" When you play at innocent games, do not play as though you
cared nothing about them ; on the other hand, do not exhibit either
lively inquietude, or foolish joy, or ridiculous fear ; take the middle
course between anxiety and inattention ; learn that, if play dis-
honours those who make a shameful commerce of it, if it brings to
light all their avarice or folly, it is not without advantages to (he

222 DOINGS IN LONDON.

polished man, since it gives him an opportunity of showing, with-
out an ostentatious parade, the nobleness of his sentiments, the
justness of his mind, the politeness of his manners, and the
equanimity of his temper.

" That fellow near the pump," said the officer, " is one of the
way-layers, a contemptible class of thieves, who attend the
waggon and coach -yards, pretending to be porters ; they watch
the country people, and offer their services to carry their parcels
or call a coach ; and no sooner do they get any property in their
hands, than they sneak off with it.

" He with his arm in a sling is an advertising swindler, and
belongs to a gang, who live upon robbing people, by advertising
to borrow or lend money, or procure situations. If they borrow,
they have sham deeds, and make false conveyances of estates : if
they lend, they artfully inveigle the borrower out of his security,
which they take up money upon, and convert to their own use,
without the poor deluded person's knowledge, and, by absconding,
leave him to the mortification of descanting on their roguery. It
is the greatest folly to pay any attention to advertisements in the
papers, offering assistance of the above nature. Not long ago, a
person was tried on an indictment charging him with a fraud, in
obtaining the sum of £100, under pretence of procuring for him
the situation of a clerk in the Treasury. The prosecutor said, he
had inserted in a morning paper an advertisement, offering to pay
a moderate premium to any one who would procure for him aper-
vianent mercantile situation. Two or three days after, he received
a note, inviting him to come to Purton Street. He proceded to
the house, and saw the defendant, who, after some conversation,
informed him that he could procure him the situation of one of the
clerks in the revenue department of the Treasury, as a gentleman
who then held the situation was about to retire from it, and that
the sum to be paid for it must be £150. At the same time he
said that he could not mention the name of the gentleman
through whose interference it was to be procured. ''*' c salary, he
said, was £100 a year, with perquisites. It was then agreed
that Mr. A. was to call again in a few days, when he was to make
up his mind on the subject. Mr. A. called again and saw the
prisoner, who, after some discussion, agreed to take £140 tor the
situation. While they were conversing on the subject at this
second interview, and before the bargain was closed, a young man
knocked at the door, and the defendant told Mr. A. that this
young man had also been in treaty for the place, that he had
come to settle the business finally, and pay a part of the money :
therefore, he should close with him, unless Mr. A. would agree
to the terms proposed, and lay down £20 at once on account. —
Mr, A. did accordingly close with the defendant, and paid him
down £20, for which he had his promissory note ; and a sum of
^80 more was to be paid as soon as Mr. A. received his warrant
of ppointment. The remainder was to be paid by instalments.

UOINGS IN LONDON. 223

From that time until the middle of October, the prosecutor and
defendant had several interviews. On the 15th of October, Mr.
A. received a note appointing- a meeting in Villiers Street, York
Buildings, and announcing that he should have his appointment
with him on that day, and desiring the prosecutor to bring with him
the £yO. Mr. A. was punctual to the appointment, and met the
prisoner at the time and place fixed on. The latter produced a
note, purporting to be from Lord Lowther, one of the Lords of the
Treasury, and addressed to the prisoner. In this note it was re-
quired that the money should be paid to the prisoner, before he
let the appointment out of his possession. He also sliowed the
prosecutor a written parchment, with these words on the back of
it, * Appointmant of Mr. J. Anderson.' The document purported
to be signed by Mr. Vansittart, Lord Lowtlier, and the Earl of
Liverpool; and countersigned by Mr. Lushington, one of the Se-
cretaries of the Treasury. After seeing such a document as this,
the prosecutor could no longer entertain any suspicion ; he paid
the £80, and gave up the promissory note for the £20 which he had
previously advanced. The prisoner then said he must go over to
the Treasury to have the warrant entered, and promised to return
in half an hour. He did not return ; and, in an hour after, Mr. A.
received a letter from him, acknowletlging that the whole business
was a fraud ; that he was obliged to commit the same on account
of his poverty ; but promising that he should shortly have it in his
power to repay him the £100 ; and, at the same time, he sent a
written acknowledgment of his owing him that sum.

*' The jury immediately found the prisoner guilty; and he was
sentenced to pay a fine of £100 to the king; to be imprisoned
twelve mouths in the House of Correction ; and to be further im-
prisoned until the fine be paid.

** I could tell you of many other cases of fraud. T remember
being in Bow-Street Office, when a young man — one of the simple
ones, presented himself before Sir Richard Birnie, requesting the
intervention of the police between himself and a Mr. Reading, a
gentleman, he said, who, having undertaken to procure him aplace
under government for a douceur of £400, pocketed the douceur, and
forgot to get the place.

" The magistrate expressed his surprise that, after so many-
public expositions liad been made of this stale trick, any person
should be found green enough to be gulled by it.

*• The young man proceeded to detail the particulars of this
affair. He inserted an advertisement in a morning paper, describ-
ing his qualifications, and offering £400 to any person who would
procure him a permanent mercantile situation. To this advertise-
ment he received a multitude of answers — the zeal with which
many persons ' of great influence' came forward to offer him their
services, was really quite gratifying; but, had it not been for the
advertisement, it's a hundred to one if he had ever known what
lots of good people there are in the world. Amongst others, there

224 DOINGS IN LONDON.

came to him the above-mentioned J.J. Hcadhig, Esquire, as he
called himself. ' So, young man,' said he, 'you are in want of a
situation ?' The advertiser bowed. ' Very good,' continued the
patron—' very good — you seem a likely young man; and, for-
tunately, I have just now an opportunity of procuring a situation
— an excellent situation, worth £500 a-year, young man ; what
do you think of that?' The advertiser bowed again — ' Should
be very happy,' &c., and the patron proceeded. ' But then
there must be a set-oft", of three years' purchase, you see,
for these things are not to be had every day ; and three
years' purchase is but a trifle for such a chance.' The ad-
vertiser admitted it, but observed that he could not raise so
much money. ' Oh, I don't want your money, young man,'
replied the patron — ' I don't want your money; if I did, I must
be mad, and should require a strait jacket. But you had better
consider of what I have said, and consult with your good lady' —
meaning advertiser's wife, who was in the next room. Having
thus broken the ice, as it were, he took his leave, requesting the
advertiser to call upon him, when he had duly considered the
matter, at his house in Cirencester Place. The advertiser did call
accordingly, and found him living in considerable style. He talked
largely of his connexions and his influence, of his intimacy with
Sir T. Maitland, Sir J. Throckmorton, the Lords of the Admiralty,
and a nobleman lately deceased ; and finally said the situation he
had hinted at was that of an accredited agent for one of our
colonies in the Mediterranean. The advertiser departed from this
interview deeply impressed with the political importance of his
patron ; and the more so, as he said, because he had been told
that this identical gentleman had once been had up at the bar of th«
House of Commons, about the sale of a borough, in consequence of
his intimate connexion with the deceased nobleman above men-
tioned. Other interviews took place, sometimes at the advertiser's
house, and sometimes at the Museum Tavern ; and at last the ad-
vertiser gave him an assignment of a reversionary interest he had in
his mother's will, to the amount of £389, &c. ; and, in consideration
thereof, he, Reading, Esquire, undertook to procure him to be ap-
pointed ' accredited agent at Liverpool for the Ionian Islands, with
a salary of £500 per annum.' There was a farther agreement
with respect to the three years' set-oft^" from the salary in favour of
Reading; and, as a sort of collateral security for the assignment,
the said Jeremiah accepted the advertiser's bill for £200. All
these things arranged, the munificent Reading told the advertiser he
had sent out the necessary documents to Sir Thomas Maitland, by
the Blucher packet; and his appointment would take place imme-
diately on the return of that vessel to England. The Blucher
returned, and the advertiser naturally expected to pop into his place
instanter — but, no ! week after week passed away, Jeremiah be-
came more and more difl5cult of access, and, at last, he told the
simple advertiser that he could not have the situation on any con-
sideration whatever ; and the young man lost his money.

DOINGS IN LONDON

225

** That Hibernian, with his toes out of his shoes, is here," con

tinued the officer, " for making too free with the heads of his

brethren by breaking some of them, at their wakes, as they call

them." " He looks like the man," said Mentor to Peregrine, "'who

ut such a conspicuous figure in

i5:te liotnge at an Imft MAait,

In St. Giles's, at which we were visitors. Did you ever witness
one of these curious ceremonies, Wilmot ?" Never," he replied
" Indeed they are worth seeing ;" continued Mentor. " The one a
which we were, was in a cellar in Diet Street; and we were le
ceived with all that generous feeling for which the natives of Ire-
and are so celebrated. The corpse was laid in a decent coflin,
on a low table, and by its side were placed several lighted candles
ornamented with cut paper ; the coffin was covered with flowers, the
snowdrop, the primrose, and the ever-green ; on the right and left
were several men and women bewailing the loss of the deceased, and
M apostrophising the inanimate clay, they ran over every endearing
quality that he possessed. In a short time a shrill voice, in a sort
of howl, exclaimed, ' Arrah, by Jasus, what did you die for V ' Bad
.Tick to you ! what did you die for V re-echoed an old woman ; and
taking up the hand of the deceased, 'There, sir,' said she, 'that
never ivill, nor would take a thump from any one, without return-
ing it!' In one corner sat several devil-may-care fellows — every
inch of them Irishmen — generous, eccentric, good-natured, and
29. Q

1?26 DOINGS IN LONDON.

grateful — drinking, crying, howling, praying, and swearing; m
another, were some descanting on the virtues of the deceased ; and,
in the centre of the cellar, were two friends most unmercifully be-
abouring each other, with tremendous shilelahs.

" Yet the immorality of these beings is not so great as it has
been represented : the seeds of virtue remain uncultivated in their
hearts, while the vices and follies germinate in the foul atmosphere
of obscenity. Their absurdities, though many, are generally lu-
dicrous ; and their actions form a tragi-comic series, indicative ot
feeling and humour.

" The bodies are generally carried to St. Pancras ; and, by the
time the corpse is interred, the liquor having begun to operate,
after several agreeable jests, some man of nicer feelings than the
rest takes offence at them; then loud sounds of discord are vo-
ciferated, in the Irish language, by the opponents ; blows succeed,
and a battle, of perhaps a dozen combatants, presents an animated
scene in the road opposite the cemetery. When they have vented
their passion, and bestowed a number of contusions on each other,
they shake hands, and march off the field of battle to the next ale-
house, where they drown their animosity in generous liquor.

" In the report of the committee on the state of the police
of the metropolis, we find the following examination of a
beadle of St. Andrew's, Holborn, which gives a melancholy pic-
ture of the wakes in that parish ; it says : —

" ' Do the Irish hold wakes on the death of their relatives or
friends V Yes, they do. Last Tuesday a woman died ; and, on
the Saturday following, her daughter. The father asked me what
the parish could do for him ? I said to him there are at this very
time from ten to fourteen gallons of porter before you, and more
than that, — surely you can bury your wife and daughter and all.'

" * I remember a capital wake ; it was for the wife of James
Corcoan. I think I counted about sixty-four or sixty-five gallons
of porter that they had before them to drink, in gallon pots, and
two-gallon pots, and so on : I counted them for curiosity : the
pots that were there held, I think, about sixty-four gallons, I
have seen them, likewise, when they have got drunk, quarrel, and
throw down the corpse, and fight over it.'

" ' At what hour in the morning ?' ' About three or four o'clock
ii: the morning, when they get drunk.' * Do they commonly fight
at wakes !' ' Very commonly."

" In Ireland," continued Mentor, " they conduct the wakes with
greater solemnity and form than they do here.

" ' It was on a frosty October evening,' says the author of
Tales of Irish Life, ' that the peasantry of the parish of Dunmore
began to assemble around the corpse of a man, whose recent mis-
fortunes and death gave additional notoriety to his luaAe ; which
was more numerously attended than is even usual on similar
occasions ; although the natural sympathy and good humor of the

DOINGS IN LONDON. 227

Irish people conspire to cause, at such places, a congregation, for
the double purpose of honouring the dead and amusing the living.
" ' The body, which once bore the name of Ned Kilpatrick,
was laid out in a spacious barn, which was converted, for the oc-
casion, from the purpose of a granary, into a melancholy hall of
mourning. Around the dead man's bed were hung, with artful
contrivance, large sheets of white linen ; which, as they inclined
towards the wall, displayed many fantastic images of flowers,
angels, and seraphims. Over the corpse was spread a cloth to cor-
respond with the canopy, which was strewed with roses, mari-
golds, and * sweet-sraeliing flowers,' while an image of our Re-
deemer on the cross reposed, as itwere,upon a dove — emblematic
of the dead man's faith. There is something very terrible in
death, when divested of those circumstances which add a solemn
gloom to the awful presence of a lifeless body ; but, in Ireland,
those scenes, which remind us of what * stuff" we are made,' receive
a desponding influence from the circumstance of the nearest friends
of the deceased being arranged around, according to their degrees
of affinity ; and, as the poor have more cause than the affluent to
lament the dreaded departure of their relatives, there is seldom a
want of loud and copious sorrow ; for simple nature cannot learn
to modulate her woe by the rules of fashionable grief. At the
head of the venerable deceased sat his wife, overwhelmed with a
sense of her own loss ; and, in regular succession, agreeably to
their respective ages, were seated her four daughters, the mourn-
ful attendants of the scene. At the extremity of the bed, stood
the only son of the defunct, who bore his father's name. Nu-
merous aunts, uncles, and kindred, pressed around, to share the
general grief; whilst neighbours, as they came in, after falling on
their knees to repeat the Lord's prayer, fell back to a respectful
distance, where pipes and tobacco were supplied hi gratuitous pro-
fusion. On this night, decorum, for a while, was preserved, and
the mourners received the most respectful attention ; but a dull
scene of silent meditation was neither accordant with their wishes
nor their habits. A song from one of the party was the signal for
the commencement of sport, which soon began to engage the
young and thoughtless ; nor were the old averse from the scenes
which once had charms for themselves.'

"The 'Irish Hudibras' (1682), thus humorously describes an
Irish wake : —

' To their own sports (the masses ended)

The mourners now are recommended.

Some sit and chat, some laug:h, some weep,

Some sing cronans, and some do sleep ;

Some court, some scold, some blow, some puff,

Some take tobacco, some take snuff.

Some play the trump, some trot the hay,

Some at 7nachan* some noddy play :

Thus mixing up their grief and sorrow, —

Yesterday buried, kill'd to-jnorrow."
* A game at cards.
Q2

228 DOINGS IN LONDON.

*• Most certainly," said Mentor, "the laying-in-state, as it is
called in England, is a part of the ceremony of waking. Browne,
in his ' Vulgar Errors,' gives us a curious detail of the various cus-
toms formerly observed at deaths, and several of which are yet
retained in different parts of England ; he says-

*• • The passing bell, so called from its denoting the passing or
parting of any one from life to death, was originally intended to
invite the prayers of the faithful for the person who was dying,
but was not yet dead ; and, though in some instances super-
stitiously used, has its meaning clearly pointed out in a clause in
the ' Advertisements for Due Order, <fec.' in the seventh year of
Queen Elizabeth, which enjoins * that when anye Christian bodie
is in pfissing, that the bell be toled, and that the curate be speciallie
called for to comfort the sicke person ; and, after the time of his
passing, to ringe no more but one short peale ; and one before the
buriall, and another short peale after the buriall. Grose, referring
to the old Catholic belief on this subject, treats it rather ludicrously,
though its intention, as just described, was evidently serious.
* The passing-bell,' says he, ' was anciently rung for two purposes :
one to bespeak the prayers of all good Christians for a soul just
departing ; the other, to drive away the evil spirits who stood at
the bed's foot, and about the house, ready to seize their prey, or,
at least, to molest and terrify the soul in its passage ; but, by the
ringing of that bell (for Durandus, a writer of the twelfth century,
informs us evil spirits are much afraid of bells), they were kept
aloof; and the soul, like a hunted hare, gained the start, or had
what is, by sportsmen, called law.'

" In the diary of Robert Birrel, preserved in ' Fragments of
Scottish History,' &c. is the following curious entry : —

" ' 1566, the 25 of October, word came to the towne of Edin-
Durghe, from the Queine, yat her majestic was deadly seike, and
desirit ye bells to be runge, and all ye peopile to resort to ye Kirk
to pray for her, for she was so seike that none lepsied her life',
(expected her to live). Bourne supposes, that from the saying
iTtentioned by Bede, ' Lord have mercy on my soul,' which St.
Oswald uttered when he fell to the earth, has been derived the
distich so often introduced in ballads on the melancholy occasion
of a coming execution : —

* When the bell begins to toll,
Lord have mercy on ray soul !

" In a very rare book, entitled * Wits, Fits, and Fancies,' (\QY^
the author relates a droll anecdote concerning the ringing-out at
the burial of * a rich churle and a beggar, who were buried at one
time, in the same churchyard, and the bells rang out amaine for
the miser. Now, the wiseacre, his son, and executor,' says he,
' to the ende the worlde might not thinke that all that ringing was
for the begger, but for his father, hyred a trumpetter to stand all
the ringing while in the belfrie, and between every peale, to sound
bis trumpet, and proclame aloud and saye, sirres, this next peale

DOINGS IN LONDON. 229

IS not for R, but for maister N, — his father.' There seems to be
nothing more intended at present by tolling the Passing Bell, but
to inform the neighbourhood of some person's death.'

" The Jews used trumpets instead of bells. The Turks do not
permit the use of them at all. The Greek Church under their
dominion still follow her old custom of using wooden boards, or
iron plates full of holes, which they hold in their hands and knock
with a hammer or mallet, to call the people to church. China
has been remarkably famous for its bells. Father Le Compte
tells us, that at Pekin, there are seven bells, each of which weighs
120,000ibs.

" Watching WITH the Dead. — This is called in the north of
England the Lake Wake, a name plainly derived from the Anglo-
Saxon lie or lice, a corpse, and wcece or wake, a vigil or watching.
It is used in this sense by Chaucer, in his ' Knight's Tale :'

* Shall not be told by me
How that arcite is brent to ashen cold,

Ne how that there the Liche-wake was y-hold
All that night long.'

" Pennant, in describing Highland ceremonies, says, * The Late
Wake is a ceremony used at funerals. The evening after the
death of any one, the relation or friends of the deceased meet at
the house, attended by a bagpipe or fiddle : the nearest of kin, be
it wife, son, or daughter, opens a melancholy ball, dancing and
greeting — that is, crying violently at the same time ; and this
continues till daylight, but with such gambols and frolics
among the younger part of the company, that the loss which
occasions their meeting, is often more than supplied by the conse-
quences of that night. If the corpse remain unburied for two
nights, the same rites are renewed. Thus, Scythian-like, they re-
joice at the deliverance of their friends out of this life of misery."
The custom in North Wales, we are informed by the same writer,
is, the night before a dead body is to be interred, the friends and
neighbours of the deceased resort to the house the corpse is in,
bringing with them some small present of bread, meat, and drink
(if the family be something poor), but more especially candles,
whatever the family may be, and this night is called wyl noss,
whereby the country people seem to mean a watching night.
Their going to such a house, they say, is i ivilior corph, to watch
the corpse ; but wyh signifies to weep and lament, and so
wyl nos may be a night of lamentation. While they stay together
on that night, they are either singing psalms, or reading some part
of the Holy Scriptures. Whenever any body comes into a room
where a dead body lies, especially on the loyl nos, and the day of
its interment, the first thing he does, he falls on his knees by the
corpse and says the Lord's Prayer.'

"Laying out, or Streeking the Body. — Durand, at the
remote period at which he lived, gives a pretty exact accour t of
some of the ceremonies used at laying out the body, as practised

230 DOINGS IN LONDON.

at present in the nortb of England, where the laying out is called
streeking. He mentions the closing of the eyes, the decent wash-
ing, dressing, and wrapping up in a clean winding-sheet, or linen
shroud, as well as other ancient observances. The interests of
our woollen manufacture have interfered with this ancient rite in
England. To the laying-out may be added the very old custom
oi setting salt, and placing a lighted candle upon the body, both of
which are used to this day in some parts of Northumberland, The
salt, a little of which is set upon a pewter plate upon the corpse,
is, according to the learned Morex, an emblem of eternity and im-
mortalily. It is not liable to putrefaction itself, and preserves
other things that are seasoned with it from decay. Tlie lighted
candle, the same author conjectures to have been the Egyptian
hieroglyphic for life.

*' Aubrey, in some miscellanies of his, among the Lansdown
MMS., at the British Museum, mentions a very curious custom at
deaths, observed in a degree until his time (reign of Charles II),
which he describes under the name of Sin-Eaters. "In the County
of Hereford,' says he, * was an old custome at funeralis, to hire
poor people, who were to take upon them the sinnes of the party
deceased. One of theme (he was a long lean ugly lamentable
raskal), I remember, lived in a cottage on Rosse highway. The
manner was, that when the corpse was brought out of the house,
and layed on the biere, a loafe of bread was brought out and de-
livered to the sinne-eater over the corpse, as also a mazar bowl, of
maple, full of beere (which he was to drink up), and sixpence in
money : in consideration he took upon him, ipso facto, all the
sinnes of the defunct, and freed him or her from walking after they
were dead.' This custom, he supposes, had some allusion to the
scape-goat ander the Mosaical law.

" Funeral Sermons. — Speaking of the frequency of thesefor-
merly, and their present disuse : — ' Even such a character as the
infamous Mother Creswell, the procuress in the reign of Charles
II.,' our author observes, ' must have her funeral sermon. She,
according to Granger, desired by will to have a sermon preached
at her funeral, for which the preacher was to have ten pounds, but
upon the express condition that he only spoke well of her. A
preacher was with some diflSculty found, who undertook the task.
He, after a sermon preached on the general subject of morality,
and the good uses to be made of it, concluded by saying — " By the
will of the deceased, it is expected I should mention her, and say
nothing but what is well of her. All I shall say of her, therefore,
is this — she was born well, she lived well, and she died well, for
she was born with the name of Creswell, she lived in Clerkenwell,
and she died in Bridewell."'

" For heaven's sake," said Mentor, " let us retire from this pri-
son ; the very air seems infectious. What oaths I what blas-
pheming! what a clashing of chains!" "Not in such haste,
friend," replied VVilmot; although it is hell in miniature." " But

DOIJSuS IN LONDON. 231

look in yonder cell — a dreadful sight, indeed," said Mentor : " 1
see a poor wretch loaded with chains, stretched at his length upon
the earth, beating his breast in the utmost agonies of despair, and
a woman lying dead by his side. What's the meaning of this?"
"The man," answered the officer, "was an industrious young
tradesman, who married the woman you see dead by him, and has
had by her five children, now living. Never was a more affection-
ate couple : but an unavoidable misfortune in trade, and the seve-
rity of his inhuman creditors, soon reduced him to want bread.
Unable to bear the piercing sight of wife and children who were
perishing, in the utmost distraction of mind, he loaded his pistols,
and robbed an old miser of about a dozen shillings. He was
soon taken, tried, and condemned, and is to be executed to-morrow.
His wife, who came to take her last leave of him, expired in his
arms, and the parish are to take care of their children." •' But is
this justice ?" said Peregrine; " if it is, how near is rigid justice
akin to cruelty ! Can those who thus send an almost innocent
man to death, have any bowels ? O thou eternal Being ! wert
thou to judge each action of those men with the same severity
they have judged this poor wretch, unless thy boundless mercy in-
terposed, how dreadful would be their portion V

" In the next cell is an intrepid hero : he is a rare tongue-pad ;
he can out-flatter a poet, out-wrangle a lawyer, out-cant a Metho-
dist, out-cringe a beau, out-face truth, and out lie the devil. He
hath for many years raised contributions in this metropolis. Justice
hath overtook him at last ; but, true as steel, he resolves to die
with the same resolution he lived.

" Next to him you see a young woman who was condemned
for murdering her bastard child ; but, having youth and beauty on
her side, she has been reprieved.

" The next is a bailiffs follower, who murdered a person he had
a warrant to arrest. It is true, he might have performed his duty
without bloodshed, as his unhappy victim made no resistance;
but he chose effectually to secure his prisoner by knocking his
brains out. However, as he has the honour of being a limb of
the law, his sentence will not be put in execution.

" Observe the youth fervently praying upon his knees. — His
case is hard, but not singular — he must suflFer for a crime he
never committed. An old Jew, being engaged in an amorous con-
flict with a Cyprian of Drury, lost his watch in the dispute ; but,
not missing it till he came into the Strand, he seized this young
fellow, whose misfortune it was to be walking close to him, charged
him with the robbery, and, upon the trial, swore positively he
caught his hand in his pocket." " Perjured, murdering villain !'
cried Peregrine, " if the truth should ever come to. light, must he
not run distracted?''' " Only shrug up his shoulders," cried the
officer ; " cry he is sorry, and return to his bulls and bears in
'Change Alley.

" Turn your eyes into yonder room, which seems too elegant

282 DOINGS IN LONDON.

for a prison. The gentleman in a splendid dressing-gown, who is
making merry with his friends, was committed for murdering a
poor watchman in one of his drunken frolics ; but, being a man of
family and fortune, he has this morning got his pardon."

*• Let us go, for I will not stay here one moment longer," said
Peregrine. " With all my heart," replied Mentor ; " we will once
more breathe the pure air ; and pray our rulers to spare the inno-
cent, and punish the wicked." They then rewarded the officer for
his trouble, and retired.

" Since you forced me to leave Newgate so abruptly," said
Mentor, " 1 will introduce you to a place you will like as little.
We will go to Bedlam, where you may make observations, and
see what miserable spectacles the lords of the universe are, when
deprived of their senses. Yet remember, when you pity their con-
dition, that vices and folly are often the occasion of their coming
to this dismal place.

" The raving creature in the first cell is a merchant, who had
once acquired a plum and a half in trade, but, losing fifteen hun-
dred pounds on the insurance of a ship, it hath turned his brain
ever since.

" The young woman next him, who is continually talking of
love, flames, darts, sighs, and vows, is descended from an ancient
family in the, west of England, and was seduced by a young
nobleman, famous for exploits of this sort, who made her a pro-
mise of marriage which he never intended should be performed ;
and her senses have paid the price of her folly.

" The young man you see with his arms across is certainly a
happy man He ran mad upon the loss of the mistress to whom
he was betrothed, and who married another : he had a lucky es-
cape, for there is not such another termagant in hell. Her un-
fortunate husband is continually imploring the gods that he may
change his condition with the lover."

'* Heyday," said Wilmot, " what have we here ; this is a mad-
man with a vengeance : how swift he runs round the room. Now
he stops suddenly and shakes his head, while the tears run down
his cheeks." " That, sir," said the keeper, " is a poet, whom the
managers of the theatres have driven hither, by refusing to per-
form a tragedy he had written. The title is * The Death of Pa-
troclus,' and he himself is now acting the part of Xanthus, one
of Achilles' horses, which he intended to have introduced upon
the stage.

*' The hump-backed lad next him, was sent here by the same
gentleman, who would not permit him to act the part of Bevil, in
the Conscious Lovers.

•' The grave gentleman that walks so sedately, is really to be
pitied. He was possessed of a plentiful fortune, liberal to the
poor, and generous to his friends. He was driven mad by the ill-
behaviour of his wife, as many others are.

•' Take notice in the next cell of that cobbler strutting along.

DOINGS IN LONDON. 233

He exacts of every one that passes by him, the title of my lord.
His good fortune was his ruin ; havinpf scraped together twenty
pounds with hard labour in the space of twenty years, he pur-
chased a lottery ticket with the money, and soon after found him-
self possessed of ten thousand pounds, which was the cause of
his removal from his stall to this place.

" That old woman you see mounted upon a joint-stool, and
preaching to a crazy audience, was a follower of the field-preach-
ers, who terrified her out of her senses, by threatening her with
hell and damnation, for not contributing more than was in her
power, towards the support of her godly pastors. It has long
been matter of doubt to me," said Mentor, *' whether these
field-preachers are not more knaves than fools." ** They have
certainly most of the former in their composition," said the keeper.
" However, they rant with an enthusiastic madness of heaven and
hell, they generally take care to fill their own pockets.

" The next is an odd sort of a madman, who had both learning
and genius; but a visionary turn of mind, and over studying,
have almost reduced him to the state of the man recorded by
Horace, who used to sit alone in the theatre, imagining he was
hearing the most excellent plays. This gentleman believes he is
among the dead, and conversing with Pluto, Socrates, Aristotle,
and all the far-famed sages of antiquity. In my opinion, his lot's
rather to be envied than pitied ; nor do I believe, if he was to be
restored to his senses, that he would thank the friendly hand that
worked his cure.

"The next object you see, is a female, a citizen's wife, who ran
distracted, because she was refused entrance into St. James's, on a
ball night; and is now in imagination the greatest duchess in the
land.

" In the next dwellling, are the remains of a city beauty, who,
being seized with the small-pox, desired to view herself in a look-
ing-glass, and immediately, upon the sight of her own face, des-
patched her senses in search of her fugitive charms.

" In thie next cell is a lawyer, who made the last will and testa-
ment of an old nobleman, when he was at the point of death, and,
by some strange fatality, forgot to insert his own name.

" Take notice of yonder venerable matron, with a dead animal
in her arms. This heroine bore not only with patience, but resig-
nation, the death of fourteen husbands, and at last ran distracted
upon the decease of her favourite monkey.

" Near this pattern of conjugal affection is a weaver, who was
brought hither in consequence of being interrupted in the midst of
an oration at a debating club, by the baker's hammer.

" In the next dungeon lies the body (for the soul is almost de-
parted), of an eminent physician, who, being sent for to his elder
brother when he lay in the utmost extremity, declared all human
aid was vain, and refused to prescribe for him. This saved his
life, for nature, having no drugs to combat, recovered her patient ;
30.

334 DOINGS IN LONDON.

yet, by saving one brother his life and estate, she occasioned the
other to lose his senses.

"The next is a natuialist, who is still in debate with himself,
whether a curiosity he unluckily found one day upon the top of a
very high hill is common pumice-stone, or an antediluvian human
excrement."

" But we have seen enough of these unhappy creatures ; let us
now, if you please," said Peregrine, "witness some joyous happy
scene." " Agreed,'' replied Mentor and Wilraot ; so let us goto
that delightful fairy spot, Vauxhall. They jeturned home to
dress, and, in the evening, drove to the gardens.

" Tliis enchanting and elegant place of summer resort," said
Mentor, " is named from the manor of Vaux Hall, or Fawkes
Hall ; but the tradition that this house, or any other adjacent,
was the property of the Popish conspirator, Guy Fawkes, is en-
tirely fictitious. The premises were, in 1615, the property of Jane
Vaux, widow. It was formerly little more than a tea-garden,
enlivened with instrumental music; but its rural beauty, and easy
access, soon rendered it a place of universal attraction. Since it
has become the property of the present spirited proprietors, these
gardens have assumed an entirely different character. Instead of
the simple singing and music, and the dark walk, and the brilliant
promenade, you will here witness the representation of ballets, &c.
after the manner of the minor theatres.

" There was nothing that more distinguished the environs of the
metropolis a few years since (before the building-rage commenced),
than the number of gardens open for public entertainment : I do
not mean siraplay tea-gardens, but places on the plan of Vauxhall
Gardens; where concerts of vocal and instrumental music were to
be heard, and where the eye was regaled with displays of fire-
works, illuminated walks, and other embellishments.

" Mary-le-bon, or Marybone Gardens. — These stood ,
little northward, on the sight of the present Manchester Square.
They were opened some time previously to 1737; and, till that
year, were entered gratis by all ranks of the people ; but, the com-
pany resorting to them becoming more respectable, Mr. Gough,
the owner, demanded a shilling as entrance-money ; for which the
party paying was to receive an equivalent in viands. They after-
wards met with such success as to induce the proprietor to form
them into a regular place of musical and scenic entertainment; and
the late Charles Bannister, Dibdin (who both made their first
public appearance here when youths), and other eminent vocalists,
now no more, contributed to enliven them with their talents. Dif-
ferent splendid fetes, during the run of the season, were given here,
as at Vauxhall, which are to be found advertised in the papers of
the day. In one of these, given on the king's birth-day, June 4,
1772, after the usual concert and songs, was shown a representa-
tion of Mount Etna, with the Cyclops at work, and a grand fire-
work, consisting of vertical wheels, suns, stars, globes, &c. ; which

DOINGS IN LONDON. 235

was afterwards copied at Ranelagh : and, on another occasion,
great part of the gardens were laid out in imitation of the Boule-
vards of Paris, with numerous shops, and other attractions.

"The Royal Park, called Marybone Park, once occupied the
site of these gardens, and a large tract of land around, and had a
fine stock of game. In Queen Elizabeth's * Progresses,' it is re-
corded, that ' on the 3d of February, IGOO, the ambassadors from
the Emperor of Russia, and other the Muscovites, rode through
the city of London to Marybone Park, and there hunted at their
pleasure , and shortly afterward returned homeward.' What a
contrast to the present state of this spot and parish, now entirely
covered by magnificent streets and squares, which form so elegant
a part of the metropolis !

"BermondseySpa. — These gardens were situate in the Grange
Road, Berraondsey, and received their name from some waters of
a chalybeate nature, which were discovered there about 1770 ; a
few years before which a Mr. Thomas Keyse opened the premises
for tea-drinking, and exhibited, with great success, a collection of
his own paintings, chiefly of still-life subjects ; and which, consi-
dered as the works of a self-taught artist, had great merit. Abun-
dance of persons (for the gardens have not been closed many years)
rtill recollect his natural representations of butchers' shops, green-
stalls, fishmongers' stalls, &;c. Keyse afterwards procured a licence
for opening his gardens with musical entertainments, in the manner
of Vauxhall ; and they were accordingly opened during the sum-
mer season, at one shilling admission. Songs, duets, &c. were
sung, sometimes in character, as well as burletlas performed, on
small stages, erected in the garden. Occasionally, also, fire-
works were exhibited, not inferior to those at Vauxhall ; and, a
a few times in the course of the season, on what are called * gala
nights,' a very excellent representation was given of the siege of
Gibraltar, with fireworks, transparencies, &c. ; the whole of which
were constructed and arranged by Mr. Keyse himself, and did
great credit to his mechanical abilities. The height of the rock
was above fifty feet, and its length two hundred. The whole of
the apparatus covered above four acres of ground.

" Of Ranelagh, so recently in remembrance, I shall only say
a few words. This celebrated and fashionable place of entertain-
ment had been the seat of Lord Ranelagh, and was situated at
Chelsea. At his decease, in 1733, the estate was sold to one
Timbrell, a builder, for £3,200, who re-sold it the following year;
when, some gentlemen and builders having become purchasers, a
resolution was taken to form the spot into a place of public amuse-
ment; and which was completed and opened in the year 1740.
The great attraction here, and which constituted the chief place
for the assemblage of company, was a magnificent rotunda, which
will be better known from the prints of it than from any descrip-
tion. The internal diameter of this splendid receptacle was one
hundred and fifty feet, and it was fitted up with boxes, an orchestra,

23(J DOINGS IN LONDON.

&c. Concerts of vocal and instrumental music were given here,
in a superior style, and occasionally other amusements; but the
resort of company dropping off of late years, the site was sold,
and has been since built on. Ranelagh usually opened on Easter
Monday, and closed on the Prince of Wales's birth-day. It had
;i convenient landing-place and entrance from the Thames, and
' arriage-ways from Hyde Park Corner, and Buckingham Gate,
'i he price of admission was two shillings and sixpence,

"The Apollo Gardens, and Dog and Duck (both, until
ately, standing in St. George's Fields) were a direct contrast in
I oint of respectability to Ranelagh. The former stood opposite the
Asylum in the Westminster Road, and was very prettily fitted up,
on the Vauxhall plan, by a Mr. Clagget. The orchestra, in
the centre of the gardens, was large, and particularly beautiful :
a want of the rural accompaniment of fine trees, their smallness,
the situation, and other causes, soon made them the resort only of
the low and vicious ; and, after an ineffectual struggle of two or
three seasons, they finally closed, and the site has been since en-
tirely built on. The Dog and Duck was more obstinate, and far
less worthy of patronage. At this place there was a long room
with tables and benches, and, at the upper end, an organ. The
company which assembled in the evening consisted chiefly of
women of the town, their bullies, and such young men as could,
without reflection, supply them with inflaming liquor. Becoming
a positive nuisance on these and other accounts, it was, after
many complaints, put down by the magistrates, and that useful,
though melancholy charity, Bethlem Hospital, now occupies the
spot.

"ToNBRiOGE Wells, or Islington Spa, was formrely in full
favour with the public, and opened for the summer on the 5th of
May. The proprietors admitted dancers for the whole of the day,
on Mondays and Thursdays, provided they did not appear in masks,
for whom music was provided. The Princess Amelia, in 1733,
rendered this place, for a time, fashionable, by drinking this water
for the benefit of her health. These gardens were beautiful, parti-
cularly at the entrance, where pedestals and vases were grouped
with a good deal of taste, under some extremely picturesque trees.
The subscription was one guinea for the season, and concerts, with
public breakfasts, were occasionally given. They were latterly
very little frequented, which occasioned the site to be built on.
They stood nearly opposite Sadler's Wells.

" The following are still open, but much degenerated. They
are quite of an inferior species, at best —

White Conduit House, by Islington : — Much resorted to
formerly, particularly on Sundays, as tea-gardens, and forming
hen a pleasant rural walk from town : —

" Human beings here
In couplcj multitudinous assembled,
' Forming the drollest group that ever trod

DOINGS IN LONDON. 237

Fair Isliugtonian plains — male after male,
Dog after dog, succeeding — husbands — wives —
Fathers and mothers — brothers — sisters — friends —
Around, across, along the shrubby maze
They walk, they sit, they stand.'

** Baonigge Wells. — These gardens are said, by Mr. Lysons,
to have opened, for the first time, about 1716 ; in consequence of the
discovery of two spings of mineral vrater, chalybeate and cathar-
tic. The gardens were originally small, but made the most of in
walks, fountains, trees, Dutch nymphs, and Cupids, &c. &c. The
old-fashioned manner of gardening — clipped trees and formal lines,
characterized this place. It was formerly much frequented on
Sundays, for tea-dinking, but is now curtailed, and nearly deserted.
The prologue to Bon Ton notices it among the places of low
fashion : —

' 'Tis drinking tea, on Sunday afternoons.
At Baguigge Wells, in china, and gilt spoons.' "

While Mentor andbis friend were parading Vauxhall Gardens, and
admiring the animated scene before them. Peregrine remarked on the
increasing fashion with gentlemen, in wearing beards on the upper
lip, and some with it on the chin, while others have such a quan*
tity of hair on their heads. " These only serve to show," said Men-
tor, " that the * Vagaries of Fashion' were at all times as preva-
lent as at present; for the Anglo-Saxons appear to have veora
their hair and beards long, merely dividing that on the head from
the crown to the forehead ; and the men a sort of bonnet, when
not engaged in war. At their first invasion of this country, their
dress is supposed to have resembled that of the ancient Germans,
their neighbours, which Tacitus describes as having been a close
habit, fitted to their shape, with fantastic patches of difFerent-
coloured skins set on it, and a large mantle fastened over one
shoulder. This costume was in many respects considerably al-
tered afterwards. The Normans shaved away the enormous mass
of hair, which the Saxons had suffered to disfigure their faces.
William of Malmsbury says this began in the reign of Harold, at
which time the hair on the upper lip only was retained ; but when
the conqueror came in, he had such an aversion to whiskers, that
he expressly commanded his new subjects to part with them. The
dresses of the upper ranks, at this period, were of the finest cloth,
or most beautiful furs, and ornamented with jewels. The colours
were various, but yellow they appropriated as a mark of infamy to
the Jews. The lower classes wore a doublet tied about the waist,
which, having sleeves to the wrist, was put on over the head :
these reached only to the middle of the thigh.

" The variety, and we may say absurdity, in the article of shoes,
which began near this reign, and continued until that of the Tudor
family, far exceeds any thing we have witnessed in these days.
In 1135, they were made without heels, like those of the blue-coat
boys at present, came up to the ankles, and had a slip on the in-

238 DOINGS IN LONDON.

step, where they were tied. These succeeded the curious-shaped
shoe ia the time of Rufus, which had taper twisted points at the
extremities; but in 1358 the latter sort were revived, and the
sharp points were extended to such a ridiculous excess, that re-
course was had to the expedient of securing those points to the
knee, by chains of gold and silver, or silken cords, till Parliam'^nt
was obliged to interfere and prohibit the making of any shoes, ex-
ceeding two inches at the point beyond the length of the foot.

" The ladies, in their head-dress and other parts of iheir costume,
appear at difterent eras to have been equally fantastic. In 1348,
a contemporary writer describes them as attending at tournaments,
in party-coloured tunics, their lirripipes, or tippets, very short;
their caps remarkably little, and wrapped about their heads with
cords ; their girdles and poaches ornamented with gold and silver,
and wearing short swords, called daggers, before them, above the
waist. They appear to have completely changed the head-dress
forty years afterwards, and to have adopted a far more whimsical
one, of which we have abundant representations left us. This
seems to have sat close to the head behind, with a border across
the forehead, retiring on each side to the temples, then advancing
over the cheeks in a semi-circle ; the crown of this cap was
crossed in lozenges with silk, gold, or silver cord, and had a
drapery of silk or fine linen falling down the back. Philippa, the
Queen of Edward HI., in Westminster Abbey, has this species of
head-dress, but it is too much mutilated to guess at its original rich-
ness. The oddity, or we ought rajther to say, indecency, of the
gentlemen's dress near the same period should be mentioned, the
skirts of which were almost entirely done away with, so as after-
wards to excite the notice of Parliament. Chaucer severely sati-
rizes these extravagances of dress in both sexes.

" Much amusement as well as information is to be gleaned on
the subject of dress, by looking at the portraits of our ancient sove-
reigns, particularly when combined with contemporary descriptions.
Henry V. is reported to have appeared, when a young man, in a
mantle of blue satin, pierced in holes, with silk and points depend-
ing from them. Henry VII. wore two shirts at his coronation, in
1485; or, rather, a shirt of fine lawn, and a vest of crimson silk,
with a large opening in front. The pantaloons were of crimson
sarcenet, and decorated with fanciful bows &c. of ribands of gold,
the latter lined with ermine. The mantle was of crimson satin,
laced with silk, and adorned with tassels; and to this splendid
apparel was added a large crimson satin rose. The dress of his
successor is well known, from Holbien's fine paintings of him.
At his coronation his coat was actually embossed with gold, and
the placado literally covered with every description of precious
stones. The habit of Edward VI., at his coronation, was equally
rich, and bore a great likeness to his father's. The fashion, in
dress, near this period, was so various, that, in a satirical work
then written on the subject, the frontispiece represents an English-

DOINGS IN LONDON. ii3t)

man pictured naked, with a pair of tailor's shears in his hand,
a piece of cloth under his arm, and verses annexed, intimating
that he is puzzled what fashion of clothes to adopt.

" Elizabeth is said to have had a different dress for every
day in the year. The one, however, she is generally drawn in
IS that magnificent one in which she went to return thanks at
St. Paul's, after the defeat of the Spanish Armada. This ap-
pears entirely covered with network and pearls ; the hair is
dressed full, glittering with jewels, and crowned with a small
imperial diadem. A foreigner, who saw her ten years later, at
Greenwich Palace, describes her as having in her ears two pearls,
with very rich drops; that she wore false hair (red), and had
upon her head a small crown. ' Her bosom,' he sajs, ' was un-
covered, she wore a necklace of exceeding fine jewels, and was
dressed that day in white silk, bordered with pearls of the size of
beans, and over it a mantle of black silk, shot with silver threads.

" Doublets continued to be worn by the men, from the reign of
Henry VIII. till beyond that of James. That monarch wore his
dress bigger than necessary, from a love of ease ; and his doublets
are said to have been so quilted as to resist the point of a dagger.
The high-crowned, or sugar-loaf hat, with a narrow brim, came
into fashion near this latter reign, and James is himself represented
with it in some of his portraits. The absurdity and inconvenience
of*this covering, was much laughed at by the satirists of the day,
who de.^cribe it as liable, unless you held it, to be blown off the
head by e-ery puff of wind. Rufl's, as worn at this time, were
also justly censured. One writer says, * it is impossible to derive
the abominable pedigree of these cobweb lawn yellow-starched rufls.'
Yellow starch was then worn to ruffs, which must have increased
the ridiculousness of their appearance. This was introduced by
the notorious Mrs. Turner, who was hung for being concerned in
the poisoning of Sir Thomas Overbury, who went to execution in
a ruff so starched, and threw such an odium on the fashion, that
it was discontinued afterwards.

"Thelockof hair, called the Love-Lock, certainly did not equal
in absurdity the enormous perukes afterwards introduced among
the gentlemen by Charles IL, and which were carried to such ex-
cess, as to size and material, that a pamphlet of that reign says,
' Forty or four-score pounds a-year is given for periwigs, and
but ten pounds to a poor chaplain to say grace to him who adores,
not his God, but his hair, which is sufficient demonstration of
their brains that wear them.' Old men dying their hair and
whiskers to prevent their grayness being seen, before this time, is
laughably satirized by another writer, who tells us, that at every
motion of the sun, or cast of the eye, they presented a different
colour, and never a perfect one; much like unto those in the necks
of doves or pigeons ; for in every hair of those old coxcombs, you
might meet with three divers and sundry colours, white at the
roots, yellow in the middle, and black at the points, like unto one

240 DOINGS IN LONDON.

of your parrot s feathers ' This saows that dyes for the hair were
in use long before the present age."

Mentor and his friend now left Vauxhall Gardens, highly grati-
fied with the treat of the evening, having agreed to meet Wilmot
the next morning ; he, having completed his studies, and passed
his examination at college, intended to take his departure for
the country ; and Mentor and Peregrine accompanied him to
the coach office. While waiting for the coach, they observed a
poor woman in tears, with an infant at her breast, and a country-
man bargaining with her for a7ieu5 hat. Mentor, leading his friends
to a convenient situation, desired them to take a side glance at the
parties, and they would see what is called * doing a yokel' with a
plated hat. The countryman purchased the hat, and departed, well
satisfied with his bargain. Mentor explained to his yet inexpe-
rienced friend, the roguery practised on the present occasion.
" That woman," said he, " whom you supposed in tears, is one of
the many impostors who frequent the streets of this great metro-
polis for the purpose of defrauding the unwary. She pretends
she has just arrived in London from Portsmouth, or some other
sea-port town, that her husband was killed at Navarino, or died
in an hospital, that she is obliged to part with all his apparel to
defray the expenses of his funeral, and that this is a hat he had
purchased just previous to his death for twenty-five shillings, and
for which she would be glad to obtain twelve or fourteen shilling's.
The countryman, who evidently listened with great attention,
felt a spark of humanity for her distressed situation, and, although
not wanting the hat, yet from its very low price asks, * Is dat hat
for sale V The woman says ' Yes, but I have offered it to this
gentleman for fourteen shillings.' 'Veil,' says the Jew, *if he
von't give you that price, I will.' Thus the poor countryman is
thrown off'his guard, presuming, that if it is worth fourteen shil-
lings to a Jetv, it must be to him ; and he is regularly let in for
the hat, which, on inquiry, he finds is not worth more than two or
three shillings."

Peregrine was again astonished at (to him) this new species of
villany. " And this," said he, " reminds me of a lady at Pontefract,
a connoisseur in zoological specimens of the canine tribe, who pur-
chased from an itinerant dog-dealer a most beautiful little French
poodle. His sparkling eyes, half hid amidst a profusion of silken
curls, his sleek and glossy sides, aided by a multiplicity of inno-
cent gambols, attracted the hearts of all beholders, and made him
the pet of his mistress and the family. In a few weeks, however,
the poor little fellow was observed to grow unaccountably dull
and stupid ; his mirthfulness and vivacity were lost; he became
snappish, refused his food, and ultimately crept into a corner,
where, in spite of blain and brimstone balls, he gave up the
ghost. Having been a very great favourite, and, although de
fu net, the beauty of his silvery coat not being wholly spoiled his
mistress determined upon having him stuffed, and sent for an

DOINGS IN LONDON.

241

amateur dog-fancier, who immediately discovered it was a liulo
cur, sewed in the skin of a French poodle.

The coach now drove up, and Mentor and Peregrine bade adieu
to Wilmot, who left London a little wiser than he entered it.

At this moment their attention was drawn to the riotous beha-
viour of a woman ; who, although in a state of sad inebriety, gave
evident proofs she was not of the lowest class : she was under the
charge of two officers, for demolishing the glasses and windows of
a public-house, and they were conducting her to Bow Street; she
was the celebrated Lady Barrymore ; and, as Mentor and Pere-
grine were anxious to hear her examination, they followed her U^
the office, not being tired of witnessing the melancholy, ]auf|'na^^-^«.
deoiaved, and interesting

?I3o«ngs at t^e l&wWt ©ffirr, Uoto Srtrrrt.

In a few minutes after they entered the office, this " fallen angel,"
was placed at the bar, and exhibited a melancholy proof of th^
dreadful effects of drunkenness : there were yet nianj pleas ng re-
mains in her countenance of former beauty ; but she was in a state of
madness,producedby the drinking of the deadly gin ; and, when told
by the magistrate thatshe must find bail, or go to prison, she vocife-
rated with an oath, " Bail ! — where the h — 1 do you think I can
get bail?" "Then," replied the magistrate, ''you must go to
prison." To h — 1 with you," she answered, " and lake that with
you ;" and actually threw her shoe at the magistrate. With
great difficulty she was taken from the bar, and secured in the

31. , R

242 DOINGS IN LONDON.

k)ck-up room. Nothing particular being before their worships,
the heaters withdrew.

Mentor and Peregrine now agreed to visit Westminster Abbey ;
and, on their way thither, Mentor remarked to Peregrine that the
story they were talking of that morning, of the cased dog, was not
a solitary instance of fraud ; " for I remember," said he, " a gen-
tleman, who saw what he thought a beautiful small poodle dog
in a cage at Charing Cross, which struck his fancy, and, after
much chafering between the seller and himself, he became the
purchaser for twelve shillings : in a few days he observed symp-
toms of uneasiness in the animal, when all on a sudden he
saw a brown nose just under the white one, and, with a little
assistance, out walked as dingy ill-looking a cur, as ever breathed :
the poodle's skin had been curiously fastened on the animal's body,
and he was bit."'

Mentor had now conveyed Peregrine to the interior of Westmin-
ster Abbey. " Observe," said Mentor, " yon stern figure burst-
ing from his sepulchre ; how formidably he frowns — in his very
looks he seems to upbraid the degeneracy of the age. And see,
he points to the Jleur-de- lis on his shield, and seems to say, * Bri-
tons, remember Cressi !'

" But turn your eyes from the kings and princes, who are no
more secured from the stroke of death than the meanest hynde,
and observe yonder bust of a person who left, by will, five hun-
dred pounds to be expended in a monument, resolving to do him-
self that justice, it is more than probable an ungrateful country
would have denied him. Such is human vanity, which ends not
with life, but flutters even o'er the tomb.

*' The next monument is that of an actress; who, having often,
personated queens and princesses upon the stage, was judged by
her admirers worthy to mingle her dust with theirs."

" What absurd vanity," said Peregrine ! " But to whom be-
longs that magnificent tomb on the right hand?" " That, replied
his companion, "is one monument (I wish there were many more)
of British freedom, and British gratitude. It was erected to the
memory of a hero, who lost his life in a sea-fight, to preserve his
admiraPs, and maintain the glory of his country.

" See where yonder lies the greatest philosopher the world ever
produced. His name will be reverenced by the learned of every
nation, and his works will remain as long as the orbs, whose
course he traced, shall continue to move. Look into the tomb,
and you will see the mighty remains of human greatness — Dust !

*• To give the virtuous dead their due praise," continued Mentor,
** is the duty of every generous mind ; to lament them is folly.

" Take notice of that figure of a lady weeping ; her breast, when
living, was as cold as her statue, nor could it be warmed by the
most ardent vows and sighs of her lovers, till, having passed her
fortieth year with the purity of a vestal, she formed a resolution to
be useful in her generation, and accordingly married her coachman ;
but the ceremony was scarcely performed, when death laid his icy
hand upon her, and sent her to sleep with her forefathers."

DOINGS IN LONDON. 243

*' What clumsy heap of stones is that next ?" said Peregrine. " I
is the resting-place of a rich old miser," answered Mentor, " who,
drinking water to save the expense of better liquor, when he was
warm, was seized with a violent fever : in his extremity, he made
a thousand vows and protestations to amend his life, and restore
what he had unjustly amassed, if ever he should recover. His
vows were heard, and his health returned. But, instead of amend-
ing, he was more rapacious than ever; till, at last providence, re-
solving to rid the world of such a monster, cut him off as he was
putting his hand to a mortgage, and saved a family from ruin.

" On the left hand, is interred a young nobleman, of whose
growing virtues the world had the greatest expectations ; and he
would have fulfilled them, had his life been of longer date : but,
going into a tavern one evening along with his most intimate ac-
quaintance, and drinking pretty freely, a discourse arose concern-
ing the orthography of a word, which terminated in the deatli of
them both. Such are the blessed effects of drinking to excess !

" The next monument is to the memory of a beau, who spent all
his time in dancing, singing, and dressing, till Death, who pur*
posely put on the form of a beautiful young lady, danced away
with him in the middle of a minuet."

" What do I see ?" said Peregrine, ** cannons, muskets, swords,
and spears ? that must be the monument of a warrior." " That,"
rejoined Mentor, " belongs to a general ; who, in several cam-
paigns, never lost one battle : and, indeed, to do him justice, I
cannot tell how it was possible he should, for he could never pre-
vail upon himself to run the hazard of one."

"Whose superb monument of pure white alabaster, is that?"
asked Peregrine. " It is to the memory of one of the fairest of the
daughters of Britain : she belonged to the Russels, and was * as
pure as ice, as chaste as snow ;' and, I believe, she was so spotless
as even to escape calumny. She was such another being as the
accomplished and virtuous

iHsrgaret ISoper,

the beloved daughter of the learned and inflexible Sir Thoni&8

r2

244 DOINGS IN LONDON.

More, Lord Chancellor ot England ; who, for judgment, humility,
devotion, sweetness of temper, contempt of the world, and true
greatness of soul, was the ornament of his own, and an example to
every other age. She was not only panegyrized by Erasmus,
Ludovicus Vives, and all the learned men of her time, for the acuie-
ness of her judgment, and the profundity of her learning, but was
further held up to public view as a pattern of daughterly perfection
and the most exalted piety. This extraordinary female, being
seized with a sweating sickness, which put an end to her
earthly career in the course of a very few hours, conducted her-
self on this tiying occasion with such consummate fortitude, that
shere semblec'. much more an expiring Seneca of the Roman school,
than f, 'id daughter ot Albion's isle. Margaret Ropei was also
the grand-diught'jr of

Ifcir Jo5n Mart,
who V as one of the judges of the King's Bench, and a rnan of
r re abilities and integrity.

" But yonder is a sight, indeed, — ^^a superb and elegant marble,
erected by a most disconsolate husband, to the memory of his
dear departed wife. View the inscription — how lavish he is in
her praise — how tenderly he laments her loss. Such instances of
conjugal affection are not very common : but our wonder at this
will a little abate, if we reflect that she lived but three days after
the priest had joined their hands. JEternce viemorice sacrum. Ay,
of a scoundrel," continued Mentor. "This fellow had formed a
design to extirpate the female sex from the earth. He poisoned
six wives, and intended the same favour for the seventh, but she
luckily escaped, and soon after gave him his passport to the other
world, in a glass of Rhenish."

" Well, my good friend," interrupted Peregrine, we have seen
enough here. Let us, if you please, shift the scene, and move to
another quarter. But, before you go, tell me whose monument
that is ?" ** It is for a man of very great merit," said Mentor, *' and
he v»^as rewarded for it ; his woiks were universally applauded, and
he himself perished for want. This monument was placed here, not

DOINGS IN LONDON. 245

long since, by a man who was tlesirous of purchasing immortahtj'
at the cheap rate of two hundred pounds, which was laid out in
carving the poet's bust, and his own name at the bottom."

" Now let us leave this depository of the dead," said Peregrine,
and take a survey of the city." " Yes," replied Mentor; "and,
after dinner, I will show you my collection of drawings — a living
panorama of scenes from real life, of daily occurrences in the city —
* most strange and most unnatural, and yet not more strange than
true.'

" Behold this drawing," continued Mentor :** it is a temple de-
dicated to Venus; whose venerable priestess is continually em-
ployed in finding out means to satisfy the wants and necessities of
youth. In plain English, it is a brothel ; where, for the value of
half-a-crown, you may purchase diseases that will attend you to
your grave. Yet are the poor wretches who inhabit it, really
to be pitied. That miserable object you see expiring on a flock,
bed, in the garret, is the only daughter of an old baronet, who is
possessed of a large estate. Having unluckily a heart too sus-
ceptible of love, she married a young fellow of no fortune, who
had privately paid his addresses to her. The father, who before
seemed passiouately fond of his daughter, upon the news, acted as
many fathers do when they are disobliged, — absolutely refused to
see, forgive, or succour her, and the next morning married his
cook-maid, and seltled his whole estate upon her. The lovers
struggled a long time with want and grief, till death, at length, in
pity, sent the husband to rest. His widow again applied to her
hnmane father, was refused admittance, and — but let humanitji
draw the veil of oblivion over her errors. Let it suffice, that poor
shrinking virtue fled the field, when want, clothed in all its bitter
terrors, stared her in the face.

"The girl you see yonder, crying in the corner, is just brought
into this blessed mansion. Being very beautiful, and deprived of
both father and mother, she was injportuned a long time by a
young gentleman to submit to his inordinate desires ; a large settle-
ment was ofiered, but she nobly refused it. He then offered mar-
riage ; the proposal was accepted, and a sham parson performed
the ceremony ; but a month's cohabitation sated the hero ; who,
after undeceiving her, flung out of the room, and left her with-
out a penny. The master of the house, who was entirely at the
devotion of his landlord, arrested her for the rent. The lady with
whom she now is, being purposely sent by the mock husband,
compassionately paid the debt, and carried her to her own house.
— It is easy to guess the rest.

" The person you observe in the arms of a rotten strumpet, is
an eminent merchant, who has a virtuous loving wife and several
fine children at home ; but his dirty grovelling soul prefers the
feigned euibraces of a pcifidi'jus harlot to all the soft endeamienta
of a virtuous love.

246 DOINGS IN LONDON.

** In the next room, you see Bacchus and Venus are met to-
gether. See that company of young fellows, with each his girl
upon his knee ; how jovially they carouse ! They are appren-
tices and journeymen to tradesmen, and take care to fleece their
masters to maintain their doxies.

" Here is a view of a public-house, with a company of black-
guard fellows drinking in a little room. That man you see giving
another a watch, is a watchman ; who, having conducted a gentle-
man safe home, who was a little in liquor, thought proper to pick
his pocket of his watch. He is also giving information to the
thieves of a house he found left open by negligence, that they may
rob it, while the honest guardian is going his rounds.

" That quarrel you see, is between two who go by the name of
man and wife ; she has plunged a knife into his bosom : the tragic
effects of gin and jealousy.

" Here is a humourous scene," continued Mentor, — " an old
fellow and his servant quarrelling. The latter saved the life of
the former not half-a-year since, by cutting him down (like a fool
as he was) when he had hanged himself in the stable. His
generous master, being about to part with him, has deducted a
groat from the fellow's wages, for the halter he had cut in order to
preserve him.

** In the parlour of this spacious house, on the left hand, is a
young nobleman, paying his addresses to a merchant's daughter.
His great soul condescends to mix his illustrious blood with a
plebeian's, in order to recover his estate, which he has lost at play.
The lady, fond of title and equipage, will now despise her father's
clerk, and bear a coronet for life.

** Here is a man talking in his sleep ; he is a lawyer, who dreams
he is in the lower world, and making his defence at the bar of
Minos, When he goes there in earnest, he will find the practice
of that court different from any he ever saw in his life. Near this
lawyer is a young fellow — what horror and grief appear in his
looks ! — he has dreamed that his father is come to life again, and
demands his estate.

"This old citizen is drawing on his boots: he is going to dine
at Hammersmith, which is the longest journey he ever went in
his life, and has compelled his family to get up very early to
accoutre him for the expedition.

*' That old fellow, sneaking out of the corner house, is a clergy-
man, whose austere looks, and devout appearance, make him pass
for a saint ; he has just quitted a girl whom he privately keeps.

" This is a representation of an old man on his death-bed, and
his chamber crowded with his nephews and nieces, who are beat-
ing their breasts, and tearing their hair, with all the expressions of
frantic grief. But his last breath is parted from his lips. • The
voice of sorrow is hushed, and they have already begun to rum-
mage his coffers." " Then amongst those floods of tears, not one

DOINGS IN LONDON.

honest one was shed." " Yes," replied Mentor; ♦' the old groom
in the stables is paying his last tribute to the memory of his de-
ceased master.

*' The next drawing represents an old woman sitting by the tire-side.
She was first married to an eminent banker, who promised his eldest
daughter to a young merchant, but, dying before the marriage could
be consummated, he left his widow tlte management of his whole
fortune. The lover, after a proper time, attended the dowager,
in hopes to obtain the daughter. But how great was his surprise,
when the good lady carried him into her closet, and accosted him
in these terms: ' Look ye, sir, — I will deal honourably with you.
You shall have my daughter, if you insist upon it, but not one
farthing fortune. Mr. Sgueezum died worth fifty thousand pounds ;
if you think the money will compensate the loss of the girl, here is
my hand ; you shall be master of me and mine to-morrow.' The
young fellow, who was a true pounds, shillings, and pence citizen,
agreed to the match, and they were married the next day.

" Here is a representation of an old dog, who has just done the
only good action in his life. He has hanged himself in the
cellar. He lent a gentleman, who at the time was in want of
cash, twenty pounds, but took care to deduct fifteen out of it for
three months' interest. An action was soon commenced against
him for usury and extortion, and he has done that justice to him-
self the hangman should have done for him.

" Observe this woman embracing her husband with the utmost
tenderness. This poor man was married six years, and nevyr knew
a happy moment till this. Her tongue, which came the nearest of
any mortal thing to the perpetual motion, has never been still all
that time, till within a quarter of an hour of this embrace, when
this reverse of Socrates, unable to bear his sufferings any longer,
strapped her heartily, and you see the consequence. Now, here,
on the contrary, is a merciless rascal, who is kicking his wile about
the room, has been out all night with the strumpets, and is making
his wife, whom he left without a morsel of bread, this recom-
pense for sitting up for him. But this is the least of his torments,
for she died under her bruises, and the villain was hung.

** What ! is that a ghost," said Peregrine, '' walking at the break
of day?" " No,'' replied Mentor; " he is a roguish sexton, who,
having dressed himself in a white sheet, frightens the people out of
their senses, whilst his associates are robbing the church.

" These two fellows, with a farthing candle burning dimly before
them, are of the race of Cain. They are stock-jobbers ; they sit
up all night to contrive a lie for the next day, in order to sink the
stocks that they may purchase the cheaper. Gibraltar is to be
swallowed up by an earthquake; and fifty thousand troops, with
young Boney at their head, are to land in Ireland.

'* Here is a representation of a company of jovial beggars in
St, Giles's, singing and dancing : they are bred up in laziness, and

248 DOINGS IN LONDON.

are enabled, by thl* misplaced charity of easy good-inclined people,
thus nightly to indulge themselves in riot and debauchery.

" I do not know how it is," said Mentor, " but I always lead
with avidity every history or anecdote that relates to beggars ; and
I find St. Giles's mentioned by Strype, in the time of Elizabeth,
as one of the frequent places of resort * for such misdemeaned sort
of persons,' who used to haunt the fields about here and Islington
in such numbers, and were so audacious in their importunities, as,
on one occasion, to have beset the queen's coach (Elizabeth's) as
she rode out for air, and cause her considerable trouble, ' of which
Fleetwood the recorder,* says, he (the anecdote has before been
quoted) 'being informed, sent oat warrants into the same quarters,
and into ^V^estminster and the Dutchy, and in the morning he went
abroad himself, and took that day seventy-four rogues, whereof
some were blind, and yel great usurers and rich, who were sent to
Bridewell and well punished.' In continuing his observations on
the subject, as well as remarking on the various proclamations
issued to prevent the influx of country people and paupers in Lon-
don, he assigns as a cause of their particularly choosing this spot,
that it lay nearest to the court (a few fields then only separating it
fioni Westminster), to which numbers of strangers (and particu-
larly Irish), tlocked about that period^ under pretence of present-
ing petitions, <!tc., and that this, WMth the general disposition whicii
l)egan to prevail among mechanics and others from the country, to
settle in London as a better market for labour, soon caused this,
among other places, to become overstocked with poor, and espe-
cially to abound with beggars and vagrants. What were the then
manners and habits of such, the first quoted author (Hollingshed)
further informs us : * Some,' says he, ' do practice the making of
corrosives, and applying the same to the more fleshie parts of their
bodies, and also the laieng of raisbane, sparewort, crowsfoot, and
such like, into their whole members, thereby to raise pitifull and
odious sores, and move the harts of the goers by such places as
they do lye in, to yern at their miserie, and thereupon bestow largo
almesse upon them. How artificiallie they beg, what forcible
speech, and how they select and force out words of vehemence,
whereby they do in a manner conjure or adjure you to pitie their
cases, I pass over to remember, — as judging the names of God and
Christ to be more conversant in the mouths of some, nor the pre-
sence of the heavenly majestic further off than from this ungracious
companie ; which maketh me to think that punishment is faire
meeter for them than libertie and almesse.'

" ' Another sort,' he continues, ' more sturdie than the rest, and
having sound and perfect limbs, do counterfeit the possession of
all sorts of diseases. Others, in their apparell, are like serving
men and labourers. Oftentimes they can plaie the marriner, and
seake for ships they never lost. But, in fine, these thieves and
caterpillars are of various stocks,' ic.

DOINGS IN LONDON. 249

** Noticing their use of the ' cant or slang language,' he says,
* Moreover, in counterfeiting the Egyptian rogues, they have de-
vised a language amongst themselves, which they name canting, a
speech compact thirty years since of English, and a greate number
of od words of their owne devising, without all order or reason,
and yet such as none but themselves are able to understand. The
first deviser thereof was hanged by the necke, a just reward, no
doubt, for his deserts, and a common end of all that profession.
A gentleman of late,' he adds, ' hath taken great paines to search
out the secret practices of this ungracious rabble ; and, amongst
other things, he setteth down and describeth twenty-three sorts of
them, whose names it shall not be amisse to remember, whereby
one may take occasion to read and know, as also by his Industrie,
what wicked people they are, and what villanie remaineth in
them.'

" Many entries occur in the reign of James I. and Charles I. la
the parish-book of St. Giles's, on the subjectof these newly-intro-
duced paupers and beggars, who are spoken of under the names of
' new-comers, undersitters, and cellar-mates, dwellers in straight
places, lodgers in divided tenements,' &c., and had 1 ecome then
such an annoyance, that an assistant beadle (Giles Hanson) was
appointed with a particular dress, and a salary of forty pounds a-
year, to prevent their further settlement, but without effect. The
items of relief in the churchwardens'" accounts preserve the names
of some of those early mendicants, apparently then well known,
and are curious, such as —

8. d.
To Tottenham Court Meg, being very sicke .... 1 0

To Mad Bess 10

To olde Guy, the blind poet 16

To the ballad-singing cobbler 10

"Those we may suppose were objects more particularly dis-
tressed, or better behaved. Those that were less deserving were
generally confined in the cage, and not unfrequently died there,
several entries occurring similar to the following : —

To Ann Wyatt, in the cage, to buy her a truss of straw, &c. 2s, Gcf.
And a few days afterwards:

To Anne Wyatt, to buy her a shroud, 2s.

" The places they more particularly congregated about at this
period, are not mentioned, but appear to have been in the : eigh-
bourbood of Dyot Street, which they have since rendered so no-
torious. This spot was then called Maidenhead Close, and after-
wards Maidenhead Row, from the Maidenhead Inn adjoining (the
old public-house now pulling downj, and abounded pnncipally
with cottages and a low kind of dwellings, the residence of the
gentry being chiefly about Drury Lane. Richard Dyott, Esq.,
Messrs. Bainbridge and Buckridge, and other builders, erecttd
on this site, in the leign of Charles II., the several streets bearing
32.

250 DOINGS IN LONDON.

their names, and which, being generally let in lodgings, invited the
settlement of fresh numbers of Irish, as the building of the Seven
Dials, soon afterwards, did that of distressed French Protestants.
Hogarth, in his * Four Stages of Cruelty,' satyrizes, in the person
of Tom Nero, a St. Giles's charity-boy, the then state of this
neighbourhood, who is represented with other wicked boys tor-
menting poor animals to death, literally dressed in rags, a begin-
ning which at length leads him to the gallows ; and, though there
are no particular marks to identify it, the scene of * Gin Lane' is
suppose'd to be laid in the same quarter. Fieldmg (the author of
Tom Jones), also, in a pamphlet published by him near the same
time., relative to the police of the metropolis, has some forcible
observations on the depravity and wreJchedness of the lower
orders here, as have several other writers, but wliich, describing
circumstances similar to what we have ourselves witnessed, it is
needless to quote from. They serve to convince us of one fact,
however, amidst all the dissoluteness they notice, viz. — that
these parts of the parish, as well as their inhabitants, are at least
somewhat improved in modern times. The widening of the high
street, and several other causes, might be enumerated, as having
contributed much to this.

" The beggars are always sure to find a mart for such
articles as they steal or beg, in the receivers of stolen goods,
of wiiom Mr. Colquhoun, in his Police of the Metropolis,
says — 'There are upwards of three thousand receivers of
various kinds of stolen goods, and an equal proportion all
over the country, who keep open shop for the purpose of pur-
chasing, at an under price, often for a mere trifle, every kind of
property brought to them, and this without asking a single ques-
tion. He fuither supposes that the property purloined and pil-
fered in a little way, from almost every family, and from every
house, stable, shop, warehouse, &c., in and about the metropolis,
may amount to about £700,000 in one year. The vast increase
and extensive circulation of counterfeit money, almost exceeds
credibility ; and the ingenuity and dexterity of these counterfeits
have enabled them to finish the different kinds of base money in so
masterly a manner, that it has become extremely difficult to dis-
tinguish the spurious from the real manufacture. In London, regu-
lar markets, in various public and private houses, are held by the
piincipal dealers, where hawkers, pedlars, fraudulent horse-dealers,
gamblers at fairs, itinerant Jews, Irish labourers, market-women,
rabbit-sellers, fish-criers, barrow-women, and many others, get sup-
plied with counterfeit money, with the advantage of nearly £100
per cent, in their favour.

" There exists in the metropolis a class of dealers extremely
numerous, who keep open shops for the purchase of rags, old iron,
and other metals. These are divided into wholesale and retail
dealers. The retail dealers are the immediate purchasers, in the
first instances fvom the pilferers or their agents; and, as soon as

DOINGS IN LONDON. 261

they collect a sufGcient quantity of iron, brass, or other metals,
worthy the notice of a large dealer, they dispose of it for ready
money. Others are employed in the collection of rags, and other
articles purloined in the country, which are conveyed to town in
" single horse carts," kept by itinerant Jews, and other doubtful
characters, who travel to Portsmouth, Chatham, Woolwich, and
Deptford, for the purpose of purchasing metals, &c., from persons
who are in the habit of embezzling the king's stores.

" The connexion between the thieves and the police is so un-
equivocal, that it has become necessary for persons who have been
robbed, and M'ho suspect that their goods are at the houses of cer-
tain receivers, to apply for search-warrants at hours when some of
the officers of the establishment are absent from the offices. The
moment the information is given, the trap, or police-officer, if he
happen to learn what is going forward, gives the word to the
* fence,' who acts accordingly ; and the chance of regaining the
property is gone, except a pecuniary compromise can be eft'ected.
In this compromise the officer is a large sharer. There are gene-
rally four partners in the produce : the thief has a fourth, the re-
ceiver a fourth, the officer a fourth, and the attorney, or Newgate
agent, a fourth ; but of late attorneys art- very shy of dabbling
in robberies : the exposure some time ago of their agency with
respect to bankers' parcels has in a great measure diminised
their profits in this particular department of the profession. The
Jew agents, some of whom have been tried at the Old Bailey
themselves, and who are in the habit of getting up alibis and
other modes of defence by means of perjury, now monopolize the
stewardship of the plunderer. At an investigation into the cir-
cumstances of the escape of Ikey Solomons from justice, it was
ascertained beyond all doubt, that, 'the thing' was planned by a
Jew agent; and almost the only meritorious determination, per-
haps, ever arrived at by the magistrates as a body, that of exclud-
ing the projectors of this base enterprise from the police-offices
for ever, was instantly made. It would be well if they made a
proper use of a far higher power, which they allow to lie in so
shameful a state of inaction, as to exhibit the symptoms and eftects
of positive connivance. We are, however, glad to observe one
proof of virtuous indignation upon the part of the magistrates. The
agent in the nefarious business alluded to, admits that he used to
put upwards of £1000 a year into his pocket by his trade. His
exclusion from the police-offices and the prisons of the metropolis
necessarily checks the tide of his prosperity, and operates as a
redeeming spirit in the conduct of those who have expelled him.
The main articles upon which the receiver depends are silk
and broadie (broad cloth.) The broadie at once finds purchasers
amongst the Jews, and the silk finds customers, not only amongst
that class of dealers, but amongst some of the most affluent trades-
men. A very great house in the neighbourhood of Finsbury has
been known so far to transgress the rules of fair competition, as to

252 DOINGS IN LONDON.

act the part of receiver upon many occasions. The proprietor,
however, who had all the sinister ingenuity of an accomplished
thief, managed things so well as to escape such a detection as
would compel him to hold up his hand at the Old Bailey. The
price it was, at which his tricks had enabled him to sell the article,
and the acknowledgment of his confederates, who never failed at
one time or other to tremble in the grasp of retributive justice,
that fixed his participation beyond all doubt. The name of this
congenial soul has not of late appeared in the police vocabulary,
and some ascribe the change to fear, and some to virtue.

" There is not, we will venture to say, a warehouseman in
Wood Street, who does not know that there are houses which are
daily selling Bandanas at twenty-five per cent, cheaper than the
price at which the fair dealer can aflbrd to dispose of articles of the
same description — nay, even at twenty-five per cent, under first cost.
The ladies at the west end of the town are not aware, that when
they are making bargains with persons who hawk about silks,
they are encouragina: the system of robbery upon which we have
animadverted. There is scarcely a shawl purchased as a 'bargain'
in this way, that has not been in the possession of some desperate
house-breaker, who has risked his neck to get hold of what after-
wards adorns the shoulders of many a beautiful woman,. In fact,
many a lady of rank and fortune may say with truth, when she
looks at her new purchase, * This passed through the hands of a
man who was or will certainly be hanged.' The removal of Ikey
Solomons', who, from the moment Dudfield was ' lagged,' became
the most extensive fence in the metropolis, caused the greatest
possible excitement amongst the Jews. Indeed, to the spirit of
rivalry and jealousy amongst them on the subject of an adequate
substitute, is to be attributed the very accurate information which
led to the development of so many facts as have reached the
public since his escape. He is now beyond the reach for ever of
the poor, spiritless, corrupt, contemptible police, whom he wa's
always able to manage, having resolved to introduce into America
the system which he carried on here for so many years with impu-
nity. The energy of the worthy magistrates, and the corresponding
zeal and vigilance of the police, are strikingly exemplified by the
terrible fact that thieves have no less than five or six times visited,
by means of false keys, or false servants, the premises which they
afterwards robbed ; that they have postponed their last visit to a
period when the ' swag' was sufficiently bulky, not choosing to lay
their hands upon property of inconsiderable amount, when they
knew that a iiuie patience would reward them for their forbear-
ance; and that they have often filled a cart or hackney-coach
with goods, within a few yards of a watchbox.the inmate of which
shammed sleep. Sleep, however, is so well known a character-
istic of the watchman, that he generally gets credit for the
reality, when he is actually silent for a share of the plunder.

DOINOS IN LONON. 2ft3

" Receivers of stolen goods are always in droves about the police-
offices. Those gentlemen, also, have their privileges. An inter-
change of civilities frequently takes place between them and some
of the officers, who are willing to smoke a pipe, crack a bottle and
a joke with them, and the proprietors of houses of accommodation
for both sexes of all ages, the owners of gaming-houses, and those
respectable thieves who disdain to do a dirty action, but plunder
where some character is to be got by the acliievement, for which
they may be, if not ' scragged' for death, at all events * lagged'
for life.

"There is a low public-house close to the noses of their wor-
ships, in which many of those ruffians are in the habit of sitting
the greater part of the day. A stranger who should look in, and
see them playing cribbage and smoking and drinking, would sup-
pose that they snatched an hour for relaxation from the labours of
thtir several occupations. But it is not so : there they sit every
day from morning till night, waiting for the arrival of their nose (a
man deputed to pick up news of robberies), and the moment any
tliiefis 'pulled' at the office, oft' they scamper to watch the exami-
nation, and ascertain whether they cannot get hold of the * swag,'
before it can be brought forward in judgment There never is an
occasion when what they call a ' good' robbery is known at the
office to have been committed, upon which they do not receive
immediate intelligence. Some of them act as ' touters' to those
who may have got the ' swag,' and the moment they find that the
thief is • grabbed' (apprehended), they run off" to the fence, and
give him the wink to ' lumber it in another crib.' A notorious re-
ceiver, named Reuben Josephs, who was some time ago trans-
ported for fourteen jears, was in the habit of visiting this house,
into which some of the officers often look, to say, 'Tom, or Bill,
or Benjamin, how do you do V and throw off" a half-quartern of
*jackey' to the health and at the expense of the company. It has
been the fashion with the police (for what reasons may be easily
guessed), to say in defence of their practice of associating with
thieves and receivers, that it is necessary for them to do so for the
protection of the public, — that, in fact, stolen property could not
be recovered if the connexion were not kept up. The true mean-
ing of this is, that, if the natural hostility which exists between an
honest officer and a rogue be acted upon, all chance of participa-
tion is at an end. The officer is shut out from his perquisite, but
the thief and the receiver run a tliousand hazards, which they know
not in the ordinary compact, and the public are sure to be benefitted
when the thief-taker acts independently of the reptiles whom he is
employed to hunt.

"The receivers pay to the thieves for swag in the following pro-
portion •■ — for silver, four shillings an ounce ; but the reason they
pay so high for this description of commodity is, that the crucible
is always ready, and they can, immediately after the purchase.

264 DOINGS IN LONDON.

sell it at the full price, without the slightest hazard of detection.
For a chest of slop (tea), £15; Vjutfor tip-top slop they will not
hesitate to give £20. For broadie, they pay ten shillings a stretch
(a yard) ; and for bull-dogs (lumps of sugar stolen from grocers),
half price. The fences always have the ready money about them,
and the dealing is strictly according to the maxim of * honour
amongst thieves.' H<ey Solomons was known to be in the habit
of carrying £1,000 in his side-pocket, and to have purchased ban-
danas as they were carried along the street. There is one class
of thieves who do an immensity of mischief, and who are seldom
or never restrained in the slightest degree, although th« officers
well know that, if they frisked a bit (searched), a great deal of swag
is sure to be forthcoming. Those are the fellows who seem to be
employed as costermongers ; but nothing is too hot or loo heavy
for them. They take their rounds in the suburbs of the town with
their donkeys and panniers, and dispose of their greens and herrings,
and other commodities ; after which they substitute in the place
of such articles as much smut (copper or lead) as they can stow
away. If they fail in stripping a house of the smut, they pick up
astray fowl, or any thing which is convertible into cash, and they
are always ready to lend a hand at a burglary, the simplicity of
their ostensible trade acting as a security against detection. It is
usual with them to operate largely in the glass line. If they can
prig a • shiner' (a looking-glass), they immediately transport it to
tie neighbourhood of Wentworth Street, where the Jews knock
off the frames, and so transform it in other respects, as to destroy
all identity. Some of the lower order of fences turn a penny by
the purchase of the plate-glasses which the thieves remove from
gentlemen's carriages. Those glasses are converted into * shiners/
and are often sold to the trade, who are sometimes unconscious
that they are instrumental in disposing of stolen property. The
swarms of ' buzzes' who infest the neighbourhood of the theatres,
exercise their ingenuity in a great variety of ways. During the
last season they practised a trick, which succeeded every night to
an extraordinarj'^ degree. One of them would go in front of the
horses of a gentleman's carriage, and play such tricks as would
induce the coachman to rise from his seat to whip the fellow
away. The moment he rose, another of the gang, who waited
under the coachman's seat for the movement, would pull down the
great-coat, upon which the owner had sat for security's sake, and
away he would run, the coachman in vain calling out that he was
robbed. At the last Guildhall dinner many were plundered in this man-
ner by some of the west-end * out-and-outers' (thorough-bred thieves).
But the plunder which has in its list the most able, desperate, and
ingenious professors, is that which the housebreaker commits, and
the city of London is the place in which that species of depredation
is carried on to an extent greatly beyond credibility.

" It is to the receivers of stolen goods, giving such facility to

DOINGS IN LONDON. 2oO

the theives disposingof their ill-gotten booty, that we must ascribe,
in a great measure, the numerous robberies that are committed
daily by servants on their masters. Almost all parts of the town
abound with prigs, cracksmen, and flash dragsmen ; but, certainly,
if in any one part more than another, it is in the vicinity of
Covent Garden; and, to obtain an adequate idea of the nightly
occurrences in the desperate vicinity of Bow Street, it would be
necessary for a stranger to visit it, under the protection of an officer
(for the oflicer is admitted into all the flash-houses at all hours), at
different periods of the night. Immediately before the theatre-
doors are opened, a gang of thieves assemble at a public-house
close to Drury-Lane Theatre, and they simultaneously drop their
pipes the instant notice is given, and issue forth to plunder the
struggling crowd. As soon as the press is over, they return to
their ' smoking crib,' dispose of their plunder to the landlord, and
enjoy themselves until the performances are concluded. The sig-
nal for industry is then repeated ; down go the pipes, and oft" the

ieves scamper, to levy fresh contributions upon the public. Their
plans are arranged by such strict rules, and the beat of each is so
accurately ascertained, that when a gentleman happens to miss his
watch, and gives symptoms of liberality — for robberies are now-a-
days diflScult to be found out without the precursor of a reward —
he has only to say in what part of the house he believes the trans-
fer to have taken place, and the ' buzz' (pickpocket) can be in
most cases easily found, and the property restored. The loser,
at all events, will have the gratification of knowing from the
officer whom he employs, that Jack such-body had ' the thimble/
whether it is ever recovered or not. Each of the thieves who thus,
by constant practice, attain a wonderful degree of excellence in
transfering watches, pocket-books, shawls, cloaks, handkerchiefs,
&c. has what he calls his ' pal,' or blowing, to assist him. This
' pal' is a girl of the town, as great an adept as her * pal' in the art
of prigging. They sometimes come across a drunken man ; and,
if the female cati prevail upon the unfortunate fellow to accom-
pany her to White-Hart Yard, or Swan Yard, or any other infa-
mous place, in which the most dangerous houses of accommodation
are kept, a robbery is sure to take place, and fear of exposure is
generally calclilated upon as a security from punishment.

" About two or three o'clock in the morning, the flash-houses
in this hopeful part of the town abound with buzzes, prigs, cracks-
men (housebreakers), and flash dragsmen (coachmen who associate
with thieves, and occasionally lend a hand.) There are also to
be seen, sprinkled about the bars and parlours of the flash-houses,
watchmen, whose silence is purchased with gin. Those * terrors
of the robber,' have a little game of their own, but the thieves
are never played upon by them. Gentlemen are their aim. If a
well-dressed man happens to pass along Bow Street, or any of the
neighbouring streets, at a jate hour, he must not be surprised at
/eceiving,a push from a watchman, and then being accused of a

250 DOINGS IN LONDON.

violent breach of the peace. It is necessary, however, to tell him
that, if he behaves respectfully to the watchman, who will not
scruple to call him a thief, he may be allowed to depart npon a
compromise of five shillings, and that, if he resists, his watch and
purse and clothes are in the greatest peril.

"I supppose," continued Mentor, "you have road of the ex
ploits of the celebrated Jonathan Wild ; or, as he was termed by
the French, Jonathan Wild the Great?" " Most certainly," re-
joined Peregrine. " W^ell, thon, here is his 'portrait — an unques-
tionably faithful, likeness of that prince of villains.

Joualfian 312a(n>.
Who, to give the devil his due, was a man of moct extraordinary
abilities, which had he, fortunately for himself and society, em-
ployed them in a proper manner, would have been an ornament to
society, instead of a curse : his whole life has more the appear-
ance of romance, than the real incidents of an unlettered villain,
as Byron says —

" Truth is strange,
Stranger than fiction."

EiorNGS IN LONDON 26'f

*• I will show you," continued Mentor, " the remainder of my
drawings, and then we will dress for our evening's party.

" Here is a representation of a middle-aged woman, who, regard-
less of drums, hurricanes, routes, and operas, is contemplating in
her closet, like Solomon ; she has tasted of all the pleasures ot
life, and found all is vanity, except her favourite amusement, that
of getting drunk by herself.

" And pray," said Peregrine, " who are these tWo men, seem-
ingly so deep in conversation ? Ministers of state, I suppose."
" Mo, indeed, they are not: they are planning which of their
horses are to win at the ensuing races." " What, then," said
Peregrine, " is it settled before the races which horses are to win ?'
*' Most certainly, my friend," said Mentor, " nothing more com.
mon ; but sometimes even the knowing ones are outdone by the
riders, who, getting information how the bets are laid, make the
horse win that was intended to lose."

* I am afraid, my friend," said Peregrine, " we shall be too late
for our party, as I am more than anxious to witness

m^t Doings at aaCry s>patif'!> Kout.
Her ladyship's invitation-card says, ' At home at ten,' and now U
is near that time." " We shall be in good time," said Mentor,
" if we are there by twelve : but we will prepare to dress."

As the clock struck twelve, Mentor and Peregrine were set
down at the door of the celebrated Lady Spade, and were both
immediately introduced to the gay and vicious hostess.

33. s

258 DOINOS IN LONDON,

" 1 am now goino; to present to your sight," continued Mentor,
as they entered the rooms, " one of the politest assemblies — a col-
ieetion of all the celebrated beauties, beaus, lords, and scoundrels,
in town. — Here Vice appears in her gayest clothing, but Modesty,
Virtue, and Honour, are never suflfered to enter ; or, if they enter
unadvisedly or by mistake, are never permitted to retire untainted.

" Behold, at that table, the greatest monster the world ever
produced; no object the sun ever shone on is half so deformed."
" Heavens ! what can that be ?" re|)lied Peregrine ; I see you
point to a very lovely young lady at cards ; but what, in the name
of wonder, can you mean?" "A Female Gamester," returned
Mentor; " her name is Leonora. — Her story is as follows : — She
was married very young to a noble lord, the honour and ornament
of his country, who hoped to preserve her from the contagion of
the times by his own example, and, to say the truth, she had every
good quality that could recommend her to the bosom of a man of
discernment and worth. But, alas, how frail and short are the
joys of mortals ! how soon is virtue, when it begins to totter, de-
generated into vice ! As the blooming flowers of the spring are
instantly destroyed by the cold blasts of winter, so, the moment
the lust of gaming takes possession of the human heart, every
virtuous consideration that can render man supportable to himself,
is utterly lost and eradicated. — Of all vices, gaming, in my opinion,
is the most pernicious to mankind. Ambition may be satisfied ;
lust most commonly loses ground as age and debility come on ;
hatred often sinks into contempt; and the snakes of envy have, ere
now, been lulled to repose : but the monster. Gaming, is never
satisfied ; for the more it devours, the more it craves. Behold its
votaries, as unhappy with thousands as when possessed of one
single shilling ; leading a life so fluctuating and so uncertain, that
it is scarcely more eligible than that of a malefactor going to ex-
ecution. But to proceed, — One unfortunate hour ruined his darling
visionary scheme of happiness : she was introduced to the infamous
woman under whose roof she now is — she was drawn into play — »
liked it — and, what is the unavoidable consequence, was ruined :
having lost more, in one night, than would have mamtained a
hundred useful families for a twelvemonth, she was obliged to
prostitute her body to the wretch that had won her money, to re-
cover her loss. From this moment, she might justly have ex-
claimed, with the Moor —

' Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content !'

The affectionate wife, the agreeable companion, the indulgent
mistress, were now no more. In vain she flattered herself the
injury she had done her husband would for ever remain one of
those secrets which can only be disclosed at the last day. Mistaken
woman ! the cries of justice are too strong fur any human power
to stifle — though the paths before her seemed easy and pleasant,
impending thunder filled the air, vengeance pursued her steps, and

DOINGS IN LONDON. 26S

infamy spread her venomous wings around her — while she tri-
umphed in her security, she was lost. The villain who enjoyed
her, boasted of the favours he had received. — Modern Humanity
conveyed the fatal news to the ears of her injured lord ; he refused
to believe what he thought impossible, but honour obliged him to
call the boaster to the field. — The hero (for he had all the qualifi-
cations our modern romances require — namely, drinking, duelling,
and gaming, to complete one) received the challenge with much
more contentment than concern : as he had resolution enough to
murder any man he had injured, so he was certain, if he had the
fortune to conquer his antagonist, he should be looked upon as the
head of all the modern bucks and bloods ; esteemed by the men
as a brave fellow, and admired by the ladies for a fine gentleman
and an agreeable rake."

" You must pardon me," said Peregrine, " if I am obliged to
question the truth of this part of your relation. Is it possible that
woman, who was formed for the happiness of mankind, can take
delight in, orsuft'er, the company of the wretch who has destroyed
his brother ?" " There is nothing more common," replied Mentor.
" What greater pleasure can o. Jine lady receive, except cheating
at cards, than to see the dear, brave, heroic man, who will run an
innocent person through the body, for accidentally treading upon
his corns, dying at her feet, and existing only by her smiles ? In
a word, the fine ladies look upon courage, in our sex, to be equal
to chastity in theirs : at least, the appearance of both must be
oreserved." " You must certainly mean," said Peregrine, " that
such women are to be found among the female gamblers, and not
in general society ; for —

* I wonder why, by foul-mouthed men,

Women so slander'd be,
Since it doth easily appear
They're better far than we.

* Why are the graces, every one,

Pictur'd as women be,
If not to show that they, in grace,
Do more excel than we ?

* Why are the liberal sciences

Pictur'd as women be,
If not to show that they, in them,
Do more excel than we ?

* Why are the virtues, everyone,

Pictur'd as women be,
If not to show that they, in them,
Do more excel than we ?

* Since women are so full of worth,

Let them all praised be, —
For commendations they deserve,
In ample^r wise than we.'

So sings the old poet. Sir Aston Cockayne." "You are very

right," said Mentor. " But, to resume the thread of my story,

s2

260 DOINGS IN LONDON.

which you have interrupted, the hero and the husband met: the
former, not content with declaring, exulted in his guilt. But his
triumph was of short date — a bullet drove his indignant soul from
]ts frail tenement, to the great mortification of all the men of frolic
and pleasure of the age.

" Lucius (for that is the husband's name), after a long conflict
in his bosom, between justice and mercy, tenderness and rage, re-
solved on what is very seldom practised by an English husband
— to pardon his wife, conceal her crime, and preserve her, if pos-
sible, from utter destruction. But the gates of mercy were opened
in vain — the offender refused forgiveness, because she had ofl'ended.
The lust of gaming had absorbed all other desires. SVe still plays
on, while her easy lord is hastening, by a quick decay, to that place
where • they are neither married, nor yiven in marriayc.^ "
" Execrable murderess, for such she doubly is," exclaimed Pere-
grine. " How can she appear in public? how wear that smile
upon her face? hath conscience entirely deserted her?" "Only
nods a little," replied Mentor; " it will soon awake, and sting her
into horror. When that carnation bloom (as shortly it will) hath
left her cheeks, and those eyes, that now shine so brightly, are be-
come weak and languid, what a despicable creature must she be,
without innocence or peace of mind to comfort her ! But no more
of this.

" Observe that well-dressed gentleman : with what philosophy
he loses his money to the lady that sits over against him? — But
see, he rises — his stock is now exhausted, and he must raise con-
tributions on the public for more." " Is it possible he can be a
person of that description ?" cried Peregrine. " Yes," said his
companion ; " there are many more gentlemen of his like in the room."
" Does the lady he played with suspect his employment ?" said
Peregrine. " Her suspicion is lost in certainty," returned Mentor;
** she is too well acquainted with the town, not to know a great
many gentlemen, without fortunes, live upon their means. To be
plain, she is as great a cheat as he is a thief."

** But you have not told me, my good friend, the name of that
meagre person, on whose countenance want and despair seem to
sit; methinks he is but meanly dressed, in comparison with his
gaudy companion." " That," answered Mejitor, " xvas the gay, the
gallant, the agreeable Florico, first in )he box, the ring, and the
mall : —

* Pause — turn thine eye, and view, w ith pitying scan,
That wasting remnant of what was a man ;
In youth a worldling, seeking transient joys,
He barter'd his best hopes for worthless toys.
Why that hung lip ? that sad dejected air ?
Is that the face which rev'rend age should wear ?
The loss of vig'rous health hath sour'd his mind,
And misspent youth no solace left behind.
1 Did Beauty more than earthly lure him on,

Whilst gay he sported, Fortune's favour'd son ?

DOINGS IN LONDON. 201

In age he owns no magic in her sigh, —
He reads no language in lier beaming eye.
Did wild ambition mock his reas'ning powers,
And partial conquests strew his path with flowers?
Age steals their odour and their hue away.
And low'rs a cloud o'er glory's brightest day.
Did Bacchus round his brows the chaplet fling,
And topers pledge him their anointed king?
In age the port is cork'd, the claret sour ;
He sheds his honours, and resigns his pow'r.
Did thousand gawsy shadows woo his stay ?
And Luxury's minions fan his years away ?
In age no painted bauble charms his eye,
And pleasure's phantoms devious pass him by.
The gamester's chance, — ay, all the arts that live,
Now fail a respite to his thoughts to give :
Cool staid reflection lays his vices bare, —
Relentless Conscience goads him to despair.
Down to the grave (yet fearing still to die.
Though all life's blessings from his blessings fly),.
He sinks without a hope his soul to cheer, —
His mem'ry lifeless — grave without a tear.

He is noiv many degrees worse than nothing, having squandered
away an almost princely estate in one eternal round of vice and
folly ; he is obliged to live on the assistance he receives from the
very men who caused him to ruin his fortune, and shared the
plunder. He hath just now issued proposals for publishing a
treatisehe hath written, i» which he endeavours to prove the morta-
lity of the soul, and itisto be dedicated to the most beautiful women
now living. It is thought this performance will, in some measure,
retrieve his affairs, as people of quality are very desirous of being,
assured, that, when dead, they shall share the fate of dogs and
monkeys — ivisely giving up all pretensions to another world, so
that they may be permitted to gratify their appetites and passions
in this." " Good heavens ! is it possible there is a wretch who
disbelieves the existence of a God?'' cried Peregrine. "There
is not," answered Mentor : " the gentlemen who dignify themselves
with the title of Frce-Thinkers endeavour to disbelieve, but their
efforts are vain. View a pretended Athiest on his death-bed, and
your indignation will soon be turned into compassion, when you
hear him, in the agonies of despair, cry out for mercy from that.
Supreme Power whose existence he hath denied. Where, then,
is his fallacious reasoning? his boasted philosophy? his contempt
of death? Can all the quaint superficial arguments of Tindal,
Hobbes, Toland, and Colins, the abusive reasoning of Woolston,
or the vain blusteriugs and absurd dogmas of the restless factious
Bolingbroke, first a traitor to his king, and then to his God, aflbrd
him comfort? To such a man how terrible are his last hours : the
wretch upon the rack is at ease, when compared with him."

" And is this the way the gentry in London pass their time V
asked Peregrine. " Most certainly not all of them," replied
Mentor. " I obtained an invitation for this party, in order that,
before you left the metropolis, you might be an eye-witness of the

262 DOINGS IN LONDON.

depravities in high hfe, as well as in low. But these senseless
routs, card-parties, &c., are the very acme of fashion in the higher
circles. To invite more people than your house can hold, and to
make those who are fortunate enough to gain admittance and ' be
presented,' as wretchedly miserable as over-crowded rooms,
heated almost to suffocation, can make them, is the height of
ambition with the leaders of Tbu." " But why so many women?"
asked Peregrine. "Why?" replied Mentor. •* Mr, Croly, in
his Pride shall have a Fall, tells you : —

' What are your sleepless midnights for, your routs,
That turn your skin to parchment? VVhy, for man !
What are your cobweb robes, that, spite of frost.
Show neck and knee to winter ? Why, for man !
What are your harps, pianos, simpering songs,
Languish'd to lutes ? All for the monster, man !
What are your rouge, your jewels, waltzes, wigs.
Your scoldings, scribblings, eatings, drinkings, for?
Your morn, noon, night ? For man ! ay, —
Man, man, man !'

" To be sure," continued Mentor, *' these poor pitiable crea-
tures, having no employment, are happy any how to murder their
time. Such inconsistencies are generated by idleness ; which,
Barton says, is the badge of gentry, the bane of body and mind,
the muse of naughtiness, the chief author of all mischief, one of
the seven deadly sins, the devil's cushion (as Gaulter calls it), his
pillow and chief reposal : for the mind can never rest, but still
meditates on one thing or other; except it be occupied about some
honest business, of its own accord it rusheth into melancholy. It
fills the body full of phlegm, gross humours, and all manner of
obstructions, rheums, catarrhs, &c. They that are idle are far
more subject to melancholy than such as are conversant or em-
ployed about any office or business. Plutarch reckons up idle-
ness for a sole cause of the sickness of the soul. — Idleness is
either of body or mind. That of body is nothing but a kind of
benumbing laziness, intermitting exercise, which causeth crudities,
obstructions, excremental humours, quencheth the natural heat,
dulls the spirits, and makes tiiem imapt to do any thing whatever.
A horse in a stable that never travels, a hawk in a mew that sel-
dom flies, are both subject to diseases : an idle dog will be mangy
— and how shall an idle person think to escape? Idleness of mind
is much worse than that of the body : wit without employment is a
disease — erugo animi, rubigo ingenii — the rest of the soul, a
plague, a hell itself. As in a standing pool worms and filthy
creepers increase, the water itself putrifies, and air likewise, if it
be not continually stirred by the wind, — so do evil and corrupt
thoughts in an idle person ; the soul is contaminated. Thus much
I dare boldly say : he or she that is idle, be they of what condi-
tion they will, never so rich, so well allied, fortunate, happy, — let
them have all things in abundance and felicity that heart can wish
and desire, all contentment, — so long a^ he or she or they are

DOINGS IN LONDON. 263

idle, they shall never be pleased, never v^'ell in body and mind ;
but weary still, sickly still, vexed still, loathing still, — weeping,
sighing, grieving, suspecting, — offended with the world, with every
object, wishing themselves gone or dead, or else carried away with
some foolish phanlasie or other. And this is the true cause that
so many great men, ladies and gentlewomen, labour of this dis-
ease in country and city , for idleness is an appendix to nobihty ;
they count it a disgrace to work, and spend all their days in sports,
recreations, and pastimes, and will therefore take no pains, be of
no vocation. They feed liberally, fare well, want exercise, action,
employment, — and thence their bodies become full of gross hu-
mours, wind, crudities ; their minds disquieted, dull, heavy, &c.
When you shall hear and see so many discontented persons in all
places, so many unnecessary complaints, fears, suspicions, the
best means to redress it is to set them a-work, so to busy their
minds : for the truth is, they are idle. An idle person knows not
when he is well, what he would have, or whither he would go; he
is tired out with every thing, displeased with all, weary of his life ;
neither at home nor abroad ; he wanders and lives beside himself.

" Do you see that tall gentleman," said Mentor, "in earnest
conversation with two young ladies? His name is Malvolio; and
he is perhaps the greatest dupe to villains in this country. The
following extraordinary case is one of the numerous instances in
which his vanity and credulity were worked upon with success: —
About seven years ago he rented a furnished house in Park Street,
where he was surrounded by the most dashing swindlers in Eng-
land. One of the fraternity, a captain in the army, wormed him-
self into his confidence, whose house was immediately opposite to
that of a noble lord, who had two or three beautiful daughters.
Malvolio fancied himself beloved by one of those young ladies,
and his friend encouraged the fancy for his own purposes, and told
Malvolio that, if he had spirit, and managed the thing well, he
might get the girl. The first thing to be done was to procure an
interview, and Malvolio's friend recommended an immediate cor-
respondence. A love-letter was written to the lady by the lover,
and the captain's servant, who was to be well paid, was employed
to deliver it. This trusty messenger delivered the letter to his
nsaster, who wrote an answer in the lady's name, stating her re-
^•ret that she could not see her dear Malvolio, as she was obliged
to go off to Ireland, in consequence of his majesty's determination
to visit that country, where she hoped to see her beloved,
Malvolio, delighted at this avowal, proposed an immediate
journey, and requested the captain's company. The latter
replied, that the thing required great caution and tact, and that,
as he owed £300 or £400 in Ireland, he could not face that
country without the sum. This difficulty was soon removed.

" The captain got the required amount from his dupe, and oft'
to Dublin they went, where the correspondence was resumed,
the answers of the young lady beco.ming so warm, that Malvolio

264 DOINGS IN LONUON.

wrote to ner to ' run off with him at once.' * Yes,' said she, in
her reply, ' I will run away with you ; but, unfortunately, my
family have become acquainted with my passion for you, and are
resolved to take me oft' to the seat of a nobleman, about sixty
miles from town. I shall, however, write to you, and let you
know how to proceed.' The letter concluded with strong approba-
tion of the address and talent of the servant in managing the cor-
respondence. This was a severe check to Malvolio's hopes, but
the captain cheered him up, and told him that his servant's assist-
ance would release a girl from the protection of the devil himself.
Anuthei letter was sent, and another received. The lady des-
cribed her situation as wretched in the extreme, and vowed that
she could only be happy with her lover, but she could not move
without bribing the servants ; for which purpose she required a
couple of hundied pounds. The money was supplied, and the
time of starting was appointed. Malvolio was to be ready with
his carriage at the spot adjoining the estate on which she was on a
visit. He was punctual. After having waited for some time, in
great suspense, he perceived a lady, elegantly attired, running
hastily towards him. * Oh ! dear Malvolio !' she exclaimed, ' 1
am pursued — the servants are after me — save me, save me !'
'With my life,' cried Malvolio, and he lifted her into the car-
riage. * Halloo !' said two or three savage-looking fellows, who
just sprang out of a ditch with cudgels in their hands, ' where are
you galloping with our young mistress V and, without more words,
they laid their sticks so heavily upon the poor iiiamorato's shoulders,
that he yielded up his prize without any farther effort, and drove
off" in a state of mind and body not easily to be described; but,
although Malvolio's ardour sustained some abatement, that of the
young lady was as ardent as ever. She wrote to him deploring
the mishap, and told. him that her father had resolved to send her
to Paris, where she hoped to see the only man she ever loved, and
marry him. The credulous fool still believed that all was real,
and asked his friend, the captain, to accompany him ; but the
captain spoke of the expense, and said, that upon such an occa-
sion they ought to have at their command at least £1000. Mal-
volio had already overdrawn at his bankers ; but, at the sugges-
tion of his friend, he accepted bills to that amount, and handed
them to the captain, who promised to go at once to France, and
said that the money should follow them, as his friend, who dis-
discounted them, had promised to forward the amount to Paris.
The advice was adopted, but no girl was to be found, and no
money was forthcoming. The captain then said he would return
to ascertain the cause of the delay ; but Malvolio was not long by
himself, before he learned that his disinterested friend had got the
bills cashed, and determined to keep the produce for the trouble he
had been at in aiding the acceptor in his project of a noble con-
nexion. At the same moment that he received this disheartening
intelligence, a letter arrived from the lady, dated London, and re-

DOINGS IN LONDON. 2G5

calling her lover fioin Franco. At length he suspected that he
was humbugged ; and, upon his return to England, he despatched
a friend to the nobleman, with the whole of the correspondence;
which was at once declared to be nothing but a hoax, by his lord-
ship, who said his daughters had been in Hampshire all the time
Malvolio was wandering about on his Quixotic expedition. So
blind was the unfortunate Malvolio, and so completely imposed
upon by the captain, that, although the latter scarcely took the
trouble to disguise his hand-writing, Malvolio was indebted to the
post-o<ffice inspector for the information, that the captain's letters
and love-letters were all in the hand-writing of the same person.
Tlie next step the poor dupe took was after his acceptances; but
his v/orthy friend had obtained their value, and Malvolio was com-
pelled to take them up. The robbery thus eflected upon the
wretched man, within four months, I y the captain and his servant,
who was no other Uian the captain's half-brother, amounted to no
less than £1,700.

"But enough of this company," said Peregrine; "pray let
us hasten home.'"' On their way thither, it was remarked by
Mentor, that it was curious to notice the various styles of
living and variations of the manners of the great. " Now the
gentry turn the night into day, and their living consists of the
most trifling, but most expensive foods. How difl'erent from
those of our forefathers.

" The Northumberland Household-book (or account of the
annual expense of housekeeping of the Earls of Northumberland
in the reign of Henry VU.), furnishes us with much curious infor-
mation as to the style of living among the great at that time, and,
connected with other documents relating to the same subject, affords
a competent idea of the manner in which our ancestors contrived
to nourish their frail clay, though unfurnished with many of the
luxuries of modern days.

" In this oflScial record (for such it may be properly termed),
the particulars of each day's fare, according to the several seasons,
whether festival or farce, are minutely stated, and the ratio, as well
as kind of provision for each table specified. During Lent the earl
and countess had for breakfast, on the Sundays, Tuesdays, Thurs-
days, and Saturdays, as follows : — ' A loaf of bread in trenchers,
two manchetts,* a quart of beer, a quart of wine, two pieces of salt
fish, six bacon'd herrings, and four white herrings, or a dish of
sprats.' The officers of the household and menial servants were
confined, at the same season and days, to bread of different qua-
lities, according to their degrees, beer, and salt fish. On ' Flesh
Days,' my lord and lady breakfasted on • half a loaf of household
bread, a manchett, a pottel of beer, and a chicken, or else three
mutton bones broiled. The servants had, in addition to bread and
beer, also boiled beef. On other days, the earl and countess's
brcrdifast-table was set out, in addition to manchett bread, beer,
wine, &c., with * forty sprats, two pieces of salt fish, a quarter of

* A inanchct was a loaf of tho line&t white bread, wcis^hiag aix ounces.

2G6 DOINGS IN LONDON.

salt salmon, two slices of tnrbot, a side of Flanders' turbot
baked, or a dish of fried smelts." The dinners were of a similar
character.

•* At Wolsey's mask and entertainment of Henry VIII. and
the French ambassadors, noticed in Shakspeare's play, there were
two hundred covers of eatables put upon the tables ; the cardinal
drank of Ypocrass from a cup worth 500 marks, and every thing
displayed more than regal splendour. Stowe mentions the eating
establishment of this proud churchman. He had in his hall kitchen
two clerks, a clerk controller, a surveyor of the dresser, a clerk
of the spicery, two cooks, and three assistants, and children,
amounting to twelve persons : four scullions, two yeomen of the
pastry, and two paste-layers. His larder had a yeoman and
groom ; the scullery and buttery an equal number of persons each;
the ewry, the same ; the cellar, three yeomen and three pages ;
and the chaundry and waifry two yeomen each. His master-cook
wore a superb dress of velvet or satin, decorated with a chain of
gold. He had six assistants and two deputies.

*' The Earl of Lancaster's account of housekeeping for a year,
in the reign of Edward 11,, was, for his buttery, pantry, and
kitchen, £3045 (a prodigious sum, considering the value of money
in those days) ; for grocery ware, £180. 7s. ; for 184 tons and two
pipes of claret and white wine, £104. lls.Gd. ; for six barrels of
sturgeon, £19 ; and for dried fish of all sorts, as ling, haberdines,
(or barrelled cod), and others, £47. 6s. Id.

" At the town-house of the great Richard Nevil, Earl of War-
wick, in Warwick Lane, Newgate Street, in the time of Edward
IV., there are said to have been oftentimes six oxen eaten at a
breakfast. This is accounted for by Stowe's informing us that,
at that nobleman's, every one that had an acquaintance of the
household, might have as much roast and boiled meat as he could
prick and carry away upon the point of a long dagger. Many
more of these kind of examples might be produced in ancient times.

" In the houses of our nobility at these periods, they dined at
long tables. The lord and his principal guests sat at the upper
end of the first table, in the great chamber, which was therefore
called the Lord's Boar-end ; the officers of his house and inferior
guests, at long tables below in the hall. In the middle of each
table stood a great salt-seller, and, as particular care was taken to
place the guests according to their rank, it became a mark of dis-
tinction, whether a person sate above or below the salt. Among
the dishes in ancient cookery, are mentioned, swans, bustards,
sea-gulls, cranes, peacocks, porpoises, boars' heads, oysters in
gravy, stewed partridges, venison with furmenty, and several other
kinds of food now but little or not at all known. Trenchers, ashen
cups, and other utensils equally simple, furnished the common
tables ; the superior ones sometimes had pewter, but this was too
costly to be frequently used, and was thought so much of, that in
Rymer's Fcedera, there is a licence, granted in 1430, for a ship to
convey from this country certain articles express for the use of tho

DOINGS IN LONDON. 267

King'of Scotland, among which are particularly mentioned a supply
of pewter dishes and wooden trenchers.

•' It was then the custom in great families to have four meals a
Jay — viz. breakfasts, dinners, suppers, and liveries, or deliveries.
Thoy had their breakfast at seven, dinner at ten, supper at, four,
and the livery between eight and nine, in their chambers. The
household-book, just quoted, mentions the latter to have consisted
of bread, beer, and wine spiced. The hours of the middle rank or
life were more rational, as they breakfasted at eight, dined at
noon, and supped at six. The hours had somewhat changed in the
reign of Elizabeth ; ' the nobilitie, gentrie, and students,' as an
author of the time tells us, dining then ordinarily at • eleven before
noon, and at supper at five, or between five and six, at afternoone.
The merchants,' he adds, ' dine and sup seldome before twelve at
'loone and six at night, especiallie in London. The husbandmen
dine always at high noone, as they call it, and sup at seven or
eight,' But out of the Term, at the Universities, the scholais still
continue to dine at ten. The tables, at great feasts, were decorated
vi^ith pastry in various figures, which were labelled with witty
remarks suited to the occasion of the feast, and which on that
account were called ' subtleties,' and, though these were not to be
eaten, three courses are mentioned to have been served ; and the
time occupied in drinking was usually two hours, from eleven till
one.

" The number of meals in 1627 is to be inferred from a sermon
of that year, called ' The Walk of Faith,' which asks, ' Why should
not the soul have her due drinks, breakfasts, meals, under-meals
bevers, and after-meals, as well as the body V Well might Reeve',
in his ' Plea for Nineveh,' written 1657, say the glutton must then
have ' his olios and hogoes, creepers and peepers, Italian sippets,
and French broth,' &c.

" As to some of the old customs respecting particular things
eaten at certain seasons of the year, a writer of Charles the Second's
days says, ' Before the late civil wars, in gentlemen's houses at
Christmas, the first disli that was brought to table was a boar's
head with a lemon in the mouth; and at Queen's College, Oxon,
the custom was in his time retained, the bearers of it bringing it
into the hall, singing to an old tune an old Latin rhyme,* ca»rt
caput defero, ^-e. The first dish formerly brought up to dinner on

Easter Day was a red herring riding away on 'horseback i.e. a

herring ordered by the cook something after the likeness of a nian
on horseback, set in a corn sallad. 'J'he eating of a gammon of
bacon at the same season (until of late kept up in some parts of
England) was done to show an abhorrence of Judaism, at that
solemn commemoration of our Lord's resurrection. We shall just
further observe, that that most useful table utensil, a fork, was not
known in England before the reign of James the First, Coryate
in his Crudities, ' mentions his introducing this from Italy, the only
place where he had ever in -M his travels met willi it, and th.it

2G8 DOINGS IN LONDON.

himself, oil his return home, had thought it good to imitate the
Italian fashion, by this forked cutting of meate ;' and that a familiar
friend of his had from that cause named him Furcefer. His
description of first seeing this use of the fork is ludicrously quaint,
'The Italians,' says he, ' doe always at their meals use a little fork
when they eat their meat ; for while with their knife, which they
hold in one hand, they cut the meat in the dish, they fasten their
fork, which they hold in the other, upon the same dish.' The
reason of this custom he states to be, that the Italian cannot endure
to have his dish touched by fingers, seeing all men's fingers are
not alike clean. The use of glass at table (though long used in
churches) seems also to have been of comparatively late introduc-
tion."

AThile IMentor and his fiiend were at breakfast, the waiter
brought in a parcel directed for Mr. Peregrine Wilson, who instantly
desired the carriage to be paid, thinking it came from his home ;
but, lo ! on unpacking it, he found that it contained a quantity o
rubbish. At the discovery of the cheat. Mentor laughed heartily,
to think how cleverly Peregrine had been defrauded, telling
him, that such cases in London were very common. It is not long
since a fellow was sentenced to three months' imprisonment for
defrauding the Earl of Templeton of six shillings, by delivering at
his house a basket of rubbish, under pretence that it contained
game. Innumerable other cases I might give you.

Those fellows who get their livelihood by such means are most
of them what are termed Way-layers, or Kidders ; and country-
men and errand-boys to shops are the best customers they have.
The mode they adopt to cheat the countrymen, I have already told
you. Where these Way-layers perhaps do the most mischief, is
in robbing errand-boys, which they do by getting into conversation
with them, and thus learning the articles they are carrying to Mr.
Such-a-one's, their master's name, business, and residence ; which
obtained, away goes the Layer, to inform his mates of the prize
they have in view, and to give them the necessary intelligence and
instruction, in order to obtain the same. If the boy happens to
inquire his way, he is directed by one of them, and, within a few
yards of the house, is met by another, who asks him if he has not
brought such and such things from his master, tells him his name,
takes the parcel from him, and sends him back for other articles,
which he is ordered to return with immediately, as a customer is
waiting for them : the unsuspecting boy goes home, gets the fresh
order, and brings it to the house where he should have left the first
when, too late, he is made sensible of his error in trusting to
strangers in the streets, however feasible or probable their story o.
being the person he was directed to may appear.

" It is not a long time since," continued Mentor, " that an
apprentice to a composition doll-maker in Long Lane was going
through 13ow-Church yard, Cheapside, with a large parcel of dolls,
when ' .1 gcnikman' tapp'd him on the shoulder, and said to him

DOINGS IN LONDON.

* My boy, that gentleman wants to speak to you'— at the same time
pointing to an accomplice, who was standing in a passage of one
of the warehouses there, without his hat. The boy walked towards
him, and said he to him—' My lad, I want you to run into Cheap-
side and call a cabriolet for me ; and I'll mind your parcel for you
the while, and give you sixpence for your trouble.' Sixpence is a
large sum to a doll-maker's apprentice, and the unsuspecting lad
instantly put down his parcel at his feet, and ran oft' into Cheapside
for the cab ; with which he returned in about two minutes, and found
that his parcel and the man were both missing from the passage in
which he had left them. Luckily for him, however, his parcel h'dd
been stopped iji transitu, by one of the city officers, who, in the
meanwhile, chanced to be passing through Bow Church-yard, and,
seeing a gentleman whom he knew to be a professor of kidding]
trotting along with a parcel, he naturally suspected how he came

by it; and by virtue of his office he seized him by the collar or,

rather, he made an attempt so to do ; but the professor, suspecting
his intention, threw the parcel at him and bolted.

" It is the bounden duty of all masters to particularly instil into
the minds of their servants not to part with any parcel, but to the
person to whom it is directed : if they were to do so, we should
not read of similar tricks being played off daily.

" It is to carelessness that tradesmen ought to ascribe most of
their losses, added to neglect and extravagance ; and then they
are for ever complaining of the want of money, and of busi-
ness ; let an impartial person take a retrospective view of the
habits of tradesmen a century past, and compare them with those
of the present day, and they will soon find one of the principal
causes of the outcry.

*' A tradesman of 1728, never aspired higher in his dress than

a second-cloth coat and waistcoat, a pair of leather breeches

that were hardly ever without a guinea in their pockets— a felt hat,
and worsted stockings ; and, as for a greatcoat, it was quite out
of the question.

"A tradesman of 1828, never condescends to wear any
other than a superfine coat and trousers (or small-clothes, as Chey
are now termed, agreeably to the modern refned nomenclature),
whose pockets are seldom gladdened with the company of even a
single shilling— silk waistcoat, silk stockings, superfine hat, with
a superfine greatcoat or two, exclusive of chaise-coats, &c. &c.
Indeed, so great is the pride of the generality of tradespeople now,
that I am bold to declare they expend more money for clothes
alone, than their forefathers did for house-rent and housekeeping.

" A tradesman of 1728, used to take a pride in showing his
sons and daughters, when grown up, the coat in which he *was
married ; so careful were they of their clothes.

" A tradesman of 1828, < an scarcely show you a coat he has had
twelve months.

** A tradesman of 1728, used to open and shut up his shop, scrape

270 DOINGS IN LONDON.

liis shop-floor, and be behind hi8 counter, never later than seven
o'clock in the morning.

" What tradesman t)f the present day opens and shuts his
shop? not one in a thousand; for it is considered ungenteel, and
that, by so doing, he would injure his consequence. If the shop-
man is out getting drunk, or the errand-boy loitering his time
about the streets, Mr. Tradesman gets the watchman to shut
up his shop for him — it only costs sixpence ; and what is six-
pence for performing such a service? a mere bagateUe. Sup-
pose the watchman is employed three times a week, why it is
only Is. Gd. not quite £4 a year ; and what is that for a trades-
man to pay, to save his feelings from being hurt? Besides, the
watchman, in shutting up the shop, becomes well acquainted with
the fastenings, and learns where the most valuable part of the
stock lies, and then he can the better inform the thieves. And
suppose the shop is robbed ; why that misfortune is far better
to bear, than to be so mean as to shut up his shop : any thing
but that, in the present rcjined state of society.

"As for scraping their shop-floors, the major part of trades-
men now, poor devils ! have no need of that labour. I remem-
ber, when I was a boy," continued Mentor, " in going along
the streets of a morning early, what a confounded scraping was
there at almost every shop-door. Now you may march from
Hyde-Park Corner to Whitechapel, and hear no scraping, ex-
cept at the Pawnbrokers and the Giu-Shops, they being the only
people now who have any custom.

" A tradesman of 1728 was satisfied with a humble pot of por-
ter; and, upon extraordinary occasions, with a bowl of punch
which cost him two shillings and sixpence.

" A tradesman of 1828, must have his sherry with his dinner,
and his port afterwards.

"A tradesman of 1728, never used to ^-avel farther in summer
than Hampstead, or Calk Farm, on a Sunda^'^ ; and, perhaps, in
the week, on an evening, take his pint and pipe at the Goat and
Boots, in Marybone Fields, and have a game at skittles.

" A tradesman of 1828, must have his country house, and his
chaise, or buggy, or sulky, or Tdbury, or whatever you please to
call it. The more economical go to Margate or Ramsgate, by
steam, for Q.feiv weeks in the summer, while their servants are rob-
bing them at home ; and then at Christmas they find they are
minus.

" A tradesman of 1728, was satisfied with a small house, and a
snug shop;

" A tradesman of 1828, must have a large house and a capacious
shop, such as are in our new grand streets : the heart sickens at
beholding those masses of egregious folly and splendid misery !
No sooner are the major part of the tradesmen in them, than .they
are out, or their windows ornamented with printed bills, " This
House to Let." " The Lease, Goodwill, and Stock of this House

DOINGS IN LONON. 271

to be Sold," &c. &c. These melancholy mementos of distress are
seen, unfortunately, in most of the leading streets of the me
tropolis.

" A tradesman of 1728, used to have the assistance of his wife
in his business, by either attending to his shop when her husband
was out, or, when he was busy at home, going to the various cus-
tomers with parcels, &c., in order to save the expense of shopmen
and errand-boys.

" A tradesman of 1828 would fairly swoon, if his wife was so
ungenteel as to carry out a parcel, or to see to her husband's busi^
ness, by doing the work of a shopman or errand-boy.

" A tradesman's daughter of 1728, was to be seen scouring her
father's house, and cleaning his windows.

" A tradesman's daughter of 1828, is to be seen hum-strum-
ming on the piano, or learning to dance.

" A tradesman of 1728, was always ready in his shop before
breakfast.

**If you want your mushroom tradesman of 1828, at ten or
eleven o'clock in the morning, you are told he is a-dressing ; and
he will be down in half an hour. This is not an exaggerated pic-
ture ; it, is unfortunately too true : and thus this beggarly pride
descends from the master to the servant.

" Now I ask,". continued Mentor, " if it is to be supposed trade
can support such accumulated pride and extravagance, and if
it is any wonder so many tradespeople should be so short of
money?"

*' But pray," said Peregrine, " is not the present want of
money owing to the paucity of trade and the heavy taxation ?"

"No, IT IS not! It is occasioned by the dreadful extrava-
gance of tradespeople, by taxation, and by redundant population.

" But the remedy is working itself with a vengeance. The
time ivill come, and that shortly, when these gentlemen trades-
men will find they must retrace their steps, and follow those of
their forefathers. They must stick to their counters, those who
are fortunate enough to have them — open and shut their shops —
lay by their wines and superfine clothes. Their daughters must
learn to handle a scrubbing-brush and a pail, instead of playing
with the keys of the piano, or the chords of the harp — their
wives must lay by their silks, and put on their check aprons, as their
grandmothers used to do. This alteration will take place, — ay, as-
suredly as day is day, and night is night. Necessity, stern ne-
cessity, will cause it, and is causing it daily. Yes, my jolly
masters, ' To this complexion you must come at last.'

" Yet there are men who grumble at the present times. Why
should they ? They expected to have all the fun of the late war
for nothing : then —

' They were all of them monstrous jolly,
And they covered their houses with holly !'

" Well, then came the peace — the glorious peace. Then fol-

272 DOINGS IN LONDON.

lowed the payment of the bill for the expenses of the war. Then
came long faces ; for —

' Most folks laugh until the feaatis o'er,
Then comes the reckoning, and they laugh no more!'

Curses are heaped upon the poor ministers' heads, because
they impose taxes to pay the interest on the money borrowed for
carrying on the war. Well, all this time tradespeople forget
to lower their expenses, or abridge their luxuries : and what is the
consequence — they become beggars !"

" But how," said Peregrine, '• can one of the causes of the
present distress be ascribed to the population ? I always thought
the wealth of a nation consisted in the number of the people."
" So it does," replied Mentor, " if the people are legitimately
employed, that is, working for profit; not in digging holes, and
filling them up again, and all that nonsense. Now, for instance: —
Supposing 1 have twelve children, and each child costs me 10s. a
week for board and other expenses, and they earn me 12s. a week
each, the consequence is, 1 am 24s. a week richer by having so
many children. But, if 1 can find no employment for my
children, 1 am, at the week's end, £G minus. Therefore, in such
a case, no man must tell me my wealth consists in the number of
my children. Such is exactly the case with a nation : if profitable
employment is found for the people, they are enabled to purchase
more largely of all articles ; and the consequence is, government
receive more taxes from the extra quantity of articles consumed,
and the tradesman, because he vends more goods. But, if the
population be not employed, the consequence is, taxes are not so
productive — the tradesman's business falls off, and, added to which,
he has, out of his straightened income, to pay a part of it to support
those who have no employment ; and he becomes poorer daily.
In such case, the wealth cannot consist in the number of the peo-
ple. It is of no use for Malthus and others to preach about the
matter. Find employment — profitable employment, and that will
remedy one of the evils ; unless you can kill off the people by a
war, as fast as ' new comers' make their appearance in the world.
The plain matter of fact is this, that in England, since the peace,
trade has not fallen off, but, on the contrary, has increased ; but
it cannot increase in the same ratio as the population increases —
hence the want of employment.

" Such is exactly the case with the shipping interest, as it is
called : they complain of the want of employment for their ships,
foolishly expecting that trade will increase as fast as they build
aqw ships : that is impossible. Let them refrain, for a few years,
from launching any more vessels, and they will soon find employ-
ment for those already manned. But the shipping interest are for
ever crying out, as if they were worse oft" than the rest of the tradmg
community ; when, in fact, in many cases, they are infinitely better.
The truth is, they want a war, so that their ships may be taken oa

DOINGS IN LONDON.

273

for the transport service, at a good round sum per month for
tonnage. In short, let the tradesmen become more moderate in
their out-goings and dress, and stick closer to their counters ; let
the ministers curtail all extravagant expenditure, and let the detested
corn laws be repealed— the principal source, perhaps, of English
misery — and manufactures, trade, and commerce will increase.

" So much for political economy !" exclaimed Peregrine ; " but,
sir, you will remember, it was agreed we should visit Smithfield,"
" Certainly," replied Mentor : " so take up thy hat, and, in a few
minutes we shall be in that celebrated mart, just in time to witness

€fft moini itt t^e |^or8e=iHar|»t, *mrttJfieKr.

«♦ It will be best," said Mentor, " for us to go through the middle
of the market, and there we shall see the doings of the gentlemen
of the whip, in all their ramifications, trickeries, and impositions.
We can sit upon the side of the pens unnoticed, and quietly view
the busy scene before us." They had scarcely seated themselves,
before a true Smithfield racer was being shown out to the best ad-
vantage, to a sort of Jemmy Green cockney, who said he was in
vant of a norse — a good 'un and a cheap 'un. " Do you, master?"
said a well-known gammoning cove, ever on the look-out for flats.
" Here is vone, sir, that vill suit you to a hair— I'll varrant him
to be free from vice, sound vind and limb, regular in his paces;
von't shy at any thing ; he never slips ; is sure-footed ; goes well in
harness, is a master of twelve stone, and is a good roadster; in
fact, he is such a horse as you von't see in a day's ride." " He

18. T

274 DOINGS IN LONDON.

seems," said the cockney, " much out of order, and half starved.**
" Lord bless you, master," replied the jockey, " he did belong to
an old miser, who not only starved himself, but all about him.
All this here horse vants is good corn, and if I did not think,
master, you vould give him plenty, I vould not sell him you : I
can soon see who's who. I have not attended this here market
these twenty years for nothing. I can tell a gentleman in a twink-
ling ; and I knows vat suits a gemman — 1 knows vats o'clock,
master ; you may trust to me." " That may be." said the cock-
ney, " but somehow I don't much like the horse. He don't look
quite the thing." " Veil, sir, there's no harm done, if you don't
buy." Just at this moment up comes a confederate, dressed like
a coachman, with a whip in his hand, and, addressing the jockey,
said," Ah, Tom, what have you Mr. B.'s roan mare here? Is the
old rogue dead?" " Yes, he is," replies the jockey, " and I have
the job of selling his favourite horse; and, as you sold it to old
B., and knows her well, perhaps you will give your opinion to this
here gemman." " Vy, as for that 'ere," said he, addressing the
cockney, " I knows the mare veil. 1 sold it to old B. for sixty
sovereigns eleven months ago, and all that is the matter with her
is, that she is starved ; and, if my stables vas not so full, I do not
know any horse I would sooner buy; what do you ask for her?"
" Twenty pounds," replied the jockey. " As cheap as dirt,"
continued the coachman, "and look here, sir," taking the cockney
by the arm,

" There," said he, pointing to the poor jaded mare, " is the coun-
tenance, mtrepidity, and fire of a lion.

"There's the eye, joint, and nostril of an ox.

" There's the nosej gentleness, and patience of a lamb.

" There's the strength, constancy, and foot of a mule.

" There's the hair, head, and leg of a deer.

** There's the throat, neck, and hearing of a wolf.

" There's the ear, brush, and trot of a fox.

•' There's the memory, sight, and turning of a serpent.

*' There's the running, suppleness, and innocence of a hare."

" I should like," said the cockney, " to see him run." " Why,
as for that 'ere," replied the jockey, " you see this poor mare has
been without shoes for six months, — the old miser would not give
her any ; and I had her shod yesterday with the best patent
shoes, and that you see makes her valk lamish." " Ah ! that, to
be sure, makes all the difference," said the cockney, who, after
standing all this gammon and patter, agreed to give fifteen pounds,
which, with a deal of cavilling, was agreed to; and all the
parties, with the poor mare, hobbled off, seemingly well pleased.

" And is this the way," said Peregrine, " that you do the na-
tives ?" " Seemingly so," replied Mentor. " I do not suppose there
can possibly be more roguery practised in any trade, than is daily
among some of the dealers in horses." At this instant. Peregrine
caught the eye of a farmer and dealer in the crowd, a neighbour of

DOINGS IN LONDON. 275

his in the country. After the usual sahitations. Peregrine in-
formed him what he had witnessed. " There is no excuse," said
the farmer, ** if people will be so foolish as to buy as bargains
things they do not know the value of : the best way is, if a person
is in want of a horse, for instance, to give some competent
judge a guinea for his advice, and then it is a thousand to
one if he is cheated. There is a combination of circumstances,
tending so much to perplex and confuse, that urges the necessity of
care, caution, and circumspection, in purchasing horses. The
eyes of Argus would hardly prove too numerous- upon the occa-
sion, a bridle being as necessary upon the tongue, as a padlock
upon the pocket ; for, amidst the great variety of professional
manoeuvres in the art of horse-dealing, a purchaser must be in pos-
session of a great share of good fortune and sound judgment, to
elude the ill-effects of deception and imposition. The greatest
cheats are to be found among the ostlers ; and I would advise you to
adopt the good old maxim of • never trusting them further than
you can see them.' I remember the false manger having been dis-
covered at a principal inn in the town where 1 was born. Always
look sharp after them, for, if your eyes are not sharper than their
hands, they will certainly deceive you. Always make it a constant
rule personally to attend to see your horses fed, and put the corn
in the manger yourself; thus guarding yourself against invisible
losses, experienced by the destructive roguery of ostlers, the bad
ness of hay, the hardness of pump-water, and the scarcity of corn.

" When an ostler speaks about feeding a horse, never say
* Go' and do this, that, and the other to him, but * let iis go?
Never let an ostler do for you what you can do for yourself. A
little attention in these matters will save you hundreds.

-' It is the custom, now, for landlords of inns to let their stables
to their ostlers, while they themselves carry on the business of
the inn. A landlord on the Sussex road, who had lost by horses,
and by hay and corn, in the course of six years, near seven hun-
dred pounds, determined to let his stables, and accordingly ad-
vertised for a man capable of taking eare of them. A Yorkshire-
man applied, who agreed on a hundred a-year rent, to buy his own
hay and corn, to act as head ostler, to keep an under ostler, and to
pay the rent quarterly. In a few years, the landlord accumulated
a fortune by the inn, and the ostler by the stables, by stinting the
horses of their food ; making them ill, and then receiving a hand-
some bonus for curing them ; making horses belonging to riders
and other travellers lame, and selling them others, and such like
impositions."

" But, come, gentlemen," said the farmer, "evening is drawing
on ; and, as we all seem fatigued, 1 shal feel happy if you would
accompany me, and take a glass of wine and some refreshment at
the inn where 1 put up, Freeman's, the King's Head Inn, Old Change,
Cheapside, where are always to be found the best of liquors a: d
T 2

276 DOINGS IN LONDON.

eatables, and reasonable charges, polite treatment, and the greatest
attention."

In a short time the trio found themselves comfortably seated in
the parlour of the King's Head Inn. " Come," said Mentor, " this
a snug room; I like every thing that is snug ; there is an enchant-
ing sound in the very word, for it is purely English, and I believe
you will not find the word in any other language ; the reason is,
because no people on earth but the English know its meaning :
the very sound makes one warm and comfortable ; it brings with
it a picture of a nice carpeted room, good fire, good company,
good conversation, a good hostess, together with old wine, old
ale, and old friends. I wish Wilkie would paint us a picture of
* a Snug Party :" the king, God bless him, would buy it imme-
diately; for he, being every inch of him an Englishman, would
feel a pleasure in possessing such a picture, having passed so many
happy sntig hours. And I pray," continued Mentor, " he may
pass many, many more. —

* May he live

Longer than I have time to tell his years !

And, when old Time shall lead him to his end,

Goodness a»d he fill up one monument!'

** Bravo !" cried Peregrine. " Bravo !" echoed the farmer.

'* Did you see that gentleman leave the room?" said Mentor
to Peregrine ; " he is a particular friend of mine : his name
is Hale, as good a creature as ever broke the bread of life.
I don't suppose he noticed me ; but here he returns, and I'll
ask him to give us a song." " Stephy, my boy," said Mentor,
" 1 hope you are well?" "Never better," he replied. "Then,"
said Mentor, " give us * Here's to the King, God bless him.'
•' With all my heart, Georgy ;" and, to the pleasure of the com-
pany, he sang it with all that ardour and taste for which he is so
eminent.

After a few more songs and toasts, and as the generous wine
was going round. Peregrine intimated to his neighbour, the farmer,
that he should like to know a little more about the horse-jockeys.

"Certainly, my young friend," said the farmer; "whatever
knowledge 1 have of the various cheats and frauds of the horse
trade, I will gladly impart to you, for your guidance. In the first
place, you should never attempt to obtain a high-priced horse from
the hammer of a modern repository, without the advantage of an
assistant perfectly adequate to the arduous task of discrimination.
Let it be remembered, at such inart of integrity, a horse is seldom,
if ever, displayed in a state of nature ; he is thrown into a variety
of alluring attitudes, and a profusion oi false Jire, by the powerful
intermediation of art — that predominant incentive the whip before
and the aggravating stimulus of the ginger behind (better under-
stood by the appellation oi figging), giving to the horse all the ap-
pearance o^ spirit (in fact, fear), which the injudicious spectator's

DOINGS IN LONDON. 277

too often imprudently induced to believe to be the spontaneous
efforts of nature.

" During- the superficial survey, in the few minutes allowed
for inspection and purchase, much satisfactory investigation cannot
be obtained ; for, in the general hurry and confusion of ' showing
out,' the short turns and irregular action of the horse, the political
and occasional smack of the whip, the effect of emulation in the
bidders, the loquacity of the orator, and the fascinating flourish of
the hammer, the qualifications of the object are frequently forgotten,
and every idea of perfection buried in the spirit of personal op-
position.

" When a horse is lame of one foot, the knowing ones put a
common horsebean under the shoe of the other foot, on the night
previous to being sold, the pain of which will cause both feet to
appear alike. As, also, when a horse is subject to the glanders,
they trim the nostrils with a pair of scissors, blow a little pepper
and salt up his nostrils, which will cause him to sneeze, and clear
his head ; they then sponge the nostrils, and grease them with a
tallow candle ; this will cause the filth to run off the nostril, and
the defect will not be perceiveable for an hour or two.

'* To prevent the detection of a broken-winded horse, they give
him a pound of hog's lard, and a quarter of a pound of shot, on
the night previous to being offered for sale : this will prevent its
being discovered for a day, perhaps two, according to the work
the horse does.

" The best way to discover a Roarer, is, to hold the head of
the horse close to your ear, hitting him at the same time over the
back with a stick, which will cause a roaring noise in the head.

" Those who traffic in stolen horses have also the faculty of
altering and disguising tliem, in a manner which is scarcely to be
conceived of. An instance occurred not long since of a gentle-
man losing a valuable mare, which he afterwards purchased, and
kept some time without recognising, until, an accident befalling
her, she was killed, when the farrier ascertained, from the remain-
ing mark of an operation which had been performed, that she was the
identical animal which had been stolen. Horses which have been
stolen, it is well known, have run for a length of time in night
coaches, not far from the very neighbourhood from which they
were stolen. It is not an uncommon thing for dealers in stolen
horses to rub the hair off the knees, or otherwise blemish a valuable
and thorough-bred horse, for the purpose of having a reason for
selling it into harness ; and thus many a horse, worth an hundred
guineas, has been sold for £35 or £40 ; which sura would, how-
ever, afford a handsome profit to the receiver.

" During the last two or three years, the crime of horse-stealing
has prevailed to an extent scarcely to be credited : in the course
of this time, probably thousands of horses have been stolen through-
out England. So great has been the apprehension of losing these
animalsi that in many places persons have not ventured to turn

278 DOINGS IN LONDON.

them out into the fields, but have been eonstrained to keep them
in the stable, on dry food, much to the injury of their health. The
actual stealers of horses are generally low fellows, of despeiate
character, who fetch them from different parts of the country, and
supply the receivers in London, and other large towns. The price
which the latter give is very small — probably, in many instances,
not one-tenth of the real value. Some time back two hoises were
stolen from the stable of a clergyman and magistrate, about thirty
miles from London ; for one of these, which was a thorough-bred
hunter, the owner had been bid 150 guineas a short time before ;
yet for both the horses, it has been ascertained, the parties who
stole them really received only £10, which, however, was pretty
well for one night's work. An opinion has generally prevailed,
that many stolen horses are exported ; and this opinion has been
encouraged for the purpose of inducing parlies to give up further
inquiry as hopeless. The truth is, very few horses are sent abroad;
the receivers have connections in various parts of this country, to
whom their consignments are made : the counties of Hants, Kent,
and Sussex, and the west of England, have been supplied very
liberally.

" There is reason to believe that the iniquitous traffic has lately
received a considerable check. A pretty large proportion of no-
torious dealers have become entangled in the net of the law, ani
several of them have experienced that it is possible that that hempen
ligature, called a halter, which is used for restraining the generous
and useful quadruped, can, by order of a court of justice, be ap-
plied to another purpose. It is said that the operations of the
stealers and receivers of horses are likely to experience a further
check, in consequence of information which has been given by a
convict, who was found guilty, not long since, upon three several
indictments, for each of which he was sentenced to fourteen years'
transportation. There is, perhaps, no measure more likely to prove
embarrassing to criminal offenders, than to make it appear to them
that ti.ey are constantly in danger of being betrayed by their as-
sociates. ]n general, thieves are stanch to those of their own
character, to a degree which would be honourable in a good cause;
whatever, therefore, may have a tendency to shake the confidence
which these persons repose in each other, cannot fail to prove ad-
vantageous to the public security."

" Can you tell me," asked Peregrine, " as we are speaking of
horses, the origin of horse-racing ?" " I remember reading," re-
plied Mentor, "in an interesting work, called 'The History o5
r.psom,' that the first information we have of horse-racing in this
country is in the reign of Henry II. ; there can be no doubt that
Epsom Downs early became the spot upon which the lovers of
racing indulged their fancy ; and perhaps the known partiality of
James I. for this diversion will justify us in ascribing their com-
mencement to the period when he resided at the Palace of Non-
such, near Ewell ; and his reign maybe fairly stated as the period

DOINGS !N LONDON. ^279

when horse-racing became a general and national amusement.
They were then called bell-courses, the prize being a silver bell,
and the winner was said to bear or carry the bell. The first
Arabian which had ever been known in England as such, was
purchased by the royal jockey of a Mr. Markham, a merchant,
at the price of £500. During the civil wars, the amusements of
the turf were partially suspended, but not forgotten ; for we find
that Mr. Place, stud-master to Cromwell, was proprietor of the
famous horse. White Turk, and several capital brood mares, one
of which, a great favourite, he concealed in a vault during the
search after Cromwell's eft'ects at the time of the Restoration,
from which circumstance she took the name of the coffin mare, and
is designated as such in various pedigrees. King Charles II.,
soon after his restoration, re-established the races at Newmarket,
which had been instituted by James I. He divided them into
regular meetings, and substituted, both there and at other places,
silver cups, or bowls, of the value of £100, for the royal gift of
the ancient bells. William III., though not fond of the turf, paid
much attention to the breed of horses for martial purposes, and in
his reign some of the most celebrated stallions were imported,
George, Prince of Denmark, obtained from his royal consort
Queen Anne, grants of royal plates for several places. In the
latter end of the reign of George I., the change of the royal plates
into purses of 100 guineas took place. In the time of George II.
there were many capital thorough-bred horses in England, the
most celebrated of which were the famed Arabians, Darley and
Godolphin — from the former descended Flying Childers. To
continue a list of celebrated horses would exceed the limits ; we
shall therefore close with a brief account of the famous Eclipse
This horse was first the property of the Duke of Cumberland, and
was foaled during the great eclipse in 1764; he was withheld from
the course till he was five years old, and was first tried at Epsom.
He once ran four miles in eight minutes, carrying twelve stone,
and with this weight he won eleven king's plates. He was never
beaten, never had a whip flourished over him, or felt the tickling
of a spur, nor was he ever for a moment distressed by the speed
or rate of a competitor, out-footing, out-striding, and out-lasting
every horse whicli started against him. When the races on Epsom
Downs were firstheld periodically, we have not been able to trace
with accuracy, but we find that from the year 1730 they have been
annually held ; for a long period, they were held twice in every
year ; it was then customary to commence at 11 o'clock, return
into the town to dinner, and finish in the evening ; but this arrange-
ment has been long discontinued."

'* You told me, Mentor," said Peregrine, *•' some few weeks
gone, that there were sad cheats practised at horse-racing. Do
you think there are, sir (addressing himself to the farmer) ; and
do you imagine horse-racing is on the decline in the country ?'
«' I do know," replied the farmer, "that the moat disreputable

283 DOINGS IN LONlJON.

(ricks arc resorted lo by the black-legs, but not l)y the generality
of the nobles and gentry who patronize horse-racing. And, with
regard to horse-racing being on the decline, I will tell you what
Mr. Taplin, the great author on the diseases of horses, and on the
tricks of horse-jockeys, says : — ' The falling off of racing,' says he,

* may be justly attributed to a combination of obstacles : the con-
stantly increasing expense of training, the professional duplicity
(or rather family* deception) of riders, the heavy expenditure
unaviodably attendant upon travelling from one seat of sport to
another ; the very great probability of accidents, or breaking down
in running ; with a long train of uncertainties, added to the infamous
practices of " The Black-Legged" fraternity, in perpetual inter-
course and association with both trainers and riders, leaving the
casual sportsman a very slender chance of winning one bet in ten,
where any of this worthy society are concerned, which they generally
are by some means, through the medium of occasional emissaries,
mercenary agents, or stable dependants, in constant pay for the
prostitution of every trust that has been implicitly reposed in
them by their too-credulous employers.

" * Such incontrovertible facts may perhaps appear matters of
mere conjecture and speculation to the young and inexperienced,
who will undoubtedly believe, with reluctance, what is so
evidently calculated to discourage the predominance of inclination ;
and, not having explored the regions of discovery, they may be
induced to fl;Uter themselves with an opinion, that such represen-
tation is a delusion, intended much more to entertain, than com-
municate instruction. However, that the business may be elu-
cidated in such way as will prove most applicable to the nature of
the case, and the patience of the reader, it will be necessary to
afford their practices such explanation as may render the facility
of execution more familiar to the imagination of those whose
situations in life, or contracted opportunities, may have prevented
their being at all informed upon the subject in agitation.

" ' That these acts of villainy may be the better understood, it
becomes applicable to observe, that it is the persevering practice
of the family to have four, five, or six good runners in their pos-
session ; though, for the convenience and greater certainty of
public depredations, they pass as the distinct property of different
members : but this is by no means the case, for they are as much
the joint stock of the party, as is the stock in trade of the first firm
in the city. The speed and bottom of these horses are so ac-
curately known to each individual of the brotherhood, and they
are in general (without an unexpected accident, which sometimes
happens) as well convinced, before starting, whether they can
beat their competitors, as if the race was absolutely determined.
This, however, is only the necessary groundwork of deception,
upon which every part of the superstruc-ture is to be raised : as
they experimentally know how little money is to be got by winning^

* Gamblers are known by the appellation of " The Black-Legged Family."

DOINGS IN LONDON. 281

they seldom permit that to become an object of momentary con-
sideration ; and, being no slaves to the specious delusions of
honour, generally make their market by the reverse, but more par-
ticularly when they are the least expected to lose ; that is, they
succeed best in their general depredations, by losing when their
horses are the favourites at high odds, after a heat or two, when
expected to icin to a certainty, which they as prudently take care
to prevent.

" ' This business, to insure success and emolument, is carried on
by such a combination of villany, such a systematic chain of horrid
machinations, as it is much to be lamented could ever enter
the minds of degenerate men for the purposes of destruction. The
various modes of practice and imposition are too numerous and
extensive to admit of general explanation ; the purport of the
present epitome or contracted description being intended to operate
merely as a guard to those who are totally unacquainted with the
infmny of the party whose merits we mean to describe.

" 'The principal (that is, the ostensible proprietor of the horse for
the day) is to be found in the centre of the " betting ring" previous
to the starting of the horse, surrounded by the sporting multitude ;
amongst whom his emissaries place themselves to perform their
destined parts in the acts of villany regularly carried on upon
these occasions, but more particularly at all the meetings within
thirty or forty miles of the metropolis. In this conspicuous situa-
tion he forms a variety of pretended bets with his confederates, in
favour of his own horse; such bait the unthinking bystanders
eagerly swallow, and, proceeding upon this show of confidence,
hack him themselves : these offers are immediately accepted to any
amount by the emissaries before mentioned, and is, in fact, no
more than a palpable robbery, as the horse, it is already deter-
mined by the family, is 7iot to icin, and the money so betted is as
certainly their own, as if already decided.

" 'This part of the business being transacted, anew scene of tergi-
versation becomes necessary; the horse being mounted, the rider
is whispered by the nominal owner to win the first heat if he can ;
this it is frequently in his power to do easy, when he is conse-
quently backed at still increased odds, as the expected winner,
all which proposed bets are instantly taken by the emissaries, or
rather principals, in the firm; when, to show us the versatility of
fortune, and the vicissitudes of the turf, he very unexpectedly
becomes a loser, or perhaps runs out of the course, to the feigned
disappointment and affected sorrow of the owner, who publicly
declares he has lost so many " score pounds upon the race," whilst
his confederates are individually engaged in collecting their cer-
tainties, previous to the casting up stock, at the general rendezvous
in the evening.

"To this plan there is a direct alternative, if there should be no
chance (from his being sufficiently a favourite) of laying on money
in this way; they then take the longest odds they can obtain, that
17.

282 DOINGS IN LONDON.

he wins, and regulate or vary their betting by the event of each
heat; winning if they can, or losing to a certainty, as best suits
the bets they have laid, which is accurately known by a pecuniary
consultation between the heats. From another degree of undis-
coverable duplicity, their great emoluments arise. — For instance :
letting a horse of capital qualifications win or lose almost alter-
nately at different places, as may be most applicable to the betting
for the day ; dependent entirely on the state of public opinion, but
to be ultimately decided by the latent villany of the parties more
immediately concerned.

" These, like other matters of magnitude, are not to be rendered
infallible, without the necessary agents ; that, like the smaller
wheels of a curious piece of mechanism, contribute their portion of
power to give action to the whole. So true is the ancient adage,
'• birds of a feather flock together," that riders may be selected
who will prove inviolably faithful to the dictates of this party,
that could not or ivould not reconcile an honourable attachment to
the first nobleman in the kingdom. These are the infernal decep-
tions and acts of villany upon the turf, that have driven noblemen,
gentlemen, and sportsmen of honour, from what are called country
courses, to their asylum of Newmarket, where, by the exclusion of
the family from their clubs, and their horses from their subscription
sweepstakes and matches, they render themselves invulnerable to
the often envenomed shafts of the most premeditated (and in general
well-executed) villany.'

" I have often thought," continued the Farmer, " that in giving
the pedigree of horses, and expatiating on their perfections, great
nonsense is displayed, to say the least of it ; and I have here a
description of a horse, sent me this morning, which an Irish gen-
tleman offers for sale, which I will read you ; it is a fair burlesque :

' SPANKER,

The property of O' D , Esq.

Will be sold, or put up for sale,

at Sligo,

On Saturday, September the Sixteenth,

A strong, stanch, steady, sound, stout, safe, sinewey, service-
able, strapping, supple, swift, smart, sightly, sprightly, spirited,
sturdy, spunky, shining, surefooted, sleek, showy, smooth, well-
skinned, sized and shaped

SORREL STEED,

of superior symmetry, called Spanker,

with small star and snip, square-sided, slender-shouldered, sharp-
sighted, and steps supereminetly stately : — free from strain,
sprain, spavin, spasms, sinus, strangles, stringhalt, stranguary,
sufflation, seed-shedding, sciatica^ staggers, seeling, scouring,

DOINGS IN LONON. 283

sellander, sarcocele, star-gazing, surfeit, strumous-swelling,
seams, sorrances, scratches, shingles, splint, squint, squirt, scurf,
scabs, scars, sores, scattering, shuffling, shambling, scampering,
straddling, slouching, or skue stunted gait, or symptons of secre-
tion, or sickness of any sort. He is neither stiff-mouthed, shabby-
coated, sinew-shrunked, spur-galled, slight-carcassed, star-footed,
saddle-backed, shell-toothed, splay-footed, slim-gutted, short-
winded, sag-eared, suibated, skin-scabbed, star-coated, slack-
sleazy, or shoulder-shotten, or slipped, and is sound in the shanks,
sword-point, spine, and stifle-joint ; — has neither sleeping evil,
snaggle-teeth, sanious-ulcers, sick-spleen, sand-cracks, setfast,
schirrous, scissures, scrofulous, or subcutaneous sores, swelled
sheath, sarcoma, stegnosis in staling, or shattered hoofs. Nor is
he sour, sulky, surly, stubborn, or sullen in temper; — neither shy
or skittish, slow, sluggish, squabby, or stupid; — he never slips,
strips, strays, stalks, starts, stops, shakes, strides, snivels, snuffles,
slavers, shudders, scambles, snorts, spatters, scranches, swallows
his wind, stumbles or stocks in his stall or stable, and scarcely
or seldom sweats. Has a showy stylish switch tail or stern, and
a safe set of shoes on ; can subsist on soil, stubble, sainfoin, sheaf-
oats, spoon-wort, straw, sedge, sorrage, or scutch-grass ; carries
sixteen stone with surprising speed in his stroke, over a six-foot
sod or stone wall. His sire was the sly Sobersides, on a sister
of Spiddle-shanks (from the select stud of Squire Splashaway),
by Sampson, a sporting son of Sparklers ;by that serainific
superlative stallion. Stingo), who won the sweepstakes and sub-
scription plates last season at Strangford. His selling price, 76/.
16s. 6d. sterling.

" ' At same time will be Sold or Swapped, a snug, safe,substantial,
serviceable, second-hand Saddle, with secure stuffing, seat, skirts,
straps, stirrups, studs, and a strong Surcingle ; also a solid silver
Snaffle and sharp steel Spurs.'

" And pray," said Peregrine," are there not any tricks played
with cows, as well as horses?" " Unfortunately, there are too
many," replied the farmer. " Cows, you are well aware, tell
their age by the number of wrinkles on their horns. When the
dishonest vendor wants to keep their age a secret, he files off the
ridges or marks on the horns, in order to deceive the buyer ; in
the same manner as the horse-jockeys do with the horses' teeth.
Among the innumerable schemes of fraud, they have one, of what
they call stocking the cows, that is, not to milk the cow for two
days before she is offered to be sold, in order to cheat the buyer
as to the quantity of milk : they then wash the udder with red
ochre.

" I remember," continued the farmer, "reading an account of
a person being imposed on, by having an old cow foisted upon
him as a young one. The man 'applied to the Lord Mayor, when
he made the following statement: — 'About a fortnight ago, a
farmer residing at Eppin.g Forest, having rather an elderly cow

284 DOINGS IN LONDON.

which began to be very slack of milk, he determineii to get rid of
her, and to purchase another. He accordingly took her to Rom-
ford fair, and sold her to a cow-dealer for about 4/. 10s., but he
did not see any cow in the market promising enough in appear-
ance, and returned home without a cow, but satisfied at the price
he had got for the • old 'un.' The cow-dealer calculated upon
Smithfield market as a better emporium for disposing of his bar-
gain, and accordingly drove her there, in order to sell her to the
»o/onM-pudding nierchiuits ; but there was a glut in that descrip-
tion of dainty, in consequence of the late floods, which have
proved fatal to many poor beasts. The cow would not sell even
for the money which had been just given for her, and the owner
was about to dispose of her for less, when a doctor, who had
been regarding the beast for some time, offered, for a fee of 5s.,
to make her as young as she had been ten years before. The fee
was immediately paid, the doctor took his patient to a stable,
carded her all over — prescribed some strange diet for her — sawed
down her horns from the rough and irregular condition to which
years had swelled them, into the tapering and smoothness of
youtli, and delivered her to the owner, more like a calf, than the
venerable ancestor of calves. The cow-dealer was struck with
the extrordinary transformation, and it immediately occurred to
him (a proof that a cow-dealer can be dishonest as well as a
horse-dealer) to sell her for the highest price he could get
for Ler, without saying a word about her defects and inlirmities.
Having learnt that the Epping farmer was in want of a cow, he
thought he could not send his bargain to better quarters than those
she was accustomed to, and he forthwith despatched her to Rom-
ford market, where her old master was on the look-out for a beast.
She immediately caught his eye. He asked her age. The driver
did not know, but she was a • fine young 'un.' * I've seen a cow
very like her somewhere,' said the farmer. 'Ay,' said the driver,
' then you must have seen her a long way off, for I believe she is
an Alderney.' ' An Alderney ! what do you ask for her?' The
price was soon fixed. The driver got the sura of £15. 7s. for the
cow, and the farmer sent her home. The ingenuity exercised
might be guessed at from the fact, that the person who drove the
beast home had been at her tail for the last seven years, at least
twice a-day, and yet he did not make the discovery, although
she played some of her old tricks in the journey, and turned into
the old bed, with all the familiarity of an old acquaintance. At
length the discovery was to be made. The cow was milked, and
milked, but the most that could be got from her for breakfast was
a pint, and that was little better than sky-blue. The farmer, in
grief and astonishment, sent her to a cow-doctor, who had been
in the habit of advising in her case, and complained that she
gave no milk. 'Milk!' said he, 'how the devil should she,
poor old creature ? Sure it isn't by cutting her horns, and giving
her linseed oil-cakes, and scrubbing her olr^ limbs that you can

DOINGS IN LONDON. 285

expect to make her give milk.' The farmer was soon convinced
of the imposture, and would indeed forgive it, if the laugh against
him could be endured.

" Mr. Hobler regretted that the Lord Mayor could not interfere.
He believed that the farmer must be content with the benefit de-
rived from his experience, which, it was to be hoped, would make
him take a judge with him the next time he went to purchase a
cow. Some facts had reached him about the transformation of
old jaded horses into spirited steeds, but he had not heard before
of the eftect filing down a cow's horns had in restoring old age to
youth. He supposed this was what was meant by ' grinding
young.' "

" Smithtield," says Mentor, " seemingly, by toe papers, will
soon cease to be a place of notoriety, endeavours being used to
prevent it remaining any longer a market for cattle. Its history,
however, is full of interest.

" In former times, there was in it a great pond called Horse
Pool, for men watered their horses there, which pond was sup-
plied by the river Wells, or Turnmill Brook, near which was a
place called The Elms, for that there grew many elm trees; and
this was the place for punishing ofl"enders in the year 1219, and,
as it seems, long before. Here, in 1530, John Roofe, a cook, who,
for poisoning seventeen persons, was boiled to death : and, in 1541,
Margaret Davie, a young woman, suffered also here in the same
manner. At this period Smithfield must have been very large,
says Stow, for now remaineth but a small portion for the old uses ;
to wit, for markets of horses and cattle : military exercises, as
justings, tournaments, and great triumphs, have been there for-
merly performed before the princes and nobility, both of this realm
and foreign countries.

"In 1357, the 31st of Edward III., great and royal jousts were
then holden in Smithfield ; there being present the kings of Eng-
land, France, and Scotland.

In 1362, the 48th of Edward HI., Dame Alice Ferrers, or
Pierce, the king's concubine, who assumed the appellation of the
• Lady of the Sun,' rode from the Tower of London through Cheap-
side, accompanied with many lords and ladies ; every lady leading
a lord by his horse's bridle, till they came into West Smithfield,
and then began a great joust, which lasted seven days.

" In the 9th of Richard II. was the like great riding from the
Tower to Westminster, and every lord led a lady's horse's bridle ;
and on the morrow began the joustin Smithfield, which lasted three
days.

" In the 14th of Richard II. royal jousts and tournaments were
proclaimed to be done in Smithfield, for many days. At the day
appointed, sixty coursers came from the Tower, and upon every
one of them an esquire of honour ; then came forth sixty ladies of
honour, mounted upon palfries, riding on the one side, richly
appareled ; and every lady led a knight with a chain of gold.

286 DOINGS IN LONDON.

Those knights which were of the king's party, had their armour
and apparel garnished with white harts, and crowns of gold about
the harts' necks ; and so they came riding through the streets of
London to Smithtield, with a great number of trumpets. The king
and queen were placed in chambers, to see the jousts.

" In the year 1393, the 17th of Richard II., the Earl of Mar
challenged the Earl of Nottingham to joust with him ; and the
Earl of Mar was cast, and two of his ribs broken with the fall ; so
that he was conveyed out of Smithfield, and so towards Scotland,
but died on the way, at York.

" In 1409, a royal joust took place in Smithfield, between the
Earl of Somerset, and other knights, against the Seneschal of
Hanault and some Frenchmen.

" In the year 1430, a battle was fought here, before the king,
between two men of Faversham. In 1442, Sir Philip la Beautfe
and 'Squire Astley fought here, with sword, spear, axe and dag-
ger, but neither were killed ; also with Thomas Fitz Thomas,
and Butler, Earl of Ormond. In 1467, the bastard of Burgoigne
challenged Lord Scales, with spear, axe, and pole, which lasted
three days. This was the last tournament in Smithfield.

" Stowe relates that, in the year 1446, John David ap-
peached his master, William Cator, of treason ; and, a day being
appointed them to fight in Smithfiehi, the master being well be-
loved, was so cherished by his friends, and plied with wine, that
being therewith overcome, was unluckily slain by his servant.
But that servant lived not long unpunished, being afterwards
hanged at Tyburn for felony.

" Grafton says the master was an armourer, and the incident
has been introduced by Shakspeare into his play of Henry VI.
The dramatist has, however, altered the names to Horner and
Peter. The original document in the Exchequer, acquaints us,
that the real names of the combatants were John Daveys atid
William Catour ; and the following is the last article of the record
of expenses : —

" Also paid to officers to watchying of ye ded man
in Sraythfelde ye same day and ye nyghte after yt ye
batail was doon, and for hors hyre for the officeres
at ye execution doying, and for ye hangman's la-
bour xjs. vjd.

" Also paid for ye cloth yat lay upon ye ded man
in Sraythfelde, viijrf.

" Also paid for 1 pole and nayilis, and for setting up
of ye said mannys lied on London brigge, vd.

" In Smithfield, Wat Tyler, in 1381, met his death by the hands
of the mayor, William Walworth — or some one else.

" This place was also held for Autos de Fe. Here our martyr,
Latimer, preached patience to Friar Forest, agonized under the
torture of a slow fire, for denying the king's supremacy. Here

Sum,
xijs. vijt^.

DOINGS IN LONDON. 287

Cranmer forced the reluctant hand of Edward to the warrant to
send Joan Bocher, a silly woman, to the stake. The last poor
creature who suffered at the stake, in England, and burnt here,
was Barth Leggatt, in 1611.

" Sraithfield thus became, from being a place of honourable ex-
ercises and entertainments, the scene of the most appalling spec-
tacles; and afterwards it was resorted to for settling- private
quarrels for all loose sorts of men, at a place then called Ruffian's
Hall.

" In 1614 it was paved, and became a market-place for cattle,
hay, straw, and provisions ; for which purposes it is used till this
day ; but how much longerit will continue, a few months will show :
some of the citizens, having too much gentility about them, peti-
tioned to have the market removed ; and, in consequence, acommittee
of the members of the House of Commons was appointed to inquire
into the subject, on the motion of Mr. Gordon.

" It is said that there never was such a mass of conflicting and
opposite evidence offered to any committee of the House of Com-
mons, as that received by the committee on the Sraithfield Market
question. Clergymen have been called to prove that the Sabbath
day is violated; medical men in proof of cruelty ; butchers, sales-
men, drovers, and a long list of others, on general points. One
party distinctly states that every thing would be gained by chang-
ing the market-day ; another as confidently asserts that that would
make no alteration for the better, and cannot be done before
changing the provincial market-days throughout England, and
arranging with all the retail butchers and families in London. One
witness states, that for about thirty years he has attended Smith-
field Market, and has only heard of a few isolated cases of cruelty
during all that time ; whilst another says that cruelty the most re-
volting may be witnessed there on the eve of every market-day.
One talks of the conveniency of having the market in the suburbs ;
another says that such a change would merely affect the families
in the vicinity of Sraithfield, and those who may reside in the
neighbourhood of the new one. Whilst there are doubts, however,
as to the expediency of wholly removing the market, there are
none as regards the size of the market-place : all agree in saying
that it is too small,"

*• The market-days are Mondays and Fridays ; on these two
days, are weekly brought upwards of three thousand oxen, or
beasts ; thirty thousand sheep and lambs ; with a proportionate
number of pigs and calves, all alive.

'* This market has actually been disgraced by fellows taking
their wives there with halters about ther necks, and selling them :
but, thanks to the civil authorities, such practices are discontinued.

" Whoever has not seen Sraithfield on a market morning, can
scarcely form any idea of the scene; but, to be viewed to advan-
tage, it should be visited at the witching hd * r. Methinks, if the
neighbouring graves did give up their dead, frightened sprites

e G'

288 DOINGS IN LONDON.

would fain retreat to their former habitations. Here are half a
thousand beasts bellowing in concert to the bleating of ten thou-
sand sheep, mingling with the shouts and oaths of hundreds of
drovers, enlivened by the barking of dogs, the blaze of innumer-
able torches, the sound of blows, the trampling of hoofs : although
forming a scene unparalleled, yet amidst all this din. the worthy
inhabitants repose undisturbed.

*• Here, also, is a fair once a year, commencing on Saint Bar-
tholomew's day, and continuing three successive days ; but it is
dwindling away to insignificance, and in a few years, doubtless,
it will be extinct."

" Ward, in his London Spy, thus makes mention of it in his
time: 'At the entrance,' he says, 'our ears were saluted with
the rumbling of drums, mixed with the intolerable squeaking of
cat-calls, and the discordant noise of penny rattles. The impa-
tient desires of the innumerable throng to witness Merry Andrew's
grimaces, led us ancle deep into filth and nastiness, and crowded
us as close as a barrel of figs, or candles in a tallow-chandler's bas-
k-et, sweating and melting with the heat of our own bodies. We
next went,' continues Ward, ' into a cook-shop, where a swinging
fat fellow, who was overseer of the roasted meat, was standing by
the spit in his shirt, rubbing of his ears, breast, neck, and arm-pits,
with the same wet cloth which he applied to his roasting pigs,
which brought, such a qualm over our stomachs, that we scouted
out of the parlour, and deferred eating till a more cleanly oppor-
tunity'.'

" The facetious George Alexander Steevens thus gives us the
following Just description of it, about 1762 : —

" Here was, first of all, crowds against other crowds driving,
Like wind and tide meeting, each contrary striving;
Shrill fiddling, sharp fighting, and shouting and shrieking,
Fifes, trumpets, drums, bagpipes, and barrow girls squeaking,
Come, my rare round and sound, here's choice of fine ware,
Though all was not sold at Bartelmew Fair.
There was dolls, hornpipe-dancing, and showing of postures,
AVith frying black-puddings, and opening of oysters :
■W^ith salt-boxes, solos, and gallery-folks squalling,
The tap-house guests roaring, and mouth-pieces bawling,
Pimps, pawnbrokers, strollers, fat landladies, sailors,
Bawds, bullies, jilts, jockeys, tumblers, and tailors :
Here's Punch's whole play of the Gunpowder-Plot,
Wild beasts all alive, and pease-pudding all hot,
Fine sausages fried, and the Black on the wire.
The whole court of France, and nice pig at the f^'e ;
Here's the up-and-downs, who'll take a seat in the chairs ?
Though there's more up-and-downs than at Bartelmew Fair,
Here's Wittington's cat, and the tall dromedary,
The chaise without horses, and Queen of Hungary ;
Here's the merry-go-rounds, * Come, who rides ? Come, who rides,' Bir ,
Wine, ale, beer, and cakes, fire-eating, besides, sir
The fam'd learned dn .,y^^ can tell his letters ;
And some men as scP^" Acare not much his betters."
'e.

DOINGS IN LONDON.

289

*' Such," continued Mentor, " is a desciiplion of Bartholomew
Fair, in 1762. How ditferent from the present time ! the shows
and booths now not occupying a quarter of the space they used
to do, even ten years ago !"

" Come, gentlemen," said the farmer, "as I do not like to
encourage late hours, 1 think it would be well for us all * to go to
our night-caps,' as Mons. Tonson says." To this proposition
Mentor and Peregrine immediately assented ; and, wishing the
worthy farmer a good night's rest, took their departure, highly de-
lighted with the evening's entertainment at the King's Head Inn.*

On the morrow, Peregrine accompanied Mentor to the college
of Banco Regis, or AbboVs Priory, as it is classically termed, on a
visit to an unfortunate gentleman, who was ruined by being con-
cerned in the late Joint- Stock Companies. They were not long
within its melancholy walls, before they beheld, with sorrow, sur-
prise, and pity,

CCfte ZPoings m t^e ?Bin9'B=l3cncft ^Prison.
Peregrine gazed with wonder on the motley scene before him : —
Black-legs, Gamblers, Dandies, Fortune-hunters, fraudulent Bank-
rupts, Lawyers, Pigeons, Greeks, Quacks, Chimney-sweeps,
Pimps, Bawds, Prostitutes, Bullies and Panders, Clergymen,
Soldiers, Sailors, Thieves, Sprigs of Nobility, upstart Gentry ; and
last — and least — the Honest Unfortunate ; — the whole forming such
an heterogeneous group, such a sad, merry, cAreless, dissolute,
confused mass of society, and yet such an animated and true picture

37.

la page 276 it is, by mistake, called the George luu,
U

2f)0 DOINGS IN LONDON.

of real life, that it bewildered Peregrine while he beheld it. In
the midst of his reverie, he was led by his friend Mentor to
a room where he witnessed a different scene of distress and
dissipation. Mentor's poor friend was stretched out on a pallet
with little or no covering over him, sleeping, or trying to sleep, to
starve out hunger, or to shut out the scene before him. "There,"
said Mentor to Peregrine, pointing to his friend, '< there lies the
once lord of thousands !" Mentor went up to him, to awake him.
" Pray do not, sir," said a kind-spoken woman ; " he seems fast
asleep : pray don't disturb him. You little know what a luxury
sleep is to the wretched. Perhaps he is dreaming of his former
home, of his happy state — when the sun of prosperity shone on
him. Hark ! he is talking — he mutters, ' Mary, Mary ! heaven's
blessings be on thee !'" " Ah !" replied Mentor, •' Mary was his
wife : she broke her heart on witnessing him so suddenly hurled
to destruction, by taking the accursed persuasive advice of a
villanous stock-jobber." " Indeed, sir," said the woman, " he
often sighs out Mary ! But he must starve, sir," continued the
woman : " he has no money ; and without that, sir, this is a
wretched place indeed !" " But he shall not starve !" exclaimed
Mentor, as the tears trickled down his cheeks. " Never !" sobbed
out ybung Peregrine. " Yes, gentlemen," continued the woman ;
" he will though, for he has not tasted a mouthful of meat for these
three days ; and has had nothingbutalittletea !" " Good heavens,"
ejaculated Mentor; •' but hush — he wakes !" "Ah! Mentor, is
it you ?" he said, looking wildly on him. " I did not wish to see
you, my friend, or any one else I formerly knew. I have been
dreaming," continued he, taking hold of Mentor's hand — " I have
been dreaming of Mary and the two little ones ; and — " but grief
denied him utterance — he looked on Mentor — then on himself —
then around his room — when a flood of tears came to his relief.
At length, after much persuasion, he walked out on the Parade
with Mentor and Peregrine, and consented to take some refresh-
ment, and afterwards a dinner ; when it was arranged, and con-
sented to by him, that some of his old friends should be made ac-
quainted with his present distress, and that the necessary steps
should be taken for him to be liberated. In the course of conver-
sation, he gave a description of his chums, or fellow-lodgers.
** That old cobbler," said he, "you saw at work, ruined himself
by meddling with politics : he was once in a good way of business ;
he neglected it by running after every brawler for public liberty ;
and he became bankrupt : but he bears his misfortunes with forti-
tude. That good kind-hearted woman to whom you spoke, is the
wife of a fellow-prisoner. I hardly know how to mention her in
sufl5cient terms of admiration and gratitude. She has attended
me with all the care of a wife. Ah ! it is indeed true, as Lord
Byron says,

* Woman !

When care and anguish wring the brow,

A ministering angel thou !'

DOINGS IN LONDON. *2SJi

That person who sat at the table, with a cap on, chinking, is a most
singular creature : his history seems more like romance, than inci-
dents of real life. He is a foreigner : his real name is S , and,

while abroad, he acquired, by the depredations which he com-
mitted in the night, the respectable and even pompous appearance
which he made during the day. He was handsome in person, and
accomplished in mind; and, having received an excellent educa-
tion, and gone through a regular course of studies, the pleasure
which this afforded, combined with his respectable appearance,

caused him to be received in the best houses of T . Amongst

others, he was introduced to M. B , mayor of T , who,

pleased with his prepossessing appearance and gentlemanly address,
invited him to his house, where he soon became a favourite with
the whole family. Among its members was Adeline, the eldest
daughter of the mayor, nineteen years of age, and whose personal
charms and high accomplishments soon attracted the attention of
S . It may easily be supposed that a man like S , pos-
sessing a handsome person, a well-informed mind, elegant and
prepossessing manners, and, in addition to all these, the appearance
of great wealth, which he spent in a manner which gave an equally-
high opinion of his liberality and generosity — it may easily be sup-
posed that such a man easily won the affections of a young and
artless girl. The attachment soon became known to the family,

and S , who thought that by marrying the wealthy and beautiful

Adeline, to whom he was really attached, he would secure at once
his happiness and a respectable rank in life, actually carried his
audacity so far as to make a formal proposition of marriage to the

mayor of T .

"It is a fact well known to the inhabitants of T , that the

mayor, deluded by the appearance of S , by his pretended

rank, his supposed wealth, by the amiability of his disposition, the
elegance of his manners, and, above all, by the resistless powers
which men of talent ever did and ever will have over inferior

minds, not only listened to the proposals of S , but readily

gave his assent to the proposed union between him and his daughter.
The intelligence was, of course, made known to the mother of
Adeline, who sanctioned the consent given by her husband ; and
preparations were at once begun for the approaching ceremony.
T\\p delighted Adeline soon imparted the joyful news to her young
friends, and the report having spread throughout the town, this
intended marriage soon became the subject of general conversation.
In the meantime, the epoch of the annual /efe, celebrated at P — ,

was approaching, and the Prefect invited the Mayor of T and

all his family to spend a few days with him during the approaching

festival. The invitation, of course, included S . The Mayor

of T thought it advisable, on account of the state of his health,

and the approaching marriage of his daughter, to decline the in-
vitation for himself and his family, but he requested S to go

and thank the Prefect, in their name and his own, for the honour
U2

292 DOINGS IN LONDON.

thus conferred upon him. S eagerly availed himself of this

proposition. Arrived atP — , S was received in the kindest

and handsomest manner possible by the Prefect, into whose good
favour he soon ingratiated himself so much, that he begged and in-
sisted that he should remain with him a week or two. To this

S , at length, consented ; and, during his stay at P — , he was

introduced to the principal inhabitants of the town, who vied in
giving marks of attention and politeness to the amiable, and, as
they thought, distinguished foreigner. One day that the Prefect
had invited a party to dinner, purposely to introduce his new friend
to them, he was, about the middle of the repast, requested to at-
tend in his study a person who had just arrived with a message on
business of importance, which required immediate attention.
Having apologized to his friends, the Prefect left the dining-room,
and, on entering his study, found an officer ; who informed him

that an order had been received at T , the preceding evening,

from the head of the police, immediately to arrest S , to put

him in prison, and, with all possible speed, to proceed to his trial
for the numerous depredations he had committed, and which, it
seemed, had not escaped the all-searching eye of the police. The
Prefect, as may be supposed, was struck with astonishment, but,
as the officer showed him a written order, he saw no means of
avoiding this most unpleasant eclat, and, stepping into the dining-
room, he called out !iis new guest, who was immediately made
prisoner by the officer, who informed him of the nature of the or-
der he had to put in execution. S was at first confused, but

soon recovered his sang-froid, which has so frequently carried him
through the most unpleasant circumstances : he assured the officer
and the Prefect that this must be the result of some mistake, and re-
quested the latter to apologize to his guests for his absence. Having
said this, betook leave of the Prefect with perfect composure, and

with apparrent nonchalance followed the officer and his men to T ;

on reaching which he was immediately put into strict confinement,
and informed that preparations were being made for his trial, which
would take place in a few days. You may easily suppose what
were the consternation of the mayor, and the distress of his unhappy
daughter, on being made acquainted with these unexpected events;

but such was, however, the degree of confidence with which S

nad inspired them, and their infatuation with regard to this man,
that they looked forward rather with hope than with fear to his
approaching trial. The anxiously expected day at length arrived,

and S appeared in the court, before the assembled multitude,

unmoved and unabashed. As soon as he made his appearance,
every eye was fixed upon him. His handsome appearance, his
elegant and gentlemanly deportment, and the honourable reputation
which he had hitherto borne, inspired the audienoe with the liveliest
interest and commiseration in his favour. When the proceedings
commenced, the attention seemed to be rivetted to the words of
the principal witness, and consternation, as well as astonishment,

DOINGS IN LONDON. 293

was visible in every countenance, wlien it was evident from the
report read to the court by this officer, and from the evidence o\

numerous and respectable witnesses, that S was only enablea

to keep up the splendid appearance he carried on during the day,
by the depredations he committed during the night; and that this
much esteemed and beloved man, the friend of the Prefect ofP — •

and the intended son-in-law of the mayor of T , was no more

than a desperate gambler, and a common and audacious swindler.
When the proceedings were terminated, and nothing remained
but the defence of the accused, he rose, and in a dignified manner,
and with a composed accent, he addressed the court. ' Even if it
were possible,' he said, ' I would not now atttempt to deny the
accusations brought against me. Weak minds may dissapprove
my conduct, but those who think and reflect, instead of blaming,
will approve of it; and, so far from being ashamed, I am proud of
what 1 have done. Born of a good family, and having received
an excellent education, these advantages would have become use-
less, if, when misfortune fell upon me, I had sunk under the
weight of adversity. I saw but one way of remedying the evil,
and 1 took it; who will blame me for doing so? The means, I
maybe told, are wrong — I deny it. I never injured the poor, the
oppressed, the needy, the unfcrtunate. 1 appeal to the inhabitants
of this city now here assembled to say whether I have not always
been willing — nay, anxious, to lend a helping hand to those who
waiited help, and whether my purse was not always open to the
necessitous. What has, then, been my crime ? I have taken
from the rich to give to the poor ! The proud, the avaricious,
have been deprived of their useless wealth; and that wealtli has
become, in my hands, the instrument of relief to the humble and
the unfortunate. Such, gentlemen, has been my crime. I once
obtained the approbation of this town, because a young man, in an
humble rank of life, compelled by necessity, having made an at-
tempt to rob me, and bemg discovered, was not prosecuted, but
relieved by me — an action which, however humble in itself, has
been a source of great pleasure to me, since the young man, thus
saved from ruin, is now comfortably settled in life, and has since
become, by his prudent and upright conduct, an ornament to so-
ciety— that society, whose vindictive laws I might have called
upon his head, as they are now called upon mine. I could say
and advance more in defence of my conduct, but I read in the
countenances of my judges, that to say more were useless ; and
feel certain, also, that a favourable decision will be given in my be-
half, and will meet with the approbation of the assembled multitude,
whose looks now assure me of the interest they feel, and the
wishes they form for my liberation.' Having thus spoken, he sat
down ; and, when the judge rose to deliver his charge to the jury,
he was evidently affected by the strange and unexpected address
which he had just heard. The jury soon after withdrew, but,
having had time to recover from tlie effect which S 's address

294 DOINGS IN LONDON.

liail also produced upon Uiem, they soon returned a verdict of
gvilty against the prisoner, who was condemned by the court to
be confined for fifteen years, to be exposed for one hour in the pil-
lory on the public place of T , and to be branded on the

shoulder, by the public executioner, as an impostor. This sentence,
which, although it appeared harsh at first, was afterwards consi-
dered as perfectly just, was put in execution a few days after,

and, at the first opportunity, S was conveyed to with

the condemned criminals. His deportmeiit during- all these trying
events was such as it had always been, easy and dignified; and
he had ratlter the appearance of a man patiently suffering the in-
justice of others, than of one undergoing the punishment of his
crimes. He was put on board one of the galleys, where he soon
• listinguished himself by the propriety of his conduct. Assiduous
in performing the tasks assigned him, kind to his companions, re-
spectful to his superiors, he soon gained the esteem and affection
of every one. Among others, the governor, appointed to superin-
tt'i'd the galleys, took particular notice of S . His good con-
duct and regular de|)ortment led him to suppose that his punishment
might be the result of some act committed in the rashness of youth;
and, having conversed several times with him, and found him a
man of excellent education, and possessing very extensive informa-
tion, he conceived the project of asking him to give his younger
children the first principles of instruction, especially as it was

extremely difficult to find a preceptor in such a place as K .

S readily accepted the offer, as it was likely to render his

confinement much less irksome and disagreeable than it otherwise
would have been. He was therefore admitted at certain hours?,
during the day, to the governor's house, and soon renilered him-
self as great a favourite there as he had formerly been atT .

Such a circumstance offered a chance of escape from confinement,

but S was too wise to make an attempt, which, if frustrated,

would not only deprive him of the hope of liberty, but render his
situation more horrible than it had ever been. He met, in the
house, and at the table of the governor, the priest who was ap-
pointed to act as chaplain to the prisoners, and who, therefore, hud
a lodging within the citadel; which, however, he was at liberty to
leave when business or pleasure called him to the town. This
man, possessing great information and superior literary talents,
had been for a considerable time engaged in a work of some mag-
nitude. Finding in S a person who he thought could assist

him, he obtained of the governor permission to take him to his
rooms, where he sometimes remained late in the evening, copying
some of the chaplain's manuscripts, or otherwise assisting him in
his literary undertaking. One afternoon, while they were thus en-
gaged, a message was sent to the chaplain that one of the pri-
soners, having met with an accident, and being at the point of
death, requested his immediate attendance. He gave S seve-
ral books to examine, which would take him some hours, and left

DOINGS IN LONDON. 29i>

him, to attend to the dying man. After lie had been gone some

time, and as evening approached, a thought flashed across S 's

mind, that this was a favourable opportunity to regain his Hberty.
He examined the room in which he was, and found in one of the
drawers a clerical dress belonging to the chaplain, and which he had
not put on, as it was not his intention to go to town that evening.

^ put on this dress, placed his own in the drawer, of which

he took the key, and, putting on the gown and clerical hat of the
chaplain, walked demurely, with a book in his hand, toward the
gate leading to the city. He knocked; the porter asked, as

usual, who was there, when, fortunately for S , a soldier who

had reached the gate at the same time, and was deceived by the
dress, answered—' Don't you see it is the chaplain?' The man
opened the gate, bowed to the reverend personage, who returned
the salutation, and hastened to pass through the town. The chap-
lain on his return home, having been detained some hours, found
the room in perfect order ; and, as the books were carefully put

away, he concluded that S , having finished his task, and tired

of waiting for him, had gone to the governor's house; while the

governor, on going his rounds, and not seeing S at his post,

recollected that the chaplain told him in the evening that he was
in his room, where he would be employed in writing till late in the
evening. This combination of circumstances left the fugitive the
whole night at his command, and he used it so well, that in the
morning, when his flight was discovered, every search was made
in vain.

" He arrived in England some few months since, got in debt,
and that brought him here. He has a feeling heart, and, 1
assure you, I lay under many obligations to him for his kind
assistance.

•'Begging your pardon, sir," said Peregrine, "how are the
prisoners used?" "I will tell you, my young friend," replied
the gentleman. "The morning after committal to the King's
Bench Prison, the prisoner is roused early from whatever couch he
may have got for the night, by the sonorous voice of the turnkeys,
calling, ' Pull up, pull up,' and is obliged to enter the lobby
through two lines of curious, and often impudent and unfeeling
iaces, to have, what is technically denominated, 'his likeness
taken,' i.e. to be again personally and particularly scanned by the
whole of the turnkeys, and then is ' quizzed' by the fellows who
are in waiting to observe his return. Female prisoners fand there
are several) are compelled, however delicate or respectable, to go
through the same disgusting ordeal, and be the subjects of the
same coarse bufloonery.

" There are, or rather were, a number in the King's Bench,
who take an especial pleasure in tormenting those .whose sim-
phcity or undisguised melancholy point them out as fit objects for
the cruel sport. These poor beings are made to believe all sorts

296 DOINGS IN LONDON.

of horrible stories connected with the prison. The ' strong rooni/
which is dreadful enough in itself, is exaggerated beyond descrip-
tion ; and sometimes simple countrymen are persuaded that the
officers are about to carry them to those places of punishment. A
poor man, a few months ago, was goaded to distraction in this
way ; and, on his tormentors assuring him that the turnkeys were
coming for him, he threw himself from a top window to the pave-
ment below, and was nearly dashed to pieces ; yet those who had
so worked upon his feelings, were seen immediately afterwards
playing at rackets, laughing and rioting, as though nothing had
happened.

"About the second day of a prisoner's committal to the Bench,
he receives a chum ticket, and may enter the apartment on which
he is chummed, or receive five shillings per week from the occu-
pant. If he resolves upon going into the room, he hires a bed and
other furniture, which will cost him four or five shillings per week.
The accommodation he will have may be imagined from the fol-
lowing statement : — There are about 240 rooms in the Bench ;
of these about eighty are occupied by the prisoners who ' pay out'
all chums, and keep their room to themselves. There have been
as many as 900 prisoners at once in the prison, but the average
in term time may be taken at about 650. From the 240 rooms,
deducting eighty, and from the 650 prisoners, deducting eighty,
there will remain 570 of the latter to occupy 160 of the forn)er — •
t. e. about three and a half persons to one room of twelve feet
long and ten broad. In the hot summer months, the consequences
of this crowding may be better conceived than described.

" In addition to the eighty prisoners who keep their own rooms,
and can afford to ' pay out' two or three churns, other encroach-
ments are made upon the little accommodation left for the mass of
the prisoners. The turnkeys, instead of being paid by the marsha^,
or otherwise, have rooms given them in the prison, which they are
not called upon to inhabit, and which they do not in fact inhabit,
but are allowed to let out, and receive thereby a handsome sum
weekly.

" The emoluments of the officers constitute an exaction upoa
the prisoners — upon persons who cannot pay their own debts — who
cannot engage in any employment — who, if honest, must be des-
titute of suflScieiitio procure their own subsistence ; yet they, and
they alone, are made to defray the charges of this vast esta-
blishmeilt.

"Thus, the income of the King's Bench arises from : —

"1st. The fees on committal and discharge, amounting toge-
ther to upwards of one pound, which, unless paid, tlie prisoner is
detained, though all his debts are settled.

" 2d. The rent of the rooms, which is one shilling per week
each on 240 rooms. If not paid, the wretched inmate is threat-
ened to be ejected, to find a lodging where he can.

DINGS IN LONDON. 207

** 3d. Fees on granting the rules, \vliich are, 1 believe, accord-
ing to the amount of the debts ; £8 for the first hundred, and £4
for every succeeding hundred ; and the fees on term bonds.

" 4th. A guinea and half, I believe, upon every butt of porter,
stout, and ale, admitted into the prison, which amounts to a very
large sum.

" In addition to these is the rent, or gratuity paid by the per-
sons who keep the coffee-room, who are not prisoners, but who are
nevertheless allowed a room opposite, which they sublet; the rent
of the public kitchen — 1 believe £50 per annum.

" By a mistaken law, spirituous liquors are not allowed to enter
civil as well as criminal prisons ; though why a person who is
merely unfortunate, and not guilty of any otfence, should be sub-
jected to this privation I know not:— the malaria occasioned by
the high walls ; the damps and the underground cells and stone
floors of the Fleet; and the habits and necessities of hundreds
who are annually taken to the Bench, may render an occasional
glass absolutely requisite, yet such indulgence is by law prohi-
bited, though not in practice. In both prisons there is not a single
prisoner who does not know where io apply for spirits when he
wants any.

" In the King's Bench prison, where the law is more rigidly
enforced than in the Fleet, the risk is much greater, and the
punishment more certain. The consequences of the prohibition
are to make the spirits twice as dear, and a hundred times more de-
leterious, than they can be got outside. Both in the Bench and the
Fleet, spirits of wine, vitriol, &c. have been frequently found in
rooms in which a search has been made; while the purposes to
which these maddening incentives were intended to be applied
could not be mistaken. No wonder, therefore, that so many in-
stances of desperation, recklessness, and premature death occur,
the results of the foolish attempt to prevent people getting that
which they are determined to have, and which they might have
good, wholesome, and cheap, but for this eiuictment.

" Whilst some persons do get in their spirits most unaccount-
ably, and in large quaniities too, others are most severely punished
if they attempt to introduce the smallest portion, and for the most
necessary purposes. Some months ago, a poor prisoner, being
afflicted with a strangury, desired a little girl to procure for him
on the outside a quariern of gin ; the girl did so; she and the gin
were seized at the gate — the purpose for which it was procured
was mentioned — no matter — the gin was not suffered to reach its
destination : the child was sent for a month to the House of Cor-
rection, and the miserable prisoner died. Whether a jury of pri-
soners, as is customary, sate upon the cause of his death, I know
not, but, even were that the case, I can easily believe that ievr
prisoners, unless very bold men, not having the fear of the strong
loom before their eyes, would venture to return a ^etdict that

3.8.

•298 DOINGS IN LONDON.

might lead to unpleasant consequences. The consequences of al-
lowing the turnkeys to search whoever they please on entering
the prison, to discover concealed spirits, are sometimes both gross
and disgusting. Women are sometimes subjected to this revolting
ordeal.* Elegantly dressed females may, perhaps, escape ; but it
is a fine treat to a set in the lobbies to thrust their hands about a
poor and pretty girl's person, and gloat over her blushes and feel-
ings of shame. There are one or two turnkeys who are incapable
of such conduct.

" I would hint to Mr. Hume, Mr. Buxton, and other benevo-
lent legislators, that there would be no harm in moving for a return
of the number of persons who have died, during the last five years,
in the King's Bench and the Tleet, or shortly after they have been
removed from either of them, and the average number of persons
confined during that time in these prisons.

" The self-degradation engendered by long imprisonment, is hor-
ribly exemplified in many persons w ho have been lately, or are now,
in tlie King's Bench and Fleet prisons. As to the former, the
case of poor Meredith has been mentioned in the Herald ;
but there is another individual in the Bench, who is son or nephew
to a most distinguished literary person of the last century, and who
has been himself a gentleman, a scholar, and a polished citizen.
What is he now? Besotted by habitual intoxication, he is a
moving mass of filth— a locomotive nuisance— the scoff of the
lowest and tiie vilest— not to be approached, even when sober,
but by carefully keeping to the windward ; yet, in this horrible
condition, does a scholar and a gentleman of former times verge
towards the grave, a filthy, besotted old man.

" I could multiply instances of this nature, but one is sufficient to
show the influence of imprisonment for debt, in producing self-
degradation. Let us next see its consequences upon the morals of
many who are its victims.

" What I may consider as the climax of imprisonment for debt,
as exemplified in the prison, is the utter depravation of morals to
which it leads. Imprisonment, as I have before said, produces
idleness and want; idleness, again, engenders gaming; and want,
theft. There is a set of abandoned wretches in this prison (of whom
poor Meredith was one of the victims) whose principal object is to
discover what new comer possesses money — to induce him to play
— to cheat him ; and, if that cannot be speedily or sufficiently
done, to pick a quarrel, throw down the lights, and rob him of
every farthing he has, before he leaves the room. If he afterwards
complain, they laugh at him, and tell him there is no redress to be
had in the prison.

" A new comer is surprised, especially in term time, by the
frequency with which the common crier is called upon to advertise,
different articles as lost, and offer a reward to the finder. It
would appear at first sight, that people within a prison, who had
little to lose, were infinitely more careless than people without; but

DOINGS IN LONDON. 2i)B

a little reflection, and the invariable addition to the reward, soon
p-uts another light upon the matter. The notice the crier vociferates
is as follows: — 'Lost, from No. in , last night, (a

great coat) : whoever has found it, and will bring it to the crier,
shall receive ten shillings' reward, and not ONE question asked.''

" The strong room is liberally enough awarded to individuals,
however respectable, who attempt to recreate their idle and unhappy-
hours by a little harmless mimicry of a popular election — but to
the midnight gamester, cheat, and robber, it has no terrors.

*' While we have such specimens of roguery within the walls, to
one another, it can scarcely be expected that there are more honest
feelings to their creditors outside. In fact, while imprisonment
lessens the abdity of the debtor to pay, it is sure, in a still greater
degree, to lessen his inclination. There are two clubs, called, I
think, ' Harmonic Societies,' held during different nights in the
week, at the ' Coffeehouse' and ' Brace,' the places for the sale of
beer in the Bench, at which many prisoners, having nothing to do,
will assemble to while away their time, in listening to the songs
and drinking the toasts. What sort of lessons in honesty and
morality they may learn at these places, may be gathered from a
song that is frequently, if not constantly sung, detailing the mode
of taking the benefit of the Insolvent Act, by prisoners pawning
their goods, committing perjury, and cheating their creditors; and
by drinking a standing toast, to the following effect : —

*' ' May our opposing creditors be taken ill on Monday, get
worse on Tuesday, send for a doctor on Wednesday, take to their
beds on Thursday, be given up on Friday, die on Saturday, and
go to h — , &c., on Sunday !'

" Neither a prisoner's wife nor his children are allowed to sleep
m the Bench, however long he may be confined there — they may
be scattered by the winds of heaven, widowed and fatherless,
without food or shelter ; but a gentleman, who can afford it, may
easily get ladies inside. Many of the females who wei'e resident
in the prison, belonged to the class of those who humble them-
selves beneath the honour of their sex. Nothing is more easy than
to get them in — the paramour causes his mistress to be arrested
and removed by a Habeas to the Bench, which being done, the
cohabitation is easily effected.

" Call a prison a ' College,' indeed ! — If it be a college, it cer-
tainly is one in which the Prince of Darkness is principal profes-
sor— and the various vices the sciences that are taught. A student
here may take a degree in artifices, if not in arts — and learn, if not
to extract the cube root, to extract the ' root of all evil.' In point
of dissipation and debauchery, indeed, among the majority of those
who, by hook or crook, can ' raise the wind,' the College of Banco
Regis is nearly as bad as its brethren on the banks of the Cam and
the Isis. To use the metaphor of an Irish orator, many a simple
countryman who goes into it, • pure as the mountain snow, may

300 DOINGS IN LONDON.

come out hardened, in dishonesty and debauchery, as the mountaiu
adamant.'*

" It was well observed by Dr. Johnson, in the Idler," continued
the gentleman, " that ' the misery of goals is not half their evil ;
they are filled with every corruption which poverty and wickedness
can generate between them ; with all the shameless and profligate
enormities that can be produced by the impudence of ignominy,
the rage of want, and the malignity of despair. In a prison, the
awe of the public eye is lost, and the power of the law is spent :
there are few fears; there are no blushes. The lewd inflame the
lewd ; the audacious harden the audacious. Every one fortifies
himself as he can against his own sensibility; and endeavours to
practise on others the arts which are practised on himself; and
gains the kindness of his associates by similitude of manners.

♦' ' Thus, some sink amidst their misery, and others survive only
to propagate villany. It may be hoped that our law-givers will
at length take away from us this power of starving and depraving
one another: but, if there be any reason why this inveterate evil
should not be removed in one age, which true policy has enlightened
beyond former time, let those whose writings form the opinions
and the practices of their contemporaries, endeavour to transfer the
reproach of such imprisonment from the debtor to the creditor, till
universal infamy shall pursue the wretch whose wantonness of
power, or revenge of disappointment, condemns another to torture
and to ruin, till he shall be hunted through the world as an enemy
to man, and find in riches no shelter from contempt.

'* ' Surely, he whose debtor has perished in prison, though he
may acquit himself of deliberate murder, must at least have his
mind clouded with discontent, when he considers how much another
has suflTered by him ; when he thinks on the wife bewailing her
husband, or the children begging the bread which their father
would have earned. If there are any made so obdurate by avarice
or cruelty, as to revolve their consequences without dread or pity,
I must leave them to be awakened by some other power, for I
write only to human beings.' Such are the just opinions of the
learned, moral, and philanthropic Dr. Johnson ; who urged,
on all occasions, a revisal of the Law of Arrest. He, from the
number of his acquaintances, made himself master of all the vices
committed in our prisons, and of the folly, to say the least of it,
of confining persons for debt. I have been told," continued the
gentleman, that tie wrote another essay, besides the one which ap-
peared in the Idler, as also a descriptive poem on this subject;
but I never saw either. Apropos, a gentleman lent me yesterday,
an Elegy, written in the King's Bench Prison, giving a true picture
of this place. It was written by one of our most favourite drama-
tists, and appeared in a little work, called ' Prison Thoughts, by

* See Morning Herald, June, 1828.

DOINGS IN LONDON.

a Collegian.' It is a parody on Gray's celebrated Eleev
Country Church- Yard :— ^^

The turnkey rings the bell for shutting out,

The visitor walks slowly to the gate ;
The debtor chura-ward hastes in idle rout,

And leaves the Bench to darkness, me, and fate.

Now fade the high-spiked wall upon the sight,

And all the space a silent air assumes !
Save where some drunkard from the Brace* takes light,

And drowsy converse lulls the distant rooms.

Save that from yonder Strong Room, t close confined
Some noisy wight does to the night complain

Of Mister Jones, the marshal, who, unkind,
Has, by a week's confinement, check'd his reign.

Within those strong-built walls, down that Parade,
Where lie the stones all paved in order fair,

Each in his narrow room by bailiffs laid,
The new-made pris'ners o'er their caption swear.

301

* C^e ISrar e i—

A sort of uaJer tap, in the interior of the Bench, in which porter is sold by
authority of the marshal, to the debtors.

t C^e Sitrong iaoom;—
A solitary place of confinement for such as break the rules of the prison.

3A2 DOINGS IN LONDON.

The gentle morning bustle of their trade.
The 'prentice, from tjie garret overhead,

The dapper shopman, or the busy maid,

Will never here arouse them from their bed.

For them no polisli'd Rumfords here shall burn,
Nor wife uxorious ply her evening care ;

No children run to lisp their dad's return.

Or climb his knees, the sugar-plums to share.

Oft did the creditor to their promise yield.
As often they that solemn promise broke ;

How jocund did they drive the duns a-field !
Till nick'd at last within the bailiffs yoke !

Let not ambition mock their heedless fate,
And idly cry, their state might have been better;

Nor grandeur hear with scorn while I relate
The short insolvent annals of the debtor.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,
All wealth procures, its being to entrench,

Await alike the writ's appointed hour:
The paths of spendthrifts lead but to the Bench.

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault.
That they are here, and not at large like you,

That they have bills at tailor's, and wine vault —
Bills that, alas ! have long been over due.

Can story gay, or animated tale,

Back from this mansion bid us freely run?

Can honour's voice o'er creditors prevail,
Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of Dun ?

Perhaps in this confined retreat is shut

Some heart, to make a splash once all on fire :

Skill, that might Hobhouse to the rout have put,
Or loyally play'd Doctor Southey's lyre.

But prudence to their eyes her careful page,

Rich in pounds, shillings, pence, did ne'er unroll

Stern creditors repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of their soul.

Full many a blood, in fashion an adept.

The dark, lone rooms of spunging-houses bear

Full many a fair is born to bloom unkept,
And waste her sweetness, none know how or wheie.

Some Cockney Petersham, that with whisker'd cheek
Once moved in Bond Street, Rotten Row, Pall Mall,

Some humble Mrs. Clark for rest may seek,
Some Burdett, guiltless quite of speaking well.

The applauses of admiring mobs to gain,
To be to threats of ruin, prison, lost ;

To see they have not spent their cash in vain,
And read their triumph in the Morning Post.

That lot forbade ; nor circumscribed alone

Their growing follies, but themselves confined ;

The bailiff grimly seized them for his own.

And turnkeys closed the gates on them behind.

DOINGS IN LONDON. ;lo3

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide.

To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
The King's Bench terribly pulls down our pride —

For high or lowly born, 'tis all the same.

Far from the city's mad ignoble strife,

They still retain an eager wish to stray ;
They hate this cool sequester'd mode of life,'

And wish at liberty to work their way.

And on those walls that still from duns protect—
Those fire-proof walls, so strongly built, and high.

With uncouth rhymes and mis-spelt verses decked,
They ask the passing tribute of a sigh.

Their names, their years, writ by th' unletter'd muse

The place of fame and brass-plate fill up well ;
And many a lawyer's, too, the stranger views,

With pious wishes he may go to hell.

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

His pleasing anxious liberty resign'd,
To Banco Kegis bent his dreary way,

Nor cast one longing lingering look behind.

On some one out, the prisoner still relies,

Some one to yield him comfort, he requires ;
E'en from tiie Bench the voice of nature cries,

E'en though imprison'd, glow our wonted fires.

For thee, who, mindful of the debtor's doom.

Dost in these lines their hapless state relate ;
If chance by writ or capias hither come,

Some kindred spirit may inquire thy fate.

Haply, some hoary bailiff here may say,

" Oft have we watch'd him at the peep of dawn,
But, damn him, still he slipp'd from us away,

And, when we thought we had him, he was gone.

"Where Drury Lane erects its well-known head,

And Covent Garden lifts its domes on high,
Morning aud noon and niglit we found him fled.

Most snugly pouring on us passing by.

" On Sundays, ever smiling as in scorn,

Passing our houses, he would boldly rove ;
We gave his case up as of one forlorn.

And for his person pined in hopeless love.

" One morn we track'd him near th' accustom'd spot

Along the Strand, and by his favourite she, —
Another came ; yet still we caught him not,

"ut_ on the third, we nabb'd a youth, — 'twas he.

" The next, with warrant due, wo brought our man.

Snug to the Bench, here all the way from town.
Approach and read the warrant (if you can).

You may a copy get for half a-crown."

304 DOINGS IN LONDON.

THE WARRANT.

Here rests his head, in "seventeen and one,

A you.h to fortune and tc .'ame well known.
But tradesmen trusted and began to dun,

And Mister Sheriff mark'd him for his own.

Great were his spendings, he naught put on shelf, —

To send a recompense law did not fail :
He gave his cred'tors, all he had — himself,

He gain'd from them (all he abhorred) a gaol !

No further seek his doings to disclose,

Or draw his follies from this dull abode,
(Here he'll at all events three months repose), —

Th' Insolvent Act may open then a road.

" Perhaps, sir," said Mentor, " one of the most remarkable
events in the history of the King's Bench Prison, and which
seemed fully to develop the real manners of its inmates, was the
humours of the Mock Election, which took place in July, 1827,
and from which ceremony Mr. Haydon painted his celebrated
picture that was exhibited in Picadilly, and is now in the King's
Gallery, his Majesty having purchased it for £500.

"Mr. H,, in his explanation of this picture, says 'Nothing,
during the last year, excited more curiosity than the mock elec-
tion, which took place in the King's Bench Prison ; as much from
the circumstances attending its conclusion, as from the astonish-
ment expressed that men, unfortunate and confined, could invent
any amusement at which they had a right to be happy. At the
first thoughts, it certainly gave one a shock to fancy a roar ol
boisterous merriment in a place where it was hardly possible to
imagine any other feelings to exist than those of sorrow and
anxiety; but, on a little more reflection, there was nothing very
unprincipled in men, one half of whom had been the victims of
villany, one quarter the victims of malignity, and, perhaps, not the
whole of the remaining fourth justly imprisoned by angry creditors,
in hope to obtain their debts ; it was not absolutely criminal to
prefer forgetting their afflictions in the temporary gaiety of innocent
frolic, to the dull, leaden, sottish oblivion produced by porter and
cigars.

" * I was sitting in my own apartment, buried in my own reflec-
tions, but not despairing at the darkness of my own prospects, and
the unprotected condition of my wife and children, when a sudden
tumultuous and hearty laugh below brought me to the window.
In spite of my own sorrows, 1 laughed out heartily, when I saw
the occasion. I returned to my room, and laughed and wept by
turns. Here was a set of creatures who must have known afflictions,
who must have been in want and in sorrow, struggling (with a spiked
wall before their eyes) to bury remembrance in the humour of a
farce ! flying from themselves and their thoughts to smother re-
flection; though, in the interval between one roar of laughtei and

DOINGS IN LONDON. 305

another, the b«usy fiend would flash upon ' their inward eye,' their
past follies and their present pains ! Yet, what is the world but
a prison of larger dimensions ? We gaze after the eagle in his
flight, and are bound by gravitation to the earth we tread on ; we sail
forth in pursuit of new worlds, and after a year or two return to the
spot we started from ; we weary our imagination with hopes of some-
thing new, and find, alter a long life, we can only embellish what we
see ; so that, while our hopes are endless, and our imagination
unbounded, our faculties and being are limited, and, whether it be
six thousand feet or six thousand miles, a limit still marks the
prison."

"You must now leave, my friends," suddenly exclaimed the
gentleman ; "for hark —

' The turnkey rings the bell for shutting out.' "
Peregrine and Mentor accordingly immediately arose, the latter
having previously furnished his friend with means for procuring
his future comforts; and, with the promise of returning again in a
few days, he wished him g,ood night.

As Mentor and Peregrine were walking slowly to the gate,
they agreed, on the morrow, to change the scene, and witness the
ioyous

moinsti on ^oartr a SUam^Vtustl

On leaving the prison, " Once more," said Mentor, " thank
heaven, we taste the sweet air of liberty ! After the sight that we
have seen. Peregrine, we may exclaim*, with the inimitable Sterne,

39. X

306 DOINGS IN LONDON.

* It is thou, O Liberty ! thrice sweet and gracious goddess, whom
all in public and private worship ; whose taste is grateful, and ever
will be so, till nature herself shall change ; no tint of words can
spot thy snowy mantle, or chymic power turn thy sceptre into iron :
with thee to smile upon him, as he eats his crust, the swain is
happier than his monarch. Gracious Heaven ! grant me but
health, thou great bestower of it, and give me but this fair goddess.
Liberty, as my companion, and shower down thy mines, if it seem
good unto thy divine Providence, upon those heads that are aching
for them !

* Oh Liberty ! how fair thy angel face,
Which gives to every thing a double grace.
How wretched he who lives and is not free, —
For show'rs of gold I would not part with thee ;
For, nothing Fortune gives or takes away,
Could for thy loss, sweet Liberty, repay !'"

On their way homewards, Peregrine asked his friend the name
of the place they were in ? " St. George's Fields," replied Mentor.
"And do you call these streets ^eldsV said Peregrine. " Yes
the land all about here is still so denominated. The building o*.
Westminster and Blackfriars' bridges first contributed to effect the
amazing change which, within the comparatively short period since
their erection, has taken place.

"The name of 'Fields,' before that, was strictly appropriate,
as a designation for all the lands hereabout, foi considerable
extent, and had been so for ages. To omit, for a moment, a des-
cription of its very ancient state, we may observe that, in the long
view of London and Westminster, from Lambeth, by Hollar, takes
in the reign of Cliarles II. the whole soace of land from Lambeth
town to Baukside (includmg St. George's Fields) appears nearly
jnbuilt on. Lambeth Marsh, through which the Westminster Road
now runs, is shown completely walled in, and most of the grounds
eastward of it divided into fields and inclosures. The whole ex-
tent, for a considerable way north and east, is thickly wooded,
and a few scattered dwellings only occasionally peep out from
among the trees. Some particulars in this curious view are worthy
of remark. Before St. George's Fields, on the Lambeth side, lies
the tract of land on which the Asylum and its neighbourhood, as
well as Tower Street, Melina Place, &c., now stand ; opposite is
the way formerly called " the Back Lane," now Hercules i3uildings,
a retired country lane ; and further west, Lambeth Palace-Gardens
(as formerly laid out), the entrance to Lambeth town, with Norfolk
House, Carlisle and Bonnor Houses, and a number of other in-
teresting objects ; and in the distance, eastward, appears part of
the Borough, the wall of Winchester Park, Bankside, &c.

" Before the settlement of the Romans, St. George's Fields, and
all the ground next to the Surrey side of the river, as far as to the
hills of Camberwell and Dulwich, is thought by antiquaries to
have been a swamp, inundated by the tides, and, at low water, a

DOINGS IN LONDON. 307

sandy plain* and that it was not inhabited unlil that people had
fixed themselves in England, when it is supposed that they im-
proved it by banking against the Thames, and by draining. It is
also generally admitted that the Romans had a station in some
part of St. George's Fields, though on what particular spot is not
ascertained ; and the abundance of Roman antiquities discovered
here, as mentioned by Dr. Gale, Dugdale, and other old writers,
as well as the great quantities recently found on cutting the new
sewer by Bethlem, leave no doubt of this. It is not stated when
all this ground was first drained, but various ancient commissions
are remaining, for persons to survey the banks of the river, here
and in the adjoining parishes ; and to take measures for repairing
them, and to impress such workmen as they should find necessary
for that employment; notwithstanding which, these periodical
overflows continued to do much mischief; and Strype (edit, of
Stowe's Survey) informs us that, so late as 1555, owing to this
cause, and some great rains which had then fallen, all St. George's
Fields were covered with water.

" Several of the names of particular plots of land, during the un-
built state of St. George's Fields, are transmitted to us in old
writings, as well as some amusing notices of certain places here,
or in the neighbourhood, in scarce books. Among others, the
parish records of St. Saviour's mention Checquer Mead, Lamb Acre,
and an estate denominated the Chimney Sweepers, as situated in
these fields and belonging to that parish ; as also a large laystall,
or common dunghill, used by the parishioners, called St. George's
Dunghill. The open part, at the beginning of the last, and end of
the preceding century, like Moorfields, and some other void places
near the metropolis, was appropriated to the practice of archery,
as we learn from a scarce tract published near the time, called
• An Aim for those that shoot in St. George's Fields.' The Dog
and Duck, within memory, of infamous notoriety, in the plan of
London, as fortified bj;^ Parliament, is marked as a * Fort with four
half bulwarks,' the remains of which are described by De Foe, in
his Tour through Great Britain (1724), who says, the moat of the
Fort then existed, and was called the Ducking Pond. Hercules
Buildings, near the Asylum, took its name from an inn called the
Hercules, which was opened just after the completion of West-
minster Bridge, and the forming of the roads to it. It had large
stables, and a spacious garden, but, not answering, was sold in 1758
and the Asylum built on its site. The figure of Hercules, which
belonged to it, lately stood over the door of the public-house
opposite. This ground was granted by Edward VI., in 1551, to
the citizens of London, by the description of ' one close of ground,
late in the possession of John Billington, lying in Lambeth Marsh,
late part of the possession of Charles, Duke of Suffolk."

" Before the building of Westminster Bridge, the only commu-
nication between this large district (including Lambeth), and
Westminster, was by the ferry-boat near to Lambetli-Palacegate^
X 2

308 DOINGS IN LONDON.

which belonged to the archbishops, and was granted by Parlia-
ment, under a rent of twenty-pence. On opening tlie bridge in
1750, this ceased, and £2,205 was given to the See of Canterbury
as an equivalent. Previously to that time there were two consi-
derable inns in Lambeth town, for the reception of travellers, who,
arriving in the evening, might not choose to cross the water at such
an hour, or who, in case of bad weather, might prefer waiting for
better.

" It has been disputed among antiquaries, whether Canute's
Trench was cut through this neighbourhood, or rather, whether the
trench here (for it seems agreed that there was something of the
kind) was the work of that monarch or not. Dr. Gale supposes
it to have been of Roman origin, and afterwards to have been
altered by Canute, and says that the remains of it, when London
was fortified by the Parliament, in 1642, were used for a like
purpose to that intended when it was first constructed. This was
one of the ancient curiosities of St. George's Fields, and Dr.
Stukeley supports the opinion, that the Roman roads, leading to
different parts of the kingdom, met here, as the centre of so many
I'adii ; but that, when London became considerable, Stangate
Ferry became partly disused, and hence so little of the road that
ran through these fields, towards the Lock Hospital, Deptford,
&c. then appeared ; and he thinks it probable that its materials were
long since dug away to mend the highways. Upon this road many
antiquities have also been discovered, particularly a Janus, in
stone, which was in the possession of Dr. Woodward.

" From being, in former times, so frequently overflown by the
•ides, as we have stated, the whole, nearly, of the ground here-
abouts remained for ages ot little value, and, in fact, it has only
become valuable since the building of the bridges. It was long
before a proper mode of draining was adopted, and in this state it
only afforded, at times, a scanty pasture for the cattle of those
who occupied lands that were out of the reach of the floods.
Right of common diminished from time to time, by the erection of
new buildings, but the value seems to have been considered so
small, that scarcely any interruption was given to these encroach-
ments. But in the case of public buildings, the authority of Par-
liament was generally procured for extinguishing such claims. At
length (viz. in 1810), in consequence of the great improvements
which were taking place, the city obtained an act of Parliament
for the total extinguishment of such rights. Since this, the New
Bethlehem Hospital, the Blind School, and other public buildings
have been erected ; streets of handsome houses are forming on the
sites of poor ones which have been destroyed, and the whole, by
the building of Waterloo and Southwark bridges, is concentrating
into an immense and populous neighbourhood.

" Thus you see, my friend," said Mentor, " how this overgrown
metropolis has increased, is increasing, and will continue to in-
crease, until it becomes in splendour and magnitude a second Rome;

DOINGS IN LONDON. 309

when, like that once mighty city, it will decay, and the inquisitive
traveller will be told, while walking o'er its ruins —
* Here once imperial London stood !' "

Peregrine and Mentor having now arrived at the end of Briage
Street, they wished each other good night, and repaired to their
homes, agreeing to meet the following morning, to join in an
" Excursion to the Nore," one of the present fashionable modes of
blending pleasure with charity, although it does not reflect much
credit on the cockneys, to think they cannot " do a little bit of
charity," without having, what they call, some pleasure for it.

Accordingly, the next morning, our heroes were punctual to
their time of meeting at Billingsgate, where they found many non-
descript dandies in waiting for their several parties, crawling about
backwards and forwards, like so many straggling caterpillars in a
grove of sycamores.

Mentor and his friend bent their course to the Tower Stairs,
where their ears were astounded with the bawling of hundreds of
watermen plying for fares ; at length, after having " run the gaunt-
let" of these noisy fellows, they descended the stairs, when a
jolly grizzled-pated charon hands them into his boat, whips oft"
his jacket, whereon was a badge, to tell whose fool he was, bids
them surlily to trim the boat, and, after much rioting and confu-
sion, being in danger of having their sides stove in, with the
sculls of the innumerable contending watermen, and of being
capsized, at length puts them safe on board the steamer, when, in
a few minutes after, a fellow bawled out, in the voice of a stentor,
qIosc to the ear of Peregrine, " let go the wharp !" which so
astounded him, that he almost lept over-board. " Abouf' the
steamer goes, and Peregrine, for the first time, found himself in
the bosom of the "King of Floods" — the river Thames, which is,
as Denham has well described it —

" Though deep, yet clear ; though gentle, yet not dull ;
Strong without rage ; without o'erflowing, full."

The first group that presented itself to the eyes of Mentor and
his friend, was a party of fat landladies, every one of tliem as
slender in the waist as a Dutch skipper's stern, and looked like a
litter of squab elephants. On the steamer gently gliding down
with the tide, one of these ladies took a '• long last lingering look
behind," and sighed out, " It will be a some hours before we see
that dear monument again." "Ah!" said a surly old cynic —
The monument, indeed ! ^tis a vwmimeiit to the city's shame, the
orphan's grief, the Protestant's pride, and the Papist's scandal, and
only serves as a high-crowned hat, to cover the head of the old
fellow who shows it." " 1 beg," retorted one of the landladies,
whose face resembled the sun on a frosty morning, '• nothing may
be said against the poor orphans, as this excursion is for their
benefit." " Avaunt, woman," replied the cynic ; " 1 want no con-
verse with you," and instantly arose from his seat, and went to the
fore part of the vessel.

310 DOINGS IN LONDON.

" At this instant, Mentor espied an acquaintance, who was an
eccentric fellow, a bachelor, and a disciple of Malthas; to whom
he introduced Peregrine as a young gentleman from the country,
anxious to witness all that was worthy of observation in the me-
tropolis. After the usual salutations, this curious fellow, Mr.
Francello, began immediately, without ceremony, to give Pere-
grine some gratuitous advice ; especially to beware of the women,
and never to think of matrimony ; " for,'" said he, " if men and
women were not so foolish as to getmairied, there would be no or-
phans, and then we should not be obliged to have taken this
trouble to-day." " I am satisfied in my own mind," replied Pere-
grine, " that, with respect to matrimony, it is either a heaven or a
hell, which ever the parties choose to make it." " Did you hear this
getitleman, madam ?" said Peregrine to a lady sitting by the side of
him. " He's not a man, sir, but a beast that totters on two legs.*'
" And pray, madam," replied Francello, bitterly feeling the re-
proach, ** what is woman ?" "Ah! what is she!" retorted the
lady, " how should you know ?" ** But I do know," replied
Francello : —

• WhaTs death? vihat's life ? Oh, painted vanity f
M liat ?■* she ? She's a freak — a froth — a bubble —
A humour bred of drink ami salt provision.
M hat is she ? She's a painted bit of clay,
That falls to pieces, like a lump of sugar
(Save that slie's not so sweet). Her vvliite and red
Are kept in health by murdering crowds oi sheep,
Into whose skins siie creeps, and cries ' Adore ine !'"

•* You're as cold as adamant," said the lady, lookmg at poor
Francello most contemptuously, " and not wortliy of notice," and
immediately left him and Joined her party.

A jolly-looking tradesman, who had listened to the conversation,
and heard Francello's remarks with seeming disgust, addressed
himself thus to Peregiine:"! tell you what, young gentleman/
said he —

" ' Woman is

In infancy, a tender flow'r, —

Cultivate her ;
A floating bark, in girlhood's hour, —

Softly freight her,
When woman grown, a fruitful vine, —

Tend and press her ;
A sacred charge in life's decline, —
Shield and bless her !"

" Ah, woman, indeed," said a seafaring gentleman ; " she's—

' Form'd in benevolence of nature, —

Obliging, modest, gay, and mild ;

Woman's the same endearing creature,

In courtly town and savage wild.

When parch'd with thirst, with hunger wasted,

Her friendly hand refreshment gave ;
How sw eet the coarsest food has tasted,

What cordial in the simple wave!

DOINGS IN LONDON. 311

Her courteous looks — her words caressing,

Shed comfort on the fainting soul ;
Woman's the stranger's general blessing,

From sultry India to the pole.'"'

When Mentor and Peregrine looked round to hear what Fran-
ct llo had to say to these true quotations, they found he had
sneaked off.

" Good heavens ! cried Peregrine, with great earnestness and
surprise, " there is the very girl that poor Juha Desmond relieved,
and whom, t recollect, she told me she first knew by working
with her at a fashionable dress-makers ; but, on the account of the
scanty pay, and falling-off of employment, she became, like poor
Julia, * a fallen creature/ But she looks well, and seems happy.
Thank heavens ! some of my money has been the means of pro-
ducing happiness. I should like dearly to speak to her — but 1
will not : .she does not recollect me, and I cannot make myself
known to her, without harrowing up her feelings."

" I remember well what you told me respectmg the girls that
work at the dress-makers," said Mentor, " and of the true picture
you gave me of that white slavery.* But I am glad to learn that,
since that time, the subject has been taken up by several corres-
pondents in that mighty engine, the Times newspaper. I have
preserved all their communications, in my pocket-book, intending,
some days ago, to give them you, but it escaped my memory ; and,
as we have a few minutes to spare, before the company begin theii
dancing, 1 will read them ycu. The correspondent Argus,
says:—

" It is, I think, too notorious to need further confirmation
from me, that milliners and dress-makers experience more hard-
ships and privations, from the confinement and over-fntigue of
eighteen or twenty hours' exertion every day for several months
together, than is experienced by any other class of individuals in
the metropolis, and, at the same time, receive proportionately less
emolument, sympathy, and respect ; though surely, from the
natural delicacy peculiar to their sex (for I do not allude to man-
milliners), none are more justly entitled to these advantages.

" 'Thosewhodo not think the subject beneath their notice would
find, on inquiry, that many of the individuals of which this class is
composed, are the scattered wrecks of fortune, — daughters of genius
and affluence, nursed in the lap of plenty, but, by ' some alarming
shock of fate,' for ever divided from a home no longer happy, if re-
maining ; — many whose minds have been rendered more sensitive,
and • feelingly alive to each fine impulse,' by the practice of early
virtue, and the eft'ects of a liberal education, and whose manners
and address bespeak the domestic calamity that doomed them to
a life of celibacy and fatigue, for which slavery is only another
name. But I will not enumerate or particularize the numerous ills
which are the consequent, though not the necessary, concomitants
• See page 83.

S12 DOINGS IN LONDON.

of such a situation : these, with kind treatment from those for wliotn
they sacrifice their health, may be, and often are, endured with
cheerfulness and contentment, till exhausted nature sinks beneath
the pressure, and early death (which every season annihilates its
thousands) becomes not less desirable than it is inevitable.

" ' But how shall a sensitive female, at such a frightful crisis,
bear to be insulted by those to whose opulence she is longer unable
to add, and at an hour's warning turned out of doors, without a
friendly asylum near ? And what punishment were enough for such
inhumanity ? It may be doubted whether such brutality exists in
a civilized nation. Fortunately, such instances are rare; but, dis-
graceful as it is, such an occurrence actually did take place a few
days ago, attended with the most fatal effects, and the actors in the
affair were deservedly censured by most of the daily and weekly
journals, the leading features of which were, — The unfortunate
individual (who, I think, was an apprentice), becoming, from ex-
cessive fatigue, so seriously ill as to be unable longer to pursue
her almost ceaseless avocations, was removed to an adjacent hos-
pital, where she ultimately died, and was buried, before her friends
were made acquainted witli the circumstances of her indisposition,'

"Another correspondent, under the signature of* An Old Phy-
sician,' remarks, with great truth, ' I am quite convinced, if pub-
licity were given to the privations and hardships which are endured
by this class of individuals, something would be done to render
their lives less wretched than that which thousands are compelled
to lead at present. Sincerely do 1 wish they had many such able
advocates as your correspondent, and then surely, in England,
happy England, some kind-hearted persons in the higher ranks of
society — and many such, thank God, are to be found — would
interest themselves in behalf of their suffering fellow-creatures ;
and I can from experience safely affirm, few are more deserving
of compassion than those in whose cause I am induced to take up
my pen, which 1 have long wished to do, but have abstained from
doing, as I always wrote with difficulty ; and I had great hopes
that, in this age of liberality and improvement, when many of our
greatest orators in both houses of Parliament are endeavouring
to abolish slavery in far distant lands, where such a proceeding
may be attended with great disadvantages, they would not have
left entirely unnoticed those who spend a life of perfect slavery in
their own native country, under their very noses, and for the pur-
pose of attiring their rich countrywomen, most probably their own
wives and relatives. That something may soon be done to alleviate
the sufferings of the poor, hard-worked, ill-paid, and unpitied
milliners' apprentices, is my sincere prayer.'

" But," continued Mentor, " I am indeed delighted with the
following remarks of Cosmopolite ; they speak volumes of truth.
The English nation are too systematic in their charities — too cold,
and toe pioud — and they seem really to imagine that no other

DOINGS IN LONDON. 313

people on earth are charitable but themselves : however, they are
as inconsistent on this as on every other subject. But to proceed ;
Cosmopolite says, — ' I am sick to my soul of the constant twaddle
about the charitableness of the people of tliis country, and the
epithets of " happy England."

"'There is no country in the world, and 1 appeal to the tra-
veller, where the health, amusement, or happiness of the lower
orders are so little thought of, cared for, or promoted, as in this
same egotistical opinionated England. Nor is there any civilized
place where the gratifications and amusements of the rich are more
ably catered for, or more luxuriously promoted.

'• ' I make these unqualified remarks, because it seems to me
that the English sleep over their prosperity, wrapping themselves
up in their proud system of exclusiveness, and blinded by self-
satisfaction and the increasing sneers of their less refined, but acute
neighbours, to which deep-rooted prejudice alone could subject
them.

" ' The feelings clearly evident by these remarks, are called
from me by some letters relating to the unhappy state of those
hard-worked girls, the milliners' apprentices. The ladies, — the
fashionable, the well-dressed, the charming, kind, and charitable,
— are the real cause (do not wrong me, 1 dearly love the sex);
but, owing to their constitutional thoughtlessness, they are the
cause.

" ' A dress is wanted — say, for example, for the hortricultural
dejeunc, a fete that it is well known will happen months before it
really occurs. A lady must of necessity have a new dress, hat,
or cap, for that particular occasion. Her numerous occupations,
— viz. the paramount ones of calls, &c. and pursuits of equal im-
portance,— drive the circumstance from her mind. Two days
previous to the time her dress should have been finished, away
she drives to her milliner, her orders are given, the dress must be
ready for Saturday, the — , without fail, or it will be of no use
whatever ; if it be not sent by the day, she will order her servants
not to take it in. The consequence is, the mistress is obliged to
comply : then the poor girls are desired to work day and night, to
complete my lady's dress. Fifteen or sixteen hours in such cases
are the utmost limits of their time. Pallid looks, sickly appetites,
a physical action on their morals — for such is the case, and I
appeal to the Old Physician if the derangement of the system from
sedentary employment, without proper exercise, does not act phy-
sically, so as to endanger the morals, — are the painful results of the
system. How often does it happen — I speak to the consciences
of the fair sex — that an unnecessary delay or procrastination in the
giving their orders occasions a necessity for an expedition that can
only be accomplished by the working extra hours — not only extra,
but unreasonable hours — not simply unreasonable, but unhealthy
ones? How often is a dress ordered to be ready for a particular
Sunday by church-time, and the bedecked form offers her prayers
40.

314 DOINGS IN LONDON.

to that Power for blessings wiiich she, from the absence of thought,
has been an instrument in withholding, viz. health and content,
from the humble agent of her finery.

" ' The English, no doubt, are a charitable people, and wish to
be thought so. Charities are well supported, and wealth is not
wanting to further its ends ; but the English are not a discriminating
race — they are prejudiced. You must receive relief according to
their own way of applying it, and not from the broader principles
of humanity. The exclusiveness of the age will be the national
bane. Sympathy for our fellows will be blunted, if enjoyment is
made attainable by the poor. The rich are envied, because they
alone possess the key to pleasure. Open the door for harmless
and rational enjoyment, the rich will then not be envied, but ad-
mired, because they participate in common with the pleasure of a
people, but ha^e, from their means, the power of benefitting their
fellows. Envy would then fade into admiration, and ostentation
dissolve into real charity.'

" As a proof," continued Mentor, " of the truth of these asser-
tions, a young girl, named Catharine Aram, aged only nineteen
years, died suddenly in July, 1828, who had been employed by
one of the fashionable dress-makers at the west-end of the town,
where it appeared, by the evidence before the coroner and jury,
that she had been obliged to sit up the whole of the night to finish
the dresses she was engaged upon ; and where she frequently
worked eighteen hours out of twenty-four. One of the jurors said
it was a notorious fact, that at almost all the principal dress-makers
at the west-end of the town, the apprentices actually worked day
aud night, and even the Sabbath was devoted to labour, to satisfy
the tastes of ladies of fashion. He considered some measures
ought to be immediately adopted to prevent young females from
such confinement. He was of opinion that, had this poor girl been
allowed more exercise, she would have been still in existence;
and it was frightful to think human life should be sacrificed to the
whim of fashion."

" It would be well, sir," said a gentleman, " if, while so many
persons are strenuously striving to abolish the black slave-trade,
they would first put an end to the Bristish white slavery."

At this instant, poor Francello made his appearance upon
deck, and took his seat comfortably in the aft-part of the vessel,
expressing his surprise at the number of ships in the Pool. " They
are nearly all colliers, my friend,"" said Mentor to Peregrine ;
" and the amazing extent of the coal-trade in the port of London
may be imagined, when it is ascertained that, in one year, 6810
ships entered the pool, laden with coal, and that their cargoes con-
tained the enormous quantity of 1,600,229 chaldrons and a half.
A history of coal and the coal-trade would form a very interesting
volume, and what is much wanted. Upon a calculation, it is
supposed that, when all the deputy sea-coal meters are on duty,
no less than 2084 nersons are daily employed in delivering coal in

DOINGS IN LONDON. 316

the pool, from the ships to the barges, exclusive of the crews of
the different vessels, which cannot be reckoned at less than between
fifteen or sixteen hundred. This trade also gives employment to
numerous watermen, and is the ' soul and substance' of the coast
of Wapping ; and very partially so, of the south side of the
Thames. When the number of land coal-meters, and the coal-
heavers, at the different wharfs, are taken into the calculation,
together with the bargemen in the country barges, the barge-
builders, clerks at the various counting-houses, the coal-market,
&c., it is evident that the coal-trade alone finds employment for
ten thousand persons.

" It is curious to watch the progress of the consumption of coal
ill London.

"In 1613,30,000 chaldrons were imported into London.

" In 17G8, Gl 3,823 chaldrons.

" In 1798, 786,200 chaldrons.

" In 1826, 1,600,229 chaldrons.

" Anderson says that coal was first introduced into London in
1305 ; but I find from the city papers, that it was introduced in
the reign of Henry III. (1216 — 72), M'hen a portion of coal from
every ship was sent in a small basket to the Lord Mayor, as a
sample. Coal, in the time of Edward I. (1272 — 1307) was only
used by dyers, brewers, &c.; and Kichard II. published a
proclamation, in 1398, forbidding the use of coal as a public
nuisance.

" In 1563, the House of Commons passed a bill to restrain the
carriage of Newcastle coal over sea.

" In 1642, Parliament published an ordinance, prohibiting wood-
mongers, wharfingers, &c., from selling coal in London above 23s,
per chaldron.

" In the household book of the fifth Earl of Northumberland,
1512, a record of a singular curiosity, equally throwing light on
our ancient manners, and reflecting lustre on the great family
whose extensive love of domestic economy it so minutely displays,
mention is made of coal, which, it seems, they had not yet learnt to
use by itself, for this reason — ' because,' observes this authority,
' colys will not byrne withowte wodd.'

" In Harrison's description of England, prefixed to Holling-
shed's Chronicle, edited in 1577, it says — ' There are old men yet
dwelling in the village where I remain, which have noted the mul-
titude of chimneys lately erected ; whereas, in their young dayes,
there were not above two or three, if so many. When our houses,'
continues he, ' were builded of willowe, then we had oaken men,
but, nowe that oui houses are come to be made of oake, our men
are not only become willows, but a great many altogether of straw,
which is a sore alteration.'

" When coal became somewhat in general use, great inconve-
nience was felt for the want of a proper person to ve.irjh it ; and ac-
cordingly the Lord AJuyor of Lontlon was applied to, and he ae-

31(J DOINGS IN LONUOM.

tually weiglied the coal in propria persona, and turned it over
into the barges, he being the first sea-coal meter ; and he continues
the principal sea- coal meter to this day.

"In 1599 (41 Eliz.) the coal-trade increasing, an act was
passed to regulate the office of coal-meter.

" In 1602, the sea-coal ship meters did not exceed ten.
♦• In 1662, they were increased to fifteen.

"In 1824, they were increased to one hundred and fifty-eight;
at which number they now remain. I know many of these sea-coal
meters well," continued Mentor; "and I am bold to say, without
fear of contradiction, that, take them as a body, there are not more
respectable officers in the city of London, or anywhere else;
there are among them many who, by their talents and demeanours,
would not disgrace any rank in society. Many on whom—

' Misfortune smiFd deceitful at their birth.'
Many who have been masters of thousands, but, by the vicissi-
tude of trades, are not now so wealthy as they were ; yet, amidst
all the clashings and jarrings of their employment, they preserve an
misullied probity of character, that many in higher walks of life
would fain enjoy. I don't know whether the city of London are
proud of them as officers, but this I know, they ought to be. The
reason I am so explicit to you on this subject. Peregrine, is, that
doubtless you have read some of the slanderous paragraphs in the
daily papers, inserted by interested rogues, in the hopes of lessening
them in the estimation of government, of the corporation of Lon-
don, and of the public in general. But to such dastardly calum-
niators, I can only say — -

' Cease, vipers, — you bite against a tile.' "
At this instant, the decks were ordered to be cleared, the band
struck up, and the old and young, the handsome and the ugly, the
straight and the crooked, ail simultaneously, like a party of light-
hearted Frenchmen, began to trip it on the light fantastic toe.

This pleasing and healthy amusement agreeably beguiled the
time, while the vessel arrived at the Nore, when the company lett
off, and each party sat down in groups to their dinner; to which
most of them did ample justice. The steamer then commenced
its return to " Smoky London," amidst the bewailing of a dandy,
at having his new coat spoiled by one of his party (accidentally,
or on purpose, no matter which), pouring the remains of a
giblet pie on it. "I hate,'' said Mentor, "a new coat: it
is like a troublesome stranger that sticks to you most imperti-
nently wherever you go, embarrasses all your motions, and tho-
roughly confounds yourself-possession, A man with a new coat on
is not at home, even in his own house ; abroad he is uneasy — he can
neither sit, stand, nor go, like a reasonable mortal. All men o
sense hate new coats, but a fool rejoiceth in a new coat. With-
out looking at his person, you can tell if he has one. New Coat '
written on his face ; it hangs like a label out of his gaping mouth ,

lOINOS IN LONDON. 317

there is an odious harmony between his glossy garment and his
smooth and senseless phiz — a disgusting keeping in the portrait.
Of all vile exhibitions, defend me from a fool in a new blue coat
with brass buttons."

As the vessel had nearly reached the metropolis, Mr. Green
ascended in the air, mounted on his pony, suspended in the place
of a car. " This foolish exhibition reminds me," said Peregrine,
of an exploit of some Frenchmen, in two balloons. I remember
reading, in the New Annual Register (1808J, of M. de Grandpree
and M. Le Pique having quarrelled about Mademoiselle Tirevit, a
celebrated opera-dancer, who was kept by the former, but had
been discovered in an intrigue with the latter : a challenge ensued.
Being both men of elevated mind, they agreed to light in balloons,
and, in order to give time for their preparation, it was determined
that the duel should take place that day month. Accordingly, on
the 3d of May, 1808, the parties met at a field adjoining the
Tuilleries, where their respective balloons were read^ to receive
them. Each, attended by a second, ascended his car, loaded with
blunderbuses, as pistols could not be expected to be efficient in
their probable situations. A great multitude attended, hearing of
the balloons, but little dreaming of their purpose : the Parisians
merely looking for the novelty of a balloon race. At nine o'clock
the cords were cut, and the balloons ascended majestically, amidst
the shouts of the spectators. The wind was moderate, from the
N. N. W., and they kept, as far as could be judged, within about
80 yards of each other. When they had mounted to the height of
about 900 yards, M. Le Pique fired his piece ineffectually : almost
immediately after, the fire was returned by M. Grandpree, and
penetrated his adversary's balloon ; the consequence of which was
its rapid descent, and M, Le Pique and his second were both
dashed to pieces on a house-top, over which the balloon fell.
The victorious Grandpree then mounted aloft in the grandest style,
and descended safe with his second, about seven leagues from the
spot of ascension."

" I remember, when I was a boy," said the sea-faring gentle-
man, " what a number of depredations were committed on this
river Thames, There were then river pirates, who plundered ships
and small craft in the night. Night plunderers consisted of watch-
men, who formed into gangs of five or six each, and used to lighten
small craft. The light horsemen used to confine their depredations
to West India ships. The heavy horsemen used to go on board,
either by connivance or under the pretext of selling some articles,
having peculiar dresses, which had pockets all round, and
bag-bladders and pouches affixed in various parts, which they
filled with sugar, coffee, cocoa, or any portable article; and in the
night they would plunder more largely, and were rowed by what
were called game watermen, who were always ready to receive
what was thrown to them. The mudlarks, scuffle-hunters, cope-
men, Sfc. are now, like the others, nearly extinct.

818 DOINGS IN LONDON.

" Mr. Colquhoun, whose meritorious exertions contributed to
the establishment of a regular Thames Police, estimated that
about * e/eueri thousand persons, inured to habits of depravity, and
long exercised in all the arts of villany,' were engaged in this species
of plunder; and that the amount of their depredations upon float-
ing property was upwards of five hundred thousand pounds ster-
ling, annually.

" The extent and constancy of the depredations were so noto-
rious as to call loudly for some special interference, and hence the
' Marine Police Establishment,' which was opened at Wapping
New Stairs. Its importance will be admitted, when it is re-
collected that in this single river are engaged 13,444 ships and
vessels, which discharge and receive in the course of a year three
millions of packages^ many of which contain very valuable articles,
greatly exposed to depredations, not only from the criminal habits
of many of the porters, labourers, &c., but from the temp-
tations to plunder arising from the confusion unavoidable in a
crowded port, and the facdities afforded in the disposal of
stolen property.

" The West India trade suffered annually to the amount of
£232,000, the East India, £25,000, the United States, £30,000,
and the coal trade alone £20,000.

" So successful was the system pursued at the Thames Police
Office, that, in the first year, the savings to the West India mer-
chants alone was upwards of £100,000, and to the revenue more
than half that sum."

Mentor thanking the gentleman for his company, and wishing
those around hiro. good evening, he and Peregrine took boats and
landed at Wapping; where a boat's crew had just come on shore
with their hammocks,* in search of those land debaucheries
which the sea denies them, looking such wild, staring, uncouth
animals, so rude in their demeanour, and so mercurial in their
actions, that a woman could not pass by them but they fell to
sucking their lips like so many horse-leeches.

A sailor is, indeed, as Sir Thomas Overbury says, " a pitched
piece of reason, caulked and tackled, and only studied to dispute
with tempests. He is part of his own provision, for he lives ever
pickled ; a fair wind is the substance of his creed, and fresh water
the burden of his prayers. He is naturally ambitious, for he is
ever climbing out of sight; as naturally he fears, for he is ever
flying; time and he are every where, ever contending who shall
arrive first; he is well winded, for he tires the day, and outruns
darkness ; his life is like a hawk's, the best part mewed, and, if
he lives till three coats, is a master ; he sees God's wonders in the
deep, but so that they rather appear his bedfellows than stirrers
of bis zeal ; nothing but hunger and hard rocks can convert him,

• The natives of Brazil used to sleep in nets, composed of the rind of tlie
hamack-tree, suspended between poles fixed in the ground ; and from that
the sailor's hammock is derived.

DOINGS IN LONDON. 3ia

and then but his upper deck neither, for his hold neither fears nor
hopes; his sleeps are but reprievals of his dangers, and, when he
awakes, 'tis but next stage to dying; his wisdom is the coldest
part about him, for it ever points to the north, and it lies lowest,
which makes his valour every tide o'erflow^ it; in a storm, it is
disputable whether the noise be more his or the element's, and which
will first leave scolding ; his keel is the e«\blem of his conscience :
till it be split he never repents, and then no farther than tlie land
allows him. His language is a new confusion, and all his thoughts
new notions ; his body and his ship are both one burden, nor is
it known who stows most wine, or rolls most, — only the ship is
guided ; he has no stern, and barnacle and he are bred together,
both of one nature, and, it is feared, one reason; upon any but a
w^ooden horse he cannot ride, and, if the wind blows against him,
he dare not; he swarms up to his seat as to a sail-yard, and can-
not sit, unless he bear a flag-staff; if ever he be broken to the
saddle, 'tis but a voyage still, for he mistakes the bridle for a
bowling, and is ever turning his horse's tail ; he can pray, but it
is but by rote, not faith, and, when he would, he dares not, for his
brackish belief has made that ominous. A rock or a quicksand
pluck him before he is ripe ; else he is gathered to his friends at
Wapping. Such," said Mentor, *' is the character of a sailor of
the seventeenth century. They are now dwindling into a maukish,
puritanical, sighing, grunting set of drivelling psalm-singing sons

of (you remember what Lord Cochrane called his commander.)

The bold, open, generous, eccentric Bristish sailor is now nearly
extinct: one of the blessed effects of modern improvement."

" I cannot but reflect," said Peregrine, " on the unhappy lives
of these sea-water eccentrics, who are never at home but when
they are at sea, and always are wandering when they are at
home, but never contented but when they are on shore: they are
never at ease till they have received their pay, and never easy till
they have spent it And, when their pockets are emptied by
their landladies (who cheat them of one half, if they spend the
other), as a father is by a soH-in-law, who has beggared himself to
give him a good portion with his daughter.

" These sons of Neptune were not long on shore, before they were
surrounded by plenty of tawdry trulls, dancing to a Scotch bag-
piper, in a public-house where were a party of coal-heavers, who
were drinking the fine of a gallon of beer, from a brother labourer,
who had had the misfortune offallingoff a barge into the water. "It is
too bad,'' said Peregrine, " for a poor fellow to pay a fine for being un-
fortunate." " It is a custom observed among them," replied Men-
tor, " some time ago, a man, while working out a barge laden with
coals at Queenhithe, had the misfortune to slip off the plank into
the river. His companions, on hearing the splash in the water,
ran to his assistance, and instantly succeeded in getting hold of
his jacket, but, instead of immediately dragging him out, they barely
kept his head above water, and began vociferating * beer, beer,'

320 DOINGS IN LONDON.

The man in the water in a short time endeavoured to speak, but
had no sooner opened his mouth, when a wave, owing to his Ijead
being- kept so low, gently glided down his tliroat, and prevented
him; he was then allowed to stand up, the water being at the spot
about four feet deep, but not to get out, and, as well as the water
in his throat would allow, bawled out ' beer.' His black compa-
nions, on hearing him mefition the word * beer,' immediately as-
sisted him in getting into the barge, and the whole gang of them
shortly after repaired to the Farnham Castle, in Trinity Lane, and
ordered the landlady to send in a gallon of beer. On inquiring
into these curious proceedings, it turned out that the coal-heavers
had a standing rule, that, if any man falls overboard, he is to be
fined a gallon of beer ; but, as many of them, after being safely got
out, have refused to comply with the rule, they now keep the un-
fortunate fellow in the water till he gives his consent, by calling out
• beer,' when they take him out, proceed to a public-house, and
drink a gallon at his expense."

On the return of Mentor and Peregrine homeward, near Bil-
lingsgate, they heard the praying, singing, and brawling of a sailor-
looking mendicant preacher, holloaing to a rabble of crack-
brained followers, who were fools enough to listen to his specious
oratory. And near the same spot, was a drunken fiddler, scraping
away to a party of vulgar swearing trulls and their flashmen,
who afforded mirth to plenty of by-standers, some of whom were
laughing at the fiddler's audience, and some at the preacher's
eloquence. What a place for the worship of God !

Among the crowd was a fellow, with some watch-stands for
sale, which appeared as if made of marble, and they particularly
attracted the attention of Peregrine, who, believing the vender,
thought they were manufactured of alabaster : he was about giving
the sum demanded, when Mentor informed him there was much
deception in them, for they were made of nothing else but rice.
'• Well, then," said Peregrine, " as I am rather thirsty, I suppose
I may safely purchase some of these Orlean plums — there can be
no deception in them : see what a beautiful bloom is on them !"
"Very beautiful, indeed," replied Mentor, "and very natural, is
it not ? Wliy, this heauliful bloom is manufactured — it is artificial :
they take the plums, breathe on them, and then dip them in pow-
dered blue (such as laundresses use), and that gives them the ap-
pearance of fresh bloom !" " Ah !"' said Peregrine, " London is
the school for a man to finish his education in."

They had ^carcely reached the top of Thames Street, when they
saw a crowd assembled round a decent-looking man, who was
telling them how he had been done: he took a seat on the dickey
of one of the stages, a few miles out of town, and in a few minutes
afterwards, a queer-looking fellow got up, and seated himself close
beside him : when, after riding about a couple of miles, he alighted.
On the coach arriving at the foot of London Bridge, he felt in his
waistcoat pocket, and found all his money was gone. " That,"

DOINGS IN LONDON.

.121

said a by-stander, " is not so bad as I was served ; for the other
day. when I alighted from the stage, 1 found one of my coat-
pockets cut off, in which was a pocket-book, containing, for-
tunately, only some private memorandums. People ought to be
careful, when they ride in the dickies, not to let the flaps of their
coats hang over the railing; for the thieves get behind, at dusk,
and cut off the pockets."

'• But come," said Peregrine, " let us make haste home, for I
am tired ; and to-morrow we will visit poor Farmer Metcalfe, in
the Fleet Prison."

Accordingly, the next morning, they made good their engage-
ment with the farmer; and, while talking with him, they were
surprised by the hurraing and music which proceeded from the
parade. " Come with me," said the farmer •' and vou shall wit-
ness the Doings at the

©pairing tfi? <ffoo& df tfje College,
nn officer of some consequence and emolument in the Fleet Prison,
as be is elected annually. The following is a copy of the bill of
one of the candidates : —

" ' CANDIDATE FOR THE KITCHEN.

*' ' J. M'C respectfully a?inounces to the ladies and gentle-
men of the College, that it is his intention to offer himself a Candi-
date to fill the situation oj Cook; and he trusts, if successful, from
his long experience in the Baking business, he shall be found to gitit
ample satisfaction.

41. Y

^2'2 DOINGS IN LONDON.

** * J. M^C hegs to add, that he has a wife and a family of

children depending on him for support ; that he has been an inmate
of the College some time ; and, from peculiar circumstances, he is
'ikely to continue so a considerable time longer.^
" * Fleet, Dec. 182G.' "

•* It is consoling, really," said Mentor, " to think the prisoners
lan be allowed to indulge themselves in such a manner as we have
viiitnessed : it must tend much to rub off the rust of care, and be-
guile a few hours in innocent mirth.

" This prison," continued Mentor, " is, I believe, the most
ancient in London ; formerly called Prisona de la Fleet, or the
Queen's Gaol of the Fleet. I find that Kichard I. confirmed to
Osbert, brother to William Longshampe, chancellor of England,
and elect of Ely, the keeping of his Gaol of the Fleet at London,
so called from the fleet, or water, running by it.

" King John gave to the Archdeacon of Wells the custody of his
gaol of the Fleet.

"About 1586, the prison was let and set to farm to the
victualling and lodging of all the house and prison to John Harvey,
and the other profits to Thomas Newport ; and these men used to
extort so much from the poor prisoners, whereupon they petitioned
the lords of the council, and a commission was granted for the
relief of the Fleet.

" The Fleet Prison was afterwards used for the reception of the
prisoners committed by the council-table, then called the Court of
the Star-Chamber : this assumed authority being found an into-
lerable burden to the subject, it was dissolved in the sixteenth year
of the reign of Charles the First.

" After the passing of this act, the Fleet Prison became a prison
for debtors, and for contempt of the Courts of Chancery, Exchequer,
and Common Pleas only.

" The Fleet was consumed in the fire of London ; and, during
its rebuilding, the prisoners that were therein at that time were
removed to Cerron House, in South Lambeth, which was made
into a prison ; and, upon the finishing of this place, the prisoners
were brought back, and it has ever since continued as a prison.

" Jacob Mendez Solas, a Portuguese, was the first prisoner
for debt that ever was loaded with irons in the Fleet : he was
turned into the dungeon (a place like those the dead are buried
in), without chimney or fire-place — neither paved nor boarded.
Capt. John Mackphedris, a merchant, was another victim of the
warden Bambridge. These atrocities came to the ears of Charles,
who declared that they might raise their walls higher, but that
there should be no prison within a prison.

" In 1728, a Mr. Edward Arne, father of the celebrated Dr.
Arne (then 81 years old), while in the Fleet Prison, was suddenly
seized, and forced into a damp, nauseous, and unwholesome
dungeon, without fire or covering ; where, through excessive cruelty

DOINGS IN LONDON. 323

for the space of six weeks, he lost his senses and diet). John
Huggins, the warden of the Fleet, was tried for murder, and
acquitted ; but James Barnes, his agent, was commited, but he
fled. Various other cruelties, committed by these wretches, gave
rise to the committee, which the humane Thompson has thus cele-
brated in his Winter: —

* And here can I forget the generous band,
Who, touch'd with human woe, redressive search'd
Into the horrors of tl)e gloomy gaol ?
Unpitied and unheard, where misery moans;
Where sickness pines; where thirst and hunger burn,
And poor misfortune feels the lash of vice.
While in the land of liberty, the land
Whose every street and public meeting glow
With open freedom, little tyrants raged ;
Snatch'd the lean morsel from the starving mouth ;
Tore from cold wintry limbs the tatter'd weed ;
E'en robbed them of the last of comforts — sleep,
The free-born Briton to the dungeon chain'd,
Or, as the lust of cruelty prevail'd,
At pleasure mark'd him with inglorious stripes;
And crush'd out lives, by secret barbarous ways,
That for their country would have toil'd or bled.
O great design ! if executed well,
AV^ith patient care, and wisdom-temper'd zeal.
Ye sons of mercy ! yet resume the search ;
Drag forth the legal monster into light,
Wrench from their hands oppression's iron rod,
And bid the cruel feel the pains they give.
Much still untouch'd remains : in this rank age
The toils of law (what dark insidious men
Have cumbrous added to perplex the truth,
And lengthen simple justice into trade)
How glorious were the day ! that saw these broke,
And every man within the reach of right.'

**Oftheold prison," continued Mentor, "we know but little of its
architecture; but the body of the present prison is a handsome, lofty,
brick building, of a considerable length, with galleries in every
story, which reach from one end of the house to the other : on the
sides of which galleries are rooms for the prisoners. All manper
of provisions are brought into this prison every day, and cried as
in the public streets. Here, also, is kept an ordinary : with a large
open area for exercise, enclosed with a high wall.

" The following lines you will find in a poem called the
' Humours of the Fleet :' —

' Near Fleet's commodious market's miry verge.
This celebrated prison stands, compact and large.
Where, by the jigger's* more than magic charm,
Kept from the power of doing good or harm,
Relenting captives inly ruminate
Misconduct past, and curse their present state :
Though sorely griev'd, few are so void of grace,
Ab not to wear a seeming cheerful face ;

* The door-keeper.
Y 2

3'24 DOINGS IN LONDON.

In drinks or sports, ungrateful thoughts must die,

For who can bear heart-wounding calumny ?

Therefore, cabals engage of various sorts,

To walk, to drink, or play at different sports :

Here on the oblong table's verdant plain,

The ivory bull bounds and rebounds again ;

There at backgammon two sit tete a tele,

And curse alternately their adverse fate ;

These are at cribbage, those at whist engaged,

And as they lose, by turns become enrag'd :

Some of a more sedentary temper, read

Chance-medley books, which duller darkness breeds ;

Or politics in coffee-room, some pore

The papers and advertisements thrice o'er.

Here, knotty points at different tables rise,
And either party's wondrous, wond'rous wise:
Some, of low taste, ring hand-bells, direful noise !
And interrupt their fellow's harmless joys ;
Disputes more noisy now a quarrel breeds.
And fools on both sides fall to loggerheads :
'Till, wearied with persuasive thumps and blows.
They drink as friends, as though they ne'er were foes.

Without distinction, intermix'd is seen,
A 'squire quite dirty, a mechanic clean :
The spendthrift heir, who in his chariot roU'd,
All his possessions gone, reversions sold ;
Now, mean as once profuse, the stupid sot
Sits by a runner's side, and damns his lot.

Beneath a tent some drink, and some above
Are slily in their chambers making love :
Venus and Bacchus each keep here a shrine,
And many votaries have to love and wine.'

" I have read,'" said Peregriue, " with great attention and plea-
sure, several papers in the Morning Herald, on the preserit state oj
the two great debtors' prisons of the kingdom — the King's Bench and
the Fleet, by a Prisoner for Debt, in which the author says —

" * There is an individual at this moment in the Fleet, who is a
fit representative of the victims of •• contempts of Chancery."
Poor wretch ! He is like Edgar in King Lear. His madness,
however, is not feigned, and the tattered coat, or rather spencer,
that hangs loosely from his shoulders, is not put on for deception;
yet, like " mad Tom," it may almost be said of him.

Rats and mice, and such small deer,
Have been his food for many a year.'

•• * In the callous and joyless mirth of the prison he is bantered
about his property, and his prosecutor, who is, I believe, a female;
and the name by which he is known, and to which he answers, is,
" the Lord Chancellor !" When broken victuals are placed be-
fore him, not knowing, like Captain Dalgetty, when and where
he is to get more provender, he swallows them with inconceivable
rapidity, and is ready, in return, to fetch and carry water, &c., for
his benefactors. With a shipwrecked mind — in tatters — in desti-

DOINGS IN LONDON. Si.'j

tution, he lingers out his youth and manhood (for he is in the prime
of lite), and with his look of vacuity, his arms folded across his
breast, and the holes in his wretched garments, he seems to be
inwardly muttering —

' Poor Tom's a-cold.'

"'The scenes in this prison sometimes beggar description.
Every prisoner, before he can get a chum ticket, entitling him to
4s. 6d. per week, or the half of a room, must pay his entrance-fee,
amounting to about 30*. Many are utterly destitute when they
enter, and cannot raise 30a-. in the world— these persons must
either go to the * poor-side,' or take a room in the ' fair,' and in
either place give at least 2s. 6d. per week for the loan of a bed,
out of 3s. 6d. per week, which they are allowed as ' county money,'
on swearing they are not worth £10 in the world; thus they have
just Is. per week to provide food, fire, and clothes ! But some-
times, too, this • county money' is not paid, on the ground that the
funds are exhausted, in which case they are left for weeks to beg,
steal, or perish !

'• * I forget— there is " the grate," they can" declare on the grate."
But what does the reader think the grate is ? Why that little place,
in which through thick iron bars, during the middle of each day,
you may see a human form, and hear a voice saying" pity the poor
prisoners," from a room looking into Fleet Market; which, I have
been told by those who have been in it, is, during the winter and
rainy seasons, so unhealthy, that even few young men can be in
it for an hour or two a day, without imminent hazard to their lungs
and limbs.

" ' Nor are the rooms in the " fair" much better, if at all. They
are underground. Many feet beneath the surface of the damp
earth. They have a light somewhat like that of cellars. The
entrance to them, however, is much worse, being, in midday,
*' darkness visible." You must grope to find each door, and the
air, of which there is no current, is from one end, within a few feet
of the high wall. Many are the prisoners who have died here, or
who have been taken from here to die.

" * The last death I heard of in the " fair" was a most melancholy
one. A poor old man, upwards of eighty, who had been a res-
pectable tradesman at the west end of the town, sacrificed himseir
for a near relative. It was necessary, to prevent worse conse-
quences to that relative, that he should acknowledge a signature to
be his, which was not; but which acknowledgement cast him,
in his old age, into the Fleet Prison. At first he came to the
" poor-side," but, as his venerable and loving wife, or, as he used
to call her, " his ain kind dearie, oh !" oft'ered to make him more
comfortable by sharing his imprisonment, he took a room in the
" faire." Few were the weeks the faithful couple dwelt together !
The damp, the bad air, or, it may be, want, in addition (for he
"could not steal, and to beg he was ashamed"), laid the affection-
ate woman low, and she went from a cell in the heart of the city

326 DOINGS IN LONDON.

of London to " a l»ouse not made with hands, eternal in the
heavens."

" * The " poor-side," to which a prisoner must go who has not
money to pay his entrance-fees, is composed of four rooms,
I think, each containing about seven spaces for bedsteads, divided
by a slight partition of wood, extending to near the ceiling ; these
rooms have two windows each, for air and light; and, in each
room, seven prisoners may be mingling their healthy or un-
healthy breath nightly — some coming in at one hour, others at
another — some sober and quiet, others drunk and noisy, and these
four rooms, by the way, being just opposite the high wall of the
prison, at a distance of a few feet, and immediately above the
common sewer, and the common temples for a nameless purpose.

" * Yes, in London the city of charities ; in London, the capital
of "the envy and admiration of surrounding nations;" in London,
where a thousand voices are daily talking about " Freedom," " In-
dependence," " the British Constitution," &c., in the very heart of
the " heart of England," there are human beings, for no crime, in-
carcerated, and not being able to pay thirty shillings, are obliged
to reside in the" fair," or in the "poor-side" of the Fleet Prison,
with an uncertain three-and-sixpence per week, two-and-sixpence
of which must be paid for a bed, and the remaining shilling is all
they have to spin out the thread of life as well as they can ! Talk
of the "march of intellect," indeed ! when will the march of in-
tellect, or of benevolence and enlightened legislation, march into
the King's Bench and Fleet prisons ?

" ' It certainly is a great advantage that the Fleet possesses be-
yond the bench, in allowing the wives and infant children of pri-
soners to abide with them. Nothing is so horrible as the separa-
tion exacted by the regulations of the Bench, nor is any thing so
consolatory as this privilege allowed in the Fleet.

" ' Yet the poor prisoner can h^ve no wife or child to abide
with him, save in the cells of the fair, unless he pay his entrance-
fees. Without thirty shillings :

" Nor wife, nor children, more shall he embrace,
Nor friends, nor sacred home —

" ' One poor fellow, who had been a postmaster and stamp-dis-
tributor in a country town, was brought into the prison utterly desti-
tute. After he had been there three weeks, a bone, such as a dog
would scarcely thank you for, was offei ed to him by a fellow-pri-
soner ; he took it with tears of gratitude, saying he had not tasted
animal food since he had been within those walls. His wife was
confined to her bed, and his children were starving. At last his
prospects brightened with the shoes he got to brush.

' " Another, a sensible man, who had moved in good society,
took a large dose of laudanum a few months ago, to release him
from the poor-side and his woes at once. He was saved from f*n
immediate death, to linger out what I should call a daily one.
How can it be otherwise ? How can a respectable man live
on three shillings and sixpence per week, and endure the society —

DOINGG IN LOiSDON 327

the compulsory society, by night of the habitiiai drunkard, the blas-
phemer, the debauchee, the heartless and impudent blackguard, to
which he may be subjected by being on the •' poor side?"

.«< When you enter the lower rooms of the Fleet, you respire with
a thickness that is palpable. Nor is this surprising : the Fleet is
in the centre of London, and occupies altogether a space, the in-
side circumference of which is, I think, only about the ninth part
of a mile. The upper rooms, in point of light and air, are not
bad ; but, during the summer months, the heat to which they are
exposed, and the vermin which that heat calls into life, are in-
tolerable. Tlie vaulted roof, when you enter the " hall," or first
gallery, and the dim light while the sun is blazing in meridian
glory on the outside, give an appearance of a place in which you
would think owls and bats alone would love to live. To a sensi-
tive imagination, these scenes would recall the forcible language
of Dante's •' Inferno"—

'^All hope abandon, ye who enter here /"

** ' I do not wish to instance the numerous cases which, both
in the Fleet and the Bench, show the horrible demoralization
caused by imprisonment. Were I to do so, I should be compelled
to lift up a veil that, for the sake of the beings behind it, had bet-
ter never be withdrawn. Those, after long imprisonment, who once
moved in the foremost ranks of society — were brilliant among the
gay, dignified among the high, erudite among the learned, what
are they now ? Who is that youth in the Fleet, whose hollow
cheeks and sunken eyes — whose tattered coat and haggard look,
speak of utter and reckless dissipation ? Is he the once glittering

and fashionable ? Who is that old gentleman, with whom

the name of the deity is sport, and his greatest condemnation a
by-word; who carries his God about him, and drinks it to the
destruction of his appetite, his peace, and his morals ; — is he the

son of the celebrated, the almost immortalized 1 Who is

that wild and desperate ruflSan, whose language is that of an
Indian savage — a cannibal ; who could tomahawk, " kill, and eat,"
his victim ? Is he the once classical, erudite, and highly- respected

? Alas! it is so; but the dark and merciful waves of

oblivion will pass over them ; and their creditors may feast their
voracious revenge like Zanga — they have damnedhoth body and soul.

" ' But there is another, and a different class, with whom the
good may sympathize without shrinking. There are, in the Fleet,
victims of the chancery system, whom even oppression and pri-
vation have not weaned from the charities of our better nature.
There is one, at least, who cannot forbear sharing his last shilling
with the destitute — who has given bread to the hungry, and
wholesome liquor (not ardent spirits) to the weak and pennyless.
" Verily I say unto ye, he shall not go without his reward."

" • And the Warden, with very limited means, is ready to listen
and relieve. Even those who have wronged him — deeply and ir-
revocably wronged him, he has, on application, though smarting
beneath the wrong, pitied and succoured,' "

;V28 DOINGS IN LONDON.

" ' I have known the Warden some years," said Mentor ; " and
have had many opportunities of witnessing his kind and charitable
disposition. 1 followed him one day along St. Paul's Church-
Yard, over Blackfiiars Bridge, and 1 did not see one beggar but
what he reheved, and that in the kindest manner ; and I could
give you numerous other instances of his charity, were it necessary."

" i thank, you, my friend," said Peregrine, " for your interrup-
tion ; it has given me a little breathing-time. But, to proceed :
our author continues thus : —

" * I shall merely add to this catalogue of evils, the common
modes of irritation resorted to by vindictive creditors of sending
their victims backwards and forwards, from term to term, from
the Bench to the Fleet, and from the Fleet to the Bench. Many
a miserable debtor has been harrassed to death, and put to vast
expense, in this way. It is an annoyance of easy accomplishment,
and of most frequent occurrence. They have nothing to do but get
up two actions — one in the Pleas or Exchequer, and one in the
King's Bench, and at every process in each they can send their
victims like a shuttlecock, from one to the other, destroying his
domestic prison arrangements, or putting him to the heavy ex-
pense of a ' speedy habeas.' Why is this ? why do the courts per-
mit it ? why cannot declarations, dCc. be served upon prisoners
where they are, without this annoyance and expense ?'

"The following remarks," continued Peregrine, "are worthy of
every consideration :—

" ' It now only remams to be shown, or rather discussed,
whether it would not be better to abolish the practice of imprison-
ment for debt altogether than to attempt to remedy its abuses?

" ' I propose to view its consequences under three heads : 1. Upon
the Debtor ; 2. Upon the Creditor ; 3. Upon the Community.

" ' 1. The effects upon the debtor are, first to disable him, aud
next to disincline him, to pay his debts. Whatever means he
possessed while at liberty, these means must, in most cases, be
greatly abridged duringconfinement. He cannot see after his own
affairs, but must trust to the agency of others. If he be embar-
rassed, but in a train to relieve himself from his embarrassment, his
object is effectually frustrated ; as, from the circumstance of his
imprisonment becoming public, all are ready to sink and none to
save him. If he be poor, he cannot labour, but is driven to the al-
ternative of feeding upon what property of his creditors he has
left, or starving — he must be dishonest or die. The creditor who
elects to seize his person cannot seize his goods ; hence those
goods may be, and are, generally, sold at a ruinous loss, or
pledged, to provide for the debtor in prison.

"'As the debtor is thus driven to dishonesty, he begins to
habituate Ids mind to that which he cannot help. Instead of
viewing his creditors, the merciful as well as the unmerciful, as
persons to whom he is bound by a moral obligation, he considers
that they have ceased to have any claims upon him, save those
which they can satisfy by legal force. In this feeling he is en

DOINGS IN LONDON. HliU

couraged by what he sees around hira. He sees numbers relieved
monthly under the Insolvent Act, who have defrauded their
creditors of every farthing, by committing what to hira, and to
most of the others who hear them, is notorious perjury. He hears
the songs and toasts before alluded to, and must have a mind
strongly fortified by a disinterested sense of moral duty, not to be
debauched by the almost universal example.

" * Nor is dishonesty the only vice which imprisonment engenders.
Dissipation and gaming next follow. Man cannot be idle. Im-
prisonment says he shall — Nature says he shall not. The mind
must be employed — otherwise, as Byron poetically observes, like
a sword undrawn, '• it eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously."
Defoe has well described Robinson Crusoe's longings for even a
savage associate ; and Baron Trenck risked his life in the prison
of Magdeburg for a mouse. So, in the King's Bench and Fleet,
men must do something — and what do they ? — what do most of
them, but —

" Game by night and tipple all the day 1"

" * I speak not again of the sufferings of those who are poor and
hoQest — I speak not again of those who, after having given up
" their all," are thrust into a gaol to pine upon 3s. 6d. per week,
afforded but not assured by the county, or extracted by a legal
process from the inhuman creditor after execution. I speak not
again of sleeping upon inverted tables in the Bench with a score of
associates, or being turned to the " poorside" or the " Fair" of the
Fleet — I speak only of the moral consequences to the debtor ; and
I am satisfied with having shown that the tendency of imprison-
ment for debt is, and must be, to the debtor, dishonesty, dissipation,
gaming, and desperation.

" • 2. Its consequences upon the creditor are nearly as bad — he
loses his money and feeds his revenge. Is revenge a Christiau
virtue? Yet Christianity is " part and parcel of the law of the
land" — that same law which allows its subjects to feast their revenge
even to satiety ! — to visit upon their miserable debtors, and upon
the wives and children of their miserable debtors, the loss — it may
be, of health, of morals, of society, and of happiness, to make up
for the nonpayment of their goods ! Is it beneficial in a state to
encourage such a spirit as this ? Is it beneficial to the individual
who indulges it? Is it calculated to fit hira for better discharging
his duties to his own family — his own country — his God? It
cannot be.

'"And then, in reference to his pecuniary interests, we have
seen that imprisonment lessens the ability and lessens the inclina-
tion of the debtor to pay : the consequence, then, is, that, in the
average of cases, the creditor loses by incarcerating his debtor — he
loses, at all events, the money necessary for subsistence during
his imprisonment — he loses the costs of law — he loses the value of
those goods which are sold or pledged by his debtor — and he loses
all that the disinclination of the dt-btor to pay, even when he has
it in his power, can compel him to lose.
42.

330 DOINGS IN LONDON.

" * I know a striking instance of this latter evil. A genileman
of family was arrested for about £400, and removed to the Bench.
Being able to command £200, he offered 10*. in the pound to his
creditors, with his own security for the payment of the remainder
in twelve months. This was refused ; and, as he could not mend
his offer, he remained in prison, living upon his £200. After being
about eighteen months confined, a large property was bequeathed
to him, unknown to his creditors : this property he declared he
would enjoy in prison, rather than pay his creditors a farthing — he
considered their claims cancelled by his long imprisonment. His
friends remonstrated, but in vain. At last, one of them made an
offer to his creditors, on his behalf, of Jive shillings in the pound :
this was eagerly accepted by them, but utterly refused by him,
until that friend informed him that he had made himself persona%
responsible for the amount. It was then paid as a debt of honour
to the friend, but as a debt of constraint to the creditor. Such are
the feelings of those upon whose minds a long imprisonment is
allowed to operate.

" 'The only good which creditors expect from possessing the
means of imprisoning their debtors, is the terror which such im-
prisonment is likely to excite ; b*jt, unfortunately, that terror is
only for those who cannot pay — not for those who can. Men
who have money, and who wish to keep it, can live very com-
fortably and very economically in a prison. They can command
a room well furnished, for about a guinea per week, at the top of
the building — they can have what wines and delicacies they
choose — they can keep their mistresses, though they cannot their
wives and their families ; there is always some genteel society to
be had ; and, having the money of their creditors in their pockets,
they can spend it in whatever manner they choose. Imprisonment
has no terrors for them. But imprisonment is terrible to the good,
the poor, and the honest — to those who love their wives and their
families, and who would wish never to be deprived of their com-
pany— to the virtuous, whose daily prayer is " lead us not into
temptation" — to the industrious, who cannot endure idleness — to
the sober, who detest drunkenness — to the prudent, who like not
gaming.

" * 3. To the community at large the evils of imprisonment for
debt are most seriously felt. Of course, as the community is made
up of units, so, whatever affects those units severally, affects the
whole community jointly. But, to the particular consequences to
debtors and creditors of imprisonment for debt, must be added the
force of those consequences, as examples upon society at large.
A creditor who is in the habit of exercising a revengeful spirit, in
locking up the unfortunate who cannot pay, cannot be expected to
be untainted with the same spirit in his conduct to those who are
not his debtors, but who are yet under his control; while a debtor,
who has learned such lessons of roguery while in prison, and be-
come idle from necessity, and dissipated from choice, cannot be
expected to shake himself free froln his vices and his fetters at

DOINGS IN LONDON.

331

once. What, then, is the inevitable result to the community, but
an increase of evil and a decrease of good, in both cases ?

" ' Holland is without imprisonment for debt, and yet the Dutch
understand their interests as well as any nation on the earth.
Scotland is comparatively without imprisonment for debt — yet who
will doubt the sagacity of Sawney ? Two of the most thinking
and commercial people carry on their business largely and thrivingly
without imprisonment for debt — why, therefore, cannot England ?
Which loses the most money by their several systems 1 Let avarice
himself be the judge upon this occasion, and determine whether ornot
imprisonment for debt ought to be continued.' "

" There is certainly," said Mentor, " a vast deal of truth, sense,
and feeling in these remarks ; and they do the author great
credit ; but there must be some severe check on dishonest ex-
travagant people. I was looking, the other day, among some
papers, and I found an account of a foreigner, a prisoner in the
Fleet, against whom a commission of bankruptcy had issued.
He had been several times under examination before the com-
missioners, and had been desired to furnish the particulars of certain
items which appeared in the statement of his accounts delivered to
his assignees, one of which was as follows: — "Family expenses
in the Fleet and at my dwelling-house for 219 days, for thirteen
persons in and out, and different visitors, £1,888;" of which he
gave the following remarkable explanation :

*" EXPENSES IN THE FLEET.

Sugar, tea, coffee, spices, chocolate, rice, cocoa,
sago, &c., at the average of £1. 10s. per day .

Bread, flour, biscuits, &c., at the average of 10s,
per day ........

Cheese, butter, eggs, &c,, at the average of 12s.
per day ......

Meat, at £l. Is. per day

Poultry, at 5s. per day ....

Beer and ale, at 10s. per day ....

Brandy, &c., at 10s. per day ...

Wine, 10s. per day ......

Confectionary, 6s. per day ....

Fish and oysters, (is. per day ...

Vegetables, 5s. per day . ....

Coals and wood, 4s. Qd. per day

Cooking in the kitchen, Is. Qd. per day

Oils, soap, salt, &c., lis. per day .

Fruit, 3s. per day . .....

Tallow-candles, Is. Qd. per day

Family washing, 4s. per day ....

Sundries, 15s. per day . . . . .

Deficiency not fully explained, but which must
have been expended during my confinemen*^

£. s.

d.

328 10

0

109 10

0

131 8

0

229 19

0

54 15

0

109 10

0

109 10

0

109 10

0

65 14

0

65 14

0

54 15

0

49 5

6

16 8

6

120 9

0

32 17

0

16 8

6

43 16

0

154 5

0

1,802 4

6

84 15

6

:i;888 0

0

332 DOINGS IN LONDON.

•' These moderate, leasonable, and probable charges not appearing
altogether to satisfy the minds of the commissioners, and the
bankrupt pertinaciously declaring himself incapable of affording
further elucidation, he was committed to Newgate.

" I have often thought," continued Mentor," that a History of the
Fleet would make a very interesting work ; especially if it wore pos-
sible to give the lives of the most eminent and remarkable characters
which have been there incarcerated. We have portraits of several
persons who have been inmates of this celebrated prison, one of
the last of whom was the celebrated Mrs. Cornely, who died here
in 1797 ; not forgetting the notorious Johnson, the Smuggler, who
made his escape out of the Strong Room, and, by means of a patent
sash-line, descended safely into the street; and also the French-
man who took French leave, and ascended by a rope ladder, and
got over into the Belle-Sauvage Inn Yard ; but the walls were not
so high then as they are now." — " It would indeed," said Pere-
grine," be a truly interesting work, especially, as you say, i/'everv
inmate would give a true detail of his adventures."

Peregrine having now arranged his affairs with the farmer, tooic
leave of him, and in a few minutes found himself, with his friend
Mentor, once more in Fleet Market. " But stop awhile," said
Mentor to Peregrine, as in all probability, by the next time you
come to London, this market-place will be annihilated ; for, as
it appears it is soon to be reaioved from its present site, in order
to make way for a variety of projected improvements on the
spot, it may be as well to give you a little of its history. It
arose about the year 173G, in consequence of the wish of the
city to erect a mansion-house or residence for the Lord Mayor ;
and who, conceiving Stock's Market, near the entrance to Lombard
Street, ihe most centrical situation for that purpose, obtained per-
missio I to arch over a part of the Fleet ditch, and transfer it thither.

*• In a preparatory petition of the city, presented Feb. 26, 1733,
to the House of Commons, by the sheriffs, several particulars are
stated relative to the then nature of the site, which, connected with
others known of it in remote times, are highly interesting. It sets
forth, that, by act of Parliament, 22d Car. II., entitled au
Adtlitional Act for Rebuilding the City of London, &c. the channel
of Bridewell Dock, from the Thames to Holborn Bridge, was di-
rected to be sunk to a sufficient level to make it navigable, under
certain limitations therein prescribed, which was done ; but that
the profits arising from such navigation had not answered the
charge of making ; that part of the said channel, from Fleet Bridge
to Holborn Bridge, instead of being useful to trade, as was in-
tended, was filled up with raud, and become a common nuisance,
and that several persons had lost their lives by falling into it; that
the expense of cleansing and repairing tlie same would be very
great, and a larger annual charge would be required to keep it in
r pair, without answering the intent of the act; it therefore prayed
that a bill might be brought in to repeal so much of that act as
related to the said channel, and to eraoowei the petitioners to fill

DOINGS IN LONDON. 333

up that part of it from Fleet-Bridge to Holborn-Bridge, and to
convert the ground to such uses as they should think fit and con-
venient.

" ' The creek or channel alluded to h-ad its entrance from the
Thames, immediately below Bridewell, and reached as faT as Hol-
6orn Bridge, at the foot of Holbora Hill, where it received into it
thelittle river Fleet, Turnmill Brook, and another stream called Old-
bourne, which gave name to that vast street. The tide flowed up
as far as Holborn Bridge, and brought up barges of considerable
burden. The Fleet river flowed in a valley, which may still be
traced from this spot to Battle Bridge, near the Sraall-Pox Hos-
pital, and though .t might once have been celebrated for its trans-
parent waters (and " possibly some of our very, very early ladies,"
as a certain writer observes, " might have honoured it by smooth-
ing and adorning their shining tresses from its surface)," it had se-
veral centuries back become occasionally so filthy as to be almost
intolerable. So long since as 1290, we learn from the Parliament
Rolls, that the White Friars, whose convent lay on its west side,
complained of the putrid exhalations arising from Fleet River,
which were so powerful as to overcome all the frankincense burnt
at their altar during divine service, and even occasioned the death
of many of the brethren. They begged that the stench might be
immediately removed, lest they should all perish. The Black Friars
on the opposite side, and the Bishop of Salisburj , who then lived
in Salisbury Court, united in the same complaint.

" ' But little redress, however, appears at this time to have been
obtained, for the great Henry Earl of Lincoln, who had his man-
sion somewhere near Shoe Lane, strongly reprobated the ex-
istence of this nuisance, in a Parliament held at Carlisle in 1307,
in which he was joined by the city of London, who represented,
by petition, that the course of the water which ran at London under
the bridge of Holborn, and the bridge of the Fleet into the Thames,
was wont to be so large and broad, and deep, that ten or twelve
ships used to come up to the said Fleet Bridge with merchan-
dize, &c., some of which ships went under the said Bridge unto
Holborn Bridge ; but that the course was then obstructed by the
filth of tanners, and other stoppages made in the said water ; but
chiefly by the raising of a quay, and by diverting of the water,
which they of the New Temple had made for their mills without
Baynard's Castle, and praying for an inquest as to the same.
And this was further explained by the commission itself for such
inquiry ; which states it to have been asserted, that the course
of the water of Fleet, running down to the Thames, as well by
dung and filth, as by the exhalation of a certain quay by the
master, &c. of the New Temple, for their mills upon the Thames,
near Castle Baynard, newly made, was so stopped up, that boats
with corn, wine, faggots, and other necessaries, could not pass up
as thentofore.

834 DOINGS IN LONDON.

These lepresentations occasioned the removal of the nuisances
complained of, and we hear little of the Fleet River until the year
1606, when nearly £20,000 was expended in cleansing it. On
this occasion, numerous Roman vessels, coins, and other antiques,
were discovered, besides remains of the Saxons, in spurs, wea-
pons, keys, seals, &c. ; also, medals, crosses, and crucifixes, most
of them supposed to have been flung in at different times of
alarm.

" ' It changed, after this period, its nobler name of Fleet lliver
for Bridewell Ditch, and Fleet Ditch, which designations were
applied respectively to those parts of the stream which ran next
Bridewell and tlie Fleet Prison, near each of wh>ch was a wooden
bridge for foot passengers. And in this condition it contmued
until the small tenements, sheds, and laystalls, on the banks of it,
were burnt down in the fire of London. A commission and in-
quiry to make it navigable to Holborn or Clerkenwell were moved
for two years after this calamity by the celebrated William Prynne,
in consequence of which, in the act for rebuilding London, just
mentioned, it was enacted, " that the channel of the River Fleet
to Holborn Bridge should be sunk to a sufficient level to make
it navigable ;■" and it was accordingly finished and re-opened
in 1673.

" ' By the directions of this act, a passage was to be left on
each side the channel of not less than 100, no; more than 120 feet
wide. The stream itself was 2,100 feet long, and 40 feet in
breadth ; so that two lighters might meet, and pass each other
without difficulty in any part of it; and the style of finishing
it, with its roads, wharfs, bridges, &c. must have rendered, at
first, the appearance of the whole extremely handsome. It was
wharfed on both sides with stone and brick, laid with terras;
had a strong campshot all along on both sides, above the brick
wharfing, with land-ties in several places ; and was guarded with
rails of oak breast-high, above the campshot, to prevent danger in
the night. The depth of water, at the head at Holborn Bridge,
was five feet, at a five-o'clock tide, which is the slackest of all
tides ; but, at spring and other neap tides, there was much more
water. It had wharfs on both sides its whole length, constructed
in a uniform manner, with appropriate buildings, and four stone
bridges; viz. Fleet Bridge, Holborn Bridge, a bridge facing
Bridewell, and another, anciently called " SmaleeBrigge," opposite
the end of Fleet Lane. The Fleet and Holborn Bridges were ot
stone, before the fire, but were afterwards enlarged and beautified
with iron gratings, and carved work in stone ; those opposite
Bridewell and Fleet Lane are described as " two fair bridges stand-
ing upon two stone arches, over the river ; having two steps to
ascend and descend on either side, and half a pace over the arches,
all of Purbeck and Portland stone."

" * That it became subsequently much neglected, we learn from

DOINGS IN LONDON. 335

the city petition in 1733 ; and tbongh great suras of money are said
to have been, from time to time, expended on this Stygian Lake,
the task of keeping it clean appears to have been as fruitless as
that of Sysiphus, for w^e find Pope, near the period mentioned, in-
viting his heroes in the Dnnciad to its filthy stream :

" Here strip, my children — here at once leap in ;
And prove who best can dash through thick and thin."

" By the act for converting the site into a market (6 Geo. II. c.
22.), the fee simple of the ground and ditch is vested in the Lord
Mayor, commonalty, and citizens of London, for ever; with a
proviso that sufficient drains shall be made in or through the said
channel or ditch, and that no houses or shed shall be erected
therein exceeding fifteen feet in height. The ditch was arched
over with a double arch, with a common sewer, from Holborn to
Fleet Bridge, and the market finished, and proclaimed a free
market, on the 37th of September, 1737, of which the following
notice is given in th(? Gentleman's Magazine for that month : " Fri-
day, 30. The stalls, <fec. in Stocks Market being pulled down,
the Lord Mayor, &c. proclaimed Fleet Market a free market."

" ' From a contemporary publication, describing it as then
erected, it seems to have since undergone but very little alteration.
'• In the middle a long building is covered in, containing two rows
of shops, with a proper passage between, into which light is con-
veyed by windows along the roof. Over the centre is placed a
neat turret, with a clock in it. From the south end of this market-
house, piazzas extend on each side of the middle walk to Fleet
Bridge, for the convenience of fruiterers. At the north end are
two rows of butchers' shops ; and from thence to Holborn Bridge,
a spacious opening is left for gardeners and herb-stalls. The whole
market is well paved."

'• * The north end has been of late years improved by a good
pavement, and the erection of many convenient stalls, and the south
by two handsome shops ; but the centre part, with its pretty little
spire, remains in its original state. This market is busy at all
times, but particularly so in the fruit and vegetable seasons. Con-
siderable quantities of earthenware are also sold within it, besides
every kind of fiesh and fish. The never-ceasing hammers of the
undertakers, for which this spot was formerly noted, appeared at
one time to have almost driven away the more quiet inhabitants,
but there are now a variety of good shops carrying on other trades,
at its sides.

" * The market ceases at Fleet Street ; from whence Fleet ditch
continued open till 1764, when the building of the new bridge at
Blackfriars suggested the expediency of converting the remainder
into an open street, and the archwork was continued (but with a
single arch only) from Fleet-Bridge downward to the river, and
Bridge Street and Chatham Place were built. This improvement.

33« DOINGS IN LONDON.

exclusively of other reasons, seems to have been in a great measure
a matter of necessity, from the accidents passengers were liable to ;
for on Thursday, Jan, 11, 1763, we find from the papers, that
" a man was found in Fleet Ditch, standing upright, and frozen.
He appears to have been a barber, from Bromley in Kent ; had
come to town to see his children, and had unfortunately mistaken
his way in the night, had slipped into the ditch, and, being in liquor,
could not disentangle liimself."

" ' Of the nature of the Fleet marriages, we may form a guess,
from the complaint of a female correpondent to the Gentleman's
Magazine for 1735, who deplores the many ruinous marriages that
are every year performed in the Fleet, " by a set of drunken,
swearing parsons, with their myrmidons, that wear black coats,
and pretend to be clerks and registers to the Fleet, plying about
Ludgate Hill, pulling and forcing people to some peddling ale-
house or brandy-shop, to be married ; and even on Sundays stop-
ping them as they go into the church," — 2,954 marriages (it ap-
peared in evidence ) were celebrated in this way, from Oct. 1704
to Feb. 1705, without either licence or certificate of banns. Twenty
or thirty couple were sometimes joined in one day ; and their
names, if they chose to pay for it, were concealed by private
marks. Pennant says, in walking by the prison in his youth, he
had been often tempted with the question, Sir, will you please to
walk in and be married^ and that signs, containing a male and
female hand conjoined, with the inscription, " Marriages performed
within," were common along the whole of this lawless space. A
dirty fellow invited you in. The parson was seen walking before
the shop — a squalid profligate figurp, clad in a tattered plaid
night-gown, with a fiery face, and ready to couple you for a dram
of gin or a roil of tobacco. The warden of the Fleet, and his
register of marriages, made large gains from this trafic, and were
convicted before a committee of ihe House of Commons, of forging
and keeping false books. This abuse was the foundation of the
present Marriage Act."

" ' The negotiation for the loan of £150,000 for the removal of
Fleet Market from its present site, was closed on Wednesday,
July 14, 1B24. Alderman Sir Charles Flower took it. Bonds of
£100 were issued, and the whole sum was taken by the baronet
at 3}j percent, interest.

" ' The new market is to occupy nearly the whole of Shoe Lane,
on one side ; it is then intended to build a new prison in St.
George's Fields, between the King's Bench and Bethlehem Hos-
pital, and take down the present Fleet Prison; to remove most of
the houses ; to open, on the north side of the foot of Holborn
Bridge, a grand street to Islington, to be on a line with the
Obelisk in Bridge Street, Blackfriars. This, when completed,
will certainly be one of the greatest and most useful improvements
in the city since the rebuilding of the houses after the great fire.

EOINGS IN LONDON,

337

" I cannot do better," said Mentor, '' than now relate to you
tlie prelude scene to becoming' an inhabitant of this immense fab-
ric which is here most faithfully portrayed in

Cfje ISotngs at a ifHceting of CTrcltttors,

" Being a loser of some amount by the thoughtlessness of a man
in whom I placed the greatest reliance. We met at one of the
City coffee-houses, and 1 was surprised at the very scanty number
of creditors present, there being only, besides myself, an enraged
Scotch baker, a fat boisterous butcher, and a contented tailor.
The accounts he presented were by no means satisfactory, espe-
cially his bill for wines, which certainly excited the wrath of those
present: he would not for some time give any reason why he was
so indebted; at length, after much questioning, he acknowledged,
very rtluctantly, that he had the wines to treat his friends with,
who were his wretched companions at the gambling-tables ; and
that his ruin was occasioned by frequenting the various * Hells' at
the west end of the town ; in which horrid receptacles he had not
only lost an independent fortune, but also some thousands of pounds
of other persons' property: for he had not one single pound to share
among his creditors. To imprison him was of no use ; his friends
refusing to assist him, knowmg the uselessness of it; for his love
for gaming was such, that he would even play for the coat on his
back. We, therefore," continued Mentor, " agreed to give him a
discharge, after much grumbling on the part of the baker and
43. X

338 DOINGS IN LONDON.

butcher. The poor, lost, wretched man, seemed truly thankful ;
telling us, that his miserable existence, he felt assured, would not be
of long endurance; for all he had to depend on now, was to get a
situation of a ivorkman at one of the banks in the gambling-houses.
These workmen," says Mentor, " are ruined men, who attend these
places to do any disgraceful work, such as bilking or cheating, they
are ordered to do.

" Yes, Peregrine, this infatuated man, by his love of gaming,
reduced himself and the best of wives to a state of the most de-
plorable misery and want. I asked him, privately, how he could
possibly lose so much property in so short a period ? He replied ;
" A few months since 1 was introduced to one of the first

* Hells,' by a Colonel M., who took me in his coach; on alighting
I was led into a most splendid room, where many persons were
at supper ; the magnificence of the room, the brilliant looking-
glasses, in massive gilt frames ; the lamps, wax candles ; the many
tables laid out with costly plate, and the happiness which seemed
to reign throughout the whole of the place, quite enchanted me.
I was soon invited to partake of some of the high-seasoned dishes,
and their rich and savoury flavour gave the greatest zest to the.
champagne and claret, which passed round with rapidity. Well,
Sir, by the time these worse than devils thought I was nearly
intoxicated, and ripe for bleeding, cards were introduced. They
took care not to give me enough to make me drunk, only to stupify
me ; for, as the proverb has it, * When the wine is in, the wit is
out,' and a man under its influence does many things which, if
sober, he would shudder at. At first I refused, in which my
friend, the colonel, as I iAen thought him, highly commended me,
but I was so completely set by the gang, that I agreed to play a
game at ' Blind Hookey ; ' and before I left my seat, I was a loser
of fifteen hundred pounds ! I little thought they were playing
with concave and convex cards.' ' How do you mean. Sir,' said
I. ' Why you see,' he replied, ' the low cards are convex at the
sides, and concave at the top ; the high cards concave at the sides,
and convex at the top and bottom. When cards are wanted to be
cut low, for ' blind hookey,' or you are cuttting simply for high
or low, you take the cards across for low, and lengthways for high.
Indeed it is almost impossible to manage a game at 'blind hookey'
with fair cards. I now found. Sir, that peculiar spell on me which
all are cursed with who once enter these dens of iniquity. The
next morning, the transactions of the preceding night seemed to
me as a dream. I thought of my loss ; then heaped curses on the
heads of the robbers ; then swore I would never again visit such
places ; then I thought, by one more trial, I might regain what I
had lost. In this state of indiscribable agitation I remained the
whole of the day ; at length, night came. 1 dressed ; walked I
knew not wither; at length found myself at the entrance of the

• Hell.' I shuddered back with horror, and hastened away, but
in a few minutes all my virtue and philosophy forsook me, and I
involuntarily once more traced my steps to the horrid den ; into

UOINGS IN LONDON. 339

which I entered, and became in a few minutes reckless of myself*
my wife, or my family. Well, Sir, to be brief: in six months I lost
eveiy farthing of my own, all my wife's property, all my furniture,
and five thousand pounds of my creditors' ! And here I am, a
lost, disgraced, wretched, and miserable man. Shunned and
spurned by every one, except my wife — she forgives me, and tries,
to the most of her power, to comfort me. O God ! had I but
had half the love and regard for her then, as she shows me now,
I should be a happy man. For myself, I care not what becomes
of me ; but to see her want — and the little ones, too — ' Here
the poor fellow, overpowered by his feelings, left the room.

" Such, my friend Peregrine, are the cursed effects of gambling;
and before you return to the country, 1 would strongly recommend
you to take with you that invaluable work, Life in the West.
Peruse it with attention ; it will pay you for your trouble ; and
read it also to all your young friends who are about visiting Lon-
don. It will be to them, indeed, an incomparable monitor.

" I have," continued Mentor, " some communications that ap-
peared in the Times newspaper ; and, as they cannot possibly be
too much promulgated, or too widely disseminated, 1 will read them
'o you ; they depicture, with such great truth, the enormities com-
mitted at the ' Hells' at the west end of the town. One of the
communications commences thus :

"' TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES.

" * Sir, — ' Fishmongers' Hall,' or the Crock-odWe Mart for
gudgeons, flat-fish, and pigeons (which additional title that * Hell'
has acquired from the nature of its ' dealings,') has recently closed
for the season. The opening and closing of this wholesale place
of plunder and robbery, are events which have assumed a degree
of importance, not on account of the two or three unprincipled
knaves to whom it belongs, and who are collecting by it vast for-
tunes incalculably fast, but for the rank, character, and fortunes of
the many who are weak enough to be inveigled and fleeced there.
The profit for the last season, over and above expenses, which
cannot be less than £100 per day, are stated to be full £150,000.
It is wholly impossible, however, to come at the exact sum, unless
we could get a peep at the black ledger of accounts of each day's
gain at this Pandemonium, which, though, of course omits to name
of whom, as that might prove awkward, if at any time the book fell
into other hands. A few statements from the sufferers themselves
would be worth a thousand speculative opinions on the subject;
however, they might be near the fact, and they would be rendering
themselves, and others, a vital benefit were they to make them.
Yet some idea can be formed of what has been sacked, by the
simple fact, that one thousand pounds were given at the close of the
season to be divided among the waiters alone, besides the Guy
Fawkes of the place, a head servant, having half that sum pre-
sented to him last January for a New Year's Gift. A visitor

840 DOINGS IN LONDON.

informed me, that one night there was such immense play, he wa*
convinced a million of money was, to use a tradesman's phrase,
turned on that occasion. This sum, thrown over six hours' play
of GO events per hour, 360 events for the night, will give an
average stake of £2777 odd to each event. This will not appear
very large when it is considered that £10,000, or more, were
occasionally down upon a single event, belonging to many persons
of great fortunes. Allowing only one such stake to fall upon the
points of the game in favour of tiie bank per hour, full £16,662
were thus sacrificed; half of which, at least, was hard cash from
the pockets of the players, exclusively of what they lost besides.

" ' Now that there is a little cessation to the Satanic work, the
frequenters of this den of robbers would do well to make a few
common reflections : that it is their money alone which pays the rent
and superb embellishments of the house — the good feeding, and
the fashionable clothing in which are disguised the knaves about
it — the refreshments and wine with which they are regaled, and
which are served with no sparing hands, in order to bewilder the
senses to prevent from being seen what may be going forward, but
which will not be at their service, they may rest well assured,
longer than they have money to be plucked of; and, above all, it
is for the most part their money, of which are composed the enor
mous fortunes the two or three keepers have amassed, and which
will increase them prodigiously while they are blind enough to go.
To endeavour to gain back any part of the lost money, fortunes
will be farther wasted in the futile attempt, as the same nefarious
and diabolical practices by which the first sums were raised, are
still pursued to multiply them. One of these * Hellites' commenced
his career by pandering to the fatal and uncontrollable appetites
for gaming of far humbler game than he is now hunting down,
whose losses and ruin have enabled him to bedeck this place with
every intoxicating fascination and incitement, and to throw out a
bait of a large sum of money well hooked, to catch the largest
fortunes, which are as sure to be netted as the smaller ones were,
^um up the amount of your losses, my lords and gentlemen, when,
if you are still sceptical, you must be convinced of these things.
Those noblemen and gentlemen just springing into life and large
property should be ever watchful of themselves, as there are two
or three persons of some rank who have themselves been ruined by
similar means, and now condescend to become ' Procureurs' to
this foul establishment, kept by a 'ci-devant' fishmonger's man,
and who are rewarded for their services in the ratio of the losses
sustained by the victims whom they allure it.

" * They wish to give the place the character of a subscription
club, pretending that none are admitted but those whose names
are first submitted for approval to a committee, and then are bal-
lotted for. All this is false. In the first place the members of
different clubs are at once considered eligible ; and, in the next, all
persons are readily admitted who are well introduced, have money

DOINGS IN LONDON. 341

to lose, and whose forbearance under losses can be safely relied
on. Let the visitors pay a subscription — let them call themselves
a club, or whatever they choose — still the house having a bank
put down from day to day by the same persons to be played
against, which have points of the game in its favour, is nothing but
a common gaming-house, and indictable as such by the statutes,
and, in the eye of the law, the visitors are rogues and vagabonds.
Were it otherwise, why do not the members of this club be
seen at the large plate-glass windows of the bow front, as well as
at the windows of reputable club-houses ? No one is ever there
but the creatures of the hell, dressed out and bedizened with gold
ornaments (most probably formerly belonging to unhappy and
ruined players), to show off at them, and who look like so many
jackdaws in borrowed plumes ; the players, ashamed of being seen
by the passers-by, sneak in and out like cats who have burnt their
tails. Some of the members of the different clubs will soon begin
to display the real character of this infernal place — those who
will ultimately be found to forsake their respectable club-houses,
and merge into impoverished and undone frequenters to this helU

•' • The hellites at all the hells, not content with the gains by the
points of the games in favour of the banks, and from the equaj
chances, do not fail to resort to every species of cheating. The
* croupiers' and ' dealers' are always selected for their adeptness
in all the mysteries of the black art. Sleight-of-hand tricks at .
rouge et noir, by which they make any colour they wish win —
false-dice aud cramped-boxes at French hazard, which land any
main or chance required ; — all are put in practice with perfect im-
punity, when every one, save the bankers and croupiers, are in a
state of delirium or intoxication. About two years ago, false dice
were detected at a French hazard bank in Piccadilly, of which
the proprietors of Fishmongers' Flail had a share. A few noble-
men and gentlemen had been losing largely (it is said £50,000
among them), when the dice became suspected. One gentlemaa
seized them, conveyed them away, and next morning found that
they were false. Were not things of this kind constantly done, it
would be wholly impossible for these gentry, with all their great
advantages, to make their fortunes quite so rapidly^ What with
cheating, the points of the games, and the bewilderment of the
senses of the players, it would be a miracle indeed, if any others
could win but the hellites themselves.

" * I am, Sir, your obedient Servant,

"'London, Oct. 9, 1824. Expositor.'

" I will," continued Mentor, " read to you the whole of the
communications of ' Expositor,' for I have carefully preserved
them ; in the following letter he exposes, in its true light, the triclfir
and frauds resorted to. ^

342 UOINCS IN LONDON.

"'TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES.

•' ' Sir, — The system of plunder and robbery in what is called
the sporting (rogueing) world, never was so extensive or ramified
as at the present time. The machinery of fraud and ruin is to be
seen, with a little scrutiny, in all boxing matches ; in trotting'
matches ; in most races ; in pigeon matches ; in the gaming-houses,
the keepers of which are sure to be active co-operators in all the
various plans of robbery. They are laid with infinite cuiming, and
often are many months in maturing. The vast sums of money they
amass enable them to command so many auxiliaries to aid their
nefarious schemes, that they reduce them to a certainty of gain.
The sacrifice of a few thousands to farther their views, is never a
consideration, when, for every one, they make sure of sacking
twenty or more. The recent transaction of ' the general,' for the
Derby, in which the proprietors of the hell called • Fishmongers'
Hair were deeply implicated, is a glaring instance of this fact.
There is a ' secret' in almost every match that is made. This
* secret' means the knowledge how to lay bets with the dead cer-
tainty of winning them. The technical phraseology used among
the tribe of black-legs is, ' Are you in the secret?' — ' How is it to
be ?' — * Which is to lose T — ' Is it a cross V cVc. All persons,
therefore, must lose, who do not possess this talisman, this ' secret,'
excepting a few betters * out of the ring,' who may happen to bet
the right way among themselves. The legs always bet on the sure
side, or they never bet at all, excepting to make fictitious bets one
with another, in order to gull and deceive the better.' "

"And is there no possibility," said Peregrine, "of putting a
total stop to such horrid places." " 1 am afraid not," said Men-
tor : •' they are continually being indicted ; but in general, before
trial, the indictments are withdrawn. The compromise of one
indictment was thus announced in a letter of ' Expositor,' in the
Times of Friday, July 23, 1824, prefaced by some excellent leading
remarks of the editor. — ' We trust our readers will give due atten-
tion to a letter in tins day's journal, on the subject of gaming-houses.
This is every man's aflfair — every honest man's grievance : that of
the young who have fortunes to be robbed of, and reputations to be
disgraced ; as of the old who have the inheritance of character and
money to leave to their yet uncorrupted and unpolluted oflfspring.
The evil is, that, in exact proportion to the depth of their guilt,
the criminals enjoy the means of disappointing justice, and of pay-
ing for impunity. It appears from our correspondent's letter, that
those prosecutions on which so many sanguine hopes had been
raised, of crushing, if not destroying, one overgrown nest of
villany, have been, unhappily, compromised, and that the work of
robbery and desperation has begun again with undiminished vigour.
Will the legislature leave the law as it stands ? for the fault, we
believe, is not at present with its ministers.'

DOINGS IN LONDON. '3A'J

" ' TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES.

•* ' Sir, — The action against the keepers of a certain notorious
* hell/ which was noticed in the different journals as 'coming- on,'
is withdrawn ; or, more properly speaking, is 'compromised.' Thus
it wd) always be ; and the different ' hells' still flourish with impu-
nity^ to the enrichment of a few knaves, and the ruin of many more
thousands, till more effectual laws are framed to meet the evil.
As they net thousands a night, a few hundreds or even thousands
can be well spared to smother a few actions and prosecutions, which
are very rarely instituted against them, and never but by mined
men, who are easily quieted by a small consideration, which, from
recent judgments, will not be withheld ; therefore we shall see re-
corded but very few convictions, if any at all. At the head of these
infamous establishments is the one yclept * Fishmongers' Hall,'
which sacks more plunder than all the others put together, though
they consist of about a dozen. This place has been fitted up at an
expense of near £40,000, and is the most splendid house, interiorly
and exteriorly, in all the neighbourhood. It is established as a bait
for the fortunes of the great, many of whom have already been
severe sufferers. Invitations to dinner are sent to noblemen and
gentlemen, at which they are treated with every delicacy, and the
most intoxicating wines. After such * liberal' entertainment, a visit
to the French hazard table, in the adjoining room, is a matter of
course, when the consequences are easily divined. A man thus
allured to the den may determine not to lose more than the few
pounds he has about him ; but in the intoxication of the moment,
and the delirium of play, it frequently happens, that, notwithstand-
ing the best resolves, he borrows money on his checks, which are
known to be good, and are readily cashed to very considerable
amounts. In this manner £10,000, £20,000, £30,000, or more,
have often been swept away.

" ' They left King Street, about three years ago, when, in

conjunction with T , (a man who a few years ago took the

benefit of the act, and subsequently kept one or two * hells' in Pall

Mall, but has amassed full £150,000 of plunder) and A , who

has £70,000 of plunder, they opened a club-house in Piccadilly,
with a French hazard bank of £10,000, when in a short time they
divided between the four, after all their heavy expenses were co-
vered, upwards of £200,000. In proportion to the extent of the
bank and the stakes, so do they collect the plunder. It is to be
hoped that some notice will be taken of the subject next session
of Parliament, and that a committee will be appointed to collect
evidence, in order that a stop may be put to the evil.

" ' I am, Sir, your humble Servant,

" 'L&ndon, July 22, 1824. ExpoiSTOR.'

The announcement of a fresh indictment, and also an action for
large penalties, was made in another of the same writer's letters
in the Times, December 10, 1824.

HU i>OING« IN LONDON.

*" TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES.

" ' Sir, — The invulnerability of ' Fishmonger's Hall,' or the
CrocA-odile Mart for gudgeons, flat-fish, and pigeons, is likely
soon to be put to the proof. The principal mover and actor in this
* Heir is now under indictment, charged with having had a share
in the lowly one of King Street, St. James's ; and unless,
like the rest, it is compromised (which, for the sake of humanity,
let us hope will not be the case), the trial will come on in a few
days. An action is also pending against the same party, wherein
the penalties sought to be recovered for moneys gained by illegal
gaming at the * Hell,' are stated to be £160,000.

" ' This ' Heir has recently commenced the infernal trade again,
after a short vacation of about two months, during which time the
procureurs to it, who are broken men of fashionable notoriety,
have been very active. Melton Mowbray, Brighton, Cheltenham,
and other places of high and wealthy resort, have been visited in
their turns, and it is pompously announced that no less a number
than two hundred names of young nobility and gentry are down
upon the black list as admissible to this * Hell' — 1 beg pardon —
to this ' Club ! ! ! ' as it is called.

'* ' Tremble, ye parents, lest your fond hopes in those who will
be the representatives of your honours and estates be blasted for
ever in this gigantic house of ruin, and that all devolve upon
deluded, infatuated visitors to it. It will — it must, prove the grave
of many a fortune, mind, and honour, like other ' Hells' have
been, over which the very same parties who keep this have here-
tofore presided. It would be shocking to see your ancient patri-
monies, handed down to you by your forefathers, melt away like
snow before the sun, to enrich a ci-devant fishmonger, and an ex-
waiter of a faro ' Hell.' Their fortunes are already immense, created
by the same means, but composed of those lost by many, some of
whom have met with violent deaths, and others are now struggUng
with wretchedness and despair.

" ' I am. Sir, your humble Servant,
" * London, Dec. 8. Expositor,'

" These remarks must, I think," continued Mentor, " convince
every person of the dreadful consequences of gambling, which has,
arrived in England, to a most frightful pitch : it is even getting
strong hold of the boys in our streets ; for, in the evidence given
before the Committee of the House of Commons, appointed to
inquire into the state of the Police of the Metropolis, (1828) it ia
said, speaking of the neglect of children, and gambling among them :

" ' With more propriety may reliance be placed on the neglect
of children as a primary source of mischief. Notwithstanding
tirat we hear of schools having been established, continuing to be
munificently supported, and receiving in each for instruction from
200 to 300, and even larger numbers of children ; and notwith-

DOINGS IN LONDON. 346

Standing that we find such seminaries existing in every quarter of
the town, and in most of the adjoining districts, we yet find that
in the parks and outskirts of the metropolis, on each returning
Sabbath, and not unfrequeutly on other days, young persons
assemble in numerous gangs or parties for the express purpose
of indulging in the vice of gaming, and continue in the uninter-
rupted pursuit of that most seductive and immoral propensity
from hour to hour on each succeeding day; and, what is still
more surprising, and perhaps is more appalling, we find that in-
stances are not uiifrequent of parents so totally regardless of their
children's welfare, as to view with careless indifference their ex-
pulsion, for misconduct, from those seminaries to which alone
such parents could look with any hope of saving from ruin their
unhappy offspring.

" ' To remedy an evil so glaring, becomes an object of primary
importance, but so difficult as to have hitherto baffled the efforts
of all the practical and intelligent persons who have applied their
minds to this interesting subject.

" ' Education may have done something, but it clearly has not
done enough; for never was juvenile depravity so unlimited in
degree, or so desperate in character ; but still, upon that effort
of the humane great reliance must be placed, and on their un-
abated zeal in the prosecution of their charitable object the hopes
and expectations of future amendment must in great measure
depend ; but police regulations may be superadded as a corrective,
not unlikely to prove beneficial. It has been represented to your
committee, that were the day patrol sufficiently numerous to admit
of their disturbing and driving from their haunts the gambling
boys, without at the same time leaving the streets in an unpro-
tected state, the disgraceful and mischievous practice might be
rooted out, as is shown in the following evidence of a police-
officer :

" ' What are the instructions that you give to your men with
respect to the gambling in the streets ? — We always drive them
away, but we do not see it once a month.

" ' Is the Green Park in your district ? — No.

" ' Would there be any difficulty in preventing the constant
gambling that is going on in the open daylight in the Green Park? —
If there were some spirited young men that could go into it, men
that could jump and run about, they could soon put a stop to it.

" ' Do not you see it in other parts of the town ? — I have seen
it ; I have seen it near St. Martin's Church ; but they get into the
avenues, and the moment we go away they run back again.'

" In the same Report (which vf ill be read with the highest de-
gree of interest) the causes given for the increase of crime, are the
extended population, want of employment, and the low price of
gin. It says : —

" * Your Committee, considering that the order of the House
under which their investigation has been prosecuted, was divisible

44.

316 DOINGS IN LONDON.

into two distinct heeds of inquiry, applied themselves in the first
instance to ascertain (if possible) whether the increase of commit-
ments was to be attributed to a proportionate increase of crime, or
whether much of it might not reasonably be supposed to emanate
from circumstances and changes in the state of society ; which,
whilst they serve to exhibit conspicuously oftences that have been
committed, and to swell the catalogue of criminals that have been
apprehended, by no means warrant the inference that there has
been a proportionate perpetration of crime.

** * Your committee having had laid before them, by the Secre-
tary of State for the Home Department, ** summary statements of
the number of persons charged with criminal oftences, who were
committed to the several gaols in the cities of London and West-
minster, and county of Middlesex, since the year 1810," have
selected two series of years, for the purpose of ascertaining what
has been the progressive increase of committals, and for the pur-
pose of showing what proportion that increase bears to the increase
in the population, have commenced each series with the period at
which the previous population return had been completed. But
as, in an investigation into that which immediately aftects the
security, as well of the person, as of the property of each indi-
vidual member of the community, it may be convenient further to
show, by a classification of the oftences, how the one or the other
are endangered, your committee have subjoined tables, in which
the cases contained in the same two series are divided into classes,
distinguishing those of ordinary occurrence which are aimed at
the person, from those also of ordinary occurrence by which pro-
perty most immediately under the protection of the person is
invaded, and both of these form oftences of rare occurrence ; and
those perpetrated on property necessarily left in a less protected
state.

" ' Thus, the 1st class will contain— murder, manslaughter,
shooting, stabbing, and poisoning.

" ' The 2d class will contain — burglary, embezzlement by ser-
vants, frauds, housebreaking, larceny of all descriptions, stealing
from letters, highway robbery, receiving stolen goods.

" ' The 3d class will contain — cattle-stealing, horse-stealing,
sheep-stealing.

" ' The 4th class will contain — rape, assault with intent to
commit rape, , assault with intent to commit .

" ' The 5th class will contain — arson, bigamy, cattle-maiming,
child-stealing, game laws (oftences against), perjury, piracies and
murder, sacrilege, sending threatening letters, treason, traffic in
slaves, transports at large, felonies and misdemeanors not other-
wise described.

" ' The 6th class will contain — coining, coin putting off" and ut-
tering, forgery and uttering forged instruments, forged bank notes
having in possession.

" ' To '•o'^'plete the tablps. from which to deduce a result, it is

DOINGS IN LONDON. 347

necessary to add such as will show the amount of the population

of London and Middlesex at the periods of the three last returns.

In 1801, the population of London and Middlesex was 845,400

InlBll, itwas 985,100

Being an increase of . . . . 139,700

(which is about 17 per cent).
In 1821, the population of London and Middlesex was 1,167,500
From which, if that of 1811 be deducted . . .985,100

There will remain an increase of . . 182,400

(which is about 19 per cent).

" ' And, as nothing has occurred to check the progressive addition
to the population, but, on the contrary, much to stimulate and ad-
vance it (as, for instance, the invitation held out by the new build-
ings to occupants to come from distant quarters ; and the introduc-
tion of multitudes of workmen and labourers from various parts
of the empire, to assist in the erection of such numerous and widely
extended structures), there is satisfactory ground to suppose that
between 1821 and 1828 the advance on the then population has
not been less than it was between 1811 and 1821.

" ' If so, the fair deduction is, that the population has again in-
creased 19 per cent.

" ' And, as the population-returns show an increase ofl9 per cent,
within the same periods of time, 19 per cent, of the increase of
commitments and convictions may be accounted for by a propor-
tionate surplusage of population, and that there remains attributable
to other causes, only per cent.

" * If the foregoing be a reasonable mode of accounting for
of the average increase of convictions being nineteen per cent.,
there will remain to be accounted for , for the existence

of which it would be most gratifying to your committee could
they suggest such a cause as would enable the house to apply a
direct and effectual remedy.

" * Several prevalent evils are indeed relied upon by the police
justices, and by various of the intelligent witnesses called before
your committee, as being sufficient to solve the difficulty. With-
out doubt they must injuriously influence the state of society, and
deteriorate public morals ; your committee therefore recapitulate
them, more perhaps in the hope that, by the attention of the house
being attracted to them, every opportunity will be taken for the
application of correctives, than in the expectation that thereby, or,
indeed, by any means, can vicious habits, in such a thickly in-
habited district, be so far eradicated as to restore to the returns of
criminal commitments that appearance which they presented when
the population was at least thirty-six per cent, less dense.

" ' la addition to extended population (the leading assignable
caust> are to added —

" ' Tlie extremely low price at which spirituous liquors are (since

348 DOINGS IN LONDON.

the repeal of duties) sold, a general want of employ moiit, and neg-
lect of children.

" * The lamentable effects of the first are too apparent to require
much detail of evidence or lengthened argument to support; the
truth of the hypothesis will be upheld by a reference to the evi-
dence of a remarkably intelligent officer, whose duty requires a
constant and accurate observation of what passes in the streets ;
by which, also, may be impressed upon the house the magni-
tude of the evil occasioned by that erroneous though well-in-
tentioned financial measure.

'* ' What eftt'ct has the reduced price of gin had in your dis-
trict?— I think there is a great deal more drunkenness ; I think

IT WAS ONE OF THE WORST THINGS EVER DONE IN THE

world; if they had RAISED it a penny instead of falling it,
it would have been a very good thing.

•' ' What is the price it is retailed at ? — You may have very good
gin at 2|^</. a quartern — \0d. a pint; but what they call famous, is
3rf., — that is, Is. a pint; that is what is called " blue ruin."

" * Do you find there is a great deal of drunkenness among
people who are not thieves? — Most certain ; the first days in the
week you will always find somebody drunk, because there are
very few tailors and shoemakers that will work on the first days
in the week.

"'Although it has been assumed that want of employment
has occasioned much criminal conduct, yet your committee do not
find that such is the case in the metropolis ; that there may be
very many persons, who, having been attracted by the variety of
works which are now carrying on, and tempted by the rumours of
high wages to quit their ordinary residences, have been disap-
pointed in their expectation of finding immediate occupation, and
are, with others (the dupes of folly or the victims of extravagance),
reduced to extreme distress, is more than probable : but when,
upon referring to the following evidence, viz —

" ' Do you mean that the wages received by those people for one
or two days in the week, are sufficient to support them for the re-
mainder of the week? — There are many trades who do not go to
work till Friday morning ; in some of those trades, two or three
days is all they work, beause they have piece-work.

" * What trades are those ? — Shoemakers and tailors in par-
cular.

" ' From your experience, do you think there is more decency
than there used to be among the lower classes? — I do; I think
since the day-police has been formed there is a wonderful al-
teration."

" ' Your committee find that it is not uncommon for those en-
gaged in some trades altogether to abstain from work till the
Friday morning ; and that in others, two or three days in the
week are all that they devote to industrious labour, the high
rate of wages enabling them to earn in one, two, or three days,

DOINGS IN LONDON. 349

sufficient to maintain them the whole of the week ; they conceive
that there cannot be such a superabundance of labourers as to
warrant the apprehension that want of employment can, in London
and the vicinity, be ranked as one of the causes to which an
increase of crime can justly be attributed.'

" Thus," says Mentor, " we are, thank heaven ! certain that
the rulers of the country are now acquainted with the fact
of the melancholy doings of spirituous liquors. Drinking leads
to loss of virtue and character, laziness ensues, and thieving
follows.

"The subject of c ret ^loading felonies, and of the receiv-
ing of stolen goods, in the adid Report, is well worth atten-
tion : it says —

" ' This statute of Geo. I. was repealed, and its provisions re-
enacted last ression, by statutes 7 and 8 Geo. IV. c. 29, s. 58;
but which makes the offence no longer capital, and limits the highest
punishment to transportation for life. The statute 6 Geo. I. c. 23, s.
9. (which is still unrepealed) enacts a reward of £40 to the person
prosecuting any such offenders to conviction. It is to be ob-
served, that while these severe penalties against such compromises
have been provided, the offence of compromising felony, or theft-
bote (as termed by older law-writers), to perfect which there must be
an actual agreement not to prosecute, and connivance at the impunity
of the felon, has continued, and still remains a misdemeanor at
common law, punishable only by fine and imprisonment. Lord
Coke, indeed, lays down, that if the owner of stolen goods, in addi-
tion to the offence oftheftbote, " receive the thief himself, and aid and
maintain him in his felony, then is he accessary to the felony," viz. of
robbing himself. It seems that for many years the statute 4 Geo. I. c.
11, has been very ineffectual, perhaps arising merely from the diffi-
culty of detecting such offences, to which Sir R. Birnie seems to im-
pute it; as he says, " I believe there is law enough against com-
pounding a felony, but the great thing is to get a discovery." The
severity of the punishment, under stat. 4 Geo. I. c. 11, may have
discouraged prosecutions ; or the decisions, that money or bank-
notes were not within the meaning of such acts, may have afforded
the officers a pretence for considering themselves as committing no
crime in most of the late compromises. This latter omission has
been rectified by the act of last session, the provisions of which
have, it is hoped, had a beneficial effect on various offenders. One
officer has stated, that his brethren had agreed " to give up all
transactions of the sort, as they thought some mischief would come
of it under Mr. Peel's Act." But it does not appear that this
agreement took place till after the inquiry before alluded to had
been instituted by order of the Home Office. Another witness
says, with respect to the " fences," " I know that these persons,
since the passing of Mr. Peel's bill, are more timid of receiving
property than they were before." It is extraordinary that the
police-officers, with the severe act of Geo. I, in existence, should,

350 DOINGS IN LONDON.

as it were, have considered themselves as committing no crime ;
and your committee infers some deficiency in the law, which the
statute of last session may not have completely remedied. Your
committee therefore submit, as well worthy of consideration,
whether it would not be advisable to make it at least a misdemeanor
in the party paying a reward for the restitution of stolen goods, as
well as punishing the party receiving it. This has been recommended
by an intelligent witness, well acquainted with such parties, and
the nature of such transactions. The advertising a reward for
stolen goods, " no questions asked," was by statute 25 Geo. II.
c 36, subjected to a penalty of £50 ; which provision was re-
enacted by Mr. Peel's bill of last session, before cited. Your
committee, therefore, see no injustice in making the payment of that
reward a substantive offence, the published offer of which has so
long been subject to a penalty. Your committee, moreover, submit,
that the due gradation of crime would be better regarded, by
affixing to the offence of compounding felony a higher punish-
ment than that of merely paying or taking a reward for the return
of stolen goods. Whether, in order to effect this, it may be ad-
visable to mitigate the punishment now enacted by 7 and 8 Geo.
IV. c. 29, for the latter offence, or to make the compounding a
Ijigher felony, belongs to future deliberation on the details of the
measure.

" * Your committee are well aware that it may seem severe to
proceed with rigour against an act which at first sight contains
nothing repugnant to honesty — namely, helping an owner to regain,
or he himself regaining, the property of which he had been robbed.
But their inquiries have too satist'uctoriy convinced them that the
frequency of these seemingly blameless transactions has led to the
organization of a system which undermines the security of all
valuable property, which gives police-officers a direct interest that
robberies to a large amount should not be prevented ; and which
has established a set of " putters-up," and " fences," with means
of evading, if not defying, the arm of the law ; who are wealihy
enough, if large rewards are offered for their detection, to double
them for their impunity ; and who would in one case have given
£1,000 to get rid of a single witness. Some of these persons
ostensibly carry on a trade ; one, who had been tried for-
merly for robbing a coach, afterwards carried on business as
a Sniithfield drover, and died worth, it is believed, £15,000.
Your committee could not ascertain how many of these
persons there are at present, but four of the principal have
been pointed out. One is the farmer of one of the greatest
turnpike trusts in the metropolis. He was formerly tried for
receiving the contents of a stolen letter : and, as a receiver of
tolls now employed by him was also tried for stealing that very
letter, being then a postman, it is not too much to infer, that the
possession of these turnpikes is not unserviceable for the purposes
of depredation. Another has, it is said, been a surgeon in the

DOINGS IN LONDON. 351

arrny. The two otliers of the four have no trade, but live like
men of property ; and one of these, who appears to be the chief
of the whole set, is well known on the turf, and is stated, on good
grounds, to be worth £30,000. It is alarming to have observed
how long these persons have successfully carried on their plans
of plunder; themselves living in affluence and apparent respecta-
bility, bribing confidential servants to betray the transactions of
their employers, possessing accurate information as to the means
and precautions by which valuable parcels are transmitted ; then
corrupting others to perpetrate the robberies planned in conse-
quence ; and finally receiving, by means of these compromises, a
large emolument, with secure impunity to themselves and their
accomplices. It is scarcely necessary to point out the difficulties
which must obstruct these persons, even after they may have
amassecl a fortune, in betaking to any honest pursuit. This, your
committee have evidence, is deeply felt by themselves ; and the
fear of being betrayed by their confederates, should they desert
them, and of becoming objects for sacrifice by the police, to whom
they at present consider themselves of use, leaves little hope of
any stop to their career but by detection and justice. The
owners of stolen property have thus purchased indemnity for pre-
sent losses, by strengthening and continuing a system, which
re-acts upon themselves and the community, by reiterated depre-
dations committed with almost certain success and safety. Your
committee believe they have not drawn a stronger picture than
the evidence before them warrants ; and whatever measures may
be necessary to abolish such a system, such measures, however
severe, should be provided.'

" That some magistrates think the compounding of felonies not
only no crime, but a positive merit, is certain," said Mentor, " as
the following circumstance, of the truth of which there is no
doubt, will serve to show : — Some time ago, a gentleman had his
ocket picked at Doncaster races of a very valuable gold watch.

e immediately came to town, and proceeded to one of the
police-ottices, where he stated his case, and applied for the assist-
ance of an officer to help him to recover the watch. The magis-
trate to whom the gentleman applied, referred him to one of the
principal officers, who, on hearing the case, and receiving a de-
scription of the suspected party, promised his assistance. ' But,*
said the officer, 'you must advertise the watch, and offer a re-
ward for it before I can do your business.' The gentleman ac-
cordingly caused advertisements to be published, describing the
watch, and offering forty guineas for its recovery. When this was
done, the officer called upon him, saying, * Your business is in a
good train, sir; I have discovered where your watch is, but you
must pay something more than the reward for it. The fellow who
has it is a d — d Jew.' The gentleman consented to give twenty
guineas more. ' If you will step to the office at twelve o'clock to-
morrow, sir, you shall have your watch,' said the officer. The

iS

W2 DOINGS IN LONDON

gentleman attended at the appointed hour, and the oflScer was
called in. ' Well, B.' said the magistrate, * what have you done
about this gentleman's watch ?' * 1 have recovered it for him,
your worship,' said the officer, ' and here it is,' drawing the
precious bauble from his fob, and presenting it to the magistrate
with one of his best bov/s. * Upon my word,' said the magis-
trate emphatically, * you have done it well ; you deserve great
credit.' Then, turning to the gentleman, and handing him the
watch, he said, * You see, sir, what we can do when we like to
go about it.'

*' * Considerable sums have been paid to regain their property
by the parties robbed, generally stipulated to be paid in cash, for
fear of the clue to discovery of those concerned that notes might
give. These sums have been apportioned, mostly by a per cent-
age, to the value of the property lost; but motiiHed by a reference
to the nature of the securities or goods, as to the facility of cir-
culating or disposing of them to profit and with safety.

" ' A great majority of these cases have taken place where
large depredations have been conmiitted upon bankers. Two
banks that had recently been robbed of notes to the amount of
£4,000, recovered them on payment of £1,000 each. In another
case, £2,200 was restored out of £3,200 stolen, for £230 or £240.

*' * This bank having called in their old circulation, and issued
fresh, immediately upon the robbery, the diiliculty thus occasioned
was the cause of not much above £10 per cent, being demanded. In
another case, Spanish bonds, nominally worth £2,000, were given
back on payment of £100. A sum, not quite amounting to £20,000,
was in one case restored for £1,000. In another, where bills had
beer, stolen of £16,000 or £17,000 value, but which were not
easily negotiable by the thieves, restitution of £6,000 was oflfered
for £300. The bank in this case applied to the Home Office for
a free pardon for an informer, but declined advertising a reward of
£1,000, and giving a bond not to compound, as the conditions of
such grant. In another case, £3000 seems to have been restored
for £19 per cent. In another case, where the robbery was to
the amount of £7,000, and the supposed robbers (most notorious
** putters-np" and " fences ") had been apprehended, and re-
manded by the magistrate for examination, the prosecution was
suddenly desisted from in consequence of the restitution of the
property for a sum not ascertained by your committee. In the
case of another bank, the sum stolen, being not less than £20,000,
is stated to have been bought of the thieves by a receiver for
£200, and £2,800 taken of the legal owners as the price of res-
titution. The committee does not think it necessary to detail all
the cases which have been disclosed to them ; but, though it ii
evident they have not been informed of any thing like all the
transactions that must have occurred under so general a system,
they have proof of more than sixteen banks having sought, by these
means, to indemnify themselves for their losses ; and that property

DOINGS IN LONDON.

8sn

*' It IS, perhaps, not extraordinary that bankers, who have
lately ween so repeatedly subject to heavy losses, should take
measures to procure indemnity. A highly respectable banker has
said before your couunittee, " I have no hesitation in mentioninff
that, at a meetino ni our trade, T have heard it said, over and
over again, by different individuals, that, if they experienced a
loss to a considerable amount, they should compound." This
your committee consider by no means to be univeisal. I shall
reserve," said Mentor, " for a future occasion, some other remarks
trom the same report; which, as they so truly develop the man-
ners and depravities of London, are highly worthy vour most
serious attention. "^ -^

^ " We agreed," continued Mentor, " to-morrow to visit the
inns of court; therefore, if you will meet me at the Rainbow
l.ottee-house, I will accompany you to Lincoln's Inn, and witness

CLije momqs tn tfic CTourt of (ITfianrcrB.

"You will easily find the Rainbow : it is by the Inner-Temple
Gate, opposite to Chancery Lane."

The next morning Peregrine and Mentor met. "This cofFee-
house," said Mentor, " is one of the most ancient in London
Aubrey, m his Lives, speaking of Sir Henry Blount, a fashionable
of Charles the Second's day, tells us, ' when coffee first came in
he was a great upholder of it, and had ever since been a constant
frequenter of coffee-houses, especially Mr. Farre's, at the Rain-
bow, by Inner-Temple Gate. Here Johnson used to sit. How

45 2 A

364 DOINGS IN LONDON.

changed the scene ! as the author of Wine and Walnuts says,

" How changed, indeed ! for, in this old-fashioned room, now
newly beautified, where, half a century ago, congregated worthies
— chiefly men of known repute, and of long standing — as, physi-
cians, authors, certain learned printers, topping publishers, and
others, opulent traders, friends, and social neighbours, — in this
old room, instead of those, you behold the boxes filled with young
pale-faced lawyers. The change is grievous to behold.

" Mackay, in his Journey through England, gives an entertaining
account of the chocolate and coftee-houses of the metropolis in
1724, and the different sorts of company by which they were then
frequented.

" The character of Tom King's coifee-hou.?e, in Covent-Garden,
immortalized by Hogarth, in his print of' Morning,' in his ' Four
Times of the Day,' and the sort of company who frequented it,
about 1735, is thus given in some lines in 'A Covent-Garden
JEclogue ' of the time :

« The watch had cried past one with hollow strain

And to their stands returned to sleep again.

Jephson's and Mitchell's hurry now was done,

And now Tom King's (so rakes ordained) begun.

Bright shone the moon, and calm around the sky ;

No cinder-wench, nor straggling link-boy, nigh ;

When in that garden, where, with mimic power,

Strut the mock-purple heroes of an hour, —

Where, by grave matrons, cabbages are sold, ^

Who all the live-long day drink gin and scold."

"The coffee-houses of London, which have become extremely
numerous since this period, are no longer distinguished, as in
former times, for the meeting of particular sets of company ; such
as Spiller's Head Club, in Clare Market, where Colly Cibber,Orator
Henely, Count Heidegger, and others used to congregate : then there
was the Old Slaughter's, in St. Martin's Lane, the resort of Jonathan
Richardson, Harry Fielding, Lambert, the landscape-pamter,
Woollett, and the whole herd of painters and engravers, for the
'Academy' was then held in St. Martin's Lane. Now we
have none, if we except Garraway's CofFee-House, and a
few others in the city, such as Tom's Coffee-House, in Cornhdl.
Plenty, the parent of cheerfulness, seems to have fixed her resi-
dence on this spot; while Joy, which is the offspring of Folly,
seems to be utterly unknown. Industry, the first principle of a
citizen, is an infallible specific to keep the spirits awake, and
prevent that stagnation and corruption of humours, which make
our fine gentlemen such horrible torments to one another and to
themselves. Decency in dress is finery enough in a place where
they are taught from their childhood to expect no honours irom
what they seem to be, but from what they really are. The
conversation here turns chiefly on the interests of Europe, in
which they themselves are principally concerned ; and the Dusi-

DOINGS IN LONDON, 355

ness here is to enlarge the coinnierce of theT» countiy, by which
the piibUc is to gain much more than the merchant himself. Of
their generous principles, I need only give an instance : it is
that, in this place, was first projected the subscription for the re-
lief of Mrs. Clarke, the aged and only surviving daughter of the
glorious Milton, in 1727.

" Of the ancient taverns in the metropolis, a rew noticed by
Stowe are yet in existence.

" The sites of others are still preserved, as tne Boar's Head,
in Eastcheap. A boar's head, cut in stone, and painted blue, is
the only memorial that now marks the site of this very ancient
scene of conviviality, which has fur many years ceased to be a
tavern, and was lately occupied by a wholesale perfumer. Maitland,
speaking of the Boar's Head, says ' In this street (Eastcheap), is
the Boar's Head, under the sign of which is written " This is the
Chief Tavern in London."

*' Goldsmith, in his delightful essay, called ' A Reverie at the
Boar's Head Tavern, in Eastcheap,' appears to have been un-
mindful of the original mansion being destroyed by the fire of
London. The introductory mention of it must only, therefore, be
taken as a specimen of his beautiful description :

" * Such were the reflections that naturally arose while I sat at
the Boar's Head Tavern, still kept in Eastcheap. Here, by a plea-
sant fire, in the very room where old Sir John FalstafF cracked
his jokes, in the very chair which was sometimes honoured by
Prince Henry, and sometimes polluted by his immoral merry
companions, I sat and ruminated on the follies of youth;
wished to be young again : but was resolved to make the best of
life while it lasted, and now and then compared past and present
times together. The room also conspired to throw my reflections
back into antiquity : the oak floor, the gothic windows, and the
ponderous chimney-piece, had long withstood the tooth of time,' &c.

" Shakspeare furnishes us vs'ith a specimen of the charges at the
taverns of his time, in the bill which Peto takes out of FalstafF s
pocket, of the expenses of his supper and night's drinking at the
Boar's Head.

" ' Item, a capon, 2s. 2c?. ; sauce, 4d. ; sack, two gallons, 5s. 8rf. ;
anchovies and sack after supper, 2s. 6d. ; bread, a halfpeimy.'

" So much for the Boar's Head.

"The Bush is, perhaps, one of the most ancient of alehouse
signs; and hence has arisen the well-known proverb, ' Good wine
needs no bush ;' that is, nothing to point out where it is sold.

"The subsequent passage seems to prove that ancient tavern-
keepers kept both a bush and a sign; a host, in speaking, says : —

' I rather will take down my bush and sign,
Than live by means of riotous expense.'

"In the British Apollo, fol. Lond. 1710, vol. 14, we have the
following verses on some of the signs in London : —
2 a2

356 DOINGS IN LONDON.

' I'm aniaz'd at the signs

As I pass through the town ;
To see the odd mixture —

A Magpie and Crown,
The W/iule and the Crow,

The Razor and Hen,
The Leg and Seven Stars,

The Bible and Swaii,
The Ax and the Bottle,

The Tun and the Lute,
The Eagle and C'AiW,

The Shovel and iioo^'

" Indeed, many of the alehouse and tavern signs are so in-
congruous or ridiculous, that it is difficult to conceive how they
originated.

" But come," said Mentor, " time is stealing on us ; so let us
begone, else you will lose a sight of the Lord Chancellor." Ac-
cordingly, our heroes walked up Chancery Lane into Lincoln's
Inn, and soon found themselves in the Court of Chancery.

" This court of equity," said Mentor, •' is worthy your attention.
Many eminent lawyers have presided here : of these may be men-
tioned Sir John Fortesciie, one of the fathers of the English law,
who held the great seal under Henry the Sixth ; that virtuous
chancellor, Sir Thomas More, who was beheaded by order of
the sanguinary Henry VIIL It was his general custom to sit
every afternoon in the open hall, and, if any person had a suit to
prefer, he might state the case to him without the aid of bills, so-
licitors, or petitions. And such was his impartiality, that he gave
a decree against one of his sons-in-law, Mr. Heron, whom he in
vain urged to refer the matter to arbitration, and who presumed
upon his relationship. He was also so indefatigable, that, though
he found the office filled with causes, some of which had been
pending for twenty years, he despatched the whole within two
years, and, calling for the rest, was told that there was not one
left ; a circumstance which he ordered to be entered on record ;
and which has thus been wittily versified —

' When More some years had chancellor been,
No more suits did remain ;
The same shall never more be seen
Till More be there again.'

"The learned antiquary. Sir Henry Spelman, was chancellor;
as also that pious judge, Sir Matthew Hale, Lord Chancellor
Egerton, &c., and not least, that upright and conscientious judge.
Earl Eldon, who, I believe, held the seals longer than any chan-
cellor. The present chancellor you see there, is Lord Lyndhurst,
well known as Sir John Copley : he is the son of Mr, Copley
the celebrated painter, and rose to his present exalted station
by his talents and integrity. That gentleman on the right, is

DOINGS IN LONDON. 367

Mr. Heald ; and he sitting by his side, is Mr. Sugden, one of the
members for Weymouth, who, in his address to the electors, told
them that he was once as poor as any of them, and that it was
to his perseverance in his profession he had to ascribe his present
station in society : and he ought to have added, his honour, abihiy,
and integrity : for certainly a more conscientious upright man does
not exist. I do not beUeve," continued Mentor, " there is any
profession whertin a man of talent and integrity can rise to
greater honours than in the law ; but he must not be a common
star. He must possess rare transcendent talents, and consummate
industry and application, never to feel tired or alloyed; — such a
man was Lord Eldon, who, from a very humble state, rose to be
Lord Chancellor of England ! — an honour that probably awaits his
prototype, Mr. Sugden.

" At this instant the Lord Chancellor rose, and the court broke
up ; and Mentor and Peregrine, having viewed the armorial bear-
ings in the windows, &c., strayed into Lincoln's Inn. " The term
is now over," said Mentor, " and in a few days what a forlorn
state this square will be in, which is well told in the following
poem, called ' Long Vacation, by Jemmy Copywell, of Lincoln's
Inn :' —

' My lord now quits his venerable seat,

The six clerk on his padlock turns the key,
From bus'ness nurries to his snug retreat,

And leaves vacation and the town to me.

Now all is hush'd, — asleep the eye of care,

And Lincoln's Inn a solemn stillness holds,
Save, where the porter whistles o'er the square,

Or I'ompey barks, or basket-woman scoldi.

Save that, from yonder pump, ana dusty stair,
The moping shoe-black and the laundry maid.

Complain of such as from the town repair.
And leave their usual quarterage unpaid.

In those dull chambers, where old parchments lie.
And useless draughts, in many a mouldering heap,

Each for parade to catch the client's eye,
Salkeld and Ventris in oblivion sleep.

In these dead hours, what now remains for n>e,

Still to tlie stool and to the desk confin'd :
Debarr'd from autumn shades and liberty.

Whose Jips are soft as my Cleora's kind.*

'• NoA\ ," continued Mentor, " the dispensers of the law retire to
take a little recreation from the toils of the terms, and drink * to
the glorious uncertainty of the law :' of this uncertainty, Mr. Baring,
in his speech on the Court of Chancery, thus gives a proof: — ' A
question had been before the Court of Chancery for thirty years,
as to the disposal of £150,000. Owing to the long delays, most
of the suitors had been reduced to the greatest poverty and distress.
From 1791 to 1025, this sum had been locked up in the Accountant-
General's hands owing to reports, exceptions to irpoits, masttis'

368 DOINGS IN LONliON.

reports, and other delays ; and the consequence was, that some of
the suitors, who had formerly been in good circumstances, were
absolutely living on charity. One of the solicitors of the parties
happened to be his own solicitor, and he one day asked hiuj when
he thought the suit would be at an end. He replied, that he
thought it was impossible it would soon come to a conclusion, as
some of the parties were dead. He said that, even if the Chancellor
did give judgment in the case, it might be on some quibble of the
law. Hearing this, he (Mr. Baring) applied to the solicitor on the
other side, and asked him if it would not be better for the interests
of all parties to settle the matter out of court. He replied, that he
believed it would, and it was a proposition which was much wished
for, and he was sure would meet the approbation of the parties.
They met him the next day, and the parties asked him to sit in
judgment on the matter; but, as lie did not wish to take on himself
alone to give a decision on a matter involving so large a sum of
money as £150,000, he deemed it advisable to call to his aid the
talents and experience of another individual, and he suggested to
the parties that Mr. John Smith should sit with him in judgment
on the case. The parties appioved of his choice ; they sat for an
hour and a half on two days on the matter, and, in the course of
those two days, they settled this suit, which had been pending
nearly thirty years in the Court of Chancery !' "

" And are there as many inns of court in France, as here in
London ?'' inquired Peregrine. " No," replied Mentor ; " the fact
is, people in England are too fond of law — from the peer, who
prosecutes a poor wretch for stealing a rabbit to give to his starving'
family, down to the drunken fish-faa:, who takes the law on some
of her companions for defamation of character — ail is now law —
from the Lord Chancellor to the parish beadle. If Spain and
Portugal be priest-ridden, certain it is England is law-ridden.
Which is worst. Peregrine?" *' In faith," replied Peregrine, " 1
know but little of either the one or the other." " Ay, then," re-
joined Mentor, " your ignorance is bliss ; and proves the words
of Pope —

" *i Ignorance is bliss,
It's folly to be wise.' "

Peregrine accompanied Mentor to his apartments, to meet a
gentleman who had undertaken to arrange the affairs of Mentor's
friend in the King's-Bench Prison ; where, on their arrival, they
found the gentleman wailing, who informed Mentor that every
thing was arranged, and that his friend would almost instantly get
his discharge. On dinner being served up. Mentor inquired of the
servant-girl for more spoons, when the poor creature, after many
excuses, with tears in her eyes, was obliged to inform her master
that she had given, or lent, them to a fortune-teller, to make up a
certain sum which she wanted, to tell her the history of her future
destiny. Mentor, though much vexed, mildly rebuked the girl
(knowing her to be an invaluable servant, and that she had been

DOINGS IN LONIJOK. 359

(lie dupe of some crafty wretch), and told her of the crime she had
been guilty of, in giving away his property, who had been so
good a friend to her. The poor girl acknowledged his kindness,
and, falling on her knees, craved forgiveness ; on which Mentor
Instantly raised her. " Bend thy knee, Martha," said Mentor,
" to none but to thy God! I forgive you; and may you prove,
by the faithfulness of your future service, that you are worthy of my
forgiveness !"

After the girl had left the room, •' I think," said Peregrine,
" you have acted with your servant as every Christian ought to do."
** T hope so !" said Mentor. " Now, supposing I had discharged
her, I could not have given her a character — and what would have
been the consequence ? Why, in all probability, she would have
gone on the town. If I had prosecuted her, she would have been
sent to prison, and ruined forever; and then, in either case, I
should not have got back my spoons, but have been the same loser
as 1 am now, and could only have to reflect on her unfortunate
fallen state : but now I hope to see her yet comfortable and happy,
and a valuable member of society. Which reflection do you think.
Peregrine, will tend to make my dying moments the more happy ?"
*' The latter, most certainly," replied Peregrine, " and I hope you
will receive as much mercy at the last day, as you have now shown
your servant." " Amen !" responded Mentor. Not a word
more was spoken during dinner — both of them seemed thinking of
that indescribable something beyond the grave. At length, Pere-
grine broke the silence — " Curses on those fortune-tellers," said he ;
" in this day's paper, there is the following, among the thousand
proofs of the folly of girls listening to those confounded cheats, the
fortune-tellers : it says —

*' ' Bow Street. — Ruth Smith, a gipsy woman, was charged
with having been concerned in stealing twenty sovereigns from
Miss L. P., a yoDng lady who resides at Knightsbridge.

" * It appeared from the evidence of a young woman. Miss P.'s
servant, that a gipsy woman, who very much resembled the
prisoner, called upon her at the house of her mistress, and, after a
short conversation, offered to show her the secrets of futurity for
the trifling consideration of a sovereign, to be paid in advance.
The poor girl not being provided with the sum, the gipsy consented
to take the amount in clothes ; and the girl was so anxious to
know her future fortune, that she actually parted with the best part
of her wardrobe to receive the wished-for information. Accord-
ingly, the old sibyl assured her that a great fortune, a handsome
husband, and a large family, were the blessings which the Fates
had in store for her. Overjoyed with this glowing prospect, the
girl communicated her good fortune to her young mistress, who felt
an equal anxiety to read the book of fate, and accordingly a
meeting was appointed between the lady and the fortune-teller,
who remained closeted together in private for a considerable time.
The result of the conference did not transpire, but •♦

360 DOINGS IN LONDON.

from what followed, that the old gipsy was as successful in raising
the expectations of the mistress as those of the maid. The sibyl
told the young lady that, in order to complete a charm which she
had in preparation for her especial benetit, it would be necessary
for her to deposit 20 sovereigns between the sheets of her bed. The
young lady did as directed, and on the following day the gipsy
called at the house in a great hurry, telling the young lady that the
charm was proceeding as happily as her heart could wish, but that,
in oider to bring it to a speedy close, it would be necessary for
her (the gipsy) to have the 20 sovereigns in her own possession.
The lady foolishly consented, and it is unnecessary to add that
the gipsy, having taken her departure, forgot to call at the expira-
tion of the three days, which she had Hxed for the working of the
charm. Miss P., perceiving her folly when too late, gave informa-
tion of the circumstance to an active officer of this establishment,
who soon apprehended the prisoner, upon whose person he found
several cards, and other matters used by itinerant fortune-tellers;
and said, that, from information he had received, he had good
reason to believe that the prisoner was concerned with the other
woman, and that she was near the house at the time when the
young lady was robbed of the 20 sovereigns.'

" It is but the other day,'* said Mentor, "that Catherine Dillon,
a county of Cork girl, of very comely appearance, was brought
before Alderman Farebrother, at the Mansion House (who sat for
the Lord Mayor), charged with being a most dangerous conjuror,
and having stolen a silver thimble, a pocket handkerchief, and an
apron, the property of a tradesman's wife, in IMocrlielJs.

"'The conjuror, it appealed from the statement of the com-
])lainant, walked into the shop \\here the latter was sitting at work
Avith her two children, and said, ' Ma'am, I'll tell you what is to
become of you, if you please to give me a tritle of money.' ' No,'
said the lady, ' t don't wish to have my fortune told.' The con-
juror, however, seized her hand, and, looking into the palm with a
very wise countenance, ' Hear it, my jewel,' cried she; * as sure
as you live, you will have another husband.' ' Another husband !'
said the complainant; ' why my husband is alive, ihank God ! and
well.' * Arragh ! then,' added the Irishwoman, ' that's no matter.
How can it be helped if the stars will have it so? As sure as
you're born, dear, you'll have another husband, and very shortly
too, and by him you'll have seven children.' (A laugh.)

" * Alderman Farebrother. — And you have a husband and
children already ?

" ' Complainant. — My husband is here, your worsh p (pointing to
a well-looking man, who eyed the sorceress in no very favourable
manner) : but she was not content with telling me so abominable
a story, — she said that there was a great deal more about me, and
asked me whether I had any gold or silver to let her look at, and
that it was necessary to her charm to look at any sovereigns or
shillings I might have in my possession.

DOINGS IN LONDON. 3(51

" ♦ Conjuror. — Indeed, your worship, I only tould her that she
might have another husband and seven children ; and that's plain
enough, for I'm sure she's young enough.

•' ' Mr. Hobler (to the conjuror.) — Why, you are an Irishvv'oman,
are you not?

•* 'The Conjuror. — God knows, I am; and I'm so poor, I'm
obliged io tell people that they'll have all sorts of good luck. It
I was to tell them the other thing, the d — 1 a halfpenny I'd ever
get from them at all at all. (A laugh.)

" ' Mr. Ilobier. — It is but seldom people of your country t&ke
to this sort of deception. I thought you had left fortune-telling
to the Bohemians and other foreigners.

" ' The Conjuror. — The Bo — who? I don't know who you
mean. I know that we are just as well able to tell people's
fortunes in Ireland as they can tell them iu Jericho or Dingledy
Cooch.

*' * Mr. Hobler. — Were you ever on the tread-mill?

" ' Conjuror. — No, nor don't intend it, your honour

'"Alderman Farebrother. — But we'll lock you up as a rogue
and vagabond. ^Ve'll give you something to do fur a few months,
to keep you out of harm's wav.

" * Conjuror. — Thank your worship. It's often you give us
nothing.

" * The complainant then stated, that the prisoner took up the
thimble and rolled it up in a handkerchief which lay upon the
counter, and that she also took up an apron with which she pre-
tended to be performing a charm. Siuldenly, however, watching
an opportunity, she slipped out, after she had said to the com-
plainant ' Take your eyes ofl" me, or the charm won't work.' (A
laugh.) She had not, however, gone far when she was apprehended.

" * Conjuror. — Why, you were mad to have your fortune tould,
and you gave them bits of things to me to tell you the good news.
(Laughter.) You even took off your rings and put them into ray
hands, and I would not keep 'em.

" ' The complainant said that she certainly had handed a ring to
the conjuror, but the observation made by the woman was, ' I
know by tlie stars that the ring is copper, and copper has no
power over my charm.' (Loud laughter.)

" ' Alderman Farebrother. — Well, well ; we'll see whether she
can charm the inmates of Bridewell. Although she can dive into
futurity, I dare say she could not tell what sort of amusement
she'll be at a few hours hence.

" ' Mr. Hobler. — These people are very dangerous.

" ' Alderman Farebrother. — I know that. They often prevail
on servants to rob their masters and mistresses, but the best I can do
here is, to convict the prisoner as a rogue and vagabond, and order
htr to be set to hard labour ;' to which she was accordingly sentenced.

*' At any rate," observed Peregrine, " these cases do not give
much proof of the ' march of intellect.' " " Xo, indeed, they do
46

862 DOINOS IN LONDON.

not; but, talking of the • march of intellect,'" said Mentor, " here
is a real instance of the present enlightened state of society ; —
• In May, 1828, a numerous body of fanatics had a camp meeting
on Combe Down, Bristol. Early in the morning two waggons were
placed for the preachers, including three females; the preachers
stood in the waggons, when singing commenced. One of the
female preachers chose for her text, Gen. xxiv. 58, ' Wilt thou go
with this man ?' After a few preliminary remarks, she said, ' All
those that are willing to go, liuld up their hands,' whin a great
show of hands was exhibited. She then said, 'To you Clirist is
precious;' when a stout countryman, half drunk, a collier, bawled
out, ' Ah I he is precious to I.' After the sermon was finished,
the director of these people commanded all to separate into dif-
ferent lots : — ' You Camerton friends, go to the left; — you, Frome
friends, go to the right; — you, Coleford friends, go out in the
front; — the Bath and the Combe-down friends will stay near the
waggons ; and may the Lord pour out his spirit upon you all ; don't
be long in prayer, but be earnest, that you may pull down the
blessing of God on your heads, and drive the devil out of your
heels.' Each company then began singing different tunes, and
went to their stations stamping with their feet as they proceeded
with their hats off, and pocket handkerchiefs tied round their heads.
After the singing was finished, they kneeled down, and began
praying with their heads close to each other, their eyes shut,
swaying their bodies backwards and forwards, bawling as loud as
tlipy possibly could, until quite black in the face, and suffused with
perspiration. During this time the director of these people went
from company to company, telling them ' to pray in the faith.'
One man said, 'Thou hast promised to come down to thy people ;'
when the director patted the man on the back, and bawled out,
♦ Thou sha't come down, — ah ! thou sha"t come down,' striking his
hands together. Cries of 'Amen,' resounded from these people,
and groans were uttered incessantly. This continued until the
evening, when they separated.'

"What do you think of this delectable history?" continued
Mentor: "this period is called the age of reason. Fie on it!
Why, the uneducated Hindoo, or Indian, or Esquimaux, are more
enlightened beings than the above wretched creatures, who are
inhabitants, too, of England ! — the most polished nation on the
face of the earth, as it is sometimes called."

Mentor's servant now entered the room, and informed her master
that James, her late fellow-servant, wished to speak to him. Ac-
cordingly, he was ordered to walk up, when the poor fellow told him,
that he had paid two half-sovereigns (all the money he was in
possession of, owing to the long time he had been out of employ)
to an advertising office for servants, and that, after keeping him
attending at the office for three weeks, they informed him it was out
of iheir power to obtain him a situation ; " And so, Sir," said
James, " I made bold to ask you whether I cannot get my money

UOINOS IN LONDON. 363

back f" Mentor tokl him it would be of no use to try, and that
he must put up with the loss ; but at the same time intimated, that
in all probabihty in a few days a friend of his would engage him ;
which intelligence poor James received with thankfulness, and
retired.

"T am glad," said Mentor, "that the Times newspaper has
taken up the subject of these office-keepers, by exposing their
frauds, as appears by the following communications to the editor :

" * Sir, — Your excellent paper has already done immense good
in exposing some of the numberless frauds carried on in this great
Babel ; permit me to draw your attention to another, of no less
enormity, among the humbler classes of society, — I mean the un-
principled frauds committed on the public by a set of fellows
called office-keepers, or situation-procurers. Their titles, indeed,
arc numerous, as land-surveyors, school and house agents, &c.
Now, Sir, the plan of those fellows is, to hunt out all the news-
papers they can find containing advertisements, which they extract
and post up at their doors. It is evident, therefore, that The Times
is their principal resource. The numerous flats (many of them
respectable persons), seeing such a profusion of situations stuck up,
imagine they cannot fail of obtaining one among so many, and
think the conductors of those precious places men of immense
business and respectability ; while I may safely affirm that they
are not employed to transact one case out of 500 of those they
exhibit to the gulled public. But, Sir, this is not all : an entrance-
fee (generally half-a-guinea) is always required by these fellows,
who, when they pocket the money, think nothing farther of their
deluded applicant, who is never repaid, whether the situation is
procured or not; and, to prevent all disclosure or redress, a con-
dition-paper is signed by the gulled flats, who, in their high hopes,
never read the honest office-keeper's conditions. LudgateHiil,
Newgate Street, the Old Bailey, &c. have exhibited curious spe-
cimens of this sort. In the first of these I have been taken in
myself, among many hundreds of others ; but the place has, at
length, exploded, and the losers of half-guineas and guineas will
now, no doubt, enjoy a laugh at the explosion. If persons in
want of situations had advertised in the regular channels, they
would have the benefit of the most extended publicity, and ninety-
nine chances to one of obtaining their ends by such a mode rather
than by a system of unprincipled audacity. It is high time the
public should be put on their guard against such fellows, and
there is no mode of doing so more effectually than by describing
them. By giving this a corner in your valuable columns, you will
prevent many simple people from throwing away their money
in similar places, and will have exposed a most unprincipled
system of pick-pocketing.

" ' I remain, Sir, your obedient servant,

'J.b:

304 DOINGS IN LONDON.

* ' TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES.

'• ' Sir, — While your columns are always kindly open to cora-
munications designed to caution against fraud, there is one trap
laid to catch the unwary which I have not observed pointed out
by any one, but against which you would be conferring a kindness
on many, if you would guard them, especially young men recently
arrived in the metropolis, and who are desirous of meeting with
employ. 1 refer to what are designated as " Agency Offices,"
established professedly for the purpose of procuring and supplying
appointments and situations. Now, sir, when application is made
at such places, a handsome deposit is demanded; you are told that
every effort will be made to accomplish your object, and that such
effort will continue for a given time, generally a month. After
this, it rarely happens that you hear any thing further of the busi-
ness, but when a call is made within the limited time, the applicant

is almost sure to meet with the reply, " Mr. is unexpectedly

called out of town," or " Mr. is so engaged that he will not

be able to see you to-day." Thus you are put off from one day
to anotlier, till the month is expired, when you are very coolly told
that nothing farther can be done without a second deposit. Few,
1 should apprehend, suffer themselves to be so duped a second
time, but, if this should be a means of preventing it in the first
instance, it will answer the design of

" ' Your's, &c. A Constant Reader,

AND AN Enemy to Imposition.'

" When you mention advertising," said Peregrine, '* 1 think of
the extraordinary and objectionable mode of advertising for wives
and husbands ; and of the ill effects of which, the case of the late
ruffian, Corder, is a convincing and melancholy proof: here was
an ignorant profligate, who, by twice puffing his personal qualities
in a lying advertisement, turned the heads of ninety-eight indiscreet
spinsters, silly boarding-school girls, or wanton widows ; but, had
no channel existed for such objectionable communications, his
unfortunate wife would not have had to prepare her weeds as the
widow of a murderer ! Female credulity is proverbial ; but that
sex to whom we owe all that is excellent in life — from whom our
children receive the first and best lessons of morality — whose pre-
sence cheers adversity and brightens prosperity, and whose unwearied
attentions shed a gleam of comfort even in the hour of death — that
sex should remember that, while a man of sense will not descend
to such an expedient, and a man of rectitude has no reason to obtain
a wife by means of public advertisement, it is seldom or never
resorted to, except by fools or designing villains."

'• This disgraceful mode of gaining a wife," said Mentor, " de-
prives a man of the most agreeable part of his life, which is generally
that which he passes in courtship, provided his passion be sincere,
and the party beloved kind with discretion : love, desire, hope, and
all the pleasing emotions of the soul rise in the pursuit.

DOINGS IN LONDON. 365

" ■■ It is easier,' says the Spectator, * for an artful man, who is
not in love, to persuade his mistress he has a passion for her, and
to succeed in his pursuits, than for one who loves with the greatest
violence. True love has ten thousand griefs, impatiencies, and
resentments, that render a man unamiable in the eyes of the person
whose aftection he solicits ; besides that it sinks his figure, gives
him fears, apprehensions, and poorness of spirit, and often makes
him appear ridiculous, where he has a mind to recommend himself.

" ' I should prefer a woman that is agreeable in my own eye,
and not deformed in that of the world, to a celebrated beauly.
If you marry one remarkably beautiful, you must have a violent
passion for her, or you have not the proper taste of her charms ;
or, if you have such a passion for her, it is odds but it will be
embittered with fears and jealousies.

*• ' Good nature and evenness of temper will give you an easy
companion for life ; virtue and good sense, an agreeable friend ;
love and constancy, a good wife or husband. When we meet one
person with all these accomplishments, we find an hundred without
any of them. Marriage enlarges the scene of our happiness and
miseries. A marriage oilove is heaven; a marriage of interest is
heU:

" ' Naught but love
Can answer love, and render bliss secure.'

** Perhaps," continued Mentor, '• you will not think it amiss
were I to read you, out of the last improved edition of ' Bourne's
Vulgar Antiquities,' a slight account of the different rites, cere-
monies, and customs, adopted formerly, both in the manner of
making and of celebrating this solemn contract, particularly as
regards this country.

" 'The first grand preliminary to marriage, called " Betroth-
ing," is a custom of immemorial antiquity, and was differently
practised by different countries. Among the Danes, it was called
Hand-fasting, and is explained to mean a contract between par-
ties to marry, ratified by the taking of hands, &c. Sir John Sin-
clair illustrates this custom, by mentioning a similar one, which
obtained, until lately, in a part of Scotland, where, at an annual
for the unmarried persons of both sexes chose a companion ac
cording to their liking, with whom they were to live until that time
twelvemonth. This was called hand-fasting, or hand in fist. If
they were pleased with each for that time, they continued toge-
ther during life ; if not, they separated, and were free to make
another choice as at first. The fruit of the connexion, if any,
was always attached to the disaffected person. An old author
(1543), in his " Christen State of Matrimony," does not speak
over favourably of this custom, which, as might be expected, was
far from producing desirable effects. ** Yet in thys ihynge," says
he, " also must 1 warn everye reasonable and honest person to
beware that in contractyng of maryage they dyssemble not, nor
set forthe any lye. Every man lykewyse must esteem the person

3flG DOINGS IN LONDON.

to whom he is hand-fasted, none otherwyse than for his owne
spouse, though as yet it be not done in the church nor the stn^ate.
After the hand-fastyng and making of the contracte, the church-
going and weddyng shouhl not be differed to long, lest the wick-
edde sowe hys ungracious sede in the mean season." A thing
which probably happened so often in the interval between this sort
of contract and marriage, that it was one of the interrogatories to
be put to the clergy in the early part of Elizabeth's reign, "whe-
ther they had exhorted yonge folk to absteyne from privy con-
tracts, and not to marry without the consent of such their parents
and freyndes, as have auctority over them."

" * Singular as it may seem in the present day, the MARRIAGE
CEREMONY, or part of it, was performed anciently in the church-
porch, and not in the church. Chaucer alludes to this custom in
his ' Wife of Bath :'—

' She was a worthy woman all her live, —
Husbands at the church-door had she five.'

" * By the Parliamentary reformation of marriage and other
rites under Edward VI., the man and woman were first permitted
to come into the body or middle of the church, standing no
longer, as formerly, at the church-door. Part of the old mar-
riage form of words, from a missal in the time of Richard II.,
follows : —

*' ' Ich M. take the N. to my weddid wyf, to haven and to
holden, for fayrere for fouler, for bettur for wors, for richer for
porer, in seknesse and in healthe, from thys tyme forward, 'til dethe
do departe, zif holi chirche will it ordeyn, and zerto Ich plizh the
my treuthe.' And, on giving the ring, ' with this ring I the wedde,
and zis gold and silver Ich the zee, and with ray bodi I the
worschepe, and with all my worldly castelle I the honoure.' The
woman says, ' Iche N. take the M. to my weddid husbond, to
haven and to holden, for fayrer for fouler, for bettur for wors, for
richer for porer, in seknesse and in helthe, to be bonch and buxum
in bed and at borde, tyl dethe us departe, fro thys tyme forward,
and if Holi Churche it wol orden, and zerto Iche plizh the ray
truthe.' This form a little differs in some of the other missals, but
the variations are not material.

" The Hereford missal enjoined, as part of the marriage cere-
mony, the drinking of wine in church, and by the Sarum missal, sops
were directed to be immersed in it, and that the cup that contained
it, and the liquor itself, should be blessed by the priest. An illus-
tration of which occurs in Shakspeare's Taming of the Shrew,
where Grumio describes Petruchio in church, at his wedding,
as calling for wine, giving a health, and, having quaffed off the
muscadel, throwing the sop in the sexton's face.

" Of the other attendant ceremonies on marriage, both before
and after its solemnization, an enumeration merely would occupy
sorae space. The principal were the giving of the Ring, the
Bride-Cake, Bride-Favours ; as Topknots, Gloves,

DOINGS IN LONDON. 367

Scarfs, Garters; the having of Bridemen, and Maids;
use of Rosemary and Bays, weaiing of Garlands, drinking
of Sack-posset, throwing of the Stocking, Reveilles in the
Morning after Marriage, &c. &c.

"The Ring. — This seems to have been in use from the re-
motest antiquity, being to be traced to the Gentile nations, in
their making of agreements, grants, &c. ; from which practice it
no doubt became emblematic of one of the most solemn en-
gagements, and was adopted as such by the Christian world.
Hudibras laughably insinuates that the supposed Heathen ox'\g\\\
of this emblem nearly occasioned its use to be prohibited in the
time of the Puritans, or Interregnum : —

' Others were for abolishing
That tool of matrimony — a ring.
With wJiichth' unsanctify'd bridegroom
Is marry'd only to a thumb;
(As wise as ringing of a pig
That's us'd to break up ground and dig).
The bride to nothing but her will,
That nulls thee after marriage still.'

" The wedding-ring is worn on the fourth finger of the left
hand, because it was anciendy believed, though the opinion is
exploded by modern anatomists, that a small artery ran from this
finger to the heart.

*• The practice of marrying with the ring, for the female, was
adopted by the Romans : the bride was modestly veiled, and, after
receiving the nuptial benediction, was crowned with flowers. The
ring, symbolic of eternity, was given and received as a token of
everlasting love.

"Rush Rings were sometimes substituted for those of gold, by
designing men, but were never used in lawful marriages. Mr.
Douce refers Shakspeare's expression — " Tib's I'ush for Tom's fore-
finger," which had so long puzzled the commentators, to this
ancient but pernicious custom.

"Bride-cake may be mentioned with the gift called Bride-fa-
vours, which consisted, besides that refreshment, as we have
observed, of top-knots, gloves, scarfs, garters, &c. agreeably to a
remark in an old writer, who, speaking of a certain wedding, says,
• No ceremony was omitted of bride-cake, points, garters, and
gloves.'

" Of Top-knots, or favours of ribands, Sic, to be worn by the
married couple, which, though now ichite, formerly consisted of
various colours, our author gives an amusing account. The book
he quotes is called ' The Fifteen Comforts of Marriage,' and the
conversation related is as to the choosing of these bridal colours.
Many difficulties suggest themselves as to which colour is most
conspicuous, until the milliner fixes the colours as follow : — For the
favours, blue, red, peach-colour, and orange -tawney : for my young
lady's top-knots, flame-colour, straw-colour (signifying plenty),
peach-colour, grass-green, and milk-white ; and for the garters, a
perfect yellow, signifying honour and joy.

368 DOINGS IN LONDON.

"The custom of Bride-men and Bride-maids, being in part
retained in the present day, need not be described. It is to be
traced to the Saxon times.

"Rosemary, which was also used at funerals, was an accom-
paniment of ancient marriages, according to the poet —

" The rosemary branch,
Grows for two ends, it matters not at all,
Be't for a bridall, oi a buriall."

" Eating of Sack Posset, throwing the Stocking, and other
customs, on the wedding eve, are sufficiently honoured by a bare
mention. Tiie Reveillez, or morning salute after marriage, is
Judiciously described by an old author, in a work called 'Comforts
of Wooing,' &c. He says, ' Next morning come the fiddlers, and
scrape him a wicked Reveillez^ the drums rattle, the shaumes tole,
the trumpets sound tan-ta-ra-ra-ra-ra, and the whole street rings
with the benedictions and good wishes of fiddlers, drummers, pipers,
and trumpeters ; you may safely say now the wedding's proclaimed.*

" I suppose," continued Mentor, " the Reveillez gave rise to
the marrow-bones and cleavers welcoming new-married people
with a serenade : a custom practised to this day in London, by
those rude minstrels. The following is a copy of a card pre-
sented by the men with marrow-bones and cleavers, to a young couple
lately married.

HIS MAJESTY'S ROYAL PEAL

OF
OF THE

County of Middlesex.
Instituted 1719.

" * Honoured Sir, — With permission, we, the Marrow Bones
and Cleavers, pay our usual and customary respects, in wish-
ing, Sir, you and your amiable lady joy of your happy mar-
riage ; hoping. Sir, to receive a token of your goodness — it
being customary on these happy occasions.

" ' Sir, — We being in waiting your goodness, and are all
ready to perform if reouired. — Book and medal in presence to
h ow.

DOINGS IN LONDON

3C9

** This book, it seems, they carefully preserve. By the proceed-
ings against the St. George's Marrow-bone and Cleaver Club, at
Marlborough-Street Office, by the Dowager Lady Harland, in
their attempting to extort from her newly-married daughter, to whom
they presented their silver plate, ornamented with blue ribbon and
a chaplet of flowers, it appears the constable presented before
the magistrate the book belonging to them, containing the names
of a great many persons of the first consequence, who had been
married at St. George's, Hanover Square ; all of whom had put
down their names for a sovereign. In the course of a year, the
sums gathered by these greasy fellows, as marriage-offerings,
amounted to £416.

" So you see. Peregrine," said Mentor, " what ways there are
in London for men to raise the wind. It is certain that no person,
if he has a mind to exert his wits in the metropolis, need be
without money."

Peregrine, wishing his friend good night, retired to his inn;
having previously made an appointment to visit the Eagle Tavern
City Road, the next day, to see

C8e IBoiitgst of tje imuitltts.

They arrived at the Eagle Tavern just in time to witness a grand
match between the wrestlers of Devonshire and Cornwall ; when
the skill displayed by Abraham Cann, the Devonshire champion.,
elicited universal applause.

" I am glad," said Mentor, " to see wrestling, one of the moiJt
47 2B

370 DOINGS IN LONDON.

ancient games of Englishmen, coming again into fashion. Fortbe
advantages of it are felt through the whole body : it exercises both
legs and arms ; excites every muscle ; strengthens the chest, and
circulates the blood. If we wish youth to possess courage, pa-
tience, and perseverance, no exercise is more htting for the purpose
than wrestling ; nor is there one which calls forth, in such rapid and
varied succession, all the muscular powers.

" In ancient times it was customary to celebrate the anniversary
of the day of martyrdom of St. Bartholomew, by a wrestling-
match, at the place appointed for that sport in Moortields. The
Lord Mayor and sheriffs were present at the recreation, and it was
their duty to bestow the prize on the successful struggler. In the
sixth year of the reign of Henry the Third, the citizens of London
held their anniversary meeting on St. James's Day, near the Hos-
pital of St. Matilda, St. Giles in the Fields, where they were met
by the inhabitants of the city and suburbs of Westminster ; and a
ram was appointed for the prize, which was customary in those
days, as we learn from Chaucer. The Londoners were victorious,
having greatly excelled their antagonists ; which produced a chal-
lenge from the conquered party, to renew the contest upon the
Lammas Day following, at Westminster. The citizens of London
readily accepted the challenge, and met them at the time appointed ;
but, in the midst of the diversion, the bailiff of Westminster, and
his associates, took occasion to quarrel with the Londoners ; a
battle ensued, and many of the latter were severely wounded in
making their retreat to the city.

" Thus, my friend Peregrine," continued Mentor, " by com-
paring the manners of the present race of the citizens of London
and Westminster, with those of the fourteenth century, we can
judge which is the most conducive to health and strength, and the
most rational. Now, the major part of the citizens' thoughts are
entirely engrossed on the accumulation of wealth ; and, when I
show you the Stock Exchange and the Royal Exchange, you will
there see many proofs of their rapacity."

The wrestling-matches were now over, and as our heroes were
steering their course towards Cornhill, they saw a mob assembled
round a blind beggar, singing and praying, — a kind of itinerant
ranter — a real blind guide ; at last he came to the terrible words,
" hell and damnation," which he sang out with such an emphasis,
that he put all the people a trembling, so they all sneaked off one
by one, wondering how a blind man should remember to sing by
heart, without the help of his eyesight.

Peregrine, feeling rather hungry, expressed a desire to take a
little refreshment at a pastry-cook's. " I do not wish," said
Mentor, " to debar you, but perhaps you are not aware that some
of these pastry-cooks use an enormous quantity of Derbyshire
white, burnt bones, and other calcareous matter, and with complete
impuuity, too, as they are a sort of ad-lihitum dealers, and can
venture, by catching the eye with beautiful colours, and the palate

DOINGS IN LONDON. 3?1

with sweet tastes, to adulterate infinitely more than the baker can :
they also use the following poisons, in great quantities, to give
colour to their confectionary : chromate of lead, copper, verdigris,
iron, rose pink, vennillion, and powder blue! !"

Mentor and Peregrine had now reached Cornhill, where the
latter, perceiving a large building, asked his friend what place it
was. " This," said Mentor, " is the Royal Exchange : here you
may see the most honourable characters in the world — the English
merchants ! who meet here every day at 'change hours; and, for
the more regular and readier despatch of business, they dispose
of themselves in separate walks, each of which has its appro-
priate name.

" The figures you see in those niches are the statues of some
of the kings and queens of England ; and that on a pedestal,
in the centre of the area, is Charles II. in a Roman habit. That
figure under the pediment, is Sir Thomas Gresham, who founded
this Exchange, in 1566; the other whole-length statue, is of Sir
John Barnard, which was placed here in his life-time by his fellow
citizens."

" And pray," asked Peregrine, " who is that very lusty gentle-
man, who is talking so anxiously to that Jew?" ** Why, he is
one of the most eminent stock-jobbers," replied Mentor. " Par-
don my ignorance," said Peregrine ; " what is a stock jobber ?" "A
stock-jobber, my friend, is a speculator ; a compound of knave,
fool, shop-keeper, merchant, and gentleman. His whole business is
tricking : when he cheats another, he's a knave ; when he suff"ers
himself to be outwitted, he's a fool. He's as great a lover of
uncertainty as some fools were of the lottery ; and would not give
a farthing for an estate got without a great deal of hazard. He's
a kind of speculum, wherein you may behold the passions of man-
kind, and the vanity of human life. To-day he laughs, and to-
morrow he grins ; is the third day mad ; and always labours under
those two passions, hope and fear ; rising one day and falling the
next, like mercury in a weather-glass. He is never under the
prospect of growing rich, but at the same time under the danger
of being poor. He spins out his life between faith and hope, but
has nothing to do with charity, because there's little got by it.
He is a man whose great ambition is to ride over others, and, in
order to do which, he resolves to win the horse, or lose the saddle.

" * The practice to which the term stock-jobbing is applied is that
which is carried on amongst persons who possess but little or no pro-
perty in any of the funds,' says the author of the Picture of London ;
* yet who contract for the sale or transfer of stock at some future
period, the latter part of the day or the next settling-day, at a price
agreed on at the time. Such bargains are called time-bar gains, and
are contrary to law ; and such practice is gambling in every sense of
the word. Those who resort to it ought not to be trusted without
caution. But the business oi jobbing h carried on to an amazing
•xtent; it is of this character: — A agrees to sell B £10,000 cf
2b 2

373 DOINGS IN LONDON.

bank stock, to be transferred in twenty days, for £12,000. A, in
fact, does not possess any such property ; yet, if the price of bank-
stock on the day appointed for the transfer should be only £118
per cent., he may then purchase as much as will enable him to
fulfil his bargain for £11,800 ; and thus he would gain £200 by
the transaction. Should the price of bank-stock advance to 125
per cent., he will then lose £500 by completing his agreement. As
neither A nor B, however, may have the means to purchase stock
to the extent agreed on, the business is commonly arranged by the
payment of the difference — the profit or the loss — between the
current price of the stock on the day appointed and the price
bargained for.

" ' In the language of the Alley, as it is called, (all dealings in
the stocks having been formerly transacted in 'Change Alley) the
buyer, in these contracts, is denominated a bull, and the seller a
bear. As neither party can be compelled to complete these bar-
gains (they being illegal), their own sense of ' honour,' and the
disgrace, and the loss of future credit that attends a breach of
contract, are the sole principles on which this singular business is
regulated. When a person refuses, or has not the ability, to pay
his loss, he is termed a lame-duck ; but this opprobrious epithet is
not bestowed on those whose failure is owing to insufiicient means,
provided they make the same surrender of their property volun-
tarily, as the law would have compelled had the transaction fallen
within its cognizance. This illegal practice, which we have
already termed gambling, is nothing more than a wager as to what
will be the price of stocks at a fixed period ; but the facility which
it affords to extravagant and unprincipled speculation — speculation
that is not checked by the ordinary risk of property, and the mis-
chief and ruin which have frequently followed it, is incalculable.

" It was among these worthies, with Mr. Law at their head,
that the speculation of the South-Sea Scheme, in 1719, was con-
certed : this oddest and most calamitous bite upon the town was
followed immediately by the following schemes for companies, to
raise twenty-eight millions of money — twice as much as the cur-
rent coin of the realm ; and, as the knowledge of these projects
will doubtless be of service to you, I will read you an abstract of
them, together with the places where the fiats were to pay their
deposits !

" • For a general insurance on houses and merchandize, — at the
Three Tuns, Swithin's Alley, £,2000,000.

" ' For building and buying ships to let or freight, — at Garraway 's.
Exchange Alley, £1,200,000.

" ' To be let by way of loan on stock, — at Garraway's,
£1,200,000.

" ' For granting annuities by way of service-ship, and providing
for widows, orphans, &c., — at the Rainbow, Cornhill, £1,200,000.

" ' For the raising the growth of raw silk, — £1,000,000.

" * For lending upon the deposit of stock, goods, annuities,
tallies, &c.— atRobins's, Exchange Alley, £1,200,000

I

DOIiNGS IN LONDON, 373

•♦ « For settling and carrying on a trade to Germany, — £1,200,000,
at the Rainbow. ,

" < For insuring; of houses and goods from fire, — at Sadler s
Wells, £2,000.000. ■ ■ r^ a-

" • For carrying on a trade to Germany,— at the Virgniia Cottee-
House, £1,200,000.

•* • For securing goods and houses from fire, — at the Swan and
Rummer, £2,000,000.

•■* • For buying and selling of estates, public stocks, govern-
ment securities, and to lend money, £3,000,000.

" * For insuring ships and merchandize, £2,000,000, — at the
Marine Coflee-house, Birchin Lane.

" • For purchasing government securities, and lending money
to merchants to pay their duties with, £1,500,000.

" For carrying on the undertaking business, for furnishing fune-
rals, £1,2000,000,— at the Fleece Tavern, Cornhill.

" For carrying on trade between Great Britain and Ireland, and
the kingdoms of Portugal and Spain, £1,000,000.

"'For carrying on the coal-trade from Newcastle to London,
£2,000,000, — Cooper's Coftee-house.

" For preventing and suppressing of thieves and robbers, and
for insuring all persons' goods from the same, £2,000,000,— at
Cooper's. i » u j

" ' A grand dispensary, 3,000,000,— at the Buffaloe s Head.

" Subscription for a sail-cloth manufactory in Ireland,— at the
Swan and Hoop, Cornhhill.

'"£4,000,000 for a trade to Norway and Sweden, to procure
pitch, tar, deals, and oak, — at Waghorn's.

" ' For buying lead-mines and working them,— Ship! avern.

" ' A subscription for manufacturing dittis or Manchester stuffs
of thread and cotton, — Mul ford's.

" ♦ £4,000,000 for purchasing and improving commons and
waste lands, — Hanover Coffee -House.

" * A royal fishery. Skinner's Hall.

" ' A subscription for effectually settling the islands of Blanco
and Saltorturgus. ^ ,

♦' ' For supplying the London markets with cattle,— t^arraway s.

" For melting lead-ore in Derbyshire,— Swan and Hummer.

" ♦ For manufacturing of muslins and calico,— Portugal Coffee-
house.

" • £2,000,000 for the purchase of pitch, tar, and turpentine,—

Castle Tavern. ir- ■•

"♦£2,000,000 for importing walnut-trees from Virginia,—
Garraway's. ,

" ' £2,000,000 for making crystal mirrors, coach-glasses, and
for sash windows, — Cole's. j rk u

" For purchasing tin and lead mines in Cornwall and Derby-
shire.— Half-Moon Tavern.

374 DOINGS IN LONDON.

*' • for preventing the running of wool, and encouraging the
wool manufactory, — King's Arms.

" * For a manufactory of rape-seed oil, — Fleece Tavern.

** ' £2,000,000 for an engine to supply Deal with fresh water, —
Black Swan.

*• * £2,000,000 at the Sun Tavern for importing beaver-fur.

" • For making of Joppa and Castile soap, — Castle Tavern.

" * £4,000,000 for exporting woollen stuffs, and importing cop-
per, brass, and iron, and carrying on a general foundry,— Virginia
Coffee-House.

" * For making pasteboard, packing-paper, &c., — Montague
Coffee-House.

*' 'A hair co-partnership, permits 5s. 6d. each, at the Ship
Tavern, Paternoster Row ; hy reason all places near the Exchange
are so much crowded at this juncture.

" ' For importing masts, spars, oak, &c., for the navy, — Shi'>
Tavern.

" 'This day, the 8th inst., at Sam's Coffee-House, behind the
Royal Exchange, at three in the afternoon, a book will be opened
for entering into a joint co-partnership for carrying on a thing that
will turn to the advantage of those concerned.

" For importing oils, and materials for the woollen manufactory,
permits 10s. each — Rainbow.

"* For a settlement in the Island of St. Croix, — Cross Keys.

" ' Improving the manufacture of silk, — Sun Tavern.

" * For purchasing a manor and royalty in Essex, — Garraway's.

*" £5,000,000 for buying and selling lands, and lending money
on landed security — Garraway's.

•** For raising manufacturing madder in Great Britain, — Pen
sylvania Coffee-House.

'* * £2000 shares for discounting pensions, &c. — Globe Tavern.

" ' £4,000,000 for improving all kinds of malt liquors, — Ship
Tavern.

** ' £2,500,000, for importing linens from Holland, and Flanders'
lace.

*• " A society for landing and entering goods at the Custom
House, on commission, — Robins.

" * For making glass and bottles, — Salutation Tavern.

" ' The grand American fishery, — Ship and Castle.

" * £2,000,000 for a friendly society, for purchasing merchandize
and lending money, — King's Arms.

*' ' £2,000,000 for purchasing and improving fens in Lincolnshire,
— Sam's.

" • Improving soap-making, — Milford's Coffee-House.

" ' For making English pitch and tar, — Castle Tavern.

" ' £4,000,000 for improving lands in Great Britain, — Pope's
Head.

" ' A woollen manufactory in tb*» north of England,— Swan and
Rummer.

DOINGS IN LONDON. 376

** ' A paper manufactory, — Hambie's Coffee-House.

"* For improving gardens, and raising fruit-trees, — Garraway's.

" ' For insuring seamen's wages, — Sam's CofFee-House.

" ' The North-American Society, — Swan and Rummer.

" * The gold and silver society.

" ' £2,000,000 for manufacturing baize and flannel, — Virginia
Coffee-House.

" * For extracting silver from leaa, — Vine Tavern.

" ' £1,000,0000 for manufacturing China and Delt wares, —
Rainbow.

" * £4,000,000 for importing tobacco from Virginia, — Salutation
Tavern.

" * For trading to Barbary and Africa, — Lloyd's.

'* * For the clothing and pantile trade, — Swan and Hoop.

*•' * Making iron with pit-coal.

" * A co-partnership for buying and selling live hair, — Castle
Tavern.

" ' Insurance-office for horses dying natural deaths, stolen, or
disabled, — Crown Tavern, Smithfield.

" ' A rival to the above, £2,000,000,— at Robins's.

" ' insurance-oflSce from servants' thefts, &c., 3000 shares of
£1000 each,— Devil Tavern.

" • For tillage, and breeding cattle, — Cross Keys.

" ' For furnishing London with hay and straw, — Great James
Tavern.

" ' For bleaching coarse sugars to a fine colour ,without fire or
loss of substance, — Fleece.

" * £1,000,000 for perpetual motion, by means of a wheel moving
by force of its own weight, — Ship Tavern.

** * A co-partnership for insuring and increasing children's for-
tunes,— Fountain Tavern.

£4,000,000, for manufacturing iron and steel, — Black Swan
Tavern.

" ' £2,000,000 for dealing in lace, &c. &c. — Sam's.

'* * £10,000,000 for a royal fishery of Great Britain, — Black
Swan.

" ' £2,000,000 to be lent upon pledges, — Blue-coat Coffee-
House.

" • Turnpikes and wharfs, — Sword-blade Coffee-House.

•' ' For the British alum works, — Salutation.

"'£2,000,000 for erecting salt-pans in Holy Island, — John's
Coffee-House.

" ' £2,000,000 for a snuff-manufactory, — Garraway's.

" * £3,000,000, for building and rebuilding houses, — Globe
Tavern.'

** It has been well observed of the Englisn people," said
Mentor, " that they are like a flight of birds at a barn-door : shoot
amongst them, and kill ever so many, the rest will return to the
same place, in a very litttle time, without any remembrance of the

SI 6

DOINGS IN LONDON.

evil that had befallen their fellows. Never was a more faithful
remark ; for who could have believed, after the knowledge of the
fatal eftects of so many hundreds of people being ruined by the
above projects, that the public would again so easily fall in, as
they did, with those schemes of speculators, or swindlers, which
produced the memorable panic of 1825 — the era when every
species of fraud was at its summit. In that year of folly and vil-
lany, the following companies were in existence, and on which
payments to the amount of nearly eighteen millions of money
were paid. This list, which was compiled with great care, I
have preserved" said Mentor, " as a curious and valuable record of
the gullibility of the citizens of this overgrown metropolis :

LOANS.

Brazilian Loan of 1824

Do.

Danish do.
Greek do.
Guatimala do.
Guadalajara do.
Mexican do.
Neapolitan do.
Peruvian do.

1825

Deposits paid.

£

350,000
1,500,000
2,625,000
1,130,000

357,143

246,000
2,872,000
1,750,000

480,480

MINES.

Anglo-Mexican Mining Shares -

Anglo-Chilian - . - -

Arigne Iron and Coal

Bolanos » - _ .

Boliva - - _ -

Castello

Chilian - - , _

Cobalt and Copper

Chili and Peru . _ _

Cornwall and Devonshire

Consolidated Copper -

English Mining

Equitable - . . ,

Famatina - . _

General Mining

Gwennappe - . _

Haytian - . .

Hibernian - -

Hoomeavy _ . .

London United - . -

Manganese - -

Pasco-Peruvian ...

Potosi ...

Polbreen Tin and Copper

Royal Irish

Real del Monte

Royal Stannary

250,000

75,000

42,000

12,500

30,000

50,000

50,000

5,000

50,000

150,000

5,000

25,000

8,000

12,500

100,000

5,400

50,000

20,000

15,000

75,000

4,000

50,000

100,000

3,000

56,000

165,000

40,000

DOINGS IN LONDON. 377

Dq)osH$ paid.
£
Waldeck -.--.. 5,000

South Wales - - - ... 10,000

Scottish National Mining - . - . 30,000

Tywarnhale - - _ _ _ _ 30,000

Halpuxahua - - - - 20,000

Tarma --.._. 5,000

United Mexican Mines - - _ . . 60,000

Do. (New) - - . . . . 180,000

COMPANIES.

Welsh Iron and Coal .... 150,000

Do. Slate, Copper, and Lead ... 100,000

Protector Fire Assurance - . _ . 500,000

British Gas - - - . . . 80,000

International Gas - - - - 50,000

London Portable - * - - - - - 15,000

New Imperial - - . _ . . 100,000

Provincial Portable - - - _ . 30,000

Independent Gas - - - . . . 30,000

Phoenix Gas - - - - - - 45,000

United General . - - - - 160,000

Birmingliam and Liverpool Railway - - - 20,000

Manchester and Liverpool _ . - , 12,000

Anglo-Mexican Mint - - . . . 50,000

American and Col Steam - . - _ 60,000

Australian - . . . . . 20,000

Atlantic and Specific . - - - 100,000

Egyptian Trading - _ • _ . 10,000

British Iron - 500,000

British Rock and Patent Salt 300,000

British and Foreign Paper . _ . . - 300,000

British, Irish, and Col. Silk - - - - 40,000

British Ship Canal - - . . . 10,000

Steam and Packet Navigation _ _ _ _ 25,000

British and Foreign Timber - - . - 100,000

British, Chuan, and Roman Cement _ . - - 5,000

Canada 50,000

Canal Gas Engine . - _ . . 5,000

Colombian Agricultural . _ . . 65,000

Canada and Nova Scotia _ . . _ _ 10,000

Devon Hayton Granite - _ - . . 8,000

Droitwich Patent Salt - . . . . 50,000

Elbe and Weser Steam .... 2,000

East London Drug . - - . - 10,000

French Brandy _ - - . . 4,000

General Steam --.... 50,000

Gold Coast -.-... 50,000

Great Westminster Dairy ... 48,000

Guernsey and Jersey Stea.Ti » . . 40,000

Ground Rent - - - - - - 10,500

Hibernian Joint Stock ... - - 250,000

Honduras - 50,000

Irish Manufactory . - - - . 20,000

48

378 DOINGS IN LONDON.

Deposits paid.
4,000

Imperial Plate Glass - - ~ .

Imperial Distillery - - - -

- 120,000

Imperial Estate - - - ^

10,000

Investment Bank . . - .

2,000

London Brick - . .

- 30,000

London and Gibraltar Steam

1,000

Do. Window-Glass - - - -

- 2,000

Lower Rhine Steam - - -

1,000

London Drug _ , . . .

. 5,000

London Smelting ...

4,000

London and Portsmouth Steam

- 2,000

Do. and Gravesend - - . -

- 4,000

Mexican Company ...
Metropolitan Dairy - -

- 100,000

- 24,000

Medway Lime and Coke ...

20,000

Netheriand Patent Salt

- 18,750

New Brighton ....

10,000

New Corn Exchange

15,000

National Drug and Chymical

- 10,000

Patent Bricks - -

30,000

Pacific Peari Fishery . - . .

- 20,000

Pearl and Coral Fishery

- 60,000

Provincial Banks - - . - -

200,000

Patent Distillery - -

90.000

Rio de la Plata ....

- 50,000

Roman Bricks and Tile - -

7,000

Scariet Dye - . -

- 7,500

Swedish Iron - -

- 4,000

Steam Engine Machinery

- - 9,000

Tobacco and Snuff ...

- 4,000

Thames and Medway Brick and Lime

12.000

Do. and Rhine Steam _ - .

- 3,000

Do. and Loire do. - -

- 1,000

West India Company - -

- 100,000

United Pacific - - - -

200,000

United Chilian - - - -

50.000

Do. London and Hibernian Com and Flour

- 10,000

Foreign Stock and Share Investment

- 5,000

Thames Tunnel

- 40,000

Hammersmith Bridge - - . .

- 40,000

£ 17,582,773

** A vast many other companies I could mention," continued
Mentor, " of which it is uncertain what deposits were paid ; for
the people were so maddened with the greedy idea of realizing
fortunes, that they took no time to inquire into the plausibility of
the schemes : their cry was, ' For G — d's sake, let me subscribe
to something — T don't care what it is !' So that many adven-
tured in some of the grossest cheats and improbable undertakings
that ever the world heard of. At length the bubbles burst ; and

DOINGS IN LONDON. 379

hundreds were hurled from a state of affluence to the most abject
ruin — the fatal effects of their rapacity and folly !

"The words of Mr. Philips, 1720, may be well applied: * Oh,
my fellow-citizens ! you have joined with the spoilers, yet you
have not added to your stores. Let me print the remembrance of
your past inadvertency upon your hearts, that it may abide as a
memorial to us and to our children. The wealth, the inheritance
of the island, are transferred to the meanest of the people ; those
chiefly have gained who had nothing to lose. All the calamities
have we felt of a civil war, bloodshed only excepted. They who
abounded suffer want ; the industry — the trade of the nation has
been suspended, and even arts and sciences have languished in the
geneial confusion : the very women have been exposed to plunder,
whose condition is the more deplorable, because they are not ac-
quainted with the methods of gain to repair their broken fortunes.
Some are driven from their country, others forced into confine-
ment ; some are weary of life, and others there are who can nei-
ther be comforted, nor recovered to the use of reason.'

" The following memorandum of the career of Mr. W., one of
the most active projectors of the various schemes, is interesting,
as giving a true picture of the mania of the times : —

*' Before 1823, he had so little professional business, that he
endeavoured to obtain money and popularity as an author. He
wrote a patriotic life of the late queen ; also, a biographical dic-
tionary of pious people. He paid great attention to the Dissen-
ters, and figured in the ' Evangelical Magazine ;' in which he in-
serted an advertisement, expressing his willingness, upon a pay-
ment of a suitable premium, to admit into his family, as an arti-
cled clerk, a youth of pious ways, provided it could be shown sa-
tisfactorily that he had received a sound religious education from
his parents. Mr. W., also, as the public are already aware, en-
deavoured to get up a Joint Stock Company to obtain the due
observance of the Sabbath, by enforcing the laws passed for that
purpose in the reigns of Elizabeth and Charles I. His merits were
not, however, appreciated by the sects in whose paths he walked.
His activity was, perhaps, too great for them ; and, being straight-
ened in circumstances, and indisposed to wait for the success
which otherwise he would, no doubt, have obtained in that line,
towards 1824 he started another project for a Joint Stock Com-
pany of a different character. This was contrived, and it suc-
ceeded. Scheme after scheme followed until the end of 1825,
when he found himself surrounded by lord?, ministers of state,
members of Parliament, a large portion of the aristocracy, who,
with merchants and bankers, courted his favour and patronage in
the bestowal of directorships, &c., &c., in Joint Stock Companies ;
the proceedings of which, as they never had been, there was no
reason to apprehend would ever be, exposed to the public gaze by
the inttrference of the press. In the year mentioned he had a
sumptuously-furnished house in New Broad Street; he was pps-

380 nOlNGS IN LONDON.

sessed, also, of a splendid mansion at Mill Hill, where he kept
three carriages and fourteen carriage-horses, four servants for his
equestrian establishment alone, and a corresponding number for
the interior of what may be called his palace. The Lord Chief
Justice of all England, who resided in comparative obscurity in the
same neighbourhood, and drove to town in a carriage and pair,
was often compelled to make way, in order to avoid being overset
by the vehicle which contained Mr. W., who was driven to town
in a carriage and four, frequently preceded by outriders. He gave
princely entertainments, to which men in office were not strangers ;
and the neighbourhood of his residence was crowded with the
splendid equipages of his guests. He had an establishment at
Ramsgate during the summer, and, during the winter, apartments
at Long's Hotel, where he gave audience to men of distinction at
the west end of the town ; and thrice accredited and supremely
happy was the member who could win his smile of recognition,
when he joined the ride in the park. At this period, it was proudly
declared in Parliament, that the stable prosperity of the companies
of his formation was equal to that of the Bank of England. He
then declared to his friends, that that was but a step to greater
things ; that within twelve months from that time, they would see
him possessed of power and patronage to reward their zeal and
services. His parliamentary phalanx was broken. He was now
" deserted in his utmost need :" defeat after defeat, expulsion
after expulsion followed, until he had not a single company left.
He was now beset on all sides, but he still disputed every inch of
ground with his enemies. He rallied vigorously in the House of
Commons on the subject of the Cornwall and Devon Mining Com-
pany. He made his last desperate effort in the Court of Chancery
to compel the payment of forty thousand pounds from the directors
of the latter company. Being defeated there, and having failed in
his efforts to establish a weekly paper, he was reduced to a state
of the greatest financial embarrassments, and was only preserved
by the exercise of his parliamentary privileges from imprisonment
for debt. Having lost all the money he had made, he stood little
chance of regaining confidence or professional employment in the
city, where success is considered the best evidence of merit. He
was now deprived of all resources, and he wandered through Wales,
with what design is unknown. A respectable member of his family,
it is generally stated, consented to give him a small annuity, on
condition that he quitted this country and remained abroad."

*• I thank you much," said Peregrine, " for the trouble you have
taken to make me acquainted with the memorable bubbles of 1701
and 1825; and, believe me, it will be a long time ere they are
obliterated from my memory.

" As I have never yet been over St. Paul's Cathedral, pray
accompany me hither on our way home." " Certainly," replied
Mentor; and accordingly, in a short time. Peregrine had the
pleasure of beholding one of the most gratifying sights in the

DOINOS IN LONDON. 381

metropolis — that of beholding the " forest of London" from the
dome of St. Paul's. " The most interesting time to have a view,"
said Mentor, " is early in the morning, to mark the gradual symptoms
of returning life, until the rising sun vivifies the whole into activity,
bustle, and business." " Certainly, it must be," replied Peregrine ;
" but even now the view before us fills the mind with wonder and
admiration ; and it is lost in contemplating this second Rome, and
in reflecting on the various vicissitudes it has undergone, and how
it has increased." " Indeed, my friend Peregrine, few cities have
undergone more vicissitudes than London : scarcely may it be said
to have been founded, or rather laid out (for it at first was little
more than a fortified inclosure), when it was burnt, and the inha-
bitants massacred by the vindictive Boadicea, in the reign of Nero.
Overcoming this calamity, it was again threatened, and would, no
doubt, have been destroyed by a body of Franks, who had quitted
the army of Constantius, in the year 296, who intended to pillage
it, and then retreat to their own country with the plunder, by
seizing the vessels in the Thames. But a part of the Roman fleet,
which had been carried into the river, drove them oft' with great
slaughter. On this occasion, our chronicles say, L. Gallus was
slain, in the brook which ran through the middle of the city, and
from him took the name of * Nautgall," in British, and Walbrook
in English ; which name still remains in the street, under which,
it is stated, is still a large sewer to carry oflf the filth.

'* In the year 314, London, York, and Colchester, appear to
have been accounted the three principal cities of Roman Britain,
three bishops taking their titles from them, at the synod held at
Arelate, in Gaul. At this time, York had the first rank, London
the second. That of London, on this occasion, occurs in the lists
of ecclesiastics — ' Restitutus cpiscopus de civitate Londinensis pro-
vincia suprascripta.^ And, in 360, its consequence was further
evinced, by Lupicinius being ordered by Julian to march here pre-
vious to his attacking the Scots and Picts, who were then
harassing Britain, as it must have been a place of considerable
importance, when the Roman general came here to concert the
operations of the campaign with the provincial governor. In 367,
Theodosius, having defeated these barbarous invaders, made a tri-
umphal entry into Londinmm (then called A^igusta, and a colony,
as all towns of that name were), which was saved from ruin or
pillage by his seasonable arrival. Bishop Stillingfleet supposes
that Augusta was at this time the capital of all Roman Britain ;
and he quotes the opinion of Velserus, that all towns dignified
with that name were Capita Gentium, the chief metropolis of the
provinces. Perhaps a better argument for its supremacy may be
derived from the treasures of the province being deposited in it, as
we learn from the Not itia Imperii.

" Not long after, on the decline of the Roman power in Britain,
this city, according to the fate of the whole island, fell under the

382 DOINGS IN LONDON.

dominion of the Saxons, but in what manner histd do not

relate. But it is thought Vortigern gave it up to Hengist to pro-
cure his own liberty ; it being in the territory of the East Saxons,
which historians agree was surrendered by the former to the latter
on that condition. At this time both the city and church suffered
dreadful calamities ; the pastor being put to death or banished,
the flocks dispersed, and all the wealth, whether sacred or profane,
carried off.

" In 730, and probably long before (for the notice is connected
by Bede with events of the year 604), London, though the capital
of one of the smallest kingdoms in England, was a mart for many
nations, who resorted thither by sea or land ; and now, the gentle
gale of peace beginning to breathe on this harassed island, by the
Saxons generally embracing Christianity, it flourished wiih renewed
splendour. Ethelbert, King of Kent (under whose favour Sebert
reigned here) built a church in honour of St. Paul, where it is said
had been before a temple of Diana, which afterwards became a
great and magnificent structure ; from which time it became the
seat of the bishops of London. This calm of peace, however, had
not continued long, when the West overcame the EastSaxons, and
London fell into the hands of the Mercians ; and scarcely had the
intestine commotions, caused by this transfer, ceased, when anew,
and one of the worst storms it had ever yet experienced, broke in
from the north. The Danes, who had already ravaged England in
a miserable manner, and given a terrible blow to London (in which,
however, they met with some repulses), first surprised and took
that city in the reign of Ethelwulph (639), and massacred the
citizens in the most inhuman manner. To recount, in a circumstantial
manner, the many calamities that succeeded, would take up too much
room. In 851, these ferocious invaders again sacked it, after
totally routing the army of Beornulph, King of Mercia, who came
to its relief. In the reign of Ethelred, 872, they again took it, and
wintered in it. In 994, after a long resistance to Anlaff", and Sueno,
King of Denmark, who besieged it, the citizens forced them to
raise the siege. In 1016, it was hard pressed by Canute, and was
forced to permit him to winter, and purchase peace with a con-
siderable sum of money.

" It suft'ered greatly in the insurrections of Wat Tyler and Jack
Straw, in the reign of Richard II. (1381); of Jack Cade, in the
reign of Henry VI., and of Falconbridge in 1481, in the reign of
Edward IV. These were the chief hostile attacks.

•' In 983 it was greatly damaged by fire. In 1077, in the Con-
queror's reign, it was laid in ruin in one night by such a fire as had
not happened, says the Saxo7i Chronicle, since it was founded. —
The greater part of the city, with the cathedral, was again de-
stroyed by fire in 1086; again, in 1135 (1st Stephen) with the
bridge, which was afterwards rebuilt of stone ; but, within four
years of its being finished (1212), all the houses on the bridge were

DOINGS IN LONDON. 383

burned. This fire happened in Sonthwark, and the flames commu-
nicating from the south end of the bridge to the north, that also
took fire : a multitude of persons on it were, by this second acci-
dent, put between two fires, and, crowding into boats on the river,
overset them in the confusion, whereby 3000 persons perished.
The last and most terrible calamity of this sort was the great fire
of 1666, of which there being numerous accounts, it will be enough
merely to mention it to you.

" From this period the importance and present splendour of Lon-
don may be dated, in the manner we now see it. Hence, in a few
years, it rose again with extraordinary strength and magnificence,
far surpassing its former state both in buildings and inhabitants ;
insomuch that Sir William Petty, in his Political Arithmetic, com-
piled from the number of burials and houses, says, that London, in
or about 1682, was as big as Paris and Rouen, the two best cities
of France together ; and, since his time (about seven parts of the
fifteen having been new built since the fire, and the number of in-
habitants increased one-half, the total amounting to nearly 700,000),
it is become equal to Rome and Paris put together. Maitland,
reckoning seven to a house, calculated, in 1738, the number of in-
habitants of the city and suburbs at 725,903. Dr. Brakenridge,
who persuaded himself the numbers had decreased (viz. 120,000
from 1742 to 1754), sets them down at 680,700; which Governor
Barrington, in his answer to him, denies. A MS. paper in the
Harleian Library estimates the total of houses in London, West-
minster, Southwark, and Middlesex, within the bills of mortality,
at 993,104. The enumeration in 1801, made by order of Parlia-
ment, makes the total number of houses 120,414, and of persons,
854,845. The additional buildings, which have since that time run
out a great way into the fields, on every side, form many noble
squares and handsome streets, and must have amazingly augmented
the number. This prodigious increase of inhabitants iti the sub-
urbs has rendered the out-parishes immoderately large, many of
which have been divided, and many new churches erected, ex-
clusive of the churches erected in the reigns of Anne and George
I., and their successors ; and, as this building rage still continues,
where may we expect the metropolis to stop 1 The rents in Mary-
le-bone parish, which in 1706 amounted only to £4000 per annum,
were found, in 1782, to have advanced to £26,000, and have since
more than doubled.

" I will read you," continued Mentor, '* an interesting description
of the streets of London, said to be from the travels of Theodore
Elbert, as it appeared in that popular periodical, 2'Ae AtheiKBiim,: —

" 'The streets of London,' says the author, ' have a twofold
nature, a double existence ; there are the dead streets and the
living streets, the stucco chaos of Mr. Nash, and the great col-
lective majesty of John Bull. I have a respect for both, but more,
I confess, for the masonry than the men. Go through London when

334 DOINGS IN LONDON.

its highways are <ieserteJ, and see those long vistas of silent habita-
tions,— they have as much of human interest about them as a mil-
lion of Englishmen. Theyarethe works and homes of men; but they
carry with them comparatively little of that jar and bustle of the
present moment, the element of an Englishman's existence; they
have a past and future. Here is a line of tall irregular houses,
beneath which Milton has walked; yonder are the towers that
point to the stars from above the tomb of Isaac Newton and of
Edmund Spenser. Along this magnificent street our children's
children will linger and wonder, but will not, like us, be able to
discover a dim and distant patch of hill, and believe that it is
green with God's verdure. Below stretches, with its wide and
broken outline, the prospect which is made boundless by such big
recollections. There Charles was executed ; there Cromwell
has ridden on a charger which may have seen Naseby or Wor-
cester ; there Vane has mused and sauntered. And beyond rolls
the river, reflecting bridges and towers, with their myriad cressets,
and the cyclopian shadows of domes, and palaces, and lifting its
mist around those chambers from which have proceeded more
lastingly powerful decrees than from the Lloman Curia, and which
(once, perhaps, or twice) have been filled with the grand presence
of better statesmen than ever declaimed in Paris, or muttered in
the Escurial. Away, again ; and, heeding neither that cathedral
front, which spreads like the wings of an archangel, nor that star
which gleams so high above it, nor the hundreds of buttressed
pinnacles which glimmer upwards like holy thoughts, stand for a
few moments beneath those square, black, massy, and unwindowed
walls ; they are a prison. The rain is driving fast and slant along
the gusty street; the distant rumble of some lagging vehicle is all
the sound that I can hear, except the pattering of the rain-drops,
and the voice of the lonely wind; and now rings out, with slow
and lingering strokes, the chime which in a few hours will knell
to his execution some wretched criminal within a few yards of
where I am now placed. There is a slit over my head, one edge
of which gleams in the lamp-light. It opens, perhaps, into the
very death-cell; and there is, amid the gloom which it doth not
illumine, a choking agony which stifles the prayer that desperation
would force into utterance. Far away again, a shadowy inter-
texture of masts and cordage stretches between me and the skies,
and some round antique towers rise against it. Within them
Raleigh thought for years, and Jane Grey knelt to beseech for-
giveness from Heaven for her innocent and beautiful life. These
things — so much less dreams or fancies than our own wretched
selfish interests — throng round us in the streets of London ; but
they only come to be repelled.'

" Do you perceive that crowd beneath us?"' said Peregrine;
" they look, from hence, a swarm of Lilliputians." *• Yes, cer-
tainly," replied Mentor ; " and let us hastb into the street, and

DOINGS IN LONDON

305

you will there witness one of the oldest and most favourite am-ise-
ments of John Bull, in the adventures and changeable

Soings of June's anlr .5fn&g.

Accordingly, Mentor and his friends made the best of their
way down the almost numberless stairs, and soon mingled
with butchers, sweeps, pick-pockets, milk-girls, old fools and
young fools, forming a motley but a merry audience, who had
assembled to see the exploits of that great actor and hero
of tragedy. Mister Punch; — some looking wise and dignified
with all their might; others, without shame, "holding both
their sides ;" several Irish labourers, fresh from Munster, roar-
ing with glee ; and a troop of children, who, at every blow of
that magic wand on the head of Mrs. Punch, re-echoed
it with shouts and chimes of laughter. " Some Scotchman,"
says Theo. Elbert, in his account of Pimch, " at my elbow, has
been complaining that Punch has not partaken of the improvements
of the age — that he is behind the nineteenth century. The malison
of every quiet good-humoured traveller on the eternal upstart inso-
lence of this nineteenth century ! The world is improving — who
doubts it? butthe human mind and men's affections are thepowerthat
pushes it on ; they were, before the nineteenth century, as they
were before the first ; and they will be, after it, as they will be
after the nineteenth. I love the people for loving what their
fathers loved, and what they then»selves have loved from the
earliest, most bawling, most turbulent years of infancy. Thero

49 2 c

386 DOINGS IN LONDON.

was, perhaps, but little of creation in the original devising of these
puppet-shows ; there is assuredly none in the minds of those who
exhibit them ; but how much is there in the hearts of the labourer
and the cl ild, whose open mouths and dancing eyes are so in-
stinct with imaginative joyousness."

At the end of the performance, Peregrine accompanied his
friend Mentor home ; and, after dinner, the conversation turned
on the puppet-show they had that afternoon seen. " It is re-
marked by the Editor of the Literary Gazette (No. 577, p. 83),
•' that Punch, though a fellow of wood, is, after all, a fair repre-
tative of human nature : he has his foibles and his good qualities,
his vices and his virtues, his crimes and his contritions; he is, in-
deed, a thorough man of the world, — selfish, as all men are, and
reckless of the results to others, when he desires to remove any
obstacle which stands in the way of his own gratification. Punch
does not like to be thwarted : who does ? Punch hates to be dog-
bitten, hen-pecked, opposed, physicked, imprisoned, hanged, be-
devilled; is there aught unn natural in this? It may be that his
mood is hasty, that he is too violent and pugnacious, and that he
has a Turkish disregard of mortality; but then — his buoyancy of
spirit, his boldness, and his wit, are not these redeeming points,
which shed a lustre over even his worst faults ? Punch is cer-
tainly not a very moral personage; but then was there ever one
more free from hypocrisy? and profligacy is, beyond compare, the
lesser sin of the two.

" The original family name of this renowned personage, was
probably, Pulcinella, or Punchinello : he came into existence at
Acerra, an ancient city, at a short distance from Naples, about th
end of the fifteenth century.

" In a letter to the editor of the Every Day Book, it is said ' In
some of the old mysteries, the devil was the buffoon of the piece,
and used to indulge himself most freely in the gross indecencies
tolerated in the early ages. When those mysteries began to be
refined into moralities, the vice gradually superseded the former
clown, if he may be so designated ; and, at the commencement oi
such change, frequently shared the comic part of the performance
with him. The vice was armed with a dagger of lath, with which
he was to belabour the devil ; who, sometimes, however, at the
conclusion of the piece, carried oflF the vice with him. Here we
have something of the club wielded by Punch, and the wand of
Harlequin, at the present time, and a similar finish of the devil
and Punch may be seen daily in our streets.

" The famous comedian, Edwin (the Listen of his day), acted the
part of Punch, in a piece called ' The Mirror,' at Covent-Garden
Theatre ; in which he introduced a burlesque song, by C Dibdin
whith obtained some celebrity ; evidently through the merit of the
actor, rather than the song«

DOINGS IN LONDON. 887

III the New Monthly Magazine, appears the following : —

" STANZAS TO PUNCHINELLO.

'Thou lignum-vitce Roscius, who

Dost the whole vagrant stage renew, —

Peerless, inimitable Punchiuello !
The queen of smiles is quite undone
By thee, all-glorious king of fun, —

Thou grinning, giggling, laugh-extorting fellow.

At other times mine ear is wrung.
Whene'er I hear the trumpet's tongue,

Waking associations melancholic. —
But that which heralds thee recalls
All childhood's joys and festivals,

And makes the heart rebound with freak and frolic.

Ere of thy face I get a snatch,

Oh ! with what boyish glee I catch

Thy twittering, cackling, babbling, squeaking gibber ;
Sweeter than siren voices — fraught
With richer merriment than aught

That drops from witling mouths, though utter'd glibber

What wag was ever known before
To keep the circle in a roar,

Nor wound the feelings of a single hearer t
Engrossing all the jibes and jokes,
Unenvied by the duller folks —

A harmless wit, an unraalignant jeerer.

The upturn'd eyes 1 love to trace.

Of wondering mortals, when their face

Is all alight with an expectant gladness;
To mark the flickering giggle first,
The growing grin — the sudden burst.

And universal shout of merry madness.

I love those sounds to analyse.

From childhood's shrill, ecstatic cries,

To age's chuckle, with its coughing after;
To see the grave and the genteel
Rein in awhile the mirth they feel.

Then loose their muscles and let out the laughter

Sometimes I note a henpeck'd wight,
Enjoying thy martial might, —

To him a beatific beau ideal ;
He counts each crack on Judy's pate,
Then homeward creeps to cogitate

The diflerence "twixt dramatic wives and real.

But, Punch, thou'rt ungailant and rude,
Id plying thy persuasive wood ;

Remember that thy cudgel's girth is fuller
Than that compasionate thum-thick,
Establish'd wife-compelling stick.

Made legal by the dictum of Judge BuUer.
2 c 2

388 DOINGS IN LONDON.

When the officious doctor hies

To cure thy spouse, there's no surprise

Thou should'st receive him with nose-tweaking grappling )
Nor can we wonder that the mob
Encores each crack upon his nob,

When thou art feeling him with oaken sapling.

As for our common enemy,
Old Nick, we all rejoice to see

The coup-de-grace that silences his wrangle j
But, lo. Jack Ketch !— Ah ! well-a day !
Dramatic justice claims its prey.

And thou in hempen handkerchief must dangle.

Now helpless hang those arms which once
Rattled such music on the sconce ; —

Hush'd is that tongue which late out-jested Yorick —
That hunch behind is shrugg'd no more —
No longer heaves that paunch before.

Which swagg'd with such a pleasantry plethoric.

But Thespian deaths are transient woes,
And still less durable are those

Suffer'd by lignum-vitcB malefactors . —
Thou wilt return, alert, alive,
And long, oh, long, mayst thou survive,

First of head-breaking and side-splitting actors!'

" The editor of that clever work. Punch and Judy, with Illustrations
drawn and engraved by George Cruikshank, says, * In Germany,
Punch is known by the name of Hans Wiirst, among the lower
orders ; the literal translation of which is our Jack Pudding — Hans
being John or Jack, and Wurst, a sausage or pudding.

" • In Holland, about ten years ago, we were present at one of
the performances of Punch (there called Toonelgek, " stage fool,"
or " buffoon"), in which a number of other characters, peculiar to
the country, and among them a burgomaster and a Friesland pea-
sant, were introduced.

" * The current joke (at which date it originated seems uncertain)
of Punch popping his head from behind the side curtain, and
addressing the patriarch in his ark, while the floods were pouring
down, with " Hazy weather, Master Noah," proves that, at one
period, the adventures of the hero of comparatively modern exhibi-
tions of the kind were combined with stories selected from the
Bible.'

" We find frequent mention of him in the Tatler; and even the
classical Addison does not scruple, in the Spectator, to introduce
a regular criticism upon one of the performances of Punch.

" That the dress and appearance of Punch, in 1731, were, as
nearly as possible, like what they now are, will be seen by the
following popular song, extracted from vol. VI. of the Musical
Miscellany, printed in that year. In other respects, it is a curious
production, and, perhaps, was sung by Punch himself, in one of
bis entertainments. It is inserted under the title of —

DOINGS IN LONDON. OW)

" ' PUNCHINELLO.

* Trade's awry — so am T —

As well as some folks that are greater-,
But, by the peace we at present enjoy,
We hope to be richer and straighter.
Bribery must be laid aside,

To somebody's mortification ;
He that is guilty, oh, let him be tried,
And exposed for a rogue to the nation.
I'm that little fellow
Called Punchinello —
Much beauty I carry about me ;
I am witty and pretty,
And come to delight ye —
You cannot be merry without me.

My cap is like a sugar-loaf,

And round my collar I wear a ruff;

I'd strip and show you nsy shape in buff,

But fear the ladies would flout me.
My rising back, and distorted breast.
Whene'er I show 'cm, become a jest;
And, all in all, I am one of the best, —

So nobody need doubt me.
jCsop was a monstrous slave,

And waited at Zanthus's table ;
Yet he was always a comical knave,

And an excellent dab at a fable.
So, wlien I presume to show

My shape, I am just such another —
By my sweet looks and good humour, l know,
Yoa must take me for him or his brother.
The fair and the comely
May think me but homely,
Because I am tawny and crooked ;
But he that by nature
Is taller and straighter,
May happen to prove a blockhead.

But I, fair ladies, am full as wise
As he that tickles your ears with lies,
And thinks he pleases your charming eyes

With a rat-tail wig and a cockade ;
I mean the bully that never fought,
Yet dresses himself in a scarlet coat.
Without a commission — not worth a groat—

But struts with an empty pocket.'

" It is both curious and entertaining," continued Mentor, " to
notice the variety and nature of the sports and amusements of the
citizens of London ; for, says the learned and elaborate John Peter
Malcolm, in his Anecdotes of the Maimers and Custotns of London,
Amusement necessarily attends congregated population : the
activity of the human mind must have new sources of attraction ;
the man who labours through llie day should not fall into his bed
wearied by exertion ; time ought to be allowed for recruiting his
spirits; and amusements, which are relaxations of the mind from

390 DOINGS IN LONDON.

oppressive thought, prepare it for that happy state of quiet — the
cause of refreshing sleep and renovated vigour.

" ' The rich man, at perfect ease with respect to the animal wants
of life, has no employment for his time, unless he devotes great
part of it to amusement: the necessity thus urged, it will be far
more diflScult to define the term. What one individual would call
amusement, a second would call a crime, a third labour, and a
fourth folly. The depraved mind asserts that bull-baiting and
cock-fighting are manly amusements ; but, happily, the majority
think otherwise : and it gives me real pleasure to reflect, that
those, in common with all our ancient royal sports, are becoming
unfrequent, and gradually giving place to that frivolity which ren-
ders the human mind gay and cheerful, and consequently innocent.

" • The reader must agree with me, that a laughing is better
than a sullen or ferocious age.'

" Such," continued Mentor, " are the opinions of Mr. Malcolm ;
but certainly, if any one amusement is more censurable than another,
it is the private theatricals ; and the following remarks on the sub-
ject, in a morning paper, fully bear me out : —

" ' There is no practice more ridiculous, or more pernicious to
the morals and interests of young people, than private stage-
playing. If the persons who engage in it intend themselves for
the profession, they adopt bad habits, the eradication of which is
more difficult than the acquirement of good ones. If they do not
intend themselves for the profession, they squander on extraneous
pursuits that time which would have been better devoted to their
respective employments. Tliey become neither good actors nor
good men. The misery of many starving on provincial boards may
be traced to this source. How many useful members of respect-
able trades and professions have been lost by this destructive habit.
It steals into the retreats of science — it goes from the college to
the counting-house — from the counting-house to the shop. The
academic gown has been resigned for the tragic cloak — the truncheon
has taken place of the yard — Shakspeare of Cocker —
" Not young' attorneys have this rage withstood,
But chang'd their pens for pistols — ink for blood —
And, strange reverse ! died for their country's good."

Even the softer sex has not been free from this pestilence which
goetli by night. Not a few belonging to those respectable classes
named milliners and haberdashers, have, from making dresses,
aspired to make speeches — from flouncing gowns, to flounce on
carpets. To judge of the time and money thrown away on these
pursuits, we should consider the process usually gone through, in
order to what is called getting up a play. A number of young
men subscribe to gratify an audience with the exposure of their
follies and incapacities. Five or six weeks generally elapse before
the play is fit to be murdered. During that time they nightly
assemble in taverns, not to drink of that poetical fountain which
flows near the abode of the Muses — not even to gather the mists

DOINGS IN LONDON. 3J>t

of Helicon, but to inspire themselves with plain mortal beverage —
gin, rum, and beer. ISight after night, the cleft walls of some
unfortunate dwelling resound with the ravings of Othello, or the
bellovvings of Kichard. These wooers of the coy sisters novf
want nothing but women. A Desdemona, an Oplielia, or a Bel
videra, is at length procured. The long-wished-for time arrives,
and the work of havoc commences. 1 was once amused at one of
those private plays. It was, of course, a tragedy, and no less
than Kichard the Tiiird. Some delay was occasioned by the ab-
sence of the Queen. The performers, through a respectable con-
sideration, did not wish to commence without her Majesty's pre-
sence. After the audience had waited with the greatest patience
an hour and a half beyond the stated time, the Lord Mayor step-
ped forward, and announced her Miijesty's arrival. Richard
growled, and mouthed through his opening soliloquy as well as
might have been expected. As soon as he had killed King Henry
according to the rules of art, a wag threw an orange at the
anointed head of the slain monarch. The body instantly became
galvanized, betrayed convulsive symptoms of returning life —
started up — took his bonnet in his hand — grinned horribly at the
audience, and made his exit. In the apparition scene, King Ileiiiy,
offended at the indionity offered his sacred person, did not come
on, and consequently gave up the ghost. Most of the other ghosts
were damned. Instances as ludicrous as this frequently occur in
such performances. If young people were to use a little reflection,
they would not engage in practices which vitiate tlieir morals, make
away with their time, and may eventually lead them to a disgraceful
end.' "

"I beg pardon," says Peregrine, " for interrupting you; pro-
bably you forgot we agreed this evening to visit the House of
Commons." " Indeed I did," answered Mentor, " but it is not
too late ; so, therefore, let us take coach and make the best of our
way to Old St. Stephen's Chapel." In a short time Peregrine
had the pleasure of being within side of the British House of
Commons. "That person," said Mentor, " who is sitting, dressed
in robes, with the mace before him, is the Speaker of the House;
that part of the House on his right is called the ministerial side,
and that on his left, the opposition. The bench on the floor, ex-
tending from his chair to the division in the centre, is kiiowu by the
appellation of ' The Treasury Bench ;' on which his Majesty's
ministers usually take their seats. The bench on the opposition
side is occupied by the leaders of the opposition. That on which
the mace is placed, is the table, on which are also a certain number
of the journals : it is here the various petitions, &c. are put when
not taken immediately into consideration ; and hence you hear so
much in the parliamentary proceedings, ' Ordered to be laid on the
table.' Those galleries on the right and left are the members'
galleries."

Peregrine having been fortunate enough to gain admittance

392 DOITSGS IN LONDON.

Oil an evening when Canning, Mackintosh, Brougham, Burdett,
and other illustrious men, delivered their opinions, left the house
highly delighted with the elo(iueiice of those eminent orators, and
retired to his friend's residence to take some refreshment.

" Pennant," said Mentor, " in his London, informs us, that 'the
House of Commons was built by King Stephen, and dedicated to
his name-sake, the proto-martyr. It was beautifully rebuilt by
Edward the Third, in the year 1347. By hin) it was made a col-
legiate church, and a dean and twelve secular priests appointed.
Soon after its surrender to Edward IV., it was applied to its pre-
sent use. The revenues at that period were not less than £1,085
a year. The west front, with its beautiful Gothic window, is still
to 'be seen as we ascend the stairs to the Court of Requests ; it
consists of the sharp-pointed species of Gothic. Between it and
the lobby of the house is a small vestibule of the same sort of
work, and of great elegance. At each end is a Gothic door, and
one in the middle, which is the passage into the lobby. On the
south side of the outmost wall of the chapel, appear the marks of
some great Gothic windows, with abutments between ; and beneath
some lesser windows, once of use to light an under chapel. The
inside of St. Stephen's is adapted to its present use, and is plainly
fitted up. The under chapel was a most beautiful building; the far
greater part is preserved, but fitted into various divisions, occupied
principally by the passage from Westminster Hall to Palace Yard.
In the passage stood the famous bust of Charles I. by Bernini,
made by him from a painting by Vandyke, done for the purpose.
Bernini is said, by his skill in physiognomy, to have pronounced
from the likeness, that there was something unfortunate in the
countenance. Tiie far greater part of the under chapel of St.
Stephen is (uas) possessed by his Grace the Duke of Newcastle,
as auditor of tlie Exchequer. One side of the cloister is entirely
jireserved, by being found convenient as a passage ; the roof is
Gothic, so elegant as not to he paralleled even by the beautiful work-
manship in the chapel of Henry VII. Several parts are walled up
for the meanest uses; a portion serving as a coal-hole. That which
has the good fortune to be allotted for the Steward's room, is very
well kept. * * * In what is called the grotto-room, are fine
remains of the roof and columns of the sub-chapel. The roof is
spread over with ribs of stone, which rest on the numerous round
pillars that compose the support. The pillars are short ; the capi-
tals round and small, with a neat foliage intervening. In a circle
on the roof is a martyrdom of St. Stephen, cut in stone. In another
circle is a representation of St.' John the Evangelist oast into a
cauldron of boiling oil, by coiDmand of the Emperor Domitian.

" * I cannot but remark,' observes Pennant, in concluding this
portion of his veork, ' the wondrous change in the hours of tlie
House of Commons, since the days in v^hich the great Earl of
Clarendon was a niember: for he complains — of the house keeping
those disorderly hours, and seldom rising till ahcr four in the after-
moon !'

DOINGS IN LONDON. 398

" The History of Parliaments, from its earliest periods, would
form an invaluable work ; detailing the days of meeting, times of
sitting, fines, purity, steadiness, privileges, such as being free from
arrest, franking of letters, &c.

" In the reign of Edward III. the town of Chepyng Toriton,in
Devon, prayed, on account of its poverty, to be excused the bur-
den of sending a member to the King's Parliament; which was
complied with. How dift'erent from the present time, when cities
and towns are praying to have the privilege of sending members.
In the tenth of the same Edward, the citizens of London were
commanded to elect four discreet merchants, and send them to
Oxford.

" * In 1468, Essex and Hertford were so bare of substantial
inhabitants, that the sheriff could only find Colchester and Maldoa
in Essex, and not one town in Hertfordshire, which could send
burgesses. It appears, therefore, that it lay much in the choice
of the sheriff whether or no a town should send any representative;
and that the so sending was considered a severe hardship.

" In ancient times, Sunday appears to have been an usual day on
which to convene Parliaments. From the rolls of Edward II. and
VI. there are various tested writs, in which the king commands
the attendance of Parliament on the Sabbath-day, principally at
York and Lincoln.

" The Parliament of 1426 was called the Parliament of Bats ;
since the senators, being ordered to wear no swords, attended with
clubs or bats. This meeting was held in Leicester, to avoid the
tumult of a London mob.

" What we have seen this evening," continued Mentor, " sug-
gests to me the following excellent remarks, which I will read to
you out of the Morning Herald ; and which proves, as I before
remarked, that the British Constitution holds out to every subject,
without reference to birth or fortune, the prospect of rising to the
highest office in the executive.

•' ' This facility of acquiring power and influence in a state
might be supposed to lead to dangerous results, because men's am-
bition is known to increase with their advancement, until, intoxi-
cated with success, they are unwilling to set any bounds to their
career, or any limits to their authority. History supplies nume-
rous instances of men of talent who, encouraged by the applause
of the people, sought and obtained office with the purest intentions,
but afterwards perverted them to the worst ends. The long pos-
session of place and authority produces their wonted effects :
power corrupts and changes the virtuous purpose ; the successful
aspirant, hitherto unconscious of its extent, and giddy with the
elevation to which he has been raised, pierces through the cloud
which before concealed the summit from his view, and, kicking
away the ladder by which he mounted, seats himself upon it, or
falls in the attempt. This is human nature —

50.

5fl;4 DOII«JGS IN LONDON.

" I shall do well, —
The people love me, and the sea is mine.
My power's a crescent, and my auguring hope
Says, it will come to the full."

" ' History shows thatPonipey, to whom Shakspeare gives those
sentiments, was not the only man of antiquity who, from beirl^•
the favourite, desired to become the master — who, from beii/g
the protector, aimed at becoming the tyrant of the people. Rome
and Athens furnish abundance of examples to illustrate this. In
the age of Solon, Pisistratus was at the head of the popular
party in Athens. Uniting in himself all those qualities that captivate
the minds of the people — illustrious birth, great wealth, acknow-
ledged courage, a commanding figure, and persuasive eloquence —
Pisastratus professed to maintain equality among the citizens. He
accordingly declared himself tlieir protector, and an irreconcileable
enemy to every innovation which raighttend toihe destruction of that
equality. His virtues seemed to increase with his popidarity, but his
conduct soon discovered that he concealed tlie most inordinate ambi-
tion under the mask of an affected moderation. With the guard which
the people gave him for the defence and for the honour of his
person, he took possession of the citadel, disarmed the multitude,
and seized without opposition on the supreme authority. In the
Athenian republic afterwards, when a citizen became popular or
powerful, he became at the same time culpable and obnoxious. The
constitution giving no other security, recourse was had to the
ostracism, by which the formidable citizen was banished for a cer-
tain number of years. Rome was, even in her greatness, perpetually
agitated by those citizens who rose through the favour of the
people to an eminence that threatened danger to the state, and
finally paved the way to despotism — such as Spurius, Cassius,
Manlius Capitolinus, Marius, Sylla, Cinna, and Caisar. The
constitution of Rome afforded no remedy against a dangerous
ascendancy but the dagger or the Tarpeian rock.

" * But it is a singular characteristic of the constitution of Eng-
land, that it affords security against the contingency of any sub-
ject ever rising to a pre-eminence dangerous to the safety of the
.state. No person, even though he possessed the most shining
talents, the highest rank, the largest fortune, and most extensive
connexious, joined to indefatigable industry, could entertain a ra-
tional hope of settling himself above the constitution. To the in-
ordinate ambition of an individual, the royal authority in England
is a sufKcient counterpoise, because the king is the depository of
the whole executive power. If any subject would hope to dazzle
the multitude, and elevate himself over his fellows, by the splen-
dour of his rank and fortune, he is sure to be eclipsed by the
glare of royalty, because the king, at tise head of the state, is in-
vested with all the pomp, all the personal privileges, and all the
niajesty of which human dignities are capable, and he is the very
Bource and fountain from whom the other derives his honours. In-

DOINGS IN LONDON. 395

deed, the king himself, who is confessedly supreme in station as
well as in authority, cannot render his power dangerous, because
that power is very wisely limited by the constitution, and made
entirely dependent on the people, who can arm or disarm it, by
refusing or granting supplies. Should any man aspire to dange-
rous greatness by the weight of his own abilities, by his eloquence,
by his public services, or by his popularity, he would find himself
ultimately disappointed. Our constitution, making the people
share in the legislature by their representatives, has prevented the
momentary ebullitions and irresistible violence which in ancient
states arose frequently from those numerous and general assem-
blies of the people, who, when raised to fervour by flattery and
eloquence, nominated their orator chief, or dictator, or emperor.
The people of England, besides, are too prudent to listen to, and
too phlegmatic to be excited by, such oratory. Should such a
man traverse the country in search of proselytes to his ambitious
designs, and should the people attend to him, yet all he can ex-
pect is barren applause. The heat which his address inspired in
one county would cool before he assembled a meeting in the next.
He cannot proceed far, if his designs be wicked, before he excites
the suspicions and the vigilance of the government, and then all
his projects are foiled. Should a member of the House of Com-
mons attempt to climb the dangerous height, by influencing the
other representatives of the people by his eloquence, by enume-
rating his own services or their grievances, the only door the con-
stitution opens to his ambition is a place in the executive govern-
ment, or a seat in the House of Peers. But the very moment he
takes office, and becomes one of the administration, his career of
popularity is closed. The people, who are always in opposition
to men in power, cannot be persuaded but their favourite has de-
serted their cause. This position requires not any illutitration. It
would be difficult to produce an instance of any person in this
country, who, however good his intentions might be, did not lose
the confidence of the people the very moment he took office, or
even defended the measures of ministers. The acceptance of a
peerage produces the same eftects. It operates on the individual
like banishment. Mr. Pulteney was, in tlie reign of George the
Second, one of the most popular men in the kingdom, yet the very
moment he was created Earl of Bath, he lost the loye of the
people, and, without enjoying any share of the royal confidence,
he remained the victim of his own treachery, as Mr. Belsham
says — "A solitary monument of blasted ambition." Mr. Pitt,
another friend of the people, in the same reign, distinguished by
the flattering appellation of the Great Commoner, lost in popula-
rity and in power what he gained by the dignity of the peerage. The
title of Chatham operated on him like the ostracism of the Athe-
nians. It is therefore always in the power of the king to obviate
the dangers arising from popularity, bycallmg the favourite to his
councils, or by raising him to the honour of peerage. But, should

3'JG DOINGS IN LONDOX.

the indiviilual's ambition when in office prompt l»im to pervert to
seh'ish and unconstitutional purposes the power with whicli he has
been trusted, a woid from his sovereign dismisses him, and a dis-
missal consigns him to merited infamy. The only instance in
English history in which even a suspicion of this nature was enter-
tained, was tile case of the Duke of Marlborough. He was at
the head of a powerful and victorious army, among whom he was
greatly beloved. He had a numerous and strong party at home,
and he was favoured by the allies of England abroad ; yet the
very moment he was called on by his sovereign to lay down his
commission, he submitted without hesitation. " He know," as a
philosophical observer of our constitution says, "that all his sol-
diers were inseparably prepossessed in favour of that power against
which he must have revolted. He knew that the same prepos-
sessions were deeply rooted in the minds of the whole nation, and
that every thing among them concurred to support the same power.
He knew that the very nature of the claims he must have set up
would instantly have made all his captains and officers turn them-
selves against him. And, in short, that, in an enterprise of ihat
nature, the arm of the sea he had to repass was the smallest of the
obstacles he would have to encounter."

" * Hannibal, the Carthaginian general, placed in circumstances
somewhat similar to those of the Duke of Marlborough, carried
on the war in Italy against the will of the senate and government
of Carthage, to gratify his private vengeance. Ceesar, also, con-
tinued the war in Gaul, to satisfy his thirst for glory — that iri-
llrmity of noble minds — notwithstanding the frequent remon-
strances of the senate and Roman people. Setttmg himself at
length above all authority, he discovered his real designs, crossed
the Rubicon, and marched to Rome, not to surrender his commis-
sion, but to establish a military despotism. But the laws and the
constitution of England " open no door (says M. De Lolrae) to
those accumulations of power, which have been the ruin of so
many republics. They offer to the ambitious no possible means
of taking advantage of the inadvertence, or even the gratitude, of
the people, to make themselves their tyrants ; and the public power,
of which the king has been made the exclusive depository, must
remain unshaken m his hands, as long as things continue to keep in
their legal order.'" The nomination of Cromwell cannot be con-
sidered as an exception to this position. His rise was subsequent
to the destruction of the monarchy and to the dissolution of the
legal and established order. The state of society in England then
bore some resemblance to that of Athens, when Pisistratus seized
the supreme authority ; or of Rome, on the usurpation of Augus-
tus. The essential advantage, therefore, of the English govern-
ment above all those that have been called free, and which, in
many respects, were apparently so, is, that no person in England
can entertain so much as a thought of his ever rising to the level
of the power, charged with the execution of the laws. All men

DOINGS IN LONDON. 3i>7

in the state, whatever may be their rank, wealth, or influence, are
thoroughly convinced that they must, in reality, as well as in
name, continue to be subjects, and are thus compelled really to
love, to defend, and to promote those laws which secure the
liberty of the subject.' "

Mentor and Peregrine were now amused in hearing the won-
derful tales of a gentleman, who had paid Mentor a visit, and who
was a sort of a Munchausen, having seen so many astonishing
sights, and escaped such dreadful dangers : at length, what with
talking and the effects of the wine, he fell asleep. " This friend of
mine reminds me," said Mentor, " of an anecdote 1 was reading
a few days ago : it was this. In an assualtcase at York Assizes,
a witness named John Labron was thus cross-examined by Mr.
Brougham : — What are you — I am a fanner, and melt a little.
Do you know Dick Strotherl — No. Upon your oath, Sir, are
you not generally known by the name oi Dick Strother? — (much
confused.) — That has nothing to do with this business ! I insist
upon having an answer : have you not, from the notoriety of your
character as a liar, obtained that name? — (Very reluctantly.) I
am sometimes called so. — {Laughter.) — Now, Dick, as you admit
you are called so, do you knov/ the story of the hare and the ball
of wax ? — I have heard of it. Then pray have the goodness to
relate it to his lordship and the jury. — I do not exactly remember
it. Then I will refresh your memory "by relating it myself. Dick
Strother was a cobbler, and, being in want of a hare for a friend, he
put into his pocket a ball of wax, and took a walk into the fields,
where he soon espied one. Dick then very dexterously threw the
ball of wax at her head, where it stuck, which so alarmed poor
puss, that, in the violence of her haste to escape, she ran in contact
with the head of another; both stuck fast together, and Dick!
lucky Dick ! caught both. — Dick obtained great celebrity by telling
of this wonderful feat, which he always affirmed as a truth, and
from that time every notorious liar in Thorner bears the title of
Dick Strother. Now, Dick — I mean John — is not that the reason
why you are called Dick Strother 1 — It may be so ! Then you
may *go."

Mentor's friend, having now awoke, yet full of the generous
grape, insisted upon the company toasting his favourite lady, or
be fined, which desire, to pacify him, was immediately complied
with.

It was remarked by Peregrine, that in the merry thoughtless
days of Charles the Second, it was the custom, when a gentleman
drank a lady's health, by way of doing her greater honour, to
throw some part of his dress into the fire, an example which his
companions were bound to follow. One of his friends, perceiving
that Sir Charles Sedley had on a very rich lace cravat, when he
named his toast, committed his cravat to the flames, and Sii
Charles and the rest of the party were obliged to do the same.

398 DOINGS IN LONDON.

The poet observed it was a good joke, but that he would have as
good a one some other time. "When the party was assembled on
a subsequent occasion, he drank off a bumper to some beauty of
the day, and ordered a tooth-drawer into the room, whom he had
previously brought for the purpose, and made him draw a decayed
tooth, which had long plagued him. The rules ot" good fellowship
required that every one of the company should have a tooth drawn ,
also, but they naturally expressed a hope that Sedley would not
enforce the law. Deaf, however, to all their remonstances, he
saw them one after another put themselves into the hands of the
operator, and, whilst writhing with pain, added to their torment by
exclaiming " Patience, gentlemen, patience, you promised that I
should have my frolic too."

•' You are correct, indeed," said Mentor, " in calling them the
* merry thoughtless days' of the second Charles ; and whosoever
doubts it, let him read the memoirs of Mr. Pepys, who held
the important oiEce of secretary to the Admiralty, and who
gives the following description of Life in London, in the ays of
ihe merry monarch.

"'14th. — After dinner, I went with my wife and Mercer, to
the Bear Garden, where I have not been, I think, of many years,
and saw some good sport of the bulls tossing the dogs — one
into the very boxes ; but it is a very rude and nasty pleasure.
We had a great many Hectors in the same box with us (and
one very fine went into the pit and played his dog for a wager,
which was a strange sport for a gentleman), where they drank
wine, and drank Mercer's health first, which I j)ledged with my
hat off. We supped at home, and very merry, and then about
nine o'clock to Mrs. Mercer's gate, where the fire and boys ex-
pected us, and her son had provided abundance of serpents
and rockets, and there mighty merry (my Lady Pen and Peggy
going thither with us, and Nan Wright), till about twelve at
night, flinging our fireworks, and burning one another, and the
people over the way ; and, at last, our business being almost
spent, we went into Mrs. Mercer's, and there mighty merry, smut-
ting one another with candle-grease and soot, till roost of us
were like devils ; and there I made them drunk, and up stairs we
went, and then fell into dancing, W. Ratelier dancing well, and
dressing him, and I, and one Bannister, who, with my wife, came
over with us, like women; and Mercer put on a suit of Tom's,
like a boy, and mighty mirth we had ; and Mercer danced a jig,
and Nan Wright and my wife and Peggy Pen put on perriwigs ;
and thus we spent till four in the morning, mighty merry, and then
parted and to bed."

" What, in the name of patience," said Mentor to Peregrine,
have you got there ?" " True Dutch salt of lemons," he replied,
" which I bought of a man in the street, who assured me they
were genuine ; and I thought they would be useful when I was in
he country." «« N ever, my frierid," replied Mentor, " purchase

DOINGS IN LONDON. 39J)

articles of those wandering hawkers ; always go to respectable
shops. This true salt of lemons, is composed of five parts of
cream of tartar, and one of oxalic acid. A honest tradesman of
Islington was cheated, some few months ago, in purchasing a
quantity of it, on being promised to be appointed sole agent for the
place. Tliere are also a parcel of Jews who go about with pencils ;
and, when they see a new shop opened, or fresh occupants, they
agree to appoint them agents, tell them a fine flattering tale, and
generally contrive to get rid of their pencils, which are good for
nothing. I was at a police-ofEce where a Jew was taken
before the magistrate for vending true Dutch drops without a
licence : just as the magistrate was going to convict him in the
penalty, he acknowledged that he made them himself, and, there-
fore had no need of a hcence. ' Make them !' said the magistrate,
♦ of what ?' ' Why, your worship,' replied the brazen-faced'
Jew, 'of coal tar! there's nothing else in them, as I hope to be
saved.' The Jew, by this honest confession, was spared the fine.

" These facts ought to put the public against buying any thing
of such vagabonds, who live by their wits and scheming, and cheat
all who are foolish enough to listen to them.

" Of the innumerable modes adopted in London, to gain a live-
lihood, I know of a curious one, pursued by a respectable-looking
man, and that is, of going, in the season, to all the auctioneers,
and procuring catalogues from them ; perhaps obtaining of some of
them, in the hurry of their business, two or three in a day, and, in
the evening, he sells them for waste paper. There are also sprung
up some gentlemen who levy pretty heavy contributions on book-
sellers and publisheis, by representing themselves as hawkers or
canvassers, and procuring from them their catalogues and pro.
spectuses, on purpose that they may sell them for waste paper.
This, I am told, has been to them, hitherto, a good speculation
but I hope their swindling career is nearly at an end, as the trade
in general is acquainted with the trick."

" Such trickeries are almost incredible," said Peregrine ; « and
the mind is lost in amazement, while contemplating °the vile uses
man too often puts the talents which God has endowed him with,
to such bad purposes. Thinking of the wickedness of mankind'
reminds me of the trial of the man to-morrow for murder; pray)
my friend," continued Peregrine, " will you indulge my curiosity!
and accompany me to hear his trial at the Sessions House, Old
Bailey ?" " You are mistaken, Peregrine,"replied Mentor ; " the
trial took place yesterday; and I am surprised you have not
read the report of it in the morning papers. This murder, like most
that are committed, was occasioned through drunkenness. The
brief melancholy history of the aff"air is this :— the perpetrator had
been a faithful, honest, sober servant, for many years, to a soap-
maker; until, one Saturday night, he unfortunately met a country-
man of his, whom he had nut seen for many years, and they retired
gossip over days ' auld lang sine ;' and, before they parted, were

400 aJOINGS IN LONDON.

both in a state of inebriation, having btien all the evening chinking
that deadly damnable poisonous liquor — gin ! This poor creature^
while labouring under the maddening effects of that execrable drink,
in a state of fury, went home and beat his wife's brains out! He
was found guilty ; and is to be executed next Monday, together
with another murderer. I wish the learned judge had expatiated
on this melancholy proof of the horrid effects of drunkenness:
it might probably have done great good, coming from such a per-
sonage, and on such an occasion.

" Now hear another deplorable statement of the cursed conse-
qiiences of gin-drinking. 1 will read it you as it appeared in the
Times newspaper —

" ' Mansion House — Gin — Allen, the officer, who is princi-
pally employed in clearing the streets of paupers, apprehended a
woman who had been begging with a wretched emaciated child,
about two years and a half old, in her arms, a few days ago.
She had levied contributions upon the public to the amount of
three shillings, and was sent to the usual place of confinement
after examination. The feeling excited by the appearance of the
unfortunate woman and her child was one of commiseration, so that
she was sent to prison to be protected rather than to be punished.
As the officer was escorting her, she complained of weakness, and
begged that he would be so good as to pay out of her money for
a drop of something that would comfort her at the next public-
house. He immediately consented, and tiiey entered a public-
house together, but he stood at the door while she went to the bar
for the drop of comfort. He was rather surprised at her d«lay,
and upon turning round he saw the child swallow a glass of gin,
without hesitation or making " faces" at it. Upon inquiring how
much was to pay, he found that the mother and child had taken
between them no less than nine-pennyworth.

" ' Allen mentioned that the child had breathed its last, and the last
cry from its throat was "gin, gin." The poor little ivretch could not
be prevailed upon to take a drop of medicine, or gruel, or any thing
else up to its dying moinents, but '• gin, gin."

" Numerous other cases I could relate to you, of daily occur-
rence," continued Mentor, " of the deplorable doings of drunk-
ards ; but I hope I have stated enough to satisfy your mind on
that point." Indeed you have," replied Peregrine, " and I thank
you kindly; but I am going to ask you another favour; and that
is, whether you will try to get me an admittaace into Newgate on
the morning of the execution of those miserable men who are to
suffer on Monday next." " I will try," said Mentor, " and as I
have the pleasure of knowing one of the sheriffs, in all probability
I can procure you and myself admittance. But 1 would advise
you to decline the sight : you, nor no one else, can form any idea
of the horror of the scene." •' I do not wish," answered Pere-
grine, " to go there merely to gratify my idle curiosity ; nor shall
I witness the scene without a proper feeling ; yet I should like

DOlN(JS IN LONDON.

401

to behold the .sail ceremony." Accordingly, Mentor wrote to the
sheriff*, and obtained an order to admit them. They were punctual
to their time, and were soon conducted to the Press-yard, where
they saw

^fje IBreatifuI Hotngs tn ^.thqatt.

The officer was knocking out the bolts from the irons of one of the
culprits who was intended for execution, and in whom there was
a firmness that surprised every one : the sheriffs, chaplain, and
the other oflScers were in attendance, presenting, on the whole, a
sight the most melancholy to be imagined ; and at which Pere-
grine turned away with horror. " Let us, for heaven's sake," said
he to Mentor, "leave this scene : I had no conception it was half
80 impressive, or so terrible : see, the gaoler, who, they say —

' Is seldom the friend of man !'

is absorbed in tears. I cannot remain ;" and, taking hold of Men-
tor's arm, he rushed from the dreadful scene, expressing his sor-
row that he had ever witnessed it. " It is proved beyond doubt,'
said Mentor, " that these executions fail in their intended pur-
poses— that of awing the wicked. Hard labour, as Mr. Harmer
observed, has a thousand times more terror to the thief than death ;
and, if executions were resorted to only in cases of murder, depend
on it, we should not find an increase in any of those crimes, the
committing of which is now punishable with death. But the re-
al. 2 D

402 DOINGS IN LONDON.

formation of the criminal code is now engaging the best attention
of our rulers, and when we reflect the great good that enlightened
man, Mr. Secretary Peel, has already done, we are sure it cannot
be left in better hands,

" ' It cannot be denied,' observes Mr. Martens, * that in these
latter times some individuals, actuated by cordial zeal in the cause
of their suffering fellow-creatures, have attempted, and in part
eff'ected, improvement to their advantage ; but how barren their
exertions have on the whole been, is but too clearly shown. The
greatest criminal, of whatever description he may be, still retains,
even amidst the most licentious and wicked course of life, a spark
o*" that noble feeling, which seems to cease only with the natural
end of man. If this spark be but truly appreciated, and sedu-
lously and constantly cherished, it may be almost taken for granted,
that he is still capable of being in some measure, if not wholly, re-
formed."

" How grateful," said Peregrine, " we ought to be that we
have escaped the snares that have brought those two wretched
men we just now saw, to such an ignominious end. I have now
more cause than ever to be grateful. It is indeed true, as Addi-
son says in the Spectator, ' There is not a more pleasant exercise
of the mind than gratitude. It is accompanied with such an in-
ward satisfaction, that the duty is sufficiently rewarded by the
performance. It is not like the practice of many other virtues,
difficult and painful, but attended with so much pleasure, that
M'ere no possible command which enjoined it, nor any recompense
laid up for it hereafter, a generous mind would indulge in it, for
the natural gratification that accompanies it.' "

The crowd having now dispersed before Newgate, Mentor and
his friend rose and took their leave of the worthy and enlightened
keeper, thanking him for his kind attention.

On reaching the street, Peregrine was struck with the splen-
dour of the liveries of the sheriffs' servants. " This fashion of
wearing liveries," observed Mentor, " is of very ancient date.
The best account handed down to us is from Mr. Douce, who, in
his Illustrations of Shakspeare, says, that ' the practice of fur-
nishing servants with liveries, may be traced in some of the
statutes ordained in the reign of Edward IV. Badge and livery
were synonymous, the latter word being derived from the French
term, signifying the delivery of such a thing. The badge was
then, as at present, the armorial bearings, crest, or device of the
master, executed in cloth or metal, and sewed to the left sleeve
of the habit. Greene, in his Quip for an Upstart Courtier, speak-
ing of some serving-men, says ''I'iieir cognizance, as I remember,
was a peacock without a tayle.' Hentzer mentions it as a great
fashion in the reign of Queen Elizabeth for the nobility to be fol-
lowed by whole troops of servants, bearing their masters^ arms in
silver, fastened to their left arms, and reprehends it as a piece of ri-
diculous English vanity. And we find, from Fynes Morison, that it

DOINGS IN LONDON, 403

had been tlie custom for gentleraens' servants to wear ' blue coats,
with silver badges of their masters' devices on their left sleeve,' but
which, in his time, had become less fashionable ; ' and they com-
monly had cloaks edged with lace, all the servants of one family
wearing the same livery, for colour and ornament.' This fact leads
to the supposition, that the badge on the sleeve was disused in the
reign of James the First (when he wrote), though it had before been
so constant an accompaniment to a blue coat, as to have occa-
sioned the proverbial expression of * like a blue coat without a
badge.' Liveries and badges, however, were not wholly confined
to menial servants formerly. The retainers of the great — a class
of men of considerable importance in the feudal times, kept up for
ostentation long afterwards, may also be numbered among them ;
for, though they did not reside with their employers, attending
them chiefly on days of ceremony, they regularly received an
annual allowance of a suit of clothes, a hat or hood, and a badge.
A quotation from * A Health to the Gentlemanly Profession of
Serving-Men,' or ' The Serving-Man's Comfort' (1593), ex-
plains the description of persons accepting the office of retainer.
' Amongst what sort of people,' it asks, ' should this serving-man
be sought for ? Even the duke's son preferred page to the prince,
the earl's second son attendant upon the duke ; the knight's second
son the earl's servant; the esquire's son to wear the knight's
livery ; and the gentleman's son the esquire's serving-man : yea, I
know at this day,' says the author, ' gentlemen, younger brothers,
that wear their elder brother's blue coat and badge, attending him
with as reverend regard and dutiful obedience as if he were their
prince or sovereign.'

" Stowe (Survey of London) gives numerous instances of the ex-
cess to which this fashion of wearing liveries had been carried a
little before, and within his memory. Richard Neville, Earl of
Warwick, in the reign of Edward IV., came to town, he tells us,
with 600 men, all in red jackets, embroidered with ragged staves
(his cognizance), before and behind. West, Bishop of Ely (1532),
kept 100 servants, to every one of whom he gave, for a winter
gown or livery, four yards of broad cloth ; and, for his summei
coat, three yards and a half. The Earl of Derby had 220 men in
check-roll, who wore his livery. Lord Chancellor Audley, in the
reign of Henry VIII., gave to his gentlemen, who rode before
him, coats guarded with velvet, and chains of gold; and, to his
yeomen after him, the same livery, not guarded : every silvery
coat had three yards of broad cloth. Old John Paulet, Marquis
of Winchester, near the same time, gave his gentlemen and yeo-
men a livery of ' Reading tawny.' The livery of Cromwell, Earl
of Essex, was ' a grey marble cloth,' the gentlemen guarded with
velvet, the yeomen with the same cloth, ' yet their skirts large
enough for their friends to sit upon.' The Earl of Oxford, at the
same period, has been seen, the same author informs us, to ride
into the city, to his house by London stone, with four score gen-
2 D 2

404 DOINGS IN LONDON.

tlemeii in a livery of Reading taivny, and chains of gold aboul
their necks, before him, and one hundred tall yeomen beiiind him,
in the like livery, witliout chains, but ai! having his cognizance of
the blue boar, embroidered on iheir left shoulder.

" Henry the Seventh gave the first check to the custom of
keeping and clothing numerous retainers ; that polite monarch had
no sooner obtained the crown than, aware of the formidable con-
sequence this class of men had given to the nobles in the preceding
civil wars, he determined to restrain them. He issued the strictest
orders for this purpose to all his nobility, and it is well known that
he severely fined his own father-in-law, the Earl of Derby, for dar-
ing to break them. Henry the Eighth, not having his father's
fears, was less scrupulous, and most of the examples of great
numbers of livery servants just mentioned, took place in his reign.
At length the custom, from producing r^uarrels between different
families, as well as licentious excesses, was found so pernicious
as to suggest the propriety of licensing them. Strype, mentioning
the latter fact, declares that Queen Mary granted thirty-nine li-
cences of retainer during her reign, but Queen Elizabeth only
fifteen. Gardiner, the prelate, had two hundred retainers; the
Duke of Norfolk, in the latter reign, was allowed one hundred,
which the Queen never exceeded. Archbishop Parker had no
more than forty.

" * Before we dismiss the present subject,' says Mr. Douce, *it
may be necessary to observe that the badge occurs in all the old
representations of posts, or messengers. Of the latter of these
characters it may be seen, in the 52d plate of Strutt's first volume
of ancient dresses, &;c., where, as in most of the early instances,
the badge is afKxed to the girdle ; but it is often seen on the
shoulder, and even on the hat or cap. These figures extend as
far back as the thirteenth century, and many of the old German
engravings exhibit both the characters with a badge that has some-
times the device or arms of the town to which the post belongs.
He has, generally, a spear in his hand, not only for personal se-
curity, but for repelling any nuisances which might interrupt his
progress. Among ourselves, the remains of the ancient badge are
still preserved in the dresses of porters, firemen, and watermen,
and, perhaps, in the shoulder-knots of footmen. The blue coat
and badge still remain with the parish and hospital boys/

" As you are determined, to-morrow, to take your departure
for the country," said Mentor to Peregrine, " we will, this after-
noon, pay one more visit to the west end of the town." They ar-
rived in the park, about the time when the ladies arise from their
downy couches, and walk to refresh their chartning bodies with
the cooling and salubrious breezes of the gilded afternoon. They
could not have chosen a luckier moment to have seen the delight-
ful park in its greatest glory and perfection ; for the brightest stars
of the creation were moving here, with such an awful state an<\
majesty, that their graceful deportment bespoke them goddesses.

DOINGS IN LONDON. 405

Such merciful looks were thrown from their engaging eyes upon
every admiring mortal, so free from pride, envy, or contempt,
that they seemed to be sent into the vt'orld to complete its happi-
ness. The wonderful works of heaven were here to be read in
beauteous characters. Such elegant compositions might be ob-
served among the female quality, that it was impossible to con-
ceive otherwise than that such heavenly forms were perfected after
the unerring image of divine excellence. " I could," exclaimed
Peregrine, •' gaze for ever with inexpressible delight, finding, in
every lovely face, something new to raise my admiration, with gra-
titude to heaven, for imparting to us such forms of celestial har-
mony, in that most beautiful, yet curious creature — woman !"

After some hours' enjoyment, they began to think of some new
objects to feast or refresh their senses ; and strayed along the
Green Park into that of St. James's. " This once fashionable
promenade," said Mentor, " how altered it is since the time when
Hogarth painted his celebrated view of it, with ilosamond's pond,
then an enclosed piece of water ; but many suicides having been
committed here, occasioned it, several years since, to be filled up.

•' Le Serre, a French writer, in his account of the visit of the
Queen Mother, Mary de Medicis, to her daughter, Henrietta
Maria, and Charles the First, in the year 1G33, mentions several
particulars of St. James's Palace, as well as of the Park, and the
then state of the neighbourhood. The Palace he calls the ' Castle
of St. James's;' and describes it as embattled, or surmounted by
crenelles on the outside, and containing several courts within, sur-
rounded by buildings, the apartments of which (at least, such as he
saw) were hung with superb tapestry, and royally furnished,
• Near its avenue,' says he, ' is a large meadow, continually green,
in which the ladies always walk in summer. Its great gate has a
long street in front, reaching almost out of sight, seemingly joining
to the fields, although on one side it is bounded by houses, and on
the other by the Royal Tennis Court ;' and, after noticing the gar-
dens, and the numerous fine statues in them, he adds, ' these are
bounded by a great Park, with many walks, all covered by the
shade of an infinite number of oaks, whose antiquity is extremely
agreeable, as they are thereby rendered the more impervious to
the rays of the sun. This Park is filled with wild animals ; but,
as it is the ordinary walk of the ladies of the court, their gentle-
ness has so tamed them, that they all yield to the force of their
attractions, rather than the pursuit of the hounds.'

" In the time of Henry VIII., the founder of the palace, the
park is described as a marsh, which had foiraed part of the grounds
of St. James's Hospital. That monarch first laid it out and
planted it (perhaps with the venerable oaks Le Serre mentions),
and caused the whole to be enclosed with a wall. Charles II.
added several fields to it, planted it with rows of lime trees,
and laid out the mall, which an old writer describes as a ' vista
half a mile jn length, formed into a hollow smooth walk, skirted

4(Ji> DOINGS IN LONJJON,

louiul with a wooden border, and with a» iron hoop at the further
end, for the purpose of playing a game with a ball, called mall.*
This prince, also, the same author informs us, * formed the canal,
which is 100 feet broad, and 2,800 feet long, with a decoy and
other ponds for water-fowl,' Jorevain, another French traveller,
speaking of it at this time, says, * it is filled with all sorts of deer ;
the mall is above 1,000 paces long, bordered on one side by a
great canal, on which are to be seen wattr-fowl of all sorts ; and
an aviary near it, where are birds of divers countries and different
plumage, which serve to divert the king, who frequently visits
them. There is, at the beginning of the canal, upon a pedestal,
a brazen figure of a gladiator, holding his buckler with one hand,
and his sword with the other. The attitude of this statue is much
esteemed.'

" The decoy and ponds mentioned by the first writer, stood on
a piece of ground, or little island, situated at that corner of the
park enclosure which faces Storey's Gate, and a plan of which may
be seen in ' Smith's Antiquities of Westminster. ' It was called
' Duck Island,' from the circumstance of Charles 11. being ac-
customed to feed and amuse himself with his ducks here, which,
Colley Cibber informs us, drew numbers cf people to see him.
Of this place he is said, by Pennant, to have constituted Monsieur
St. Evennond governor, with a pension of 300/. a year. William
III. afterwards built a tea-drinking room in it. Birdcage Walk,
adjoining, the same author asserts, was so named, from the cages
which were hung in the trees with the king's birds.

" ' A Tour through Great Britain,' (1753) says, * King Charles
II., after hia restoration, gathered some acorns from the royal oak
at Boscobel, and set them in St. James's Park, or garden, and
used to water them himself.'

" Mr. Nathaniel Rench planted the elm-trees in the Bird-cage
Walk : it was he who introduced the moss-rose tree into this
country ; he died in the same room in which he was born, 1783,
aged 101.

" Here,'' continued Mentor, " formerly stood Buckingham
House, built by John Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham, of whose ex-
ecutors it was bought, as a residence for the late Queen Charlotte,
and where the major part of the present royal family were born.
It was pulled down, or altered to the present building, which is
called, by some persons, a palace. It is a disgrace to the English
people, that their king does not possess even a respectable town
dwelling — but such is the fact!"

From the Park, Mentor and his young friend proceeded to take
water at Westminster Bridge, and enjoy the genial evening
breezes of the Thames; and, on their way, Peregrine's attention
was arrested, by viewing the exterior of Westminster Hall.

" This structure, it is well known," said Mentor, " only forms
a single apartment of a once extensive and magnificent royal pa-
lace, many minor parts of which still exist, though much altered,

DOINGS IN LONDON. 4O7

Z^'nnu ^^ '^t^/^^^^tions. To attempt a history of such a place
and of the many important events of which it has been the .scene'
would be to wnte a history of England. But it may be amusing;
to those who have not been accustomed to make researches of
atop . i T ^^'' 'T' '^r ^«^«^^^^ tf'^™ «f its ancient appear-
tl Iwh I r'r ^ P^'^ ^^ ^""^'"S it "^"^t h^ve been, whe„

the whole was standing and perfect

Kin '^F 1 ^"""^"^.u ''';^ °*".*^^ P^'^^" «^' Westminster was the work of
King Edward the Confessor, and might have taken place near the
time he rebuilt Westminster Abbey. It is probable that it was
not large at first, as William Rufus found it consistent with his
royal dignity to rnake many additions to it, and, among the rest to
build the fine ball in question. In 1262, great part of the palace

Z J T? ^^ ^?' '"^ '" ^'^^^ ^ ^'"^'^^^ «^'^™ity again hap!
pened.-These accidents, it is likely, occasioned Edward III
and his successor Richard II. to build so largely here, that thev
may be justly styled re-founders. The two chief works of these
monarchs were the erection of St. Stephen's chapel, and he re-

of Sv VTIT^ r'^" '^^ P"i^"'^ ^■"•"- ^ ^'''^^ «-' - the reign
ot Henry VKI did some damage, but not considerable. The

the Srorob:h''"^^' '" "'^*'^ ^^"^^^ '''' 'T"'^- ^tyle, ad oin ng
the hall, probably arose in consequence of this event, though that
prmce himself appears to have only occasionally resided here
New pi "'" T ?^- Cf--ber, /nd remainder^of tha side of
tZ f f ^"^-y^"-^' standing next the Thames, a doorway of which
had lately on i the date 1602; but, like her father, she^only 1 ved
here occasionally. A^ hitehali and St. James's Palace beiU he-
ch ef places ot residence. After a time, it was, in a grea mea-
sure, deserted, except for state purposes. ^

" ^here are no representations of this palace in its very ancient
state; but Hollar, and other, artists near his time, have l^f ,"s

which are extremely interesting. From these, and other autho^-
t.es, we learn, that it was formerly divided into two great a e s or

STe 'var"'h'V""' ''^ """^^ ""^ ^'^ Palace-ya'rd, and New
Palace-yard which were separated and inclosed by walls and
gates. Of these, the Old Palace-yard was by far tL super or
in point of architectural elegance, exhibiting intone group on he
north and east, the Abbey, with Henry the Seventh'^ChaDeT
Westminster Hall, St Stephen's Chapef, the Pain d Chan be '
anrf other ancient buildings, scarcely lo be matched for grandej;

wifh three p"^" '" '^'" ^''^''' f^'"' ^'^' P'^'^ ^^ow tifis yard
TIJ f,^""^'- ""^' P^'-t'"8't from New Palace-yard ; another
^JfU-J ^^" J""'""^ P^r-'l-' -ith the south end of^the 1 alh, and
bv ColipT ^^t ''?'^ somewhere near the top of Abingdon S^eet;
tlfat wir %T1' '"^ :''^''^ '''""' to have formed its boundary
that way The two outer, or first and third gates, are repre-
sented of considerable size, and embattled. The mos curfous
building .n the New Palace-yard, exclusively of the halCr.!

40(3 DOINGS IN LONDON.

were the clock-tower and conduit. These, as well as the yard,
generally are very satisfactorily delineated in Hollar's Views,
taken near the Restoration, and show us the nature of the altera-
tions which have since taken place. The clock-tower was a high
building, resembling the steeple or tower of a church, and was
erected by Edward III. It stood where is now the terrace oppo-
site the hall, and contained the famous bell, called Great Tom of
Westminster. The conduit stood near the middle of the yard,
and on grand occasions was, as were all the other conduits of
London, made to run with wine. It appears to have been a large
and ornamental erection. From the clock-tower to the end of
King Street ran a wall, which inclosed the Palace-yard that way,
and which turned up from the end of King Street, towards St.
Margaret's Church, where was a raagniticent gateway, built by
llichard III. (whose foundations were discovered in making the
late alterations there), and which formed the principal entrance
on the land side to the palace, King Street being the only avenue
to it (anciently through the Whitehall gate), and which was so
named from being the usual way the sovereign came here from St.
James's and Whitehall.

" With the exception of the Hall, we can form but little concep-
tion, either of the nature or number of the different buildings which
composed this palace when entire, nor are we rightly able to as-
certain the sites of several places mentioned in old accounts, but
now gone. The notice of the fire in 1298, by Leiand, specifies,
among the buildings burnt, the Little Hall, Queen's Chamber,
and the King's House, within the Palace {dumus recjisinpaC apud
Weslmo7iastcr''),\\\V\c\\ must have been some part more exclusively
devoted to the residence of the sovereign, and might have been
the same as is elsewhere called tlie ' King's Privy Palace,' as
an entry in an official book, among the Ilarleian MSS., at the
British Museum, mentions * .John Apulby to have the keeping of
the King's Privie Palois, in Westminster.' Important as these
places might have been, however, they were all eclipsed by St.
Stephen's Chapel, which must have been, when perfect, the glory
of this palace. This, before the Reformation, had its dean and
canons, similar to St. George's Chapel, at Windsor, and, from the
residence of such canons there, the present Cannon Row has its
name. The mutilations of the interior of this tine fabric took
place on its being converted into the House of Commons. The
outside was ruined by the clumsy repairs it afterwards underwent;
but we are enabled, from existing remains, and different graphical
illustrations of it, to judge sufficiently of its original elegance.
The cloister attached to it, which is still nearly perfect, is ex-
quisitely beautiful. The Painted Chamber, one of the very an-
cient apartments of this palace, may be termed a treat for the
lovers of ancient art. This room, which acquired its name from
its walls being entirely painted over with historical or allegorical,
subjects, after being wainscotttd up for ages, has, in some late

BolNGS IN LONDON. 4O9

alterations, been laid open, and affords one of the most interesting
spec.mens ot the state of painting in this country, about the re gn
o Edward TL, that we i<now of. There are various others of
the old apartments here, well worth notice, but not necessary to
enumerate : amongst its architectural remains, are to be found
senufme ""^""^ '^^'^' ^'''"' '^' foundation to the pre-

'* In the New Palace-yard, in the time of Cromwell, was a
celebraed tavern for political discussion, called the Turk's Head
at which Sir James Harrington, Sir John Penruddock, Birken-
head and other eminent republicans, met nightly, just before the
llestora ion, to debate on government affairs. "They had a laroe
b,?Jl 1 ; P"'"P"^«^y "^^de, with a passage in the niiddle for the
andlord to deliver h.s coffee, around which sat Harrington's
disciples, and other select auditors. A writer of the time savs
the room was every evening as full as it could be crammed, and
that the arguments in the Parliament House were flat, to the
discourses here. Several of the Parliamentary soldiers (officers)
were accustomed to attend these debates, and they went so far
as to have (very formally) a balloting -box, and to ballot how
things should be carried; but General Monk coming in. made all
their airy mode s of government vanish. The Rhenish Wine-House
was another celebrated tavern here, about the same time. These
and various other houses and erections, opposite and adjoining\o
the Hall, maybe reckoned among the early defacements of the
l-alace, and similar encroachments continued untd very lately— a
ZZ^,:!::^' '' '^ P^^'^'^'^' ^^^ P--"^ improvements wm
" I believe I have now," continued Mentor, "shown and
given you the best description I was able of the principal Doiacs
ot this vast metropolis, with the exception of one of the -,a„dest
r«"r T^l Jnagnificent in the world,-that of the annual meet-
ng of the charity chddren of the metropolis, at St. Paul's Ca-
thedral; and, as to-morrow is the day appointed for the cele

tun^"' .rr'f .^f 'f ^T„^y «" "^--'«' to embrace the oppor-
tunity. Certainly I will," replied Peregrine ; " and tkeretore
If you will breakfast with me, we can make the necessary ar-
youTsfpaurs? ^'"''' ^'"^'"' '"^ *'"• ^ "^" acconfpany
Accordingly, the next morning, Mentor and his friend, having
brnitv f'.t ' ^^^^'-^^'O'^ ^"tered the Cathedral, when the sub?
Jmiity of the scene struck Peregrine with amazement :-to behold
somany thousands of poor children snatched from ruin, and trained
up in the paths of virtue and industry, created in his mind scnsa-
tions of indescrible pleasure and admiration. " Well, indeed " said
Peiegnne, "might the Emperor Alexander of Russia, sav', that
the meeting ot the charity children in St. Paul's was th^ grl^des
Mght he ever beheld." These schools are the greatest instlnces of
publu. spirit the age has produced. They are most laudaWe in-

410 DolN^^5 'N i.ondon.

htilutions, if tliey were of no other service than that of producing
a race of good and useful snvants, who will have more than a
liberal — a religiou* educdlion. 'I'lie wise Providence has amply
compensated the disadvantages of the poor and indigent, in want-
ing many of tl>e conveniences of this life, by a more abun-
dant provision for their happiness in the next. Had they been
higher born, or more richly endued, they would have wanted this
manner of education, of which those only enjoy the benetit who
are low enough to submit to it ; where they have such advantages
without money, and without price, as the rich cannot purchase
with it. The learning which is given is generally more edifying
to them than that which is sold to others; thus do they become
more exalted in goodness, by being depressed in fortune, and their
poverty is, in reality, their preferment.

The service being ended. Peregrine and Mentor waited for
some time in the church-yard, to notice the dresses of the chil-
dren of the various schools. "There is only one fault," said Mentor,
*' 1 find with some of the dresses of the girls : they are ratlier too
showy — not simple or plain enough ; for 1 am afraid, in their ten-
der age, it gives them too early a love of dress, which has been,
and is, the ruin of hundreds of girls." " I don't know any thing
about that," replied Peregrine, *• but really I think it Js im-
possible to make any objection to the neatness or cleanliness of
their clothing ; and they look so innocent, so modest, and so unas-
suming, that most of them seem more like celestial beings than
mortals. This is a sight, indeed, that London has reason to be
proud of." " It is so," said Mentor. " I mentioned, the day I
first had the pleasure of seeing you, that there is not a calamity
to which * flesh is heir to,' but what can here find an asylum to
assuage its anguish. To convey to you some idea of the im-
mensity of the various charities in the metropolis, it may be well,
at first, to tell you that there are, at least, —

" 1239 National Schools, containing 180,000 scholars.

" 45 Free Schools, for educating 5000 children.

" 239 Parochial Charity-Schools, in which from 12 to 14,000
children are annually clothed and educated.

*' 17 other Schools for deserted and poor children.

" Three Colleges.

** 23 Hospitals for the sick and lame, and for pregnant women.

" 18 Institutions for the support of the indigent of various other
descriptions.

" 20 Dispensaries for the gratuitous supply of medicine and
medical aid to the poor, besides innumerable other private insti-
tutions and Pension Societies, among them being the Printers'
Pension Society, one of the most laudable among the many.

" Exclusive of these, the companies of the city of London dis-
tribute above £80,000 annually in charities ; and the sums ex-
pended yearly in London for charitable purposes, independent of
private relief, have bscn estimated at £900,000. In fact, the

DOINGS IN LONDON. 411

/lumber of charitable institutions is immense ; and yet the inha-
bitants think little about the matter, they being as eccentric iu
their charitable feelings as in every thing else : for instance, Kean's
beneht always netted him £800; but when he gave the produce of
his benefit-night to the starving Irish,* the produce of it was little
more than £200. Performances at our theatres for charitable
purposes generally fail of the intended design. John Bull will
only be charitable in his own way ; he will not be dictated to or
told how he is to appropriate his money.

•' It is astonishing," continued Mentor, " that though we have
splendid accounts, printed in gold, of coronations — though our
libraries groan with histories of our battles, we have not one book
which gives an account of the charities of England, with the ex-
ception of Mr. Highmore's. This is the more extraordinary, as it
is a subject on which every Englishman has reason to be proud,
liis country standing proudly pre-eminent above all other na-
tions in the exercise of benevolence. Yes," continued Mentor,
"i/' England is superior to other nations, it cannot be in valour,
for that is to be found in every quarter of the globe — it cannot be
in the superiority of her fine or mechanical arts, for many of
those are inferior to other nations — it cannot be from the number
of her historians and poets, for abroad there are her equals. No,
Peregrine, if England is superior to other nations, it is in the ex-
tent of her charities; and pray Heaven may she ever continue
so !" " Amen !" responded Peregrine.

The clock struck six, when Mentor and his young friend had
finished their dinner. " In a couple of hours," said Peregrine,
" I shall bid adieu to London ; but I cannot leave it, without ex-
pressing to you the delight I have experienced during my residence
in it, and I trust you will grant me one favour. Mentor, in return
for the many I have received at your hands ; and that is, to ho-
nour me with a visit at Marlborough, and I will show you ' The
Doings in the Country.' — " I will with pleasure," replied Mentor ;
" and I hope then to find you in health, and happy."

" Perfect happiness is certainly incompatible with the nature of
man ; but there are several qualities, which, if possessed at once,
may, in my humble opinion, make him approach very near to it,
which are as follows : a sound constitution, joined with a distinguish-
ing judgment, and a general good taste of books, men, and
things ; and possessed of virtue and art to direct them, so that
they may afford him such pleasures as he need not be ashamed of
enjoying, or ever have cause to repent.

"■ Remember, Peregrine, there are three things necessary for a

• By-the-bye, had their rich countrymen had the justice to have raised
half as much money, then, for their perishing poor, as they do now for the
Catholic rent, they would have had no occasion to have drawn so largely as
they did on the charitable feelings of John Bull — it is past ; and John is a
kind-hearted forgiving creature ; but it was not right ; for occiirrencps prove
they had the means, but not the inclination.

DOINGS IN LONnON.

man to possess, whatever may be his profession, if he intends to
he eminent — viz : nature, study, and exercise.

" In prosperity always prepare yourself for adversity. In sum-
mer we have time to lay up provision for the winter. In prospe-
rity, we have friends in abundance, and our path is smooth and
pleasant. It is wise, then, to be provided fur evil times, for there
is need of all in adversity. Thou wilt do well not to neglect thy
friends, for a day may come when thou wilt be fortunate in having
some, eve'n those whom thou art heedless of now. Obscure men
never have any friends, for in prosperity they know none, and in
adversity no one knows them."

At this instant, the waiter came into the room, to inform them
the mail was waiting. Peregrine arose, and, accompanied by his
friend, entered the coach-yard, and, taking hold of Mentor's hand,
— •* Farewell, my friend," said he, —

Vale, Londimum !"

INDEX

A.

Abbot s Priory, doings in - . . . -289
Adam, the first receiver of stolen goods . . . ' oifi
Advertising Swindlers
Offices, frauds committed in

222

for wives and husbands, remarks on . . .36^

Alum, 700,000 lbs. used annually b- the London bakers . . 14

Amusements, Mr. Malcolm's remarKs on - . . . 309

Apollo Gardens; account of - - . ". " gog

Arrest, law of, calls for revision - . ' - - SOO

Auction-Rooms, mock, exposure of the deceptions practised iil . .' '^^29

■ ■ . their knock-outs - . . - 32

237
15

16
16

B.

Bagnigge Wells . . . _

Bakers, their dishonesty - - . '.

' ^ow they cut off from the meat sent to them to bake
—— — , how they rob their customers' puddings and pits

, how they used formerly to punish them, in London, for short

weight - . . _ \

— - — , how they punish dishonest ones in Turkey . ' . ' 1 ^

Ballooning; French and English - . J.^

Bamfylde Moore Carew, the juvenile . . ".47

Bankers ; depredations committed on - . . . * " « -.,

Barbers ; how they procure hair . . " " ' f ?q

Barrymore; Lady . _ _ " " " ^^^

Bear-bating in olden times - . " ' ^^^
-— blind ; whipping of . . .'.".190

Beer ; deleterious eflfects of some of the London . Vf-

, what the brewers make it of . . " ' ^r

, entire butt, origin of . . . " ' cq

Beggars, sad impostors - . , - ' I iq

. merry doings of the

, their history, and incredible impositions J

, earn from six to thirty shillings per day . . 1 ,„

— , wealth of - . / . ; JJ^

■ 123

• 125

• 127
—, jovial . . . - - I06

, history of - _ . . " " ^'^'^

Begging-Letter tribe, their impositions - '. ' ' '^tl

Bermondsey Spa ; description of . . ' ' Ji-

Bess good queen ; hospitality and amusements of her time . " "

liethlem ; unfortunates in » .

Betrothing; on

18
113
114

, portrait of a, of the time of Henry VIL

, how they disfigure and use children, in order to excite pity

, different classes of - ^

laws in force against

198
232
365

414 INDEX.

Page

Billingsgate ; doings in - - - - - - 139

Black-Legs ; their frauds - - - - - 342

Blacking, how to make . - . - 5)05

makers ; impositions of - - - 205

Boar's Head Tavern, in Eastcheap; Goldsmith's description of - - 355

Body-Snatchers ; what thfy do with the bodies - - - 167

; means they resort to, to obtain bodies - - tC8

■ ; Wr. Hood's Poem on - - - - 3 69

and Mr. B. - - - - - 171

Bone-pickers ; their earnings - - - - - -126

Bossy, Dr., Anecdotes of - - - - 173

Bow-Street; doings in - .... 64,241

Boxing; vindication of - - - - - 196

Brace, the, in the King's Bench Prison, view of - . - 301

Bread, adulterated - - - • - -11

. , lime and chalk mixed with - - - - - 12

-, short weight, fine for - - - - - - 16

—^.history's * " - - * - 206

, Yorkshire .--... 208

Bridal colours ; on the choosing of - - - - - 768
Brothel; doings in a- - - ---87

— , robberies and murders committed in - - - 81

Brougbton ; the first introducer of gloves in sparring - • . 195

Bubbles, memorable, of 1719 and 18'.i5 ... 33

Buckinger, Mathew; account of - - - - 204

. . ; fac-simile of his hand-writing - - 205

Bullies; description of - - - - - 74

Butler (the), doings of - - - - - 450

Cabbage-eater (the), impositions of - - - - 192

Cadgers ; their history - .... . 152

Cards, concave and convex ; used by gamblers - • - 339

Cat's (the), last dying-speech - - - - 7

Charities; number of, in London ... 410

Charity Children ; annual meeting of - - 409

— — , an emanation from the Deity - • - - 134

Chancellors, Lord ; the most eminent ... - 350

Chancery, Court of ; description of it - - - - - 357

Cheshire, Tom, the Jack-ketch ; his history - - - - 157

Churchwardens; doings of the - - - - 181

Coachman (the), doings of - - - - - 45

Coal trade, remarks on - - .... 315

quantity of, sold in the port of London annually ... 314

meters; number of - - - . - 315

heavers; curious customs of - .... 319

Coffee-houses ; history of the London - - - - 353

Collins, the soap-eating impostor ... - - 5

Commons, House of; doings in ... . - 391

Conpanies ; list of the numerous ones of 1719 - - - - 372

1825 - - 376

Conjurers; their history .... - . 70
Constitution; remarks on the British ... - - 396
Cook of the College (Fleet) ; chairing of the - - 321
Countrymen robbed at bagnios - - - - - 81
Courtship; the happiest portion of man's life ... 365
Covent-garden market ; history of - - - - - 63
theatre ; view and history of - - - 64

INDEX. 415

Page

Cows; tricks played with .... . . - 283

; stocking of - - - •■ - 283

Creditors, vindictive ; cruelty of ♦ - - - - S'28

, doings at a meeting of - • .... 337

Crim-con. ; Irish - - - - - --211

Crime; on the increase of - - - ... 345

Criminals, majority of, ascribe all their misery to dram-drinking - 22

Cruelty ; four stages of - ..... 250

Cumberland's British Theatre ; the best edition in London - - 97

Cummins, Mother; her history - - - - - 117

Cut-purse, Billingsgate . - - - . 140

D.

Dandies, London ; description of, ancient and modern - - - 48

Dandy, doings of a London - - - - - 49

Deaths, curious customs observed at - - - - 228

Delt, imprisonment for ; folly and injustice of - - 299, 300

Desmond, Julia; her history .... - 02

Dissection ; remarks on ...... 164

Dogs ; cased - . - - - - - 240

Doings in a Hell - .-- - --33

Drake, Sir Francis, said to have introduced tobacco in England, fiom

Tobago - - .... 203

Dram-drinking, deadly effects of - - - - - 22

Dressmakers' apprentices, fashionable ; hardships of - - 311
Dress, remarks on - - .... 50-237

Drunkards; how formerly punished - - - - - 191

Drunkenness ; dreadful effects of - - . - - 95

Drury Lane Theatre ; view of and history - • - - 96-8

Saloon; doings in ... - - 129

Duel; singular one . - - ... 317

Duffers, their impositions - _ - - - - 23

Dust-sifting ; profits of - - - - - 189

Dust-whopper ; the ... . m . . 66

Dutch Drops ; stuff made of coal-tar, sold for - - - - 399

Dwarfs ; remarks on . . - - - - 204

Dwelling-houses ; plundering of - - - * 187

Dyball, George ; a notorious blind beggar - » - - 122

E.

Egyptians ; great encouragers of thieves - . - 217

Eleanor Rumning, the celebrated alewife - - - 60

Election, mock, in the King's Bench prison ; account of - - 304

England ; people of, law-ridden - - - 358

English (the), a boxing nation ... . 179

sports and pastimes vindicated - - - 197

people ; character of - - - - 375

, constantly smoking tobacco - 202

Eve, Mother; the first thief - - - - 216
E.Ypositor ; invaluable remarks by, on those sinks cf iniquity, the gambling-
houses • - - • 3U

410 INDEX

F.

Page

Fair, Bartholomew ; history of - - " 288

; G. A. Steevens' poem on - - - 289

Fashions ; vagaries of - - - " ^•'^

Felonies ; on compounding of - - - " 349

Female who gained her livelihood by pretending to hang herself - 7

Fences; depots for stolen goods - - - - 251

Fields, St. George's ; history of - - " 306

Figg, the pugilist, his exploits - - - 194

Fishmongers ; their frauds - ... 140

260
7

; how they paint and blmi> fish
Florico ; the gay, the gallant
Fits, epileptic, sham

shamming, practised by four Irish women - - 6

Fives-Court ; account of - - - " 194

Flash-houses ; dreadful doings in - - - - 255

Fleet prison ; history of - - - " 322

■ ; humours of the - . . - 323

; on the present state of - - - 324

; characters in - - - - 325

; expenses of a prisoner in the - - 331

market ; account of - - " - 332

ditch ; its history - - - - - 333

marriages ; remarks on ... - 336

Flour; peas and beans mixed with • - - 13

; pulverized stone, sold in London for - - - 13

; plaster of Paris, burnt bones, sulphuve of lime, &c., mixed with . 15

Fortune-tellers ; doings of - ... 65

; vile impostors - - - ", B52

Freshfield, Esq. and Ben Burn - - - 215

Frith, Rlary, the celebrated cut-purse - - 144

Fruit, vegetables, poultry, &c., quantity of, consumed in London - 63

G.

Gaffers, description of the frauds of - - - - 39

Gaggers, how they swindled a Nottinghamshire farmer - - 28

, vile imposition of - - - . - 218

Gambler, dreadful depravity of a - - - - 38

Gamblers, infatuation of two - - - - -38

Gambling by barrow-women - - - - - 39

, practised in the wine and oyster rooms - - -77

, martyr to - .... 220

, remarks on - ... . - 221

, dreadful effects of - - - - - 342

, great increase of, among the boys in the streets of London - 345

Gamester, a female - - - - - - 258

Gentlemen's servants, their extravagance - - - - 42

Gentry, London ; how too many of them pass their time - - 261

Gin-shops, doings in a - - - - - ir

, one of the causes of crime . - - 154

, number of gallons of, consumed in London - - - 18

glasses, cheating mode of filling - - - - 22

, of what deadly ingredients composed - - - 19

seller and drinker of, difference between « ■ . 19

shops ; nurseries of vice ... - 155

, folly of lowering the price of - • - - 348

— — and mendicity - » ■ - - - 400

I

iNOUC. 417

Page,

Girls ; folly of, listening to fortune-tellers ... 359

Goals, the misery of, not half their evils .... 300

Great, the ; their former mode of liviDg • - • - 265

Grocers, what they mix with sugars - - - - 104

Groom (the), doings of - - - - - 45

H.

Hall, Westminster; description of - - - 409

Hammock, history of - - - _ . 313

Hanger, Major, and the Prince of Wales - - - - 115

Hardness of heart, none so inexcusable as that of parents - 83

Hat, how to procure a cheap one - - • - 134

, shaking in the - - - - - - 214

cased - ....... 240

Haymarket Theatre, view of - - - - - 80

Hazard, French ; played at the hells - - - - 34l

Hell, doings in a- - . . - -33

, visit to a - . - • --34

, fascinations of ..... ggg

, remarks on the famous one at the west end of the town - . 339

, immense sums lost at the - . - - . 340

Hill, Peter, the notorious mendicant - - - - 53

Hoax, mischievous - - . - - - 46

Holloway, the cabbage-eating impostor - . . . g

Honesty ; good effects of ... - - 173
Horse-races, frauds at the - - - - . 257 — ^QO

market, Smithfield ; doings in - - - - 273

qualities in - - - - - . 274

dealers, frauds practised by - - - . . 275

repositories for the sale of, description - - . 277

, how to discover a roorer - . . . 277

, how to detect a broken-winded one - - . 277

Horses, when bad with the glanders, how they are detected . . 277

Horse-stealing, remarks on - - ... 278

Horse-racing, history of . - - . . 279

Hostesses, or alewives ; the most celebrated in London - - - 54

Housekeeper (the), doings of - - - . - - 46

Hyde Park, doings in - - - . - 97

I— J.

Jack Ketch, history of ..... j^g

Idleness, miseries of - . . . . 262

Irish wakes, description of - - ... 226

Islington Spa, account of - - - . . . 237

Jobber, character of a stock- - . . . 37^

L.

Lady's maid (the), doings of . . - - - 45

Law, on the uncertainty of - . . . . 357

Lawyers, folly of burying
Lead-ore, mixed with tea

Lemons and rotten oranges, what use they are made of . - 115

Liberty, an apostrophe on . . _ ^g

life in the West, an invaluable work - j.

2

35i

418 INDEX.

Page
. 404

145

175
177"

Liveries ; on weaiing of - -

Loaves, manchet ' " ." " " *""

Lodgings, ready furnished ; robberies committed in - « - 184

Long, Sir Walter, first used silver pipes in smoking tobacco - • 803

London, number of its houses and inhabitants - - •■■3

, — at midnight - - - - • 157"

- abounds with charities - - - '' . .^

• sharpers, doings of •■ - "

— — porter, history of - - • *

pickpockets, doings of - - ■

pickpockets, to guard against - - - - 179

, the centre of wisdom and piety - - - - 4

, population of - - - " " •"'

signs, remarks on - - - - " '^^^

bites of 1719 - - - - - S72

bites of 1825 - - - - - 376

. — , vicissitudes of - - * ' * ^^^

, splendour of - - " - * " 383

-, streets of ; description - - - - 384

, life ; in the time of Charles II. - - - 398

Love-locks, account of - - - " * ^39

M.

M'Gregor, Isabella, the noted impostor . - - 135

M'Pherson, Geordie, the celebrated Scotch beggar - - 119

Magsmen ; how they did a farmer - - • - 133

Malvolio, history of - - - - " ^^^

Manger ; false doings of the - - " - - 275

Manoo, Granne, a noted impostor ; his exploits ... 115

Marriage, on - - - - - 365

, former mode of - - - - - ^^^

ring, history of the - ... - 367

, the fifteen comforts of - - - • ^^7

Marrow-bones and cleavers, remarks on - - - 368

Martin, Mr., his plan for bringing pure water to London - - 112

Marybone Gardens, account of - - - - 234

Matrimony, remarks on - - - -310

Mealmen, hellish doings of - - - " - 15

Mendicant, the money-lending - - - - 62

Metropolis (the), the centre of wisdom and piety - - - 4

— ; increase and cause of crime in - - - 151

Milk, adulteration of London - - - - 110

, description of London - - - - 110

More, Sir John, portrait of - - - - 244

Thomas ; his history . ■ - S56

Morning-sneak, thieves go on the ... i88

Mud-larks; their employment - - - - 126

Murder ; most of them occasioned by drunkenness - - 399

Murphy, Pat, the spitting-blood impostor - - - 192
Mutton shaulder of, bow the bakers make a small one grow into a large oite 15

INDBX. 419

N.

Keedham, Mother, the infamous procuress ; her history
Newgate, description of ...
, dreadful doings in

Page

- 85

- 209

— , un:^auiui uuAUgs iu . - • • 401

Night-constable, doings of a - - - - 209

■ , verses on a - - - • - 310

o.

Old 'Change, King's Head Inn ; good house for travellers - - 275

Old Gentleman and Old Lady ; what the gamblers do with the - 75

Ostlers ; doings of - - - - 275

Out-and-outers ; thorough-bred thieves ; doings of - • 5258

Palace ; St. James's - - - - 405

Pall-Mail ; history of - . - - 42

Panic; on the celebrated one of 1825 - - - 376

Panther and twelve dogs ; fight between - - - 191

Park, St. James's; history of - ... 406

Parliaments ; history of - - - - - 593

Pastry-cooks; poisonous doings of - - - 372

Paul's, St. ; description of a view from - - . 385

Paupers ; account of - - - - 249

Perrot, Sir John, fought the first boxing-match ... 262

Pipes for smoking tobacco; history of - - - 285

Plunderers, night ; account of - - - 310

Plums ; deceit in colouring them - - - 320

Police of the Metropolis ; Mr. Colquhoun's remarks on - - 250

; report on the - - 344

Poor Rates, amount of, in 1827 - - - 18

, number relieved ' - 163

Porter-essence ; of what composed - - 58

Poverty ; the pleasures of - • - 149

Print-shops ; obscene ones in London ; their mischJfi • •• - 96

Prison, Fleet ; doings in - > - 321

Prison, King's Bench ; doings in - • - 289

, description of its inmates ■ - 290

i > , mode of treating the prisoners - 295

, elegy on - -, . 300

Procuresses; how they inveigle country girls - .84

Prostitutes, London ; their dreadful doings - - 89

Punch and Judy ; doings of - - - - 385

. ; history of Mirfer - - - - 386

Punchinello ; his origin ... . 380

- . ; verses on «... - 387"

_ ; song on ... . . 389

Put ; gsjie of - - - a . 145

Q.

Quack Doctors ; their gross impositiontt ... ir9

420

Page

ttaleigh, Sir W., first taught the English to smoke - . 202

Ranelag'h ; description of - - - » . g-^s

Receivers of stolen goods ; remarks on - ... 250

; what they give for the swag • - 250

Ring ; on the marriage - - ... saj

,rush - - - - - , S/TT

Ring-Droppers, cheats - - - - - i>,

Roper, Margaret ; portrait of - • - - 243

Rouge et Noir ; description of the game ol - - - 3o

Rout ; doings at Lady Spade's - - - ■ 267

s.

Sailor ; robbery of a, by the prostitutes - - 88

; character of a - - - - 318

, their eccentricities - - - 319

School ; one in St. Giles's, for teaching children the art of begging - 119

Sermons ; funeral - - - 230

Sharpers, London ; their robbing a Cornish captain - - 25

a Devonshire farmer - - 26

; their number, and different orders - - - 152

Shipping-interest ; remarks on - - -272

Shopkeepers ; dreadful losers by the dishonesty of their servants - 70

Shows at Fairs ; vile impositions at - - 160

Sin-eaters; customs of * - 230

Smithfield Market ; history o ... 284

; people formerly roasted and boiled there • - - 287

Snuff; of what some of it is made - - - 204

; time lost in taking ... 204

Snug; a word purely English .... 276

Soap-eater; portrait of one of the time of Queen Elizabeth - 128

Society ; enlightened state of - - . 36'i

Spanker ; description of a horse called . . - - 282

Sparring ; first exhibition of, in London . . 194

Speculation ; horrid effects of - - - 372

Spirituous liquors; horrid consequences of habitually drinkbg - - 22

, drinking of; one of the chief causes of the increase of

er.Eie - - - - -547

Stage-Coaches ; robbe' V '^'^'juitted on - - 320

State of society ; glance at tne present refined state of - - 197

Steam-Vessel; joyous doings on board a - - . 305

Steward (the), doings of - - - - 45

Stock-jobbers ; dreadful doings of ■ - - 371

Exchange ; history of . - . 372

Stolen goods ; doings of the receivers of ... 351

Streets of London, their appearance on an evening - - 40

Strong Room in the King's Bench Prison ; view of - - 301

Strother, Dick ; his wonderful exploits - - 397

Sullivan, Mist/ier; his misfortunes . ■ - 211

Surgeons; a woman sold the corpse of her husband to the - .171

S , Mons. ; life of - - - - 201

Swag ; prices for - - - • 253

Swindlers; practices of - - • • 219

— ^ . advertising ; their robberies • ' 222

INDBX. 42i

age

*|'«a ; adulteration of i - « - 105

•i ; history of - - - ■■ „ . 107

; expense and loss of time in making - - . 168

— — gardens near London; numbers of persons who frequent them - 109

Tennis-Court ; doings in - - - - 193

Thames, river; description of - - - 309

— ; depredations committed on - - 318

. water ; its effect on fish . - - 143

Theatricals ; mischievous effects of private - - - 3'*o

Thieving; panegyric on - - i' - 216

Thieves ; remarks on - • - - 180

. ; satirical account of a meeting of « - - J 81

Thimble-Rig; the - - - - 68

Toasts, drinking; origin of ... - 190

Toasts ; curious custom on drinking of , . . 397

Tobacco ; history of - - - - 200

; James I., his aversion to - - - 201

. ; smoking of, formerly practised in our theatres, and on tl e stage 201

; virtues of - - - • 203

; poem in praise of - - - - 203

; extraordinary will respecting - - 203

Toby, Black, one of the most notorious impostors in London - 124

Tradesmen ; difference between those of 1728 and 1828 - 269

Tournaments formerly held in Smithfield - - - 285

V.

Vacation ; poem on the long . ,. - SoT

Vauxhall ; description of = • * " ^^*

Vestries, select ; history of - - - 163

Vestry dinner ; expense of a •• " - 162

w.

Wake ; doings at an Irish " - • 225

Wales, Prince of, and Major Hanger • - - 115

Watchhouse ; doings in a - - - - 209

Watch-stands; deceptions In . - - 39,0

Water ; advantages of - - - - 6j.

Water, Thames ; with what filth impregnated - - - US

Way-layers ; a contemptible set of thieves 222

.^ ; robbers of errand-boys - - - 268

Wealth of a nation, does not always consist in the number of the people - 272

Welshman, a, robbed - - - * ^

Westminster Abbey ; remarks on - - - 242

Weston, Jenny, her vile impositions - - '5

Whiston, Andrew, king of the beggars - - 113

White slavery ; British - - - - 83
Whites, Derbyshire, a destructive earthy substance, mixed with flour, by

the meaimen • - - 15
Wild Indian ; how tt make one - - * " ^^^
, Jonathan- his portrait - • .266

INDEX.

Page

Wine ; shameful adulterations of - » • . 74

— ; to discover when lead and alum are mixed in • - 76

and oyster rooms, their infamy - • - 77

, gambling practised there « .77

Wood, Charles, the blind beggar, and his dog • - - 123

, portrait of his dog - • - l'^4

Woman; no eujoyment of life without - - - 13'2

; poem on - - • • 259

Wrestlers ; doings of the - • • • 369

Wrestling ; history of . - - . 370

— . ; formerly much practised ia London - - 37C

433

INDEX TO THE ENGRAVINGS.

Doings of the Ring-Droppers

in a Gln-Shop

Hell

of a Loudon Dandy

Fortune-Teller

in a Brothel

Hyde Park

of the Jovial Beggars

I

Soap-Eater

Dog

in Drury-Lane Saloon
of the London Sharpers

Select Vestrymen

!- London Pickpockets

in the Tennis Court
— a Watchhouse .

at an Irish Wake ,

in Bow Street

at Lady Spade's Rout .

in Smithfield

the King's-Bench Prison

on Board a Steam- Vessel

in the Fleet Prison ,

at a Meeting of Creditors

in the Court of Chancery .

of the Wrestlers .

• — in Newgate . ,

Portrait of Eleanor Rumming

a Beggar

Margaret Roper

■ Sir John Moore

Jonathan Wild

View of Covent-Garden Theatre

the Haymarket Theatre ,

■ Drury-Lane Theatre

<•——— the Brace, King's-Bench Prison

■* ■ ' ■ Strong Room, do.

Page

1

17

S3

49
65
81
97

lis

124
128
129
145
161
177
193
209
225
241
257
273
289
305
321
337
353
369
384
60
123
243
244
256
64
80
96
301
301

THF EKD.

Printed io Stereotype by G. H. Davidion, Ireland Yard, Doctors' Commoni.

'^

i-:v