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 554 Grant (James) Sketches in London (Debtors' 
 Prison, Penny Theatres, Police Offices, 
 Bartholomew and Greenwich Fairs, Gaming 
 Houses, etc.), first edition, with fine original 
 impressions of the 24 humourous plates by Phiz 
 and others, 8vo, original cloth, uncut, scarce, 
 10s 6d Orr and Co., 1838 
 
 "The author displays so much shrewdness, natural 
 humour, and such a vein of good natured carica- 
 ture. . . ." — Edinburgh Review.
 
 
 1 
 
 &' 
 
 • J'MIC - 
 
 LOJ\l DOJf. 
 
 S-OPA » GO- PATEJIATOSTEO. ROW.
 
 •^ ».
 
 ^KETCHES IN LONDON 
 
 BY JAMES GRANT, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 " RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF THE LORDS AND COMMONS," 
 "THE GREAT METROPOLIS," &c. &c. 
 
 Sfocntg-jpour tumorous Illustrations 
 
 BY "PHIZ," AND OTHERS. 
 
 " Many people wonder at the love of London. Why so ? It is certainly tho best Summer 
 residence— none other is 60 cool.— The best abode in Winter— for none other is so warm.— 
 The rich prefer it for containing every luxury ; and for the poor, where can money be made 
 to go so far ?"— Sik F. B. Head. 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 WILLIAM TEGG, 85, QUEEN STREET, CHEAPSIDE. 
 
 MDCCCL.
 
 DA 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In presenting this volume to the public, the Author thinks 
 it proper to mention that his object has been to exhibit life in 
 London in some of the more striking aspects it assumes; and at 
 the same time to lay before the reader such information respect- 
 ing this modern Babylon, as may prove instructive as well as 
 amusing. Everything the Author has described, has either 
 come under his own observation, or been verbally communi- 
 cated to him by friends who were cognizant of the facts stated, 
 and in whose veracity he could place the utmost reliance ; and 
 he trusts that the work will be found to contain a great amount 
 of information which is not only nowhere else to be found, but 
 which is possessed of permanent interest. 
 
 With regard to the Illustrations by " Phiz," which embellish 
 the volume, the Author can speak more unreservedly than he 
 could do of the letter-press. They are among the happiest 
 achievements of the genius of one who, though yet but young 
 in years, is unquestionably, in this particular style of engraving, 
 the first artist of the day. 
 
 London, September 1, 1838.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Begging-letter Impostors — Their supposed number — Probable amount of the 
 money they receive — Probable number of letters they send, with the propor- 
 tion of successful to unsuccessful applications — General materials of their 
 letters — Occasional remarks on the result of their applications — Means by 
 which they obtain available information regarding the parties to whom they 
 apply — Modes of going to work — Illustrative anecdotes — Underwood and 
 other begging-letter impostors — Specimens of their letters, &c. — Street-beg- 
 ging impostors — Their probable number, and the amount of their aggregate 
 gains — Large sums which some of them have amassed — Expedients resorted 
 to by them in the prosecution of their calling — Instances of feigned distress 
 — Blind beggars — Speculations in the business of begging — Begging copart- 
 neries — Professional rehearsals — Meetings and carnivals of the fraternity — 
 Crossing-sweepers ........... 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 DEBTORS* PRISONS THE QUEEN'S BENCH. 
 
 Debtors' Prisons — Tbe various debtors' prisons — The average number of pri- 
 soners in each — The Queen's Bench ; extent and nature of tbe accommoda- 
 tion in it — Tbe practice of chumming prisoners — Sbops, business, &c. — Story 
 of the Pie-man — The tap-room — Eccentric characters — Tom Snaggs — Cir- 
 cumstances under which persons are imprisoned — Partiality of some of the 
 prisoners to the Queen's Bench — Striking instance of this — Efforts made by 
 some of tbe prisoners to keep up their former dignity — Story of a dinner — 
 Various classes of persons in the Queen's Bench — Changes in the external 
 appearance of the better class of prisoners after they have been a short time 
 in the place — Unexpected meetings of friends in the Bench — Illustrative anec- 
 dotes — General observations, and anecdotes . . . . .49
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Origin of the Troop — Distinguished members — Coat of Arms — Troop Hall — 
 Admission of distinguished members — Remarks on the Charge delivered on 
 the admission of Troopers of distinction — System of punishments adopted by 
 the Troop — Scenes which sometimes occur on the proposed exaction of 
 fines — An instance given — Visit of the City Members to Troop Hall — Their 
 speeches on the occasion — The uproarious scenes which sometimes occur — 
 Specimen of one — Miscellaneous observations 89 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE VICTORIA PARLIAMEMT. 
 
 Meeting of Parliament — Taking the oaths — Introduction of a new Peer into the 
 House of Lords — Further observations on taking the oaths — Mr. O'ConnelTs 
 manner in taking the oaths — Opening of the Parliament by her Majesty in 
 person — Appearance of the House of Lords on the occasion — Conduct of the 
 members of the House of Commons on being summoned into the presence of 
 the Queen — The Queen's delivery of her speech — Her Majesty's personal 
 appearance — Moving the Address in the Lords, in answer to the Queen's 
 speech — The Duke of Sussex — Lord Portman — Lord Broughan — The Ad- 
 dress in the Commons — Lord Leveson — Mr. Gibson Craig — Scenes in the 
 House of Commons — A missing amendment which had been moved by Mr. 
 Daniel Whittle Harvey — Parliamentary debuts in the present session — Mr. 
 Blewitt — Mr. D'Israeli — Remarks on the reception of the latter gentleman 
 by the House — New members — Miscellaneous observations . . . .129 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PENNY THEATRES. 
 
 Their supposed number — Computed attendance in them — Their moral ten- 
 dency — The manner in which they are fitted up — Destitute condition of the 
 performers — Squabbles between proprietors and actors about pay — Differ- 
 ences among the performers — Abridging pieces — Character of the productions 
 written by the actors — The intimacy which subsists between the actors and 
 the audience — Dramatic taste of the audiences — Specimens of the pieces — 
 The play-bills — Mr. Guff and his bear — Mr. Abel Smith's two dogs — Quality 
 of the acting — The suppression of the Penny Theatres recommended . . 161
 
 CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE POLICE OFFICES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Their Number and Names — Remarks on Bow Street Office — The Thames Police 
 Office — The Magistrates — Number of cases daily brought before them — 
 Yearly Expenses of the Police Offices — Their Expenses Forty Years ago — The 
 Station Houses — Anecdote of a Prisoner — Scenes to be witnessed in the Sta- 
 tion Houses — Exhibitions of Human Nature to be witnessed in the Police 
 Offices — Specimens given — North Country Simplicity — The Poetical Cobbler 
 — A Drunken Frolic — Case of alleged Horse-Stealing .... 193 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WORKHOUSES. 
 
 Inmates of Workhouses — The Republican Character of the Communities in 
 Workhouses — Difficulty of obtaining accurate Statistics regarding them — 
 Marylebone Workhouse — Its Size and Statistics — Statements and Calculations 
 as to Metropolitan Workhouses generally — Farming out Paupers — The Horror 
 generally entertained of the Workhouse — Description of a particular case, 
 illustrative of the fact — The Romantic Incidents in the life of many inmates 
 The New Poor-Law Bill — Its Harshness and Injustice to the poor — Con- 
 cluding observations 225 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 
 
 Difficulty of obtaining accurate Information on the subject of the Lunatic Asylums 
 in London — Private Madhouses — Their Number, and the Number, &c, of 
 their inmates — Public Lunatic Asylums — St. Luke's — Bethlcm — Hanwell 
 Asylum — Insanity on one particular point, while on all other points the party 
 is quite rational — Sanity on one point, while on all others the parties are insane 
 — Diversified ways in which Insanity manifests itself — Partiality of particular 
 lunatics to particular employments — Instances given — Cunning of some lu- 
 natics — Their great Physical Energies — Harsh Treatment they sometimes 
 receive — General Remarks 257 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 
 
 Prefatory Remarks — Bartholomew Fair — The Numbers which attend it — De- 
 scriptive Observations — Greenwich Fair — The Numbers which frequent it — 
 The Voyage downward — Throwing the Stick, and other Games — The Park — 
 The Hill — ISlackheath— The Appearance of the Fair — Supply of Commodities 
 — Exhibitions — Theatres — Gamblers and Gaming — Swings — Booths — Im- 
 moral Tendency of the Fair 289
 
 Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 COURTS OF REQUESTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Their Origin and Objects — Their Number, and for what Districts — The West- 
 minster Court of Requests — The Court of Requests for the Borough — The 
 Court of Requests for the City — The Court of Requests for the Tower 
 Hamlets — The County Court of Requests — Mode of proceeding in the Courts 
 of Requests — Number of Suits instituted for various suras — Curious Cases 
 decided at these Courts — Instances given — The Useless Cradle — Board, 
 Lodging, and Love — The Ultra-Radical Patriot — The Cambric Pocket Hand- 
 kerchief — An Affecting Case — Utility of Courts of Requests . . .321 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 
 
 Supposed origin of Gambling — Little known of its History — Increase in the 
 number of Gaming-Houses in London — Many of them kept open all day — 
 How managed — Morals of the Upper Classes, in connexion with Gambling 
 — Visit to a Gambling-House — Anxiety consequent upon Gambling — Its 
 pernicious effects on the Mind — Suicides caused by play — The Injuries it 
 entails on Relatives and Families — Insidious Character of Gambling — Gam- 
 bling in the last century — Female Gamblers — Cheating at the Gambling- 
 Table — Instances of the Debasing Tendencies of Gambling — Universality of 
 the Vice — The Propriety of doing something to put an end to Gambling . 535 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 
 
 Introduction of the New System — The Old Police — Number, Salaries, &c, of 
 the New Police — Their Organization — Pensions for the aged and infirm of 
 their number recommended — Character of the New Police — Difference 
 between them and the Old Police, in regard to their trustworthiness and effi- 
 ciency — The City Police — Its Composition, and the Expense of its Main- 
 tenance — Number of the City Police — Contemplated Amalgamation of the 
 Metropolitan and City Police — Diminution of Crime since the introduction of 
 the New Police — Their Ingenuity in tracing out guilty parties — Reference to 
 the French system of Police 385
 
 q
 
 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 
 
 Begging-letter Impostors — Their supposed number — Probable amount of the money 
 they receive — Probable number of letters they send, with the proportion of suc- 
 cessful to unsuccessful applications — General materials of their letters — Occa- 
 sional remarks on the result of their applications — Means by which they obtain 
 available information regarding the parties to whom they apply — Modes of going 
 to work — Illustrative anecdotes — Underwood and other begging-letter impos- 
 tors — Specimens of their letters, &c. — Street-begging impostors — Their probable 
 number, and the amount of their aggregate gains — Large sums which some of 
 them have amassed — Expedients resorted to by them in the prosecution of their 
 calling — Instances of feigned distress — Blind beggars — Speculations in the busi- 
 ness of begging — Begging copartneries — Professional rehearsals — Meetings and 
 carnivals of the fraternity — Crossings sweepers. 
 
 Londox is proverbial all the world over for the number and 
 ingenuity of the tricks which are daily practised in it ; but per- 
 haps there is no department of metropolitan roguery in which a 
 greater amount of ingenuity is displayed than in that of begging. 
 
 The London beggars are divided into a great variety of classes ; 
 but I shall confine myself to the begging impostors who ply their 
 avocation by means of letters, and to those who by the assump- 
 tion of distress which they do not actually feel, endeavour, in the 
 open streets, to enlist the sympathies of the charitable and hu- 
 mane in their behalf. 
 
 Of the begging-letter class of impostors, it is exceedingly 
 difficult to obtain statistical information so copious as could be 
 desired. I have been at great pains to possess myself of as full 
 and accurate particulars as are accessible. If I have not suc- 
 ceeded to the extent of my own wishes as regards the copiousness 
 of my facts, I have great reason for reposing an implicit reliance 
 on the accuracy of those I have ascertained. 
 
 u
 
 SKETCHES IN LOND0X. 
 
 I need hardly say, that it is impossible to ascertain what may 
 be the average number of persons in the metropolis who make a 
 trade of writing begging-letters. There can be no question that 
 hundreds do so who are either never detected in the practice, or 
 who if they are so by some of the individuals on whom they 
 have sought to impose, are never publicly exposed ; and conse- 
 quently their names are unknown. A guess, however, may be 
 made at the number of these men. The great majority of them 
 confine their attempts at deception to the nobility and gentry. 
 The reason is obvious enough ; they know, in the first place, 
 that the aristocracy are so much occupied with other matters, 
 that they are less likely than the middle classes of society to 
 put themselves to the trouble, in the event of any suspicion of 
 attempted imposition, of detecting and prosecuting the offenders ; 
 in the second place, they know that, while the chances of detec- 
 tion are less with the nobility and the more affluent portion of 
 the gentry, than with persons in an humbler sphere of life, 
 they will necessarily, in the event of success, reap a much more 
 abundant harvest from the former than from the latter. Half 
 a crown, or five shillings, even were their tale of distress be- 
 lieved, would be all that they could, taking one case with 
 another, expect to receive from persons in the middle classes 
 of society ; whereas, with the aristocracy they never dream of a 
 successful effort being productive of less than a sovereign ; while 
 the average produce, from calculations I have made, and which 
 they, as a matter of course have made long before me, is about 
 fifty shillings. 
 
 Assuming, then, as before stated, that the vast majority of 
 people who follow the avocation of writing and sending letters 
 soliciting charity under "gUt-up cases of -distress, confine their 
 business to the higher classes, I am enabled by means of data 
 which are in my possession, to form something like a confident 
 conjecture as to the average number of such impostors. Some 
 time ago I saw a letter from a nobleman of a very humane and 
 benevolent disposition, in which it was stated that, in the course 
 of the year, he had received nearly three hundred and fifty 
 begging letters, all of which were dated from London, and de- 
 tailed trumped-up cases of the deepest distress. The noble lord, 
 before remitting any amount of money in answer to either of the 
 letters, took the precaution, which he had been led to do from 
 having been so often imposed on before, of inquiring into the 
 individual cases. And what does the reader suppose was the 
 result ? Why that forty-nine out of every fifty of the parties 
 were gross impostors. And as these persons are, for the most 
 part, men of great shrewdness, it is fair presumption that they 
 would take care to find out who were the noblemen to whom
 
 BEGGING l.MPOSTOKS. 
 
 they might apply with the greatest prospect of success, and, 
 consequently, that the nobleman to whom I refer was not likely 
 to be overlooked by many of them. In all the circumstances, 
 I think it is a very moderate computation when I suppose the 
 average number of those who live by begging-letter impositions 
 to be about two hundred and fifty. 
 
 Another question will very naturally be asked — " What is 
 the probable amount per annum which is averaged by the begging- 
 letter impostors V If I cannot answer the question with an 
 absolute certainty, I have facts in my possession which enable 
 me to speak with confidence as to what is near the sum. The 
 highest which any one of the fraternity was in the habit of yearly 
 deriving from his impositions, was very nearly 1000/. This may 
 appear an incredible sum ; it is nevertheless a true one. I shall 
 have occasion to refer to the case more particularly in an after 
 part of the chapter. The lowest sum earned by any of. the 
 supposed two hundred and fifty begging-letter impostors to whom 
 I have alluded, cannot be under 100/. a year ; but as a greater 
 number are between this sum and that of 300/. than there are 
 above the latter amount, I should suppose that if the average 
 sum were estimated at the intermediate sum of 200/. we are pretty 
 near the mark. This, then, would give no less than 50,000/., out 
 of which the benevolent public of London, chiefly the nobility, are 
 annually swindled by the begging-letter impostors. 
 
 I have been at some pains to ascertain the probable number 
 of begging-letters which are, on an average, daily addressed to 
 noblemen, gentlemen, and ladies in the metropolis. To speak 
 with any thing like certainty on the subject were, of course, out 
 of the question. From all the facts I have been able to learn, 
 I should suppose that there must be at least, speaking in round 
 numbers, 1000 such letters written everyday by these impostors. 
 Those who confine themselves to what they call the higher game, 
 namely, the nobility and affluent gentry, do not deal. to a great 
 extent in epistles of this description, because the field is of ne- 
 cessity comparatively limited, and also because if they succeed in 
 one case out of five they make a rich harvest, seldom receiving 
 less than two sovereigns, in many instances five, in some ten, 
 and occasionally, though very rarely, as high as twenty ; but 
 in my computation as to the probable number of begging-letters 
 written daily in London, I include the class of impostors who 
 chiefly, if not exclusively, confine their labours to epistolai'y 
 applications to clergymen, dissenting ministers, and other persons 
 Oi known benevolence, in the middle ranks of life. Instances 
 Consist with my own personal knowledge of an individual of this 
 List class of impostors, writing no fewer than twenty of these 
 letters in a day. Not long since sixteen letters of this descrip- 
 
 b2
 
 4 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 tion, all sealed and ready for delivery, were found in a basket at 
 the house of one of these persons, in Blackfi iars Road ; and it 
 was ascertained that all the sixteen had been intended to be for- 
 warded to their respective destinations within a few hours after 
 the discovery. If then some of these rogues are ho indefatigable 
 in their epistolary attempts on the pockets of the charitable and 
 humane, as to pen twenty letters in one day, surely, considering 
 their number, and after making every allowance for the compa- 
 ratively contracted labours of the least industrious portion of the 
 swindling community, there is nothing extravagant in the sup- 
 position that 1000 such letters are daily indited and forwarded 
 to their several destinations in London. 
 
 As to the average proportion the successful bear to the un- 
 successful applications in such cases, I have no data on which to 
 ground even a confident conjecture. The comparative success 
 in individual cases depends, as a matter of course, on the dex- 
 terity of the parties, To insure distinguished success as a 
 begging-letter impostor, two things are indispensable ; first, 
 judgment in the selection of the persons on whose pockets the 
 attempt is to be made ; and secondly, skill or ingenuity in de- 
 ciding on the form or mode of making it. These are just as 
 necessary to success in this way, as the choice of a proper place 
 and a skilful baiting of the hook, are to success in angling for 
 any species of the finny tribe. The difference in the comparative 
 success of the begging-letter impostors is very great. Some do 
 not succeed in above one case out of twenty ; others success- 
 fully practise their impositions every fifth time they make the 
 attempt. I believe that this last amount of success is the most 
 distinguished that any of them meet with. 
 
 It will appear on the first blush of the thing incredible, but tho 
 fact has in various cases been established beyond all question, 
 that some of the more successful begging-letter writers keep their 
 clerks, and sport their horses and gigs. This was the case with 
 blind Williams, so well known in town some years ago. It was 
 ascertained at the time, that his annual income, from his beg^ 
 ging epistles, averaged from 600/. to 800/. He regularly em- 
 ployed two clerks, at a salary, if I remember rightly, of 80/. 
 a-year, in the one case, and 50/. in the other. He also kept his 
 horse and gig, and might often be seen "showing off' in the most 
 fashionable parts of the town. He kept his mistress also, and 
 on his death, his principal clerk, Joseph Underwood, of whom 
 I shall have to speak hereafter, actually married her, regarding 
 the printed documents and business materials* of her late "pro- 
 tector"''' — for so the term is in such cases perverted — as equivalent 
 
 * I shall aftei wards have occasion to state of what this stock in trade consisted.
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 5 
 
 to a fortune. The other clerk of Williams also afterwards esta- 
 blished a good business, on his own account, in the begging-letter 
 way; but it was not nearly equal to that of his late employer. 
 
 A common practice in the begging-letter business is, for a 
 number of impostors to enter into a sort of partnership together, 
 it being found that the trade can generally be carried on most 
 successfully that way. In such cases, however, they do not all 
 " share-and-share alike." The company, if I may so speak, is 
 formed on the banditti principle ; in other words, they have 
 always a head who acts in the capacity of a general, and all 
 their movements or "operations," as they themselves phrase it, 
 must be in strict conformity with his instructions. The late 
 notorious Peter Hill, whose case was brought so prominently 
 before the public ten or twelve years since, was the head of one of 
 these companies or gangs. It was ascertained, beyond all ques- 
 tion, at the period to which I refer, that the average amount of 
 which the charitable public were daily plundered by the imposi- 
 tions of Peter and his gang, was upwards of 20/. His own share, 
 after paying all the subordinates, or his "men,"" as he used to call 
 them, and after deducting for expenses, in the shape of paper, 
 postage, and other incidentals, was not much under 600Z. a-year. 
 
 Of all the begging-letter impostors of whom I have heard, 
 Peter was unequalled in the facility and success with which 
 he could change his personal appearance. In the course of 
 one day he could assume and sustain, with admirable effect, 
 seven or eight different characters ; so that those who saw him, 
 and were conversing with him, at ten o'clock in the morning, 
 might have been in his company at twelve, and never had the 
 slightest suspicion of the fact. He had a pair of huge artificial 
 whiskers, which he put on and off just as he pleased ; and he 
 had also a pair of moveable mustachios, which a Spanish Don 
 would have looked on with envious eye. Of wigs, too, he had an 
 abundant supply, embracing every variety of colour ; while his 
 wardrobe was so extensive, that you would have thought he had 
 purchased the entire contents of some Jew clothesman's shop in 
 Holywell-street. By these means, coupled with great natural 
 cleverness, he was able to assume so many different characters, 
 and to appear so very unlike himself, if there be not an Irishism 
 in the expression, that, though the Mendicity Society had at one 
 time no fewer than three hundred cases of begging letter impos- 
 tures against him, and though its officers had repeatedly seen 
 him in the police-offices, they passed him day after day in the 
 public streets, without recognising him. 1 may mention one fact, 
 out of hundreds, illustrative of the singular adroitness with which 
 he managed to disguise himself, and to assume different charac- 
 ters ; namely, tliat he applied personally one morning to the Earl
 
 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 of Harrowby, as an unbeneficed clergyman of the Church of Eng 
 land, in great distress, when he received a sovereign, and in the 
 evening in the character of an unfortunate portrait-painter, when 
 he again received a sovereign from the hands of the noble Earl, 
 after having had a personal interview with his Lordship on both 
 occasions. 
 
 The notorious Underwood, who was brought so prominently 
 before the public three or four years ago, under innumerable 
 aliases, was also the head or general of a gang of this description. 
 He is the impostor to whom I have before alluded as having 
 netted about 1000/. per annum as his own share of the plunder. 
 He also dcept his gig, and had a private clerk at a handsome 
 salary. Underwood made one of the most successful single hits 
 to be found, perhaps, in the annals of the letter-begging profes- 
 sion. Not many years since, he swindled the late Earl of Ply- 
 mouth out of 50/. by one letter. I know several instances in 
 which 20/., 25/., and even 30/., have been got at once ; but this 
 is the only case which has come to my knowledge of 50/. being 
 given at a time. When I come to describe some of the in- 
 genious expedients resorted to by these impostors in the prose- 
 cution of their avocation, I shall refer to the way in which the 
 above benevolent nobleman was swindled out of his 50/., and 
 shall, at the same time, make some observations on Underwood's 
 qualifications for his profession. 
 
 The more experienced class of begging-letter writers conduct 
 their operations on the most approved business principles. In 
 addition to their constantly retaining clerks in their employ, 
 whenever the success of their schemes will justify that expense, 
 they keep their books in the most perfect order. There is not a 
 merchant in the city who is more regular or correct in this way. 
 They make a memorandum of each day's proceedings, which an- 
 s vers to the day-book of the merchant ; while they have also a 
 book corresponding with the ledger of the mercantile man. 
 
 All the begging-letter impostors who carry on an extensive 
 business keep a regular diary of their proceedings. The fol- 
 lowing is copied from one of the morning papers of June last, as 
 the journal of a notorious impostor named John Douglas, who 
 was only liberated from the House of Correction, where he had 
 been confined for his fraudulent practices, in September. I may 
 just observe, that I some time since saw the original of the jour- 
 nal, but not having access to it at present, I. am obliged to quote 
 the extract from the morning paper referred to. It will be 
 seen that, in most cases, the writer first mentions the name of 
 the party applied to ; then the assumed name in which the ap- 
 plication is made ; thirdly, the fictitious case of distress got 
 up ; and lastly, the result of the application whore successful.
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 7 
 
 In some cases one or two terms are made use of, as " Derry " 
 in the first entry, which are not so intelligible : — 
 
 Feb. 6. — Marquis of Bristol. Derry ; Mary Cole ; blind ; seven chil- 
 dren ; three cripples. 
 
 Feb. 8. — Admiral Curzon. Ship Pallas; Sam Bowden, mate; seized 
 for 41. 4s. rent ; paralytic stroke. Result, 21. 
 
 Feb. 15. — Admiral Curzon. Ship Douglas ; Powden, Mackey, and 
 Bill Stroud, cripples, and two stone blind. Received 21. 
 
 Feb. 26. — Sir Peter Durham. Lieutenant Spratt ; leg- off; hard up. 
 I Jesuit, 20/. 
 
 March 12. — Countess of Mansfitld. Widow; nine children ; hoop- 
 ing- cough ; cholera morbus ; measles. 
 
 March 14. — Lord Melbourne. Jane Simpson ; father blind ; mother 
 nead ; no money to bury her. 
 
 March 18. — Countess of Mansfield. Daughter supporting mother 
 and grandmother by needle-work ; lost use of both hands ; furniture 
 seized for 61. 10s. Received 3/. 
 
 March 24. — Earl Fitzwilliam. Goods seized for 41. 4s. ; no bed ; 
 wife just lying-in. Result, 21. 
 
 The above is, of course, but a mere skeleton or outline of the 
 letters which are addressed. The writers dwell with an edifying 
 circumstantiality, and expatiate with an amazing pathos, on the 
 pretended cases of distress ; and are great adepts at that sort 
 of flattery of the persons addressed, which, to use their own ex- 
 pression, is most likely to " gammon'''' them. Of the admirable 
 tactics of these epistolarian impostors I shall have occasion to 
 speak at greater length by-and-bye, when I shall give some ap- 
 proved specimens of their correspondence. 
 
 Some of the begging-letter writers occasionally make droll 
 remarks in their journals, as to the result of their applications. 
 The following is a specimen : — 
 
 June 20. — Addressed the Duke of Richmond under the name of 
 John Smith ; case, leg amputated, out of work for six months, and 
 wife and seven children starving. Result, 21. Not amiss, but hope to 
 be more successful next time. 
 
 June 25. — Letter to Bishop of London ; name, William Ander- 
 son ; case, licensed clergyman of the Church of England, but unem- 
 ployed for four years, and wife dead three weeks ago, leaving five mother- 
 less children. Result, no go; too old a bird to be caught with chaff; but 
 try it on again next week. 
 
 June 28. — Try Sir Peter Laurie ; case, industrious Scotchman, but 
 no employment ; lived on bread and water for eight days, but no bread, 
 nor anything to eat, for the last three days ; name, John Laurie. Re- 
 sult, referred to the Mendicity Society, Sir Peter being too far north to 
 be done; knowing rogues these Scotchmen; there is no gammoning 
 them.
 
 8 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 June 30. — Addressed Sir Peter Durham ; case, lost a leg and arm in 
 the service ; wa9 one of his men on board the ship Pallas ; great desti- 
 tution ; not even as much as to get my timber leg repaired, being broken 
 by accident ; name, Jack Scraggs. Result 5/. ; Sir Peter a regular 
 trump ; drink his health in a bottle of best Madeira ; have at him again in 
 a fortnight or so ; plenty more cases to be got up ; plenty more names 
 to assume. 
 
 July 4. — Address Lord Wyndford ; name, Samuel Downie ; case, 
 ruined by attachment to Toryism ; have often detected treasonable con- 
 spiracies, and been a proscribed man by my former acquaintances in con- 
 sequence ; great hater of Reform, which means Revolution ; ready to 
 shed my blood in defence of Church and State. Result, long letter, en- 
 closing half a sovereign ; miserable work this: won't pay for consumption 
 of time and paper ; Wyndford a stingy customer ; stingy old boy to deal 
 with ; cut the connexion at once. 
 
 July 6. — Letter to Lord Holland ; name, Jonathan Manson ; case, 
 endured for a long series of years a species of living martyrdom for my 
 zeal for Reform principles ; was intimately acquainted with Muir, Palmer, 
 and the other Scotch Reformers who suffered in 1794, for their princi- 
 ples ; am now struck with palsy ; wife dying, and six children without a 
 bed to lie on, a rag to cover them, or a morsel of food of any kind to put 
 into their mouths ; most deplorable case altogether ; dire necessity that 
 induces to write ; great outrage to feelings. Received 51., with a very 
 compassionate letter; the compassion may go to the dogs, but the 5/. 
 something substantial ; jolly old cock yet ; long may he live to lean on 
 his crutches ; will go it again ; stick it into him at least once a fort- 
 night. 
 
 July 3. — Wrote to Lord Brougham ; directed to apply to the Menda- 
 city Society ; particularly obliged to his Lordship for his advice, but 
 would have preferred a sovereign or two ; have no wish to make the 
 acquaintance of these Society gentry ; wonder how his Lordship him- 
 self would like their bone-gruel, which they dignify with the name of 
 soup, and to be kept to hard work at the mill to the bargain. 
 
 Unless some such journal or memoranda as this were regu- 
 larly kept of the proceedings of these gentry, it would be impos- 
 sible for them to do business at all. They would not only, by 
 exposing their impostures, defeat their objects, but they would 
 soon find themselves in Bow-street, or some other of the police- 
 offices. The success of their schemes depends on the skill and 
 dexterity with which they can vary their assumed names and 
 pretended cases. If two letters were sent to any nobleman or 
 gentleman soon after each other, with the same names or cases, 
 their detection and consequent punishment would be a matter 
 of almost moral certainty. 
 
 Thoso who are not in the secret, are at a loss to understand 
 how the begging-letter writers manage to get acquainted with 
 such circumstances, either in the cases of the persons whose
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS- JJ 
 
 names they assume, or in those of the parties they address, as 
 Gould impose on the latter. The way in which the thing is 
 managed is this : — They first of all ascertain who are the 
 noblemen or gentlemen of the most benevolent disposition and 
 ample means, and they then take care to learn what is the most 
 probable way of procuring a favourable hearing to their got-up 
 tale of distress. This done, their ingenuity is put to the rack, 
 with the view of trumping-up the most plausible possible case. 
 An instance or two will suffice to explain this more fully. Sup- 
 pose I take the cases of Sir Peter Durham and Admiral Cur- 
 zon, as gentlemen whose names have been already mentioned* 
 The begging letter-writers, having in the first place ascertained 
 that these gentlemen are distinguished for their benevolence of 
 disposition, and for their strong attachment to the naval ser- 
 vice, they then apply themselves to the procuring of some par- 
 ticulars respecting particular ships they commanded, and the 
 men who served under them. They succeed in this by going 
 down to Greenwich, and entering, as if it were by the merest 
 accident, into conversation with some of the pensioners there, 
 who, over a pot of porter or a tumbler of grog, are remarkably 
 communicative on all matters pertaining to the naval service. 
 They at once mention the day and date of particular engage- 
 ments, and particular occurrences. They also learn who were spe- 
 cial favourites with Sir Peter Durham, or Admiral Curzon, 
 as the case may be ; and then pretending to be one of those per- 
 sons, they refer, with an edifying minuteness, to a particular 
 occurrence. The imposition is thus in most cases effectual, and 
 the gentlemen addressed believing the trumped-up tale of woe, 
 and sympathising with an old sailor who served under them, 
 naturally put their hands in their pockets, and send the appli- 
 cant either one or two sovereigns to administer to his exi- 
 gencies. 
 
 Where higher game is aimed at, that is to say, where the 
 prize on which the impostor has his eye, is 10/., 20/., or 30/., 
 something more is done, with the view of practising the impo- 
 sition successfully. They find out, from the sailors, who were 
 the most favoured officers who served under the commanders, 
 and what their pecuniary and other circumstances now are. 
 They also contrive to possess themselves of the autographs of 
 these officers, and then they set to work to draw out begging- 
 letters, written in a hand as liko theirs as possible. The letters 
 thus written have the forged autographs of the officers in ques- 
 tion attached to them ; and so closely is the handwriting imi- 
 tated, that in some instances even the parties themselves 
 can scarcely detect the imposture, in so far as mere penman- 
 ship is concerned. T may mention, as an instance of the re*
 
 10 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 markable skill with which these impostors imitate the hand- 
 writing of other persons, and also as a proof of the infinite 
 dexterity with which they draw up their letters, that in June 
 last, when the impostor Douglas, already alluded to, was 
 brought to Bow-street Office, Sir Peter Durham, from whom 
 he had a few days before got 20/., in answer to a begging-let- 
 ter, written in the name of Lieutenant Pratt, an officer who 
 formerly served under the gallant admiral, — the latter could not 
 without great difficulty be made to believe that the application 
 was not actually made by and in the handwriting of the 
 lieutenant. 
 
 On ordinary occasions, they have four styles of penmanship. 
 The first is a sort of handwriting which may suit " cases in 
 general," as they are called ; the second is that of an old man ol 
 education, say a clergyman or doctor, who has been reduced in 
 circumstances ; the third is that of a young lady ; and the 
 fourth,* of an old lady. I have seen a great many of the ori- 
 ginal letters, written in each of these styles, which were manu- 
 factured by Underwood. They are remarkably characteristic 
 in every point of view. The facility with which some of the im- 
 postors can, through long practice, imitate different handwrit- 
 ings, is of essential service to them. Indeed, the begging-letter 
 profession could never be carried en with any measure of suc- 
 cess without this capability of writing in a variety of hands; 
 for being, as the rogues are, in the habit of sending a great 
 many letters to the same parties in the course of the year, the 
 mere assumption of different names would not, were the calli- 
 graphy the same, be a 'security to them against detection. I 
 may mention, as one illustration of their skill in this way, that 
 the impostor Douglas, already mentioned, got nearly 30/., -from 
 Admiral Curzon, in the course of last year, in sums of 21. 
 and 1/. each, the letters having been all written in different 
 names, with suitable variations in the penmanship. This con- 
 summate impostor was thus, in one sense, living as a pensioner 
 on the bounty of the gallant and benevolent admiral, the latter 
 supposing all the time that he had been administering to the ne- 
 cessities of as many different individuals as he had received dif- 
 ferent letters. 
 
 In the cases in which the begging-letter impostors give the 
 names of men of education and respectability of character, the 
 writers take particular precautions against detection, because 
 the punishment, in the event of discovery, is usually much 
 greater than it is in what are called general cases. The answers 
 to their application are always directed to be made to some 
 public-house, coffee-room, or hairdresser's or other shop, they 
 having previously asked the persons in the house or shop to re-
 
 BEGGING IJirOSTORS. 11 
 
 ceive any letter which may come to their care with a particular 
 address. This the parties, knowing nothing about the matter, 
 and having the amount of postage left with them, readily en- 
 gage to do. The impostors then make a point of watching for 
 the postman outside, at the time they expect, an answer, to 
 see whether he calls at the place to which they requested their 
 answers might be sent. Their object in watching for him is to 
 see that no police or Mendicity Society officer accompanies him, 
 for the purpose of pouncing on the letter-writer as an im- 
 postor. This they look for as a matter of com-se, in the event 
 of their imposture being detected by the party on whom it was 
 attempted to be practised. 
 
 Whenever the begging-letter writers are fortunate enough, 
 which they frequently are, in getting, along with some sum of 
 money from a nobleman or person of distinction, . a letter ex- 
 pressive of sympathy with their supposed distress, such letter is 
 looked on as quite a windfall. It is immediately enclosed, with 
 a begging-letter from themselves, to the various affluent and 
 charitable friends of the party, and usually insures some simi- 
 lar donation from them. The friends of the party take it for 
 granted, that before such party would have written the sym- 
 pathetic letter, he would have taken special care to satisfy 
 himself that the case was one of a. legitimate kind. One such 
 letter has often been productive of an abundant harvest, without 
 the impostors being put to any other ingenious shifts to 
 make a plausible case. The late Earl of Plymouth once 
 wrote a letter of this kind to a consummate impostor, at 
 the same time enclosing a 20/. note, which enabled the 
 rogue to levy contributions, without any trouble to himself, 
 to an immense extent, on the aristocratic connections and ac- 
 quaintances of that very benevolent nobleman. 
 
 But the most successful mode of letter-begging, when dexter- 
 ously managed,. yet remains to be mentioned. It is this : — The 
 impostor, instead of applying to the party, on whose pockets he 
 meditates an attempt, either by means of some trumped-up case 
 of a general nature, or by passing himself off as some given in- 
 dividual, pretends to be himself a man of substance, and to have 
 drawn out, from motives of the purest benevolence, a representa- 
 tion of the • case of some unfortunate person, whoso name and 
 designation are always given with an edifying accuracy. The 
 impostor, in such cases, always sends to the party applied to, a 
 list of pretended subscriptions, for the benefit of tho alleged 
 sufferer, along with the details of his afflicting case; and on this 
 list, he himself figures as one of the most liberal of the benevo- 
 lent subscribers. The letter always winds up with an assurance 
 that any remittance which may be made to the writer on behalf
 
 12 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 of the unfortunate party, will be most strictly applied to his 
 relief, and that in the way which will be least likely to wound 
 his feelings. As clergymen in reduced circumstances are, of all 
 other classes of men, those who excite the most deep and general 
 sympathy, the name of some clergyman is usually preferred in 
 such cases to that of any other individual. This mode of letter- 
 begging is, as I said before, generally the most successful, where 
 skilfully managed; but it requires very great ingenuity to do it 
 well. 
 
 I alluded on a former occasion to the fact of 50/. being got 
 on one occasion by the impostor Underwood from the late Earl 
 of Plymouth. The mode of application which I have just 
 described, was that which the impostor adopted. I may add 
 that, so pleased was he with the success of his expedient, as well 
 he might, and with the princely though mistaken liberality of 
 the noble Earl, that immediately on receiving the 50/. note, 
 he called on two of his brother impostors, and invited them to 
 dinner in a fashionable hotel at the west end, by way of cele- 
 brating his good fortune. Repeated bumpers were dedicated 
 to the health of his Lordship, and the most anxious wishes were 
 expressed that he would soon, by another proof of his unsuspi- 
 cious disposition and princely liberality, give occasion for the 
 dedication of a few more bumpers to him. Upwards of 51. out 
 of the 50/. were spent before the trio of rogues rose from their 
 seats. 
 
 A few years since, one of the impositions of the kind 
 described above was detected under very curious circumstances. 
 The impostor — whose name I forget, though it was mentioned 
 to me by a gentleman who was personally privy to the circum- 
 stances connected with the detection of the imposition — having 
 trumped-up a most affecting case of distress, in which a clergy- 
 man of the Church of England, whose name I forbear to give, 
 because he is still alive, was represented as the suffering party, 
 
 applied to Lord J for any donation he might think 
 
 proper to give on behalf of the afflicted divine. Along with 
 this application there was a pretended list of subscriptions given 
 towards the same benevolent object ; and the impostor, who on 
 this occasion assumed the name of John Hughes, took care to 
 call his Lordship's attention to the fact of his own name, though 
 in comparatively limited circumstances, being on the subscription 
 list. Knowing that there was a clergyman of the name of 
 
 Mr. G , whose living was anything but large, and seeing 
 
 so many names heading a subscription list on his behalf, he 
 generously sent " John Hughes, Esq., 1 ' a 51. note, to aid in ad- 
 ministering to the necessities of the unfortunate clergyman ; 
 adding in the note which accompanied the donation that if,
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 13 
 
 afterwards, it should be necessary, he would have great pleasure 
 in remitting another 51. to alleviate the distresses of a worthy 
 man. In precisely ten days afterwards, another letter was re- 
 ceived by Lord J , to which was appended the signature 
 
 of " John Hughes." The letter, as the reader will anticipate, 
 was highly eulogistic of his Lordship's humanity, benevolence, 
 and so on ; and stated that the writer, " Mr. John Hughes,"" 
 was so affected with the continued distress of the clergyman, 
 that he had given him, though he could ill spare it, an additional 
 2/. The conclusion of the epistle of course was, that a more 
 charitable action could not be performed by the noble Lord than 
 
 that of bestowing the second 51. on Mr. G , which he 
 
 had before so generously intimated his intention to give. It is 
 unnecessary to observe that Mr. John Hughes again expressed 
 his readiness, from motives of the purest disinterestedness, to 
 take the trouble of conveying the additional 5/. to the dis- 
 tressed clergyman. When Lord J received the beg- 
 ging letter, he was in the act of putting on his hat to go to a 
 public dinner in aid of the funds of a charitable institution. 
 But for that circumstance the second 51. note would have been 
 immediately entrusted to the care of Mr. John Hughes. The 
 noblemen and gentlemen who sat down to dinner were about 
 two hundred in number; so that it was impossible for any one 
 to see all who were present. After the cloth had been re- 
 moved, oratory became the order of the evening, and at length 
 
 the Rev. Mr. G was announced as about to address 
 
 the company. Lord J was thunderstruck at the an- 
 nouncement : he was still more confounded when the verita- 
 ble reverend gentleman stood up, with his face redolent of 
 health, though Mr. John Hughes's letter of that morning 
 represented him as not only bed-ridden, but unable to move 
 either am or leg. His Lordship waited patiently until the 
 reverend gentleman concluded his speech ; and then, determined 
 if possible, to have the mystery cleared up, he advanced to 
 him and congratulated him on his " sudden recovery.' 1 
 
 " Sudden recovery !" said the clergyman, in atone of surprise. 
 
 " Yes ; from your illness.'" 
 
 " My Lord, you must have been misinformed : there has 
 been nothing the matter with 1116."" 
 
 Here again his Lordship looked unutterably confounded. 
 
 " Were you not ill ten days ago V he inquired, after a mo- 
 ment's hesitation. 
 
 ■ Not in the slightest degree,'" was the answer of the 
 reverend gentleman. 
 
 " Nor tins morning, either — not confined to bed this morn- 
 ing!"
 
 w 
 
 It SKETCHES IN LONDON*. 
 
 " Certainly not, my Lord. I have reason to be thankful, I 
 never enjoyed better health in my life than I have done for the 
 last few weeks." 
 
 " Well, this is certainly strange,"" said Lord J , em- 
 phatically. 
 
 " May I ask, my Lord, what made you think I was ill !" said 
 the reverend gentleman. 
 
 " Why, your friend, Mr. Hughes, assured me you were so." 
 
 " Mr. Hughes !" exclaimed the clergyman in accents of as- 
 tonishment. " Mr. Hughes !" he added, putting his two fore 
 fingers to his lips, and looking on the floor, as if trying to 
 recollect which of his friends rejoiced in the name of Mr. 
 Hughes. " My Lord," he observed, after a pause of a few seconds, 
 " I am not personally acquainted with any gentleman of that 
 name." 
 
 " Well," said his Lordship, "you certainly do astonish me." 
 
 " Did this Mr. Hughes communicate the fact of my alleged ill- 
 ness to your Lordship verbally V 
 
 " No, it was by letter." 
 
 " Has your Lordship got the letter with you \ Possibly I 
 might know something of the handwriting." 
 
 His Lordship, fearing the nature of the contents might 
 wound the feelings of the reverend gentleman, hesitated for a 
 few moments to return any direct answer to the question ; but 
 the idea then flashed across his mind that the whole affair had 
 been got up by some swindling impostor; and putting his 
 hand into his pocket, he drew out the second letter, the 
 one he had received that morning. 
 
 The feelings of the reverend gentleman will be better 
 imagined than I could describe them, when he saw himself repre- 
 sented as if at the very gates of death, in a state of absolute 
 destitution, and the subject of a subscription list, on which his 
 Lordship's name, and that of "Mr. John Hughes" were the 
 most prominent. Some other parties were consulted as to 
 what ought to be done, and it was agreed that his Lordship 
 should, with the view of detecting and punishing the fellow, 
 enclose another cheque for 51. on his bankers, to Mr. John 
 
 Hughes, for the benefit of his friend, the Rev. Mr. G , 
 
 only taking care that a police-officer should be previously 
 instructed to be in readiness at the banking establishment, 
 which is in Fleet-street, to take him into custody the moment 
 he presented the cheque and received the money. The re- 
 mainder of " Mr. Hughes's 1 ' history is soon told : Jhe figured 
 shortly after at the Old Bailey, and then quitted this country for 
 the antipodes, the expenses of his voyage being defrayed out of 
 the public purse.
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 15 
 
 Other and very ingenious expedients adopted by the more en- 
 terprising of the begging-letter fraternity, in the prosecution of 
 their deceptive purposes, yet remain to be mentioned. One of 
 these expedients is, to have a very large quantity of warrants 
 of distraint, for house- rent or taxes, always on hand, regularly 
 printed, and filled up in the usual form. These they enclose 
 in letters to persons of known charitable disposition, detail- 
 ing most affecting cases of domestic misery, and supplicating 
 assistance. At the same time they enclose a certificate as to 
 character, and a testimony to the facts stated, either from the 
 pretended churchwardens of the parish whence the letter is 
 written, or from some surgeon or other professional man resid- 
 ing in the neighbourhood. This mode of imposture, when skil- 
 fully executed, is usually a most profitable one. Another, 
 somewhat similar, is that of having pawnbrokers 1 duplicates 
 printed in the usual form, and the blanks duly filled up with 
 dates, names, and so forth, in writing. These are sent, at any 
 time, to charitable persons, the impostors pretending that the 
 articles of furniture, clothing, &c, mentioned in the duplicates, 
 have been deposited with the pawnbrokers under the most dis- 
 tressing circumstances, and from dire necessity, and imploring 
 something to enable them to redeem the articles, and thus save 
 their families from dying of cold or destitution. But though 
 such fictitious pawnbrokers' 1 duplicates are forwarded at any 
 time to persons of a charitable disposition, with the view of 
 swindling them out of their money, and are successful to a 
 very great extent, they are found particularly serviceable when 
 a pawnbroker's shop has been destroyed by fire. In such 
 cases, availing themselves of the information given by newspa- 
 pers regarding the calamity, they forge the name of the party, 
 and send the fictitious duplicates as those of valuable proper- 
 ty they had pledged, and which, being all destroyed, leaves 
 them in utter destitution. The accompanying letter fervently 
 supplicates, as a matter of course, some assistance, to enable the 
 parties, viz. the impostors, to rescue their family from absolute 
 starvation. This expedient is, in most cases, a peculiarly suc- 
 cessful one. It is in many instances most abundantly productive 
 to the impostors. Underwood used to regard the destruction 
 of a pawnbroker's shop by fire as a great windfall. His dupli- 
 cates, on such an occurrence, were diffused through all parts 
 of town in a day or two after the accident ; and rich was the 
 harvest he reaped from his tact and ingenuity. 
 
 And this reminds me of the promise I made in an early part 
 of the chapter, to explain what was meant by the printed ma- 
 terials and other stock in trade which Underwood got by way of 
 fortune, when he married the mistress of his former employer.
 
 It) SKETCHES IN LONDON 
 
 Old Blind Williams, as he was always called. These materials 
 and stock consisted chiefly of an immensely large quantity of 
 printed warrants of distraint for rent or taxes, pawnbrokers 1 
 duplicates, the names and residences of persons most easily im- 
 posed on, with the journal of all the letter-begging transactions 
 of his deceased master. 
 
 And here I may remark, that, taken all in all, this Under- 
 wood was one of the most ingenious impostors ever known on 
 town. He was the natural son of one of our London aldermen, 
 and possessed all the advantages which a classical education 
 could give him. But mere education could never of itself have 
 made him the man he was. He was a person of great natural 
 talents, which had been improved by constant exercise. I have 
 known other begging-letter impostors, who displayed very con- 
 siderable resources in the practice of their profession, but they 
 all fell far short of him. Their expedients were limited in num- 
 ber, his were boundless. And they were as ready as they were 
 inexhaustible. I have referred to the four classes of penman- 
 ship used by the impostors ; each of these he could vary to an 
 incredible extent. Other contemporary impostors were generally 
 obliged to call in the assistance of other persons to insure variety, 
 and consequently escape detection, in their handwriting. Those 
 of them who carried on business to any extent, were obliged 
 to have, at any rate, some female to imitate the penmanship 
 of a lady : Underwood needed no such assistance. He was 
 everything himself: he was, to use another expression which 
 a mathematical friend of mine is particularly partial to, " a self- 
 contained personage." And not only could he write every variety 
 of calligraphy, but his intellectual resources were ample even to 
 excess. He could write on any subject ; he had not only the 
 ingenuity to assume every conceivable character, but he could 
 immediately, on assuming such character, sit down and write 
 in that strain which was most consonant to it. I have 
 looked over a large collection of his letters, and have been at 
 a loss to know whether I ought most to admire the mechanical 
 dexterity which enabled him to write so great a variety of 
 hands, or the intellectual resources, which the appropriate- 
 ness of his sentiments and style to the various characters he 
 assumed, proved him to be possessed of. His inventive powers 
 were of the first order. If the faculty of creation be one of the 
 principal attributes of genius, Underwood was a genius of the 
 first magnitude. The force and felicity of his imaginative facts 
 were remarkable. Had he turned his attention to novel-writing, 
 instead of to the profession of a begging-letter impostor, there 
 is no saying how high his name might at this moment have 
 stood in the current literature of the counti-y. United as were
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 17 
 
 his inventive powers to great facility and force of composi- 
 tion, he must certainly, had he applied himself to the produc- 
 tion of works of fiction, have attained to no ordinary reputa- 
 tion. It can hardly be necessary to say, that a man of so 
 much ingenuity was successful in his profession. I am assured 
 by a gentleman whose means of ascertaining the fact must 
 have been equal to those of any second party not one of his 
 coadjutors in crime, that his annual income from his begging- 
 letter practices must, as already stated, have been close on 1000/. 
 He was repeatedly detected and imprisoned. He died in Cold- 
 bath-fields 1 Prison, in the spring of the present year. 
 
 Before I proceed farther in my observations on the beg- 
 ging-letter class of impostors, it may be right, in order to show 
 with what ingenuity they go to work, to give a few specimens 
 of their epistolary talents. The following letters were written 
 by the notorious Underwood, of whom I have just spoken ; 
 and as I have seen the originals, it may be right to state, that 
 they are given without the alteration of a single word. The 
 first is addressed to Lord Skelmersdale, and is signed " Mary 
 Burn." It will be seen, that in this instance Mr. Underwood 
 assumes the character of a widow. 
 
 "My Lord, — It is with most agonised mind and heart I presume 
 to address these few lines to your lordship's notice, whom I have had 
 the honour of knowing by sight for a great many years, and also your 
 lordship's seat (Latham House), at some small distance from which I 
 lived with some late relations, in the years 1797 and 1798. I am, how- 
 ever, a native of Preston, where I am descended from a respectable 
 family, named Grimshaw. My parents have been dead many years, 
 and I am the widow of a late respectable schoolmaster, who was proprie- 
 tor of a boarding-school at Guildford, in this county, for a number of 
 years, but who unhappily died of fever some five years ago, when I 
 was left with four children, under eleven years of age, and obliged to 
 dispose of my premises for the purpose of settling my husband's few 
 debts, defraying funeral expenses, &c. Since then, my lord, I have 
 kept a day-school, in the parish of St. George, Southwark, and held 
 the situation of governess at a Sunday-school, although the emolu- 
 ment arising from the situation is scarcely worth my acceptance; but 
 through its having pleased the Almighty to deprive me of the use of 
 my lower extremities by rheumatic gout, during the last seventeen 
 months, during which period I have been wholly prevented from attend- 
 ing to the duties of my avocation, in conjunction with the great ex- 
 pense attending the support of my family, have been the means of 
 reducing me. from a comfortable station in life, to that of extreme and 
 heart-rending distress; inasmuch as, being unable to pay my rent, my 
 furniture has been distrained, and is now under the hands of my late 
 landlord, or hit broker; and I have been obliged to quit my late resi- 
 dence to reive myself from an arrest and incarceration for a small debt 
 
 c
 
 18 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 incurred for the necessaries of life. I am become a great cripple, a me- 
 lancholy spectacle ; and but for the kindness of a friend, I and my father- 
 less children would nave been driven into the workhouse, or have become 
 poor houseless wanderers. However, through God's blessing-, and the 
 aid of humanity, I have been enabled to pay one moiety of the rent, 
 for which my goods and chattels were seized, and I am allowed until the 
 24th instant to pay the rest ; but am unable to do so, except through 
 the aid of charitable assistance. In addition to which, my lord, I am 
 sadly fearful, and under the apprehension that my present place of 
 abode will be discovered, and that I shall be arrested, torn away from 
 my dear children, and incarcerated for the small debt above alluded 
 to, which is only 1/. 17*. 6d., and which accumulated for bread only. I 
 know not what to do, my lord ; I am almost distracted, while my dear 
 children, who are as innocent as lambs, during the last six weeks, appear 
 to me to be quite happy with bread, potatoes, or whatever I can give 
 them, which is a great consolation to me. In reflecting, this morn- 
 ing, on my unhappy situation, considering to whom I should apply, it 
 suggested to my mind, from some little knowledge of your lordship's 
 disposition, that your lordship would, in all probability, be pleased to 
 afford me some small pecuniary assistance towards helping me to sur- 
 mount my difficulties, and for which I humbly appeal to your lordship's 
 goodness and generosity. I assure your lordship, that whatever assist- 
 ance you may be pleased to render, I shall remember it with gratitude 
 to the end of my life. I beg to subscribe myself, my lord, your lord- 
 ship's most humble servant, 
 
 "2, Cross Street, Newington Butts. " Mary Burn." 
 
 This letter was written in quite a lady-like hand, and was 
 accompanied by a certificate from a pretended Mr. Mansfield, 
 surgeon, London Road. Mr. Mansfield, alias Mr. Underwood, 
 was, of course, very eloquent in his commendation of the excel- 
 lent moral character of " Mary Burn," alias Joseph Underwood, 
 and most earnestly recommended her distressing case to the 
 favourable consideration of his lordship. 
 
 The following letter, from the same voluminous epistolarian, 
 was addressed to the Earl of Stamford and Harrington, and 
 is dated July 1st, 1833. The character assumed on this occasion 
 is that of a young lady, who had been seduced from her " tender 
 parent's " roof by a gentleman, under promise of marriage. But 
 the young lady, alias Mr. Underwood, will speak much better 
 for herself than 1 could : let her tale therefore, by all means, bo 
 heard. 
 
 " My Lord, — It is with shame, indescribable shame, I presume to 
 address your Lordship with these lines ; but from baving a knowledge of 
 your Lordship's person from my infancy, and through the report of your 
 Lordship's sympathising and benevolent character, I am about entrusting 
 a most unfortunate affair to your Lordship's honour and secrecy. I am
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 19 
 
 really ashamed to detail ray misfortunes, my Lord, but I must; I must 
 acquaint your Lordship. I know of no other person so likely to render 
 me some assistance in the hour of need, and to save me from perdition 
 and a premature grave, as vour Lordship, whose humanity does honour 
 to the feelings of a susceptible heart. Allow me to acquaint your Lord- 
 ship, that I am a native of Warrington, Lancashire, and the youngest 
 daughter of a gentleman who, for a number of years, held the rank ot 
 lieutenant in the British army, and who died in the year 1815, when 
 I was but a year old, leaving my mother, who has for some years resided 
 at Bolton-le-Moor, with five children (all girls) to support on a small 
 stipend ; that at Christmas last, I was prevailed on, by a person calling 
 himself i gentleman, under the most solemn promises and assurances 
 of marrying me as soon as we arrived in London, to leave my dearly 
 beloved mother at Bolton, without her consent or knowledge ; that he 
 has forfeited his promises and assurances ; and since I have been here, 
 through my having frequently reproached him for his ungentlemanly 
 and dishonourable conduct, he has left rae in a most destitute condition. 
 A few days subsequently he sent me the enclosed letter as a sort of an 
 excuse ; but, through my having spared no pains in referring to the 
 sheriff of this county, Surrey, Sussex, Middlesex, and the city of London, 
 I have ascertained that no such person has been arrested or is in 
 custody ; for in fact, no writ has been issued against any person of his 
 name, and that therefore his letter is nothing but a subterfuge for his 
 absence. 
 
 " Oh, my Lord ! I am ruined and undone. I am lost, totally lost — 
 lost to my dear mother, who knows no tidings of me or my misfor- 
 tunes — lost to my dear sisters — lost to all my young friends and ac- 
 quaintances in Lancashire and Cheshire — lost to ail respectable society — 
 have lately been turned out of my lodgings for the arrears of my rent, 
 in the sum of seven pounds, for which my trunks and wearing-apparel 
 have been, and still are. detained and withheld from me — that I am 
 much in want of a change of linen and dress — have no home or habita- 
 tion to dwell in, with the exception of a miserable place I am allowed 
 just to enter and sleep in at night only, at a poor widow's, who has a 
 large family and several lodgers, and whose house I consider would be 
 an unsafe and improper place for your Lordship's letter to be addressed 
 to, which has induced me to take the precaution of begging your 
 Lordship to address it as above. My sufferings are extremely great, 
 my Lord. I have frequently walked from here to Dean Park, a distance 
 of some miles, and there spent the whole of the day in solitude, with- 
 out breaking my fast, or having the means to break it. Oh, my Lord I 
 1 am suffering, justly suffering, for my act of imprudence ; but the art 
 und deceptions which have been used to ensnare and ruin me are really 
 beyond human imagination, as letters and other documents, which I 
 have in my possession, will fully prove ; yet nothing will erase the 
 Btain, the everlasting stain, from my character. This is what I feel, 
 my Lord, above all. I hate myself, and despise the wretch, the invidi- 
 ous and despicable fellow, who has caused it, and all my sufferings. 
 I am sadly fearful your Lordship will form a bad opinion of me ; but, 
 
 c2
 
 20 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 when I inform your Lordship that I am yet under nineteen years of 
 age, and him who thus deceived me is thirty-three years' old, and, in 
 my opinion, prone to deceive and ruin the young and virtuous of my 
 sex, that you will be pleased to permit my inexperience to plead a little 
 in extenuation of my offence, and I hope to mingle your pity with your 
 censure. I am gradually wasting away through the want of food and 
 nourishment, and, without the aid of humanity, must inevitably fall a 
 victim to poverty and starvation. To acquaint my beloved parent with 
 my unparalleled misfortunes and sufferings would, I am sure, be more 
 than she could bear ; it would certainly be the means of confining her 
 to her bed, if not sending her to a premature grave. In this unfor- 
 tunate situation, I humbly venture, in appealing to your Lordship's 
 humanity, for a small pecuniary assistance, to help me to discharge my 
 late landlord's demand, and to redeem my trunks and wearing-apparel ; 
 which done, I will immediately set out for Bolton, where I have no 
 doubt of being able to prevail on a lady, a most intimate friend of mine 
 and my family's, to call on my mother, and interpose in my behalf, and 
 for my reconciliation with her. It is true, I acknowledge, with a sin- 
 cere and contrite heart, I have erred in the respect above named, but in 
 no other case, can the world, or any individual in it, say I have. I have 
 honestly and candidly told your Lordship the worst of myself; and, as 
 soon as I reach Bolton, I will take care your Lordship shall be furnished 
 with a memorial of ray abilities, qualifications, and general character, 
 from a gentleman of unquestionable character, who at present knows 
 nothing of my sufferings, yet has known me from my cradle, and my 
 family a great many years, and who, I have no doubt, will exert him- 
 self, under this unfortunate affair, to obtain the situation of teacher or 
 governess in some respectable family for me, which I trust I am com- 
 petent for, and which I shall prefer, under my unhappy circumstances, 
 to my staying at Bolton, and living with my mother and sisters, the 
 latter of whom might in all probability, on some occasion, be induced 
 to reproach me for my misconduct, the more particularly as I am the 
 youngest. I consider, therefore, that I should be far happier in a 
 situation, and am convinced I can be recommended by some few of the 
 most respectable characters at Bolton, where, to say the truth, I shall 
 be ashamed to be seen. Let me beseech you, my Lord, under these 
 circumstances, to take the particulars of my misfortunes into your Lord- 
 ship's most serious consideration, and to pause ere you put a negative: 
 fyr on your Lordship's answer depends much — much more than I can 
 possibly describe; n\y fate even depends on it, I in truth declare ; and 
 I trust, though your Lordship may in some measure blame me for my 
 imprudence, yet, when you consider the art and deceptions that have 
 been used against me by a most wicked man, that you will sympathise 
 with me, and not suffer my supplications to be made in vain ; assuring 
 your Lordship that your assistance will be the means, or part of the 
 means, of rescuing an orphan daughter of a British officer, under un- 
 paralleled distress, from entire destruction, and a miserable death; 
 that although it perhaps may never be in my power to return it, or 
 compensate your Lordship for it, I have no doubt but your Lordship
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 21 
 
 will feel amply satisfied and gratified in being convinced that your aid 
 had the desired effect. This I promise shall be done, my Lord, not by 
 my own hand, but by one whose honour, word, and testimony, none 
 can dispute. I now beg leave to leave my case in your Lordship's hands, 
 anxiously waiting the favour of your Lordship's reply, with the return of 
 the enclosed letter for Mr. Henry Mannings, which, with a number of 
 other letters and documents I have of his, will be absolutely necessary 
 to show to my mother, and also to produce in a court of law some day; 
 for I am convinced, he has got property both in the county of Lancas- 
 ter and Cheshire. My Lord, I have the honour to remain, with the 
 greatest deference and respect, your Lordship's most humble servant, 
 
 " Martha Turner." 
 
 This letter was written in a small neat lady-like style. In- 
 deed, one would think it impossible that any other than a 
 female could have written such a hand. The letter was ac- 
 companied by another, purporting to be from the pretended 
 seducer, which was written in a gentleman's hand- The latter 
 was as follows : — 
 
 " My dearest Martha— It is really most revolting to my feelings to 
 be obliged to tell you, that, through some gambling transactions in 
 which I have been unfortunately engaged, I have been arrested, and 
 am now locked up in a sponging-house for a debt I am wholly unable 
 to pay. I care but little for myself, my dear girl ; but for you I feel 
 most deeply, and I am wholly at a loss how to advise you for the best. 
 I know well that I merit your anger for what is past, but the reproaches 
 of my own conscience are, I assure you, sufficient punishment for the 
 injury I have done you. If fortune should ever shine upon me, I will 
 acquaint you with it, and fulfil all my pledges. Pray endeavour to 
 console yourself, my dearest Martha, and lose no time in endeavouring 
 to return home, in order that no greater evil may happen you. Please 
 give the bearer my pocket-book, which contains some memorandums 
 and a bill of exchange, which would be of no use to you. In my port- 
 manteau you will find a new case of surgical instruments, which you 
 can convert into your immediate use. I have the honour to remain, 
 my dearest girl, with unalterable truth, your unfortunate 
 
 " William Hands. 
 
 " George Street, Blackfriars Road. 
 
 11 P.S. — Don't ask the bearer any questions respecting me.' 
 
 There was also, in addition to this last letter, the accompani- 
 ment of a certificate, purporting to be from a clergyman in 
 Margate, testifying to the truth, from personal knowledge, of 
 all the facts stated by the unfortunate pretended victim of 
 seduction. The certificate was written in a different hand 
 from the letter of Mr. Hands the seducer, and was an admirable 
 specimen of the style of penmanship most characteristic of 
 clergymen.
 
 22 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 I am sure my readers will concur with me, that in point 
 of ingenious invention, the above letters might put our modern 
 novelists to the blush. The creative powers of these writers 
 will not stand a moment's comparison with those of the author 
 of the above productions. 
 
 Hitherto I have spoken only of male begging-letter impos- 
 tors. These characters, however, are not confined to persons of 
 the masculine gender. Even among the female sex there are 
 occasionally some very dexterous begging-letter impostors to be 
 found. By far the most noted and successful of the present 
 day, is Harriet Reid, alias Harriet Minette. Not content with 
 getting up cases of distress of every possible variety, and re- 
 citing them in a most pathetic manner, she introduces into all 
 her letters, more or less liberally, a dash of the romantic. The 
 last time I heard of her, was in June 1834, when she was 
 brought before the magistrates of Marlborough street, on a 
 charge of endeavouring to obtain money by a fraudulent let- 
 ter from the Rev. Mr. Leigh, the rector of St. George's 
 Bloomsbury. The letter extended to four folio sheets of 
 paper, and was written as if from some gentleman who was 
 a mutual friend of Mr. Leigh's and of Miss Harriet Reid, 
 alias Mrs. Harriet Minette. The penmanship was bold and 
 masculine, and no one could ever have dreamed that it 
 emanated from a female hand. The following was written on 
 the envelope : — 
 
 " Tbe enclosed, dear Leigh, tedious as it is, for Heaven's sake, per- 
 use most carefully ; the cause of it must at once excuse it. It contains 
 a melancholy occurrence, indeed, one which, while it engages your at- 
 tention, must cut you to the heart. Poor Mrs. Minette will soon be 
 lost, unless immediately seen after. O, Leigh ! I am all anxiety about, 
 her — in agonies until you receive this — then all will be well. Heaven 
 crown your efforts with success ! Even now, should the memory of 
 the past be granted us, you must look down on your bounty to her 
 with rapture ! " 
 
 From the long letter, all written in a similar strain, I give 
 the following extract, which, as in the one just given, appears 
 without the alteration of a single word : — 
 
 " Poor Mrs. Minette! 1 shall surprise yon when I tell you of what 
 family she is by the mother's side. She is related to yourself; but I 
 must not explain who she is, or who I am, at present ! Oh ! may 
 Heaven, in its infinite mercy, avert the blow that now seems impending 
 over this poor unfortunate lady. Continue your bounty to her, and 
 you will soon learn what she is. She is thoroughly amiable, Leigh, 
 and to me somewhat dear ! Her mother married a man of inferior 
 birth, and her relations discharged her. She married Minette, a villain, 
 who has thrown her, after riding in her carriage, on the wide world in
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. S3 
 
 helpless adversity. As I told you, Leigh, in my first letter, sne is an 
 amiable unsuspecting creature — artless — being truly warm in her friend- 
 ship and love. Silly voung creature as she is, we must, however, save 
 her some pangs. Do something, dear Leigh, for her support — recom- 
 mend her to your friends — set her up in a school, and get her some 
 pupils ; but don't let her teach Italian, as that would bring her sorrows 
 to her mind. But now for 4 he more immediate melancholy purport of 
 my letter. She will be lost unless you save her; but I know you 
 won't let her want. I am in an agony of mind about her. I shudder 
 to name the subject, but I must. On Sunday, a friend of mine, on her 
 way to church, saw Mrs. Minette walking to and fro, in an unfre- 
 quented path, by the side of the river. She accosted her, but the 
 unfortunate lady seemed quite lost. It is too clear, Leigh, her wicked 
 thoughts. Dear Leigh, watch her narrowly. Things, at all events, 
 look black. Take her under your care — reason with her — give her 
 books — let her have a doctor, and see her take her physic; but don't 
 hint a word to her of what you do ; it might wound her sensitive feel- 
 ings. She respects you — calls you her benefactor. Adopt her, then, 
 as your protegee. Let her read to you, and come to you at church. 
 Providence must surely have thrown her in your way, and made you 
 his agent in delivering her from the fangs of Satan. Give her a few 
 pounds, and Heaven bless you I " 
 
 What a pity that Mrs. Harriet Minnette did not apply herself 
 to novel writing ! Why, the letter from which I have only given 
 a short extract, in conjunction with what was written in its 
 envelope, contains more of the romantic than will be found 
 in many of the three volume works of fiction which ever 
 and anon emanate from the establishments of the west end 
 bibliopoles. There are dashes of the pathetic in the extract I 
 have given, which even Goethe himself would have readily ad- 
 mitted into his " Sorrows of Werter." * 
 
 Who could resist such an appeal to one's feelings? The 
 Rev. gentleman to whom it was addressed could not. He proceed- 
 ed forthwith to the residence * of the lady herself. She at 
 once appeared in her proper person, and a dashing personage 
 she was ; but though the subject of his correspondent's letter 
 was there to be seen as large as life, the worthy divine was 
 as much perplexed as ever, as to who his very familiar corres- 
 pondent, who had taken such an intense interest in the fate 
 of " Mrs. Minette,' 1 could be. He had not been many moments 
 in the lady's company when he began to have some shrewd 
 suspicions that all was not right. He, therefore, cut his visit 
 to Mrs. Harriet Minette short, and proceeding direct to the 
 office of the Mendicity Society, deposited the lengthened and 
 sentimental letter with which he had been honoured from her 
 
 » In High Street, Bloomsbury.
 
 24 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 ladyship, in the hands of one of their officers. The result was 
 that Mrs Minette had the honour of a public interview with 
 the magistrates of Marlborough street office, who kindly under- 
 took to guarantee to all parties interested, that society should 
 not have, at least for three months to come, to suffer the 
 calamity of losing poor Mrs. Minette by her throwing herself 
 into the river when under the ascendancy of " wicked thoughts. 1 ' 
 In other words, she got a quarter of a year's free lodgings pro- 
 vided for her in a well-known public edifice in Cold-bath-fields. 
 
 The most extensive begging-letter impostors at present, are 
 the person Douglas already named, and another individual 
 of the name of Johnson. Both have already been often in 
 prison for detected attempts at imposture. Indeed, all the im- 
 postors of this kind spend a very considerable portion of their 
 life in prison. However, this circumstance does not surprise 
 them ; for they have beforehand taken it into account, as a con- 
 tingency to be expected, in their estimate of the comparative 
 pains and pleasures which are connected with the pursuit of 
 their profession. 
 
 Of all the begging-letter impostors of whom it has been my 
 fortune to hear, there is none for whose fate I ever felt the slight- 
 est compassion, with the exception of one of the name of David 
 Jones. This poor fellow had a world of spirit and enterprise in 
 the pursuit of his self-chosen avocation, but nature never intended 
 ■If him for it ; for he possessed no variety of mental resources, nor 
 could he in any case disguise his hand-writing. He always, too, 
 prosecuted his profession under the most dangerous circumstan- 
 ces ; that is, by forging the signatures of particular individuals. 
 About ten years ago, he adlnbiteol the name of a Mr. Alder- 
 son to a fraudulently got up case, and passed himself off as a 
 Mr. James Smith. He was convicted at the Old Bailey, and 
 sentenced to seven years 1 transportation. Will my readers be- 
 lieve it? On the very same day on which he returned from New 
 South Wales, he wrote the very same letter, word for word, as 
 that for which he had been transported, and adhibited the same 
 name of James Smith to it ! One would have thought that 
 the lapse of seven years, especially in the capacity of a convict 
 in New South Wales, which of course must have prevented any 
 other than a very sparing use of his pen, — one would have 
 thought that this would have made some considerable change 
 in his hand- writing. But no ; the penmanship of James Smith 
 before he left England, and that of James Smith after his re- 
 turn, were so very similar that you would have thought both the 
 letters, for I have seen them both, were written within an hour 
 of each other, and with the same pen. The poor fellow was de- 
 tected, and taken into custody on this his very first attempt after
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 25 
 
 his return. He was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment, 
 before the expiration of which he died. I may mention that 
 begging-letter writing, by means of forged names, seems to 
 have been, in his case, a family vice ; for the poor fellow's 
 father is now, if still alive, undergoing the sentence of trans- 
 portation for life, for a fraud which he committed on the late 
 Lord Dudley and Ward. 
 
 I come now to speak of the other class of begging impos- 
 tors. I mean those who are to be seen openly following their 
 profession in the streets. The number of beggars is astonish- 
 ing. Ten years ago it was estimated at 7,500 ; I am sure the 
 number has not diminished since then ; my impression is, that 
 it has, on the contrary, considerably increased. I think 
 it may be safely enough assumed, that the present number of 
 beggars of this class, to be seen in the streets of London, is not 
 under 8,000. It will startle those whose attention has never 
 been called to the subject, when they are informed, that of 
 the beggars who in so great a variety of ways, audibly and 
 silently, solicit alms in the public streets, there is only^one 
 out of every twenty who is a proper object of charity ; the re- 
 maining number are impostors. In a case of this kind I would 
 not, lest I should in any instance dry up the stream of charity 
 where it ought to flow, trust to my own calculations : the re- 
 sult I have mentioned, is given as one of undoubted accuracy, 
 in a pamphlet published about two years since, by the Hon. 
 and Rev. Baptist Noel, one of the most amiable and humane 
 men in the metropolis. But suppose we take the proportion of 
 street-beggars who are real objects of charity to those who are 
 not, at nearly one in sixteen, that will give, on the above com- 
 putation, the immense number of 7,500 of this class of impos- 
 tors who are constantly on town. I have made inquiries of a 
 gentleman who has been officially occupied with the subject for 
 the last few years, as to what may be the average amount which 
 the street-beggars annually receive from a generous but too con- 
 fiding public ; and he says that very few of them average less 
 than thirty shillings a week. In order, however, that we may 
 be under rather than above the mark, let us take the average 
 at twenty shillings per week, and this will give the immense sum 
 of 7,500/. per week, or 350,000/. per year, which these persons 
 levy on a charitable public. 
 
 But though I have taken the average of the weekly individual 
 proceeds of these impostors at twenty shillings, and though 
 the gentleman to whom I refer estimates these proceeds at above 
 thirty shillings, they do in many cases amount to a great deal 
 more. I know of a boy, not yet fourteen years of age, who 
 averages from ten to twelve shillings per day, and thus by sun-
 
 26 SKETCHES IN LONDON'. 
 
 ply holding out a paper before him, while sitting on some door 
 step, with the words written on it, "A poor orphan boy." 
 This juvenile impostor has been actually more than fifty times 
 in Bridewell or the House of Correction, for begging in this 
 way in the streets. He has been frequently brought before the 
 police magistrates by his father, who is a most respectable man, 
 and in easy circumstances, in the hope of reclaiming him from his 
 mendicant practices ; but the little rogue has proved incor- 
 rigible, and has been given up by his parents as such. It may 
 be asked how he spends so much money. A good deal of it is 
 spent at the theatre, to which he goes with a regularity equal 
 to the actors themselves, and in treating other youthful rogues 
 with whom he is in the habit of associating. It is in order 
 that he may get money to spend in this way that he persists in 
 begging. 
 
 There are various instances on record, so clearly authenticated 
 as to leave no room whatever for doubting them, of London 
 street-beggars having amassed fortunes, varying from 1,500/. to 
 3,000/. In one or two very rare instances they have been still 
 more fortunate. Some years ago a woman, who had stood with 
 a broom in her hand for about a quarter of a century in the 
 neighbourhood of Charing Cross, died worth nearly 3,000/. She 
 got the name, among the fraternity, of the banker, because she 
 was in the habit of lending small sums to others, at an enormous 
 rate of interest. She sometimes also lent considerable sums to 
 tradesmen, but never unless she received an exorbitant rate 
 of interest. It was proved by a bill found in her possession, 
 after her death, that she had lent one tradesman in West- 
 minster 50/. for three months, but at the monstrous interest of 
 fifty per cent, per annum. But the most extraordinary in- 
 stance of good fortune in this way I ever heard of, was ex- 
 hibited in the case of a man, a black, who for nearly thirty 
 years swept another crossing at Charing Cross. He actually 
 saved in that time, by his profession, 8,000/. The case of this 
 sable personage is alluded to in " Blackwood's Magazine 11 for 
 August last, whore the writer calculates the yearly average 
 proceeds of the man's broom at nearly 300/., — the above named 
 8,000/. being found at his death, in the wretched hovel in which 
 he vegetated ; so that none of it could have been the pro- 
 ceeds of interest on stock. Another woman, who for many 
 years swept a crossing in the Kent road, left at her death 
 1500/. to a clerk in the Bank of England, simply because he was 
 in the habit of giving her a penny more frequently than any 
 other passer by she knew. I have mentioned, in my First Series 
 of " The Great Metropolis,'' 1 the case of the black man with 
 one eye and snow-white hair tied behind, who died some years
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 27 
 
 — I 
 
 ago, leaving many hundred pounds to one of the late Alderman 
 Waithmans daughters, all of which money he had amassed 
 by means of his broom at the crossing, on Bridge street side, 
 from Ludgate street to Fleet street. The reason why this old 
 black left his money to Miss Waithman, was that she not only 
 gave him a penny or a halfpenny more frequently than any one 
 else, but enhanced the value of the gift by condescending to ac- 
 company it with a gracious smile. The only other instance I 
 shall mention of crossings sweepers having amassed large for- 
 tunes, is that of a black man, who some years ago returned to 
 his native country, the West Indies ; carrying with him, as the 
 savings of a long professional life, from 1,500/. to 1,800/. 
 
 But though a great many of our street beggars might, in 
 the course of twenty or thirty years, save as much in the pro- 
 secution of their avocation as would enable them to retire on a 
 handsome independency, the great majority of them are extrava- 
 gant and dissipated, and consequently live up to their income. 
 Not many years ago, one of them, a man about forty years of 
 age, actually paid to the landlord of a public-house, in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Oxford street, fifty shillings per week, for a consider- 
 able time, merely for what he ate and drank there. Thirty shil- 
 lings have been frequently the result of one day's skilful prose- 
 cution of street mendicancy. It is a fact, which has been proved 
 . to the satisfaction of several persons who had the curiosity to 
 inquire into it, that a gentleman having some years ago, in 
 1830 I think, accidentally met with an old schoolfellow, beg- 
 ging in the streets, — offered to procure him a situation which he 
 had then at his disposal, the remuneration for which was either 
 80/. or 60/. per annum, I forget which, and a free house ; but the 
 other at once refused it, saying he preferred his present mode of life. 
 Begging, however, it is but right to state, is not now so pro- 
 fitable a business as it was thirty years ago. I am assured 
 that two of the fraternity, a young man and an old one, hav- 
 ing met one day accidentally in the streets, the young man in- 
 quired at the other, what success he had met with that day : 
 "Ah," said the old man, fetching a deep sigh, "Ah ! Tommy, 
 very poor indeed, my boy ; begging is not now what it was in 
 my earlier days ; it is 50/. a-year worse than when I began 
 the trade.' 1 
 
 The expedients resorted to by the street-begging fraternity 
 of impostors, are of an infinitely varied kind. Some of them 
 must appear incredible to my readers ; they did so to myself 
 when I first heard them, and until the testimony of individuals, 
 whose statements I could no more question than I could my own 
 existence, established their truth beyond all possibility of doubt. 
 All sorts of physical ailments and infirmities are assumed ; but
 
 28 SKETCHES IN LONDON. ' 
 
 to be blind and lame seem to be two of the most favourite arti- 
 fices. I could relate numerous anecdotes respecting the pre- 
 tended want of vision, want of legs, or at least the want of the 
 use of them, of London beggars ; but I am afraid of extend- 
 ing the chapter to too great a length. Another expedient very 
 generally resorted to by the impostor portion of the London 
 beggars, is that of pretending to be quite feeble, either from 
 want or illness ; and in that assumed character, either lean- 
 ing against the wall of some house, or sitting on the steps of 
 some door, or other place where there is a great thoroughfare. 
 Not long since, a man, seemingly about fifty years of age, was 
 sitting, with nothing but rags on his back, on the steps leading 
 to St. Andrew's Church, Holborn, which, as most of my read- 
 ers know, is one of the most crowded parts of London. The 
 day was cold, and the person not only appeared to be suffer- 
 ing severely from the inclemency of the weather, but looked 
 as if he had been in the last stage of consumption, and in 
 a state of utter debility. To produce the latter impression, 
 and to impart as much as possible of a pale complexion to his 
 countenance, which he could any time cause to assume a most 
 sickly expression, he had wrapped up his head in a white napkin, 
 which having extended over his ears, he tied under his chin. 
 A more spectre-like appearance, I am assured by a gentle- 
 man who witnessed the scene, could not ha.ve been exhibited 
 by a human being. The ghosts which are personated in the 
 theatres by those who act the part of the elder Hamlet, 
 have not a tithe of the unearthly appearance which this per- 
 sonage had. The thing took amazingly. You not only saw the 
 deepest sympathy in the countenances of the spectators, but 
 every now and then you saw pence, in one or two instances 
 silver, finding their way into his hat, which was of course lying 
 ! eside him in the position most convenient for the ready re- 
 ception of whatever portion of the circulating medium should 
 come that way. " The poor man's dying, 11 said one. 
 
 "See how he gasps for breath I 1 ' observed another. 
 
 " Poor creature, he won't live an hour !" remarked a third. 
 
 "Why don't some one " A lady was in the act of mak- 
 ing some sympathetic observation, when, before she had time 
 to finish her sentence, he started in a twinkling to his feet, 
 and rushing through the ring formed by the spectators, darted 
 down Holborn with a rapidity which would have bid defiance, 
 I will venture to say, to the racing capabilities of the most 
 nimble of the assembled spectators. Had the man actually 
 risen from the dead, and come up from under the stones on 
 which he sat, they could scarcely have looked more surprised 
 at each other. The mystery was soon explained. While the
 
 REGGIXG IMPOSTORS. 29 
 
 kind and compassionating people were thus lost in amazement 
 at what they had witnessed, an officer of the Mendicity Society 
 made his appearance. The impostor, as they say in Scotland, 
 had caught a glimpse of him with the tail of his eye coming down 
 Holborn Hill, when some yards distant ; and not relishing a 
 month or six weeks in Bridewell, he thought it the best way to 
 take to his legs at once. About two years since another begging 
 impostor was often to be seen in Holborn, in the neighbour- 
 hood of Gray's- inn lane, who appeared, from his way of walking, 
 or rather of crawling, to be an impersonation of weakness itself. 
 People were afraid to touch him in passing, , lest they should 
 upset him in the street. You would have fancied that a breath 
 of wind would have laid him prostrate on the ground beyond 
 all possibility of resistance. An officer of the Mendicity Society, 
 who saw one evening in twilight with what success he was im- 
 posing his pretended infirmities on the public, took him into 
 custody. He walked some forty or fifty yards without offer- 
 ing any resistance, and without giving expression to even a 
 murmur ; but having then come to a rather retired place, he 
 suddenly wrested himself from the officer's grasp, and beat, or to 
 use his own expression, " walloped" him so severely, that he was 
 four months afterwards confined to his room. He is still alive, 
 but has not entirely recovered, and never will recover, from the 
 effects of the maltreatment he received at the hands and feet 
 of a ruffian, who but ten minutes before one would have 
 thought did not possess sufficient physical power to hurt even a 
 fly. The poor fellow's injuries are so great that he has not the 
 slightest chance of ever being able to do any thing towards his 
 own support. 
 
 There are a great many blind beggars in the metropolis. Those 
 who really are blind, and are, consequently, not in that sense im- 
 postors, are, in many instances, led by dogs in their various 
 professional peregrinations through town. • Some of these dogs 
 are so skilfully trained up in the parts they have to perform, that 
 they look almost as imploringly to the passers-by for alms as 
 their masters could do, had they the use of their vision. The 
 sagacity of some of these animals, too, also enables them, in 
 many cases, to distinguish between those persons who are likely 
 to give anything, and those who are not. Most of these dogs 
 carry a small tin box, in their mouths, to receive the gifts of 
 the charitably disposed. By far the most successful beggar, 
 through the assistance of a dog, of whom I have ever heard was 
 Charles Wood, a blind man, who lived upwards of twenty years 
 ago. As that was long before I resided in the metropolis, T will 
 give the account of this singularly dexterous and successful beg- 
 gar in the words of an author already alluded to. This writer
 
 SO SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 says, " Wood's dog, which was certainly a most extraordinary 
 one, he declared to be ' the real learned French dog Bob,' and 
 extolled his tricks by the following address : — ' Ladies and gen- 
 tlemen, this is the real learned French dog ; please to encourage 
 him : throw anything down to him, and see how nimbly he'll pick 
 it up, and give it to his poor blind master. Look about, Bob ; 
 be sharp — see what you're about, Bob l 1 Money being thrown 
 down, Bob picks it up, and puts it into his master's pocket. 
 ' Thank ye, my good masters ; should any more ladies and gen- 
 tlemen wish to encourage the poor dog, he's now quite in the 
 humour; hell pick it up almost before you can throw it down! 1 ' 
 This ingenious mendicant is said to have realized a large sum 
 with the aid of his " real learned French dog Bob ;" but as I 
 have not been able to ascertain the amount, I will not indulge in 
 any conjectures on the subject. 
 
 There was one other blind beggar whose dog displayed such 
 extraordinary sagacity, that I cannot forbear adding a word 
 or two regarding the mendicant and his four-footed leader. The 
 beggar was none other than George Dyball, who was so noto- 
 rious in town a good many years since, and celebrated as the 
 favourite pupil of the mendicant whom Flaxman, the eminent- 
 sculptor, chose as his model for his admirable statue of " The 
 Jolly Beggar." He always dressed as a sailor, though he never 
 put foot on board a ship in his life. His dog, which went by the 
 appropriate name of Nelson, would lead him to any particular 
 part of town which he named ; and, incredible as it may appear, 
 the fact has been established by personal observation, that the 
 dog, by choosing the best road, and taking the nearest cuts, 
 would, in many cases, conduct his master to the place in question 
 in the same space of time that an ordinary-paced walker would 
 have taken to go by the usual route. But Nelson could do 
 much more than this. He was actually instructed, by his inge- 
 nious and roguish master, to make a sort of response to the 
 latters petition, — " Pray pity the poor blind !"• This response 
 the animal made by uttering a most impressive whine, accompa- 
 nying his doleful language, if so it may be called, by raising his 
 eyes, and giving a most significant and imploring turn to his 
 head. But if he failed to attract the attention of the spec- 
 tators passing by, he would sometimes rub the tin box he carried 
 in his mouth against their knees, by way of an additional appeal 
 to their charitable feelings. And when successful in his solicita- 
 tions, Nelson would lay down the box in the street, take out the 
 money deposited in it with his mouth, and, putting it into the 
 hand of his master, wag his tail in token of his happiness at his 
 good fortune. 
 
 Thsre was another blind mendicant, who for many years levied
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 31 
 
 contributions on the west-end people, in Bond-street and the 
 neighbourhood, under the guidance of a little dog he called 
 Blucher, after, I believe, the great Prussian General of that 
 name. The only sentence this man was ever heard to utter, was 
 a short apostrophe addressed to his dog, whenever he supposed, 
 from the absence of the sound of people's feet, that no one was 
 within hearing. And what does the reader suppose the apos- 
 trophe was ? Why this — " Look after the money, Blucher P 
 the little dog carrying in his mouth a tin box for that purpose. 
 
 The most successful of the impostors assuming the character 
 of a dumb person, that have ever been brought under my know- 
 ledge, was that of a stout ruffian-looking fellow, who used, in the 
 prosecution of his mendicant avocation, to perambulate the streets 
 in the neighbourhood of Holborn-hill. He was in the habit of 
 going up to ladies, to whom he restricted his attempts at impos- 
 ition, and uttering the most unearthly and unintelligible sounds, 
 looking at the same time most piteously in their face. One day 
 he thrust himself in before two young ladies, who were walking 
 along the pavement in Ely-buildings, and looking wildly yet 
 imploringly at them, muttered out, " Hum, hum, hum, 11 in such 
 frightful tones, that one of the young ladies could not divest her 
 mind either of his personal appearance or of the unearthly sounds 
 of his. voice for some days afterwards, and was very ill m conse- 
 quence. A policeman, who had seen the conduct of the fellow 
 and the alarm of the ladies, took him to the station-house, and 
 brought him up next day before the magistrates at Hatton-Gar- 
 den. On being placed at the bar, the presiding magistrate 
 asked the policeman the nature of the charge against the pri- 
 soner. The former having stated the circumstances under which 
 the prisoner was taken into custody, the magistrate inquired 
 whether he was really dumb ? 
 
 " Not at all," was the answer. 
 
 " All pretended, is it V said the magistrate. 
 
 "It is, your worship ; he can speak as well as I can, 1 ' re- 
 plied the policeman. 
 
 " Well, Sir !" turning to the prisoner, "we'll hear what you 
 have to say to this." 
 
 " Hum, hum, hum," growled the fellow. 
 
 " O, you can't speak yet, eh ! " said the magistrate sternly. 
 
 " Hum, hum, hum," was the only answer. 
 
 " I'll give you three months in Clerkenw ell prison ; perhaps 
 you may recover your organs of speech by the end of that time," 
 observed the magistrate. 
 
 The prisoner looked fiercely at the magistrate, but uttered nor, 
 a word, not even a " hum." 
 
 " Take him away, officer,' 1
 
 32 SKETCHES IN L0XD0X. 
 
 This injunction had a miraculous effect on the prisoner. 
 " Please your vorship, I'm surely entitled to the eighteen shil- 
 lings this "ere policeman took from me, any how," said he, with a 
 fullness and distinctness of enunciation which would have done 
 credit to the most accomplished orator of modern times, and 
 amidst convulsions of laughter from all present. 
 
 One of the most extraordinary assumptions of distress, and 
 unquestionably one of the best sustained, which ever came under 
 my own observation, occurred some years ago, in a street in the 
 neighboui-hood of Shoreditch. The impostor in this case affected 
 to have been suddenly seized with a species of epileptic fits. I 
 was not present at the commencement of the performance, but 
 understood that he first pretended to fall with his back to the 
 wall, and then threw himself down, without injuring himself, till 
 he was in pretty nearly a horizontal position. He foamed at the 
 mouth at a furious rate ; his eye looked dim and glassy ; and his 
 whole body was dreadfully agitated. A number of persons were 
 soon congregated around him, and one or two silver pieces, 
 if I remember rightly, were put into his hat by ladies. I confess 
 that I myself was for once completely deceived. I did believe 
 the rogue laboured under some serious affliction. I could not 
 suppose that any one would ever think of assuming that peculiar 
 kind of distress, if they could ; and I did not believe that they 
 could assume it so effectually as to impose on the spectators, if they 
 would. I was soon undeceived. A policeman chanced to pass 
 that way, and coming in to see what the passengers were 
 stopping to gaze at, he exclaimed, " Ah, Jim, my boy, is it you 
 again V * at the same time seizing him in the most unceremo- 
 nious manner by the breast of the coat. " Come away, my lad ; 
 a good shake from me, you know, always cures you," giving him 
 two or three sound shakes, not, I should suppose, very unlike those 
 which the Newcastle apothecary gave to his patient. The impos- 
 tor affected to look up in the face of the policeman, just as if he 
 had recovered from a delirium, and observed, " O yes, I'm always 
 better after a shake or two from you I" 
 
 In the winter season the most approved mode of practising 
 deception among the street-begging impostors, is to appear 
 in a state of almost nakedness. They calculate on their ragged 
 appearance in inclement weather appealing more forcibly to the 
 feelings of the passers by, than any ordinary artifice to which 
 they could have recourse. In some cases their clothes, if such 
 they must be called, are in so tattered a condition, that one 
 cannot help wondering how they manage to get them to hold 
 together. I am sure that many of my metropolitan readers 
 
 * This had reference to recent impositions of a similar kind.
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. So 
 
 must often have been struck with the tattered appearance of a 
 slender skeleton-looking woman, with the fragment of a black 
 straw-bonnet on her head, who is frequently to be seen in Fleet- 
 street and the Strand, in inclement weather. Her wardrobe is 
 literally a bundle of rags, and they seem somehow or other to fit 
 so well, as to give her the appearance of being in stays all over. 
 This destitute-looking creature is seldom to be seen except in 
 cold or rainy weather. Her Bardolphian nose and blotched face 
 afford presumptive evidence that she expends in the gin shop 
 whatever she receives in charity. It is not that she cannot get 
 better clothes wherewith in some measure to protect herself from 
 the inclemency of the weather : it is that her tattered appear- 
 ance works more powerfully than any ordinary expedientwould, on 
 the sympathies of those who see her. Suppose she were to receive 
 half a dozen gowns in a day, from persons compassionating her 
 situation, she would never put one of them on. Her begging 
 speculation in that case would cease to answer ; all of the 
 gowns, in the supposed instance, would forthwith find their way to 
 the pawnbrokers, and the proceeds to the palaces whence blue 
 ruin is vended. It is a favourite practice with begging-impostor 
 mothers, to compel their children to remain in some gateway, or 
 other place fronting the public street, without shoes or stockings, 
 in the coldest days of winter ; because experience has taught 
 them, that, in addition to money, gifts of shoes and stockings are 
 often made to them. Some time ago, it was ascertained beyond 
 all question, that one mother who compelled her two children, 
 of the respective ages of ten and eight, to stand shivering in the 
 cold in the winter season, in a gateway in Broad-street, Hoi born, — 
 actually averaged four shillings per day for the price of shoes 
 given her children to wear, but every pair of which was nightly 
 sold to a second-hand shoe dealer in Monmouth-street. One of 
 the most skilful impostors in this way who ever came under my 
 own observation, was a dark looking man about thirty years of 
 age, who stood, a very considerable portion of last winter, 
 without shoes or stockings,, or anything to cover his head, in tho 
 gateway leading from Amen Corner, Paternoster Row, to Sta- 
 tioners' Hall Court. He was a stout healthy looking fellow, 
 and my opinion is, that he had become so inured to the cold as 
 to feel little inconvenience from it. He was all ears to catch 
 the sound of any footstep coming from either side before the 
 party made his appearance, and the moment ho did hear any 
 such footstep, he assumed, with a truth to nature I have seldom 
 seen* equalled, a fit of violent shivering. The stratagem an- 
 swered well; he collected considerable sums. He was never to be 
 seen in a mild day. In fact, all this class of impostors disappear 
 in good weather. They aro clothed in a comparatively comfort - 
 
 D
 
 34 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 able manner in summer, because a ragged aspect would not tell 
 at that season of the year. 
 
 But of all the expedients ever resorted to for the purpose of 
 extracting money from the pockets of the charitable, by impos- 
 ing on them through fictitious cases of distress, those adopted by a 
 fellow, a few years since, were incomparably the most extraordi- 
 nary. Will it be believed that this rogue, who was an excellent 
 swimmer, was in the habit of pretending attempts at suicide, by 
 throwing himself into the Thames, with a view to work upon the 
 feelings of whoever chanced to see him after being taken out of 
 the water? He always contrived to select a part of the river 
 near which there were a number of bye-standers, while another 
 person, who was a party to the affair, took care to give the 
 alarm, and call aloud for some boat in the vicinity. Whenever 
 the fellow pretending to have attempted suicide was brought out 
 of the water, the other, affecting to have been passing acciden- 
 tally at the time, addressed the spectators, and said that the 
 unfortunate man had been induced to make the rash attempt 
 through the greatest distress, and that this was the fourth or 
 fifth time he had sought to put an end to his life, and that within 
 a very short period. Every spectator who had a heart within 
 him, believing, as all always did, the got-up tale, put his hand 
 into his pocket, and gave something to "the poor unhappy 
 man." The collections thus made often amounted to two or 
 three pounds. This daring expedient, however, was only conve- 
 nient in the summer season ; winter was much too cold for doing 
 the thing comfortably. It will be asked, in what way, then, did 
 this consummate rogue manage to live in winter ? Why, by 
 affecting to commit suicide by hanging himself in some public 
 place, in the evenings . He used to fasten a rope to some lamp- 
 post or other projection at the corner of a partially frequented 
 lane or street, and then encircling his neck with another part of 
 the rope, he would scale the lamp-post -or other projection, as if 
 about to throw himself down again and thereby hang himself; 
 but always at this critical moment his partner in imposture 
 made his appearance, and, cutting the rope, prevented the rogue 
 from carrying his pretended purpose into effect. Of course an 
 assemblage of people presently gathered around ; the same story of 
 distress was vamped up ; the deepest sympathy was expressed for 
 the " unhappy man;" and the shillings and sixpences were forth- 
 coming from every pocket, accompanied with the warmest com- 
 mendation of the humanity of the other rogue. But the lead- 
 ing performer in this drama of imposition on the benevolent 
 public, was eventually constrained to relinquish his part. The 
 catastrophe was one evening very nearly realised in all its horrors. 
 In ascending a lamp-post, after the rope had been fairly round
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 35 
 
 his neck, he slipped his foot and fell, and would actually have 
 been hanged but for the opportune appearance of his friend, who 
 cut him down. From that moment he ever afterwards had such a 
 horror of a rope, that the very sight of one made him turn pale. 
 
 I may here mention, that in the summer of last year, I myself 
 saw a woman conducted by two policemen to Bow-street, who 
 having taken a boat at Waterloo Bridge under the pretext of 
 wishing to cross the river, threw herself into the water when 
 the boat had gone a few yards. She was brought out of the 
 river, after being for several seconds fairly immersed in it. The 
 policemen mentioned to me, that she had done the same thing, 
 at the same place, in open day, several times before. Whether 
 it ever was productive to her in a pecuniary point of view, I 
 cannot tell ; indeed, I do not know whether it was done with 
 that view; but certainly when I saw her, which was a few 
 minutes after she was taken out, she seemed to regard the cir- 
 cumstance as a mere matter of course. 
 
 Among the many expedients resorted to by the female 
 begging impostors, to excite the sympathies of the humane and 
 charitable, that of having two children, representing them as 
 twins, is a very common one. The usual practice in such cases 
 is to borrow from some acquaintance a child as like their own in 
 age and size as possible. In some cases, where the impostor 
 has no child of her own, she procures the loan of two children 
 from acquaintances, making a compensation to the parties out 
 of the proceeds of her imposition. 
 
 Those in the habit of observing what is passing in the streets, 
 can hardly fail to have been struck with the circumstance of the 
 apparent age and size of the alleged twins remaining the same 
 for a long time. I know a lady, who was for a long time in the 
 habit of giving, every Saturday night, a small sum to a woman 
 she always saw on that evening sitting in Clare Market, with 
 a couple of pretended twins. She at length began to feel sur- 
 prised that the babies, as she called them, never appeared to 
 grow bigger. This led to enquiries, and to the consequent de- 
 tection of the imposition. But the most singular case of this 
 kind of which I have ever heard, was one which was proved 
 before a committee of the House of Commons some years ago. 
 The case was that of a woman who had regularly, at the same 
 hours, occupied the same spot for ten years, all the while exhibit- 
 ing two children as pretended twins. 
 
 But by far the most ingenious expedient I ever heard of as 
 being resorted to by any of the impostor sisterhood, in connec- 
 tion with children, was that employed about six: months ago by a 
 woman who usually restricted her efforts at imposition to the 
 west end. This woman was, about the time I have mentioned, 
 
 D 2
 
 36 SKETCHES IN LONDON'. 
 
 seen standing one cold winter's day, at the corner of Davies- 
 street, Berkeley Square, shivering from the inclemency of the 
 weather, and seemingly in a state of the greatest misery. She 
 stated, in answer to enquiries made by some ladies, who in passing 
 commiserated her condition, that her great concern was about 
 her " dear baby,"" and not herself. " The dear infant," she 
 said, giving something she held in her arms a gentle pressure to 
 her breast, " the dear infant has not tasted any nourishment to- 
 day, I having no milk to give it owing to the destitute condition 
 in which I am placed." 11 
 
 The ladies looked at each other in a very sympathetic manner, 
 and one of them put a trifle into the woman's hand, desiring her 
 to go and get some food for herself, that she might be able to 
 suckle her baby. Just at this moment a plainly dressed man 
 advanced to the spot where the woman stood, who was now sur- 
 rounded by a small crowd of persons. " What's the matter?" 
 he enquired, as he elbowed his way past some of the spectators. 
 " A woman and child starving, 1 ' was the answer of one of the 
 ladies in the crowd. On getting nearer the woman, he at once 
 recognised her as a person he had seen in similar circumstances 
 but a few days before. " Is the child ill \ just let me see it if 
 you please, 11 he observed, at the same time putting out his hand, 
 and pulling the woman's cloke forcibly aside. Down dropped 
 something bulky on the pavement. " O the dear child's killed I 1 ' 
 shrieked the female bystanders, as if with one voice ; and a 
 feeling of horror came over the minds of all the male persons 
 present. On taking up the supposed child, what does the reader 
 suppose it turned out to be \ Why, a bundle of rags made up 
 as the effigy of a child ! 
 
 It will appear a startling statement to those who have never 
 paid any attention to the subject, but it can be proved to be a 
 fact by several of the police magistrates, that in street-mendi 
 cancy, as in almost every thing else, there have been a great 
 deal of speculation and several co-partneries of late years. Two 
 or three persons take a house, and receive into their keep- 
 ing a number of beggars ; just as certain women do those poor 
 females who call themselves unfortunate girls. They take 
 them on the condition of receiving every day all they collect, 
 they providing them with bed, lodging, food, &c. and allowing 
 them in some cases, though not in all, a certain per centage 
 on what they receive. One inducement to the working mendi- 
 cants to accept these terms, is that they have a sort of home 
 to remain in, at least for some time, if they are unable to ply 
 their vocation, or if not successful in it. Another inducement is 
 that they enjoy, in this way, the society of kindred spirits. It 
 was proved by undeniable evidence — if I recollect rightly, or
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 37 
 
 oath — about three years ago, in one of our police offices, that 
 certain parties, residing in the neighbourhood of Saffron Hill, had 
 no fewer than about thirty beggars, chiefly Italian boys, living 
 in one house ; and that in order to insure a profitable result 
 from the speculation, the younger ones were threatened with 
 exclusion from the house on their return at night, if they 
 did not bring home a certain sum. It was established at the 
 same time on the clearest evidence, that a trade had been car- 
 ried on for some time by the same parties, in the importation 
 of these boys, who pursued their avocation by means of a hand 
 organ, a white mouse, or something else to afford an excuse for 
 begging. It was stated, in April 1834, by an Italian gentle- 
 man named Lucioni, before Mr. White, one of the magis- 
 trates of Queen Square police office, that there were then no 
 fewer than 4,000 of these boys in England, and that many of 
 them were sent to beg through all parts of the country. The 
 same gentleman also stated that the boys were most cruelly 
 used by their masters. " The food of the poor lads,"" said he, 
 " when they came home at night, and when the pence were 
 taken from them by their masters, consisted of the very worst 
 rice that could be procured, potatoes, and the rinds and scraps 
 of bacon, bought at the cheesemongers 1 , which are all boiled 
 up together; they were then all huddled into a room to lay 
 upon straw. Their masters," he added, " dress in the most 
 fashionable style; wear gold chains, brooches, rings, &c, 
 about their persons, and frequent the west end." I am as- 
 sured, that in several instances, these speculators in youthful 
 Italian mendicants, have made a fortune by the business and 
 returned to their own country, where they have purchased small 
 estates and are now living in independence. In a great many 
 other cases parents make a trade by sending out their children 
 to the streets, threatening to beat them if they return with- 
 out a certain amount of money. 
 
 Two or three cases have come to my own knowledge, of beg- 
 ging companies being formed on the most approved principles, 
 and street mendicancy being; carried on, on a system of the 
 most perfect organization. The most singular instance of this 
 kind occurred about fifteen years ago, when several rogues, all of 
 whose names were given me, entered, with the view of plundering 
 the lieges, into a brotherhood, so close and cordial that that 
 of freemasons, were compared with it, unworthy of the name. 
 They divided the metropolis into districts, each having his own 
 " beat" duly assigned him ; and availing themselves of a London 
 Directory, they easily found out the names and occupations of 
 such individuals as they thought the most likely subjects for being 
 imposed on. Each of the number of the fraternity averaged
 
 38 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 from twelve to fifteen shillings per diem, allowing only six 
 working hours to the day. Their head-quarters were in the 
 Commercial Road, where they had their jollification every 
 night. The brotherhood lasted for some years. What the 
 causes were of its eventually breaking up, I' have not been 
 able to learn. 
 
 Most of the begging companies or co-partneries which exist in 
 different parts of London, hold stated meetings at the place pa- 
 tronized by the leading commanders of the band. Such place is 
 always considered head-quarters. When new troops or partners 
 are admitted, or rather when they are candidates for admission 
 to the honour and advantages of membership, it is customary to 
 examine, with great care, their pretensions. If they are not 
 deemed fit for the profession ; if, in other words, it is supposed 
 they are not likely to prove profitable to the general concern, but 
 rather, from their ignorance of their business, to be a burden upon 
 the existing members, they are rejected at once. If a favour- 
 able opinion be entertained of their mendicant qualifications ; if, 
 in other terms, they are looked on as skilful impostors, they are 
 received into the brotherhood with open arms 
 
 But the most amusing part of the proceedings of a begging 
 association usually takes place at the formation of the company. 
 A sort of rehearsal, such as takes place in a theatre when a new 
 piece is about to be produced, is then duly gone through, in which 
 the pretensions of each member of the fraternity to the part he 
 assumes are put to the test by the leaders of the gang, assisted 
 by the opinions of some of "the friends." About two years 
 since, a young man, now, I fear, dead — for he was then in a very 
 delicate state of health, and I have heard nothing of him since — 
 about two years ago this young man* was seized with so uncon- 
 querable a desire to make himself personally acquainted with the 
 habits, conversation, &c, of the leading mendicants in town, that 
 he actually put on a suit of ragged clothes, and spent a whole night 
 with fifteen or twenty of them in a house in St. Giles's. From 
 his account of what he saw that night, I hope to be able to con- 
 vey to the mind of the reader some idea of what takes place at 
 one of the rehearsals to which I have referred. The best way to 
 do this will be to refer to a particular case. In the formation 
 of a company it was lately proposed to establish, in consequence 
 of a dissolution, caused partly by deaths and partly by differences, 
 in an old one, there were three persons who took the lead in the 
 matter. What was rather unusual, these three persons belonged 
 to the different sections of the United Kingdom. The first was 
 
 * Leig'i Hunt referred to this young man in one of the numbers of his " London 
 Journal."
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. '39 
 
 an Englishman, the second a Scotchman, and the third an Irish- 
 man. At all rehearsals it is an invariable practice to have an 
 ample supply of gin, and, if the funds will permit, something in 
 the shape of boiled ham, bacon, or other butcher's meat. On 
 the occasion to which I allude there was no lack either of " sum- 
 mut" to drink or " sumraut 1 ' to eat. 
 
 "Now, then, Mick Ryan, my honey !" said the Irishman, whose 
 name was Murtach O'Flannagan, to a countryman of his own, 
 who wished to become a member : " now, then, what character 
 would your jewel of a self be after a-takin' up." 
 
 " Och, it's meself would like to go upon a pair of sticks," an- 
 swered Mick. 
 
 "A pair of sticks !" said Tom Smith, the Englishman, evidently 
 at a loss to know Mick's meaning. 
 
 " O, he means twa stalves," observed Charlie Mackay, the 
 Scotchman. 
 
 " Stalves !" exclaimed Tom, evidently as much in the dark as 
 before ; " stalves ! what's that V 
 
 " Sure an 1 it's what you English call crutches that he manes,"' 1 
 interposed Murtach. 
 
 " O, crutches is it V said Tom, surprised at his own stu- 
 pidity. 
 
 " And do you think, man, that ye can gae like a cripple V in- 
 quired the Scotchman. " Lafs see fat ye can do that way," 
 taking two crutches from a nook of the apartment and putting 
 them into Mick's hand. 
 
 " Aye, come let's see how you can walk on crutches," said Tom 
 Smith. 
 
 " Do, come, Mick, my darlint, and be after showin 1 us what 
 it's yourself can do in that same way," echoed O'Flannagan. 
 
 " Joe Higgs, don't you be a swallowin' that ere bakun faster 
 nor you're a roastin' on it," said Smith, by way of parenthesis, 
 to a hungry-looking fellow who was turning a piece of bacon with 
 his fingers on a gridiron, which had evidently seen much service 
 in that way. 
 
 " I vas only a lickin 1 o' my fingers, because as how they were 
 burnt by this ere fat," said the personage who was presiding at 
 the gridiron, without deigning to lift up his eye from it. 
 
 " Well, don't do it no more," observed Smith, turning towards 
 Mick, who by this time had put the crutches in a proper position 
 for a start. 
 
 " Noo," said Charlie Mackay, " noo, man, gae awa till we see 
 fif the stalves becomes you. I wish I had a drap o' Highland 
 whiskey, the real Grlenlivat. I dinna like that stuff o 1 gin," he 
 added, addressing himself to Tom Smith, who at this moment was 
 m the act of tendering him a bumper of blue ruin.
 
 40 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 Mick made two or three tottering steps through the room, 
 leaning on his crutches. 
 
 " Och, thunder and lightnin' !" exclaimed O'Flannagan, " that 
 will never do. Ned Stubbs," he continued, addressing himself to 
 a little ragged fellow, who held in his hand a pewter pot full of 
 gin, " Ned Stubbs, my boy, just give me a mouthful of the cratur to 
 comfort my poor sowl wid." 
 
 " You walk too stately like," said Tom Smith to the candidate 
 for membership. 
 
 "Aye, you must put yoursel' a little mair twa-fall*, roan, be- 
 fore you can do ony good !" observed Charlie. 
 
 Mick, obeying the instructions given him, put himself into 
 a diagonal position, and crawled away three or four yards 
 farther. 
 
 " By the powers !" exclaimed Mick's countryman, a gleam of 
 joy irradiating his countenance as he gazed on Mick, " By the 
 powers ! that same's just the thing. Isn't it, my jewel \" turn- 
 ing to Tom Smith. 
 
 " It is to a hair ; nothing could be better," answered the lat- 
 ter. „ " I say, O'Flannagan," added Tom, winking knowingly at 
 the Scotchman, " Hell do capital well — eh ?" 
 
 " Naething could be better : it's true to nature, 1- ' replied 
 Charlie" Mackay. 
 
 " You'll make a trump of a "un ; take a glass of gin," said 
 Smith, addressing himself to Mick, and handing him a glass of 
 Fearon's best, which Mick drank off with due expedition, licking 
 his lips after it, as much as to say, " I would have no objection,to 
 another of that same." 
 
 " Fred. Jones, vot character would you like to appear in?" in- 
 quired Smith, turning himself to a skin-and-bone-looking little 
 Welshman, with a most demure expression of countenance, 
 — just as if he had been made for frightening away the crows 
 from the corn ; " vot character would you prefer ?" 
 
 " Voy, I don't know as how I knows myself," was the luminous 
 and satisfactory answer. 
 
 " My opinion is," said Charlie ; '* my opinion is, that" He 
 
 was about to deliver his opinion, but was interrupted by Mur- 
 tach exclaiming in a voice of Stentorian power — 
 
 " Och, bad luck to that spalpeen in the corner there ! By my 
 sowl he's drinkin' the last dhrop of the gin." Here Murtach 
 pointed to a stout athletic fellow, with a face as black as the re- 
 mains of the hat he had on his head, who was standing with his 
 back to the others, with the pewter jug of gin at his mouth, 
 and emptying it as fast as the liquid could find a passage down 
 his throat. 
 
 * Twofold.
 
 ^6 

 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 41 
 
 " Vy that's too bad, Harley ; you ough+ to be ashamed of 
 yourself," said Mr. Smith. 
 
 Why or wherefore this personage was called Harley, or whe- 
 ther that was really any part of his name, I have not been able to 
 ascertain ; but he turned about, and putting a bold face on the 
 matter, insisted that he was not drinking the gin, but had only 
 put it to his lips without being aware of the circumstance. 
 
 " Mackay," said Smith, apostrophising the Scotchman, " you 
 were a-going to say something about Fred." 
 
 " I was just going to say that I dinna think he'll need any ither 
 character than he has by nature. I think his very awfu' looking 
 face will be enough to get him plenty o' bawbees." 
 
 After some further discussion it was agreed that Fred. Jones 
 should, in the first instance, take the streets in his real character, 
 and that if that was not found to answer, it should afterwards be 
 taken into consideration what other one it would be most ad- 
 visable to assume. 
 
 " Timothy Soaper, I think you said you would prefer wooden 
 leg and an arm crutch — did you not \ 
 
 This was addressed by Smith to a young, healthy-looking fel- 
 low, with a straw broad-brimmed hat, who was sitting cross- 
 legged on the floor, in the neighbourhood of the hearth-stone, 
 munching the remains of a quartern loaf, and a piece of bacon half 
 raw. 
 
 " Yes," he answered in a gruff tone, assuming a perpendicular 
 position ; " yes, I thinks as how I'll try that ere." 
 
 ** Come away, then, my darlint, and try on the wooden leg," 
 said O'Flannagan. 
 
 " Ned, my boy, jost gie us a wooden leg out of that ere nook," 
 said Charlie, pointing to a corner of the room in which there was 
 a very large assortment of wooden legs, crutches, brooms, tat- 
 tered garments, and everything necessary to equip one in any 
 particular character which either of the mendicants might think 
 proper to assume. 
 
 A wooden leg having been produced, Soaper advanced to have 
 it put on. Mackay undertook the task of strapping it. The knee 
 having been fairly inserted, he proceeded to fasten it, when pull- 
 ing the strap too hard, Soaper roared out as lustily as if he had 
 been undergoing the operation of tooth-drawing. 
 
 " Be aisy, be aisy !" said O'Flannagan to Charlie, " and 
 don't be after killin' him quite." 
 
 The knee of Soaper was fairly fastened, and he made several 
 steps through the place, but he did the thing so very clumsily, 
 and the foot which protruded behind him, notwithstanding 
 its being wrapped in rags, looked so very unlike a lame one, 
 that the three leading personages in the company came to an
 
 42 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 unanimous conclusion that he would never do in that cha- 
 racter. 
 
 " Then," said he, on hearing their decision, " I'll take up 
 again the one vot I use to be in ;" clapping his fingers on his 
 eyes to denote that he meant the character of a blind man. 
 
 This did not altogether meet the view of Smith, Mackay, and 
 O'Flannagan, because the candidate had not done great things 
 in that character before . It was, however, agreed that he should 
 appear in it for some time, until they saw whether any better 
 one which he could sustain with effect, should suggest itself. 
 
 There was another candidate, a fat shrivelled-faced middle- 
 aged man, deeply pitted with the small-pox, who also aspired at 
 sustaining the character of a blind beggar. He had before " tried 
 it on" by appearing to shiver with cold at the corners of streets, 
 but as he had not found the thing so profitable as he expected, 
 even in the winter season, he saw clearly, now that summer was at 
 hand, that it would not answer at all ! He had therefore thought 
 of trying what could be done by personating the character of a 
 blind man, and had, with the view of ensuring success in his 
 new line, been for nine weeks trying how mournfully he could 
 repeat the words " Pity the poor blind !" " Let us hear you, 11 
 said Smith. 
 
 " Yes, sure, 11 said O'Flannagan, "be after repating it to us." 
 
 The other did so, and drawled out the words in so touching 
 a tone, that one would have thought it impossible for any human 
 being to resist his appeals for a few pence. 
 
 " Charlie, my boy, 11 whispered Smith, into the Scotchman's 
 ear, the moment he heard the peculiar twang of the candidate ; 
 "Charlie, my boy, this fellow vili do ; blow me tight if he don't. 11 
 
 " Jim Burgess, vat vould you like to be V said Smith, to a 
 black curly-headed copper-faced, thick-lipped personage, sitting 
 on a broken chair, who all this time had never opened his 
 mouth. 
 
 " I vould likes to be a negro character," answered Jim. 
 
 " Och! by the mother that bore me, but that's just the thing 
 for him — isn't it, Jim?" said O'Flannagan, turning to Smith. 
 
 " I thinks so too," said the latter. " With a little wet soot on 
 his ugly face he'll look the character to a hair. Bring the wet 
 soot here, Mac." 
 
 The Scotchman brought the commodity with all expedition, 
 and Jim lost no time in thoroughly besmearing his frontispiece 
 with it. " Och, by the powers !" exclaimed O'Flannagan, as he 
 gazed on the sooty visage of Jim ; " Och ! by the powers ! but 
 he'll make the fortune of us all." 
 
 Two other candidates were admitted, who were each confident 
 that a legible written label, with suitable words, would, with the
 
 
 

 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 43 
 
 advantage they possessed of a most distressed personal appear- 
 ance, insure a very fair measure of success without resorting to 
 any other expedient. The one was to hold out his label in his 
 hands, and the other was to have it affixed to his hat. The 
 label of the first was agreed to be " Out of Employ ;" that of 
 the other "Great Distress." The last was to be the one which 
 was to be affixed to the hat. Both were certainly very short 
 and very simple. 
 
 But 1 must not go into further details respecting this rehearsal 
 of the beggars. Some there were who claimed to be admitted 
 into the society on the ground of their powers of enduring cold, 
 and consequently being able to appear half naked in the streets ; 
 while others thought they might, without any thing of an adven- 
 titious kind, confidently trust to the power they possessed over 
 their features, by which they could assume the most frightful 
 conceivable expression of countenance. The scene was altoge- 
 ther one of ineffable richness, to which no justice can be done 
 1 >y mere description. The rehearsal having been completed and 
 the arrangements for commencing operations next day been 
 concluded, the party ordered a fresh supply of chops, ham, 
 bacon, gin, porter, and spent one of the most jovial evenings 
 ever witnessed even in St. Giles's, — which is by far the most 
 jovial locality in London. Who could have believed, that next 
 day the rogues would be seen crawling about the streets the very 
 personification of apparent wretchedness and destitution ? 
 
 I have often thought that of all modes of street begging, that 
 of sweeping the crossings is the least troublesome and the most 
 profitable. The latter opinion will, I am sure, be concurred in by 
 all who have read the statements formerly given of individual in- 
 stances of fortunes having been made in this branch of the mendi- 
 cant professsion. Of course, then, it is an object to get possession 
 of a good stand ; for if once fairly in the possession of one of the 
 fraternity, the tenure will remain undisputed for the party's life. 
 The crossings-sweepers are great sticklers for prescriptive rights. 
 If any new comer were to attempt, either by physical force or 
 otherwise, to dispossess one of the brotherhood from that small 
 portion of the metropolitan territory which he has profes- 
 sionally occupied before, all the brooms in London would be 
 uplifted against him before he knew what he was about, and he 
 would have cause to bless his stars if he escaped being scrubbed 
 or "broomed' 1 to death. The crossings-sweepers never fight 
 with any other weapons than their brooms. A scuffle between 
 two or more of them is a rich scene ; it is one of the richest 
 which a person will see in a life-time. Whenever a crossing- 
 sweeper dies, it is a great matter to be the first to take pos- 
 session of the vacant spot. This priority of possession is to
 
 44 SKETCH E9 IN LONDON. 
 
 insure it to the party for life. Hence if the circumstance should 
 chance to transpire that one of the brotherhood is dangerously 
 ill, the greatest anxiety is evinced to be the first, if possible, to 
 take possession of his vacant post, after he has breathed his last. 
 The number of aspirants after such a productive stand, that is, 
 one in a good part of the town, when the existing occupier is 
 understood to be dangerously ill, is incredibly great. 
 
 In some cases, as in that, for instance, of the black formerly 
 referred to, who retired with a fortune of fifteen hundred 
 pounds, and returned to his native country, the West Indies; 
 in some cases, the possessors of a good stand dispose of it 
 just as men do other trades. It was proved, a few years since, 
 before a select committee of the House of Commons, that beg- 
 ging businesses had actually been sold for considerable sums. 
 
 I have often been struck, as I am sure every one who has 
 passed through the streets of London must have been, with the 
 great number of black men who possess lucrative stands. How 
 it happens that so many of these ebony personages have been so 
 fortunate, compared with the white population of London, is 
 one of those things which are beyond the reach of my phi- 
 losophy. 
 
 I have already remarked that, with very few exceptions, all 
 the London beggars live up to their means; and that what they 
 earn, or rather swindle out of a benevolent and confiding public, 
 is spent in eating and drinking. The luxuries in this way, which 
 some of our street mendicants can often boast of, would appear 
 incredible to those who are unacquainted with the subject. But 
 gin is the great thing with most of them. I knew one, and 
 only one, who spent a considerable portion of his professional 
 proceeds in the article of dress. This man, who used to be seen 
 daily in the neighbourhood of Holborn, decrepit in appearance, 
 and with the most ragged wardrobe that was ever fastened about 
 the human body, regularly gave up his avocation at six in the 
 evening, and in about an hour afterwards, was to be seen in the 
 parlour of a publiohouse in Gray's Inn Lane, where he remained 
 till eleven at night, smoking his pipe and drinking his brandy 
 and water, and dressed in a suit of clothes, with his legs encased 
 in top boots, which no gentleman would be ashamed to wear. 
 The gentleman to whom I am indebted for this interesting fact, 
 tells me that he has missed this mendicant for some time, and 
 has not been able to learn what has become of him. Very few 
 of the fraternity, however, waste much of their gleanings in 
 apparel ; the belly is the great thing with the vast majority of 
 them : they are great gourmands. Not more partial is an 
 alderman to his turtle soup, than are these gentry to the good 
 things of this life. There are several of them who "spit" their
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 4-5 
 
 goose or duck at least three times a week. There are also 
 numbers who hold regular convivial meetings, at which some 
 remarkable gastronomic feats are performed. On some special 
 occasions they regularly elect their chairman, and have their 
 series of toasts, their speeches, and songs, as on other great public 
 occasions. It is known to several persons, that George the 
 Fourth, when Prince of Wales, went, on one occasion, with 
 his friend Major Hanger, to witness the scenes which take place 
 at these guzzlling exhibitions of the mendicants. Tutored as 
 the young prince was by Sheridan and others of his boon com- 
 panions in all sorts of frolics, he enjoyed the scene for some 
 time. At last, however, a circumstance occurred which some- 
 what disconcerted him. The beggar who presided on the occa- 
 sion as chairman, after a temporary pause in the merriment of 
 the evening, rose, and pointing to the Prince said, " With the 
 permission of the company, I calls on that ere gemman with 
 the clean shirt on, for a song.' 11 A round of applause from the 
 rest of the "jolly beggars" showed how eagerly they responded 
 to the appeal thus made to his Royal Highness. He winked 
 significantly at Major Hanger, and then stammered out the 
 expression of a hope, that as he was no singer the company 
 would excuse him. 
 
 " Not a bit of it," said the chairman. 
 
 " Veil have no denial, young man," said another of the jovial 
 crew. 
 
 " Perhaps, gentlemen, you'll allow the gentleman to sing by 
 proxy," interposed Major Hanger. 
 
 " Proxy !" said several voices at once, " vat's proxy? 1 ' 
 
 " O, another person singing for him," answered the major. 
 
 " O certainly, if he can find one," said the chairman, looking 
 round for the concurrence of the company in his sentiment. 
 
 " O, there can be no objections to that," observed a dozen 
 voices at once. 
 
 " Come then, H , you must do it yourself," said the 
 
 prince, addressing himself to the major. The latter promptly 
 responded to the appeal, and sung amidst great applause a well- 
 known ballad — well-known, I mean, among the fraternity them- 
 selves — called " The Beggar's Wedding." 
 
 " GenTmen," said the proprietor of a little unwashed and un- 
 shaved face, and a nose of remarkable flatness, who sat opposite 
 the chairman, " GenTmen, let us drink the health and song 
 of the genTman vot'fl just sung." 
 
 " GenTmen," shouted the chairman, drawing his own glass 
 towards himself; "genTmen, fill your glasses." 
 
 Every glass was full to the brim in a moment.
 
 46 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " The genTman , s health and song," said the chairman in 
 Stentorian accents. 
 
 " The genl'man's health and song," shouted a host of voices, 
 and in an instant every glass was emptied of its contents, except 
 that of the Prince. 
 
 " I say, young man, vy don't you drink to your friend V said 
 a round faced mendicant, who sat opposite his Royal Highness, 
 his eyes rolling in a fine frenzy through the inspiring influence 
 of the liquid he had so copiously quaffed. 
 
 " O, I beg your pardon, Sir,' 1 answered the Prince, who had 
 been for the moment lost in surprise at the ecstasies of up- 
 roarious merriment he witnessed every where around him ; " O, 
 I beg your pardon, Sir, for the omission, it was quite accidental, 
 I assure you." This was addressed to the personage who had 
 challenged him for not drinking to the major. 
 
 " Veil, vy don't you do it now \" inquired the other, who was 
 a very consequential personage in his own estimation. 
 
 The Prince filled up his glass, and having drunk off" the con- 
 tents to the health and song of Major Hanger, held it out in 
 his hand in an inverted position. 
 
 " Bravo ! you're a trump !" " Go it, clean shirt !" shouted a 
 dozen voices. 
 
 " Three cheers for the gentleman who has favoured us with so 
 excellent a song ! '" exclaimed the Prince, beginning to feel him- 
 self more at home. As he spoke he rose, and waved his hand 
 with his empty glass in the air, as if to lead the plaudits of the 
 others. All present were on their legs in an instant, and deaf- 
 ening and universal were the cheers with which the major was 
 greeted. The scene was kept up with great spirit and eclat, 
 until at least one half of the "jolly beggars" had drunk them- 
 selves asleep, and lay like so many masses of inert clay on the 
 floor, in a horizontal position. The Prince often afterwards 
 spoke of this adventure. He never mentioned it in the hearing 
 of Sheridan, without the latter feeling the deepest regret that 
 he was not an actor in so rich a scene of low life. 
 
 The beggars, at all their carnivals, adhere most scrupulously 
 to the good old custom of having their toddy made in a large 
 bowl, usually a pewter one. They hold that there is nothing 
 like brotherly feeling in the modern practice of every one having 
 his toddy made in a tumbler of his own. They are great Tories 
 as regards all ancient usages ; they have a perfect horror of 
 innovation in such cases. 
 
 They are, for the most part, early risers, and will walk any 
 distance in the morning, before setting out professionally, to visit 
 those public-houses which are most largely patronized by the
 
 BEGGING IMPOSTOUS. 47 
 
 fraternity. There is one public-house in Oxford-street, which 
 used to be, — and I have no doubt still is, though I cannot 
 speak positively to the latter fact, — crowded with them by six 
 o'clock in the morning. The landlord of this house has repeat- 
 edly mentioned that, on an average, about one hundred and 
 fifty mendicants were in the habit of visiting his house in a day, 
 and he has always added that he would never wish to have any 
 better customers ; for it was quite a common thing for the ma- 
 jority of the number to have individually their half pint of gin 
 before nine in the morning. 
 
 In those lodging-houses which were formerly open to the beg- 
 ging fraternity promiscuously, and where business was carried on 
 on a large scale, it was found, from experience, necessary to take 
 certain precautions against the abstraction of any of the articles 
 of furniture. Mother Cummings, who died a few years since, 
 and who for a long period kept a lodging-house in a low street in 
 Bloomsbury, always made a point of turning the key on her cus- 
 tomers when they went to bed, and then unlocked the door with 
 her own hand in the morning. By this means she prevented any 
 of them making away with any articles of furniture in the course 
 of the night ; and as she witnessed every one of them quit their 
 hovels in the morning, the idea of felony in the case of her pro- 
 perty was out of the question. I may here mention, that Mother 
 Cummings, while she was alive, kept by far the most exten- 
 sive lodging-house for mendicants, of any of her contemporaries. 
 She has been known to have had, on repeated occasions, upwards 
 of eighty lodgers in one night. And, strange as it may seem, it 
 was proved to be a fact, that she had one round bed in which, 
 when there was an unusual demand for accommodation, eighteen 
 or twenty persons have been huddled together for the night. 
 Mother Cummings made always a distinction between the better 
 and inferior class of mendicants. With this view she had two 
 prices for accommodation for the night. The charge for a bed 
 in ordinary circumstances was two-pence per night ; but if any 
 one chose to indulge in the luxury of clean straw, the charge was 
 four-pence. The choice, therefore, of the different applicants for 
 lodgings, in the matter of their bed, enabled her at once to range 
 her customers into two classes ; and both were treated by her 
 with a measure of attention corresponding to the place they 
 occupied in her estimation.* 
 
 It would seem as if some improvement had taken place of lato 
 in the morals of the mendicant gentry ; for until about twelve 
 
 * Mother Cummings eventually retired from business, having amassed a consider- 
 able amount of money. She took a private house in Somerstown, where she died. 
 The news of her death spread like wildfire among the fraternity, and her funeral was 
 attended by an immense number of her former lodgers.
 
 48 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 years since, not only was it necessary to lock these personages 
 into their hovels at night, but it was found equally necessary that 
 the knives and forks, the tongs and poker, and every other por- 
 table article in the places they used to frequent, should be fixed 
 by iron chains to the table, or the walls of the house, as the only 
 means of security against their being stolen. There was a sort 
 of low eating-house in St. Giles's, that used to be largely fre- 
 quented by the brotherhood, which furnished the last instance, 
 so far as I am aware, of this precaution being taken against 
 theft. That house was thrown down some years ago, preparatory 
 to improvements in the neighbourhood ; and I am not aware of 
 either the locking-in or the chaining system having been resorted 
 to in any subsequent case. It is gratifying to hear of an improve- 
 ment in morals among any class of the community ; there are few 
 classes in which there is yet room for greater improvements than 
 among the mendicant fraternitv.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 DEBTORS' PRISONS— THE QUEEN'S BENCH. 
 
 Debtors' Prisons — The various debtors' prisons — The average numoer of prisoners 
 in each — The Queen's Bench ; extent and nature of the accommodation in 
 
 it — The practice of chumming prisoners — Shops, business, &c Story of the 
 
 Pie-man — The tap-room— Eccentric characters — Tom Snaggs — Circumstances 
 under which persons are imprisoned — Partiality of some of the prisoners to the 
 Queen's Bench — Striking instance of this — Efforts made by some of the pri- 
 soners to keep up their former dignity — Story of a dinner — Various classes of 
 persons in the Queen's Bench — Changes in the external appearance of the better 
 class of prisoners after they have been a short time in the place — Unexpected 
 meetings of friends in the Bench — Illustrative anecdotes — General observations, 
 and anecdotes. 
 
 The question of imprisonment for debt having been of late so 
 often under the consideration of the legislature, the attention of 
 the public has been drawn to it within the last few years much 
 more generally than at any former period. Intimately connected 
 with this subject is that of the Debtors 1 Prisons in London ; and 
 as very few, with the exception of those who have had the mis- 
 fortune to be inmates, know any thing regarding these places, I 
 shall devote this chapter to them. I have only one preliminary 
 remark to make, which is, that all the facts and anecdotes which 
 I shall give relative to the Queen's Bench Prison, have been verb- 
 ally communicated to me by persons in the place, in the course 
 of repeated visits which I lately paid to it, for the purpose of 
 obtaining such information. 
 
 The Debtors 1 Prisons in London are five in number. They are, 
 the Queen's Bench, the Fleet, the Marshalsea, White Cross- 
 street, and Horsemonger-lane prisons. 
 
 As I shall afterwards have occasion to speak at considerable 
 length of the first-named prison, I shall make a few observations 
 on the others in this part of the chapter. The Fleet is a prison 
 for the confinement of persons under process of debt issuing 
 out of cither the Court of Common Pleas, or the Court of Ex- 
 chequer ; or for the confinement of parties who have been guilty of 
 contempt of either of these courts. The Fleet is also the place 
 of imprisonment for persons who are held guilty of a contempt 
 of the Court of Chancery, or of the Duchy Court of Lancaster. 
 Then; is a certain space without the prison which is called " The 
 Rules. 1 ' Within this space the prisoners are permitted to reside 
 at large, on furnishing satisfactory security against their escape. 
 
 K
 
 50 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 This is (lone by a warrant of attorney to confess judgment, and 
 on paying the warden of the prison a certain per centage upon 
 the debt, the amount of which per centage varies according to the 
 magnitude of the debt, and the circumstances of the debtor, but 
 never exceeds five per cent, on the first 100/., nor two and a 
 half on the second. The space within the rules embraces a cir- 
 cumference of three miles, and includes the London Coffee House. 
 Day rules may be had any day, during term, on which the Courts 
 of Common Pleas and Exchequer respectively sit, on applying 
 to the warden, and furnishing the same kind of security as in the 
 case just mentioned. A day rule enables the prisoner to go at 
 large during the particular day for which it is granted, from the 
 opening of the pi'ison gates in the morning till eleven o clock at 
 night. The expenses of a day rule, exclusive, of course, of the 
 amount of security required, are four shillings and sixpence. Of 
 this sum the warden gets one shilling ; the clerk of the papers 
 one shilling and tenpence; and the officers of the court, who 
 grant the rules, receive the remaining one shilling and eight- 
 pence. With regard to "chumming 11 and other internal arrange- 
 ments of the prison, I shall not say any thing here, as they will 
 be fully described when I come to speak of the Queen's Bench ; 
 the arrangements being essentially the same in both places. 
 The verage number of persons confined in the Fleet is about 230. 
 
 The Marsh alsea Prison is situated in South wark. The 
 number of persons confined in this prison is always much smaller 
 than in any of the other prisons in the metropolis. The reason 
 of this is, that it is restricted to the reception of two classes of 
 men ; first, officers and privates of the Royal Navy under sen- 
 tence of naval courts-martial for mutiny, desertion, Sic. ; and, 
 secondly, persons committed for debt or contempt, by the Palace 
 Court, whose jurisdiction extends to the distance of twelve miles 
 round the Palace at Westminster. It has no rules like the Fleet: 
 once consigned to it there is no getting out again, until you are 
 liberated altogether. The prisoners in this place are obliged 
 to find themselves in their own bedding, furniture, fuel, and 
 every thing else. Their number does not average more than 130. 
 
 White Cross-street Prison is a place appropriated exclusively 
 to those who are debtors to society. It is divided into three de- 
 partments ; the first is set apart for those persons who are free- 
 men of the city of London, and is called the Ludgate side of the 
 prison ; the second is set apart for persons within the jurisdiction 
 of the city, and is called the London side ; and the third is ap- 
 propriated to the reception of those arrested in the county, and 
 is called the Middlesex side. The number of persons committed 
 co this prison is much greater than in the case of any other of 
 the metropolitan prisons. This is to be accounted for from the 
 fact, that the majority of those ordered for imprisonment by the
 
 DKBTOKS' PRISONS — THE QUEENS BENCH. 51 
 
 Courts of Requests, are sent to this place. And such is the faci- 
 lity of the debtor and creditor law in consigning human beings to 
 prison, that a person has only to go and swear a debt of a shil- 
 ling or sixpence against any other party, before the City Court 
 of Requests, to have that party, if unable or unwilling to pay the 
 debt, shut up in this prison for twenty days. The number of 
 persons annually committed to White Cross-street prison is sup- 
 posed to be very nearly 2000 ; and the average number of per- 
 sons always confined in it exceeds 470. Its locality is in the City. 
 
 Horsemonger-lane Prison is very similar in its constitution 
 to that of White Cross-street. It is situated on the other side 
 of the water, at no great distance from the Queen's Bench prison. 
 A large proportion of its inmates consists of persons committed 
 on process issued by the Courts of Requests. The average annual 
 commitments are about 1200, and the average number of indivi- 
 duals confined in it at a time is upwards of 100. 
 
 The Queen's Bench Prison, from its greater importance, is 
 deserving of a more detailed notice than either of the others. 
 It is situated in the Borough of Southwark, and embraces, 
 with its open space, about four acres of ground. The princi- 
 pal building is 300 feet in length, and has a good deal of the 
 appearance of a barracks. The whole is enclosed by a wall 35 
 feet in height ; and which, to render the assurance of the safe 
 keeping of the inmates doubly sure, is surmounted by large iron 
 spikes. The exterior of the building is gloomy, owing partly to 
 the dingy hue of the bricks, and partly to the smallness and 
 plainness of the windows. The entire number of rooms within 
 the walls of the Queen's Bench prison, is 225, of which eight are 
 called " state rooms, 1 ' and are set apart for the better class of 
 prisoners. Half-a-crown a-week is paid as rent for one of these 
 rooms. For the other rooms, with the exception of a few back 
 ones which poor prisoners occupy rent free, the inmates pay one 
 shilling weekly, and have to provide their own furniture. If, 
 however, two persons are appointed to the same room, they are 
 only charged sixpence each ; if three, only fourpence each. In 
 addition to the 225 rooms, there are a coffee-house and public 
 kitchen, and a public-house. At one end of the prison there is a 
 kind of market, consisting of several sheds, occupied by butchery 
 poulterers, green-grocers, &c, each tenant paying a weekly rent 
 of one shilling. These shillings, with the amount received for 
 the various rooms, go into the pockets of the marshal, and are 
 one source whence he receives his remuneration. His other 
 sources are fees on commitments and discharges, or for grant- 
 ing the rules, or the liberty of living within the walls of the 
 prison. The last-named source is the most productive one, 
 as may be inferred from what I have said when speaking 
 
 e 2
 
 52 SKETCHES iN LONDON. 
 
 of the rules of the Fleet Prison. Altogether, the marshal's 
 emoluments are usually, or were lately, after deducting draw- 
 backs, worth nearly 3000Z. a-year. 
 
 Should the number of prisoners happen, which is very rarely 
 the case, to be under the number of rooms in the place, then each 
 prisoner is entitled to a room to himself on the payment of one 
 shilling rental weekly. When the shilling cannot be paid, the 
 marshal, as before stated, foregoes his claim, and allows the 
 party to occupy his apartment rent free. The rooms are all very 
 small ; they must of necessity be so, from the number there is of 
 them in so limited a space. 
 
 When there is more than one person to each room, which, as 
 just observed, is almost always the case, the new-comers are, 
 what is called " chummed" on the previous inmates. The system 
 of " chumming" is difficult to be understood, to one who has not 
 been an inhabitant of the place. It was some time before I could 
 comprehend it : I shall explain it as well as I can. When a pri- 
 soner is first confined within the walls, he is entitled to what is 
 termed a " chum ticket, 1 ' which is a small piece of paper on 
 which one of the officers of the prison, called the chum-master, 
 writes the name of the party, and the number of the room in 
 which he is to be " chummed." With this ticket he proceeds to 
 the room in question, and showing it to the inmate, the latter 
 must either share his apartment with him, or pay him five shil- 
 lings, by way, as the phrase goes, of purchasing him out. If the 
 new comer be offered the five shillings, he is compelled to take 
 it, and then go and provide himself with the share of some other 
 room, as he best can. The chum-master generally takes care to 
 chum a poor prisoner, to whom the five shillings must be a great 
 object, on one who is able to purchase him out. There are 
 always a number of poor people in the place who will be glad to 
 let any new prisoner have a part of their room for one shilling or 
 eighteen-pence a week ; so that the new prisoner gains four shil- 
 lings or three- an d-sixpence per week by the transaction. When 
 the prison is full, the previous inmates are liable to have two 
 persons chummed on them, so that, if they are desirous of pos- 
 sessing their rooms to themselves, they must pay ten shillings 
 a week to the " chums," exclusive of their own shilling in the 
 shape of rent to the marshal. Some years ago, instances oc- 
 curred in which three persons were chummed on one indivi- 
 dual who previously tenanted a room. Since then, however, an 
 act of parliament has been passed, prohibiting the chumming of 
 more than two individuals on a previous inmate. This, however, 
 does not prevent a greater number than three individuals lodg- 
 ing and sleeping in one room. The anxiety of the poorer class of 
 prisoners to save a few shillings per week, by congregating toge- 
 ther in one room, has often led to six or eight persons vegetating
 
 DEBTORS PRISONS T}IE QUEEN 3 BENCH. 53 
 
 together in a dark dirty apartment, measuring only sixteen by 
 nineteen feet. In other cases, the same desire to save a trifle 
 wherewith to administer to the necessities of the belly, leads 
 numbers of the poorer order of prisoners to sleep on the benches 
 in the tap-room, without any other covering than their clothes. 
 It was stated in a report drawn up on the subject some years 
 since, by a committee of the House of Commons, that as many 
 as forty-eight persons have slept in this way in the tap-room at 
 once. Why should we wonder, then, that the imprisonment of 
 the poorer classes in the Queen's Bench proves, in many cases, the 
 pathway to a premature grave ; and that, in others, the constitu- 
 tion receives a shock from which it never afterwards recovers ? 
 
 There is a class of tickets called " in-chum tickets." This means 
 that the chum-master gives a new-comer, who wishes to have as 
 comfortable a room as possible rather than the five shillings 
 and the certainty of being obliged to live with other persons of 
 the lowest class, a ticket on a previous prisoner who is known 
 to be willing to receive into his room any person in the same 
 rank of life as himself, in order that he may be spared the 
 necessity of paying five shillings weekly to purchase any one out. 
 
 Formerly, the practice was to chum all new prisoners on the 
 junior inmates, in the first instance, in order that those who had 
 been longest in the place might have the chance of exemption, 
 as a sort of privilege to which their long residence in the prison 
 was supposed to entitle them. It accordingly often happened, 
 that all the junior inmates had persons chummed on them, 
 while those who had been there for a number of years escaped 
 entirely, except in those cases when the prison was so crowded 
 that there were chums for every person in it. A different course 
 has been adopted for some time past. The practice, I believe, 
 has been of late, to begin the process of chumming with the 
 senior prisoners, regularly descending downwards to those who 
 have most recently entered the place. This is a very improper 
 arrangement ; so, at least, I am assured by those who have been 
 some years within the walls of the building. In order that I 
 might glean as much original information about the place as 
 possible, I spent the greater part of a day in it, in August last ; 
 and on that occasion, the hardship of saddling all the new-comers 
 on the oldest inmates, in the first instance, was depicted to mo 
 by some of the latter in the strongest and most feeling terms. 
 They say that the thing is most partial in its operation, inas- 
 much as that, while the senior prisoners have to submit almost all 
 the year round to the calamity of having mere novices in the 
 ways of the prison chummed on them, the " six-week" class of 
 persons, that is to say, those who only come to the prison for a 
 six weeks' 1 probation there, prior to their transit through the
 
 54 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 Insolvent Debtors' 1 Court, often escape altogether. As far as I 
 can comprehend the merits of the case, this ought not to be. "And 
 if I were the marshal," as one of the prisoners of a long-standing 
 date emphatically observed to me, " it should not be.'" But I 
 am not the marshal, any more than the party making the obser- 
 vation, and therefore cannot redress the grievance. 
 
 Some of the prisoners, who manage to get their rooms decently 
 done up and furnished, let them out to those new prisoners who 
 can afford to pay for them. A guinea a week is often got in 
 such cases for a room ; while the party letting it goes, perhaps, 
 and shares one, with some one in the same rank of life, at half-a- 
 crown. There are generally one or more prisoners who let out 
 articles of furniture to those who wish to speculate in furnished 
 lodgings in the Queen's Bench. 
 
 There are always, in addition to the butchers, green-grocers, 
 &c, formerly mentioned, a number of tradesmen, prisoners in the 
 Queen's Bench, who pursue their respective callings there. When 
 I last visited the place, which was two months ago, I found 
 almost all the apartments on the ground-floor tenanted by what 
 Robert Owen would call the sons of industry. One of these 
 rooms is converted into a sort of bazaar in miniature, brimfull — 
 that is to say, if one may judge from a passing glance at the win- 
 dow — of the most miscellaneous assortment of merchandise ever 
 collected together ; while no individual article could possibly have 
 cost more than three-halfpence. Next door to this depot of 
 small-wares, was a barber's shop. But the best of it was, that 
 the man of soap and suds arrogated to himself the professionally 
 aristocratic title of " hair-dresser and perfumer ;" and, to com- 
 plete his pretensions, he added, on his paper placard — which 
 rejoiced in broken-backed and deformed letters, evidently the 
 triumphs of his own pen — " From Regent-street." Then followed, 
 in characters formed of more colours than I can enumerate, but 
 in which the black, blue, and yellow predominated, the words 
 " Shave for a Penny." Hear this, ye hair-dressers and per- 
 fumers of the aristocratic Regent-street ! Here is one of your 
 number — if his own story may be credited — who scrapes the 
 lower extremities of the frontispieces of her Majesty's subjects in 
 the Queen's Bench, " and all for the small charge of one penny !" 
 If Tonsor's razors be no better than his orthography, I envy not 
 the unfortunate wights who are doomed to encounter the opera- 
 tion of shaving at his hands : far rather would I, were I in their 
 situations, turn Jew at once : I mean as regards the article of 
 my beard. The aforesaid inscription or sign-board, appeared 
 thus : " Mathew Maggs, Har Drsr and Parfoomr frome Regnt 
 Street — Sheve for a Peny." 
 
 A few doors from this importation from Regent-street, is a
 
 DEBTORS'' PRISONS — THE QUEERS BENCH. 5i> 
 
 room in which tailorifics are practised by a knight of the thim- 
 ble, whom some ill-natured creditor — so, at least, it is intimated 
 on the sign-board — transferred to that locality from the " exqui- 
 site" regions of New Bond-street. I could not help compassion- 
 ating poor Snip, as I thought of the mortification he must feel 
 when he reflected on the contrast between " decorating" the 
 very elite of aristocratic dandyism in New Bond-street, and 
 patching the tattered corduroy unmentionables of the poor me- 
 chanics in the Bench. But I find — and, I doubt not, so does the 
 industrious man of buckram now in the Bench, though late of 
 New Bond-street — that there is no use in moralising on such 
 things. We live in a changeable world ; and I admire the phi- 
 losophy of the man who can adapt himself to circumstances which 
 he can no longer control. It were an endless task to enumerate 
 the various descriptions of " callings" pursued in this part of the 
 Queen's Bench. The range of rooms on the ground-floor is, 
 in fact, almost exclusively occupied by an industrious colony of 
 merchants and operatives. At the back part of the buildings, 
 again, which is chiefly tenanted by the very poorest of the pri- 
 soners, there are shops of an humbler class. The first one which 
 attracted my notice was set apart for the sale of sausages, and 
 had a placard in the window with the words, after the name of 
 the vender, " Sausage-maker to the Queen." This may appear a 
 joke ; I assure my readers it is nothing of the kind. The fact 
 can be attested by every person who was in the place some few 
 months ago. Whether this sausage-maker to her Majesty be 
 still engaged in the useful occupation of vending these articles to 
 her subjects, is a question which I cannot answer. The stock in 
 hand, when I passed the window, consisted of half-a-dozen, — not 
 one more nor less. As to the quality of the sausages, I am not 
 competent to speak, not having tasted them. If, however, one 
 may judge from appearances, I should doubt whether they were 
 what they were warranted to be, namely, "prime 'uns." Let me 
 not be understood by this as " insinuating,' -1 as the American was 
 charged with doing when he one day went up to a sausage vender 
 in New York, and asked him very significantly whether " them 
 'ere saussengers were good 'uns ?" — let me not, I say, be charged 
 with " insinuating" that the half-dozen sausages I saw in the win- 
 dow in question were not of the best quality. They may, to use 
 the words of the Yankee just referred to, have been " werry good 
 saussengers, for anything as I knows to the contrary ; but this 
 I knows, as how they did not look werry like good 'uns." I would 
 say further, in favour of the sausage manufacturer alluded to, 
 that though the assortment which greeted my vision as I passed 
 the back part of the building were not particularly attractive in
 
 56 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 appearance, they may have been a bad lot owing to accidental 
 circumstances, and by no means fair specimens of the quality of 
 sausages manufactured and vended in the same quarter. 
 
 Next came " The Original Shop For Cleaning Knives, Spoons, 
 And Boots." Why forks were omitted in the brief catalogue of 
 articles cleaned, I have not, up to this moment, been able to 
 divine ; however, I have a strong impression that the tenant of the 
 shop will suffer but little, if at all, from the omission. I saw no 
 appearance of any business doing in the cleaning of either of the 
 three other articles ; and though forks had been included in 
 the list, I am afraid the insertion would not have increased the 
 custom. The fact I take to be, that those in the Queen's Bench 
 who ever enjoy the luxury of clean knives, spoons, or boots, 
 must perform the polishing operation themselves. I am sure I 
 need not add, that, to a very large proportion of the unfortunate 
 inmates, the luxury of knives, spoons, or boots, clean or other- 
 wise, is one of which they never partake while within the walls. 
 
 But I must not take up more of my space with the shops in the 
 Queen's Bench prison ; nor shall I, having already alluded to the 
 different kinds of stalls kept in the open air, advert again to them. 
 It is right, however, I should here mention one species of mer- 
 chandise carried on in the prison to which I have not before 
 alluded. I refer to a portable stand, kept by an old man who 
 never gets any other name than John, for the sale of penny pies, 
 kt all hot. 11 This antiquated worthy is most eloquent and inces- 
 sant in praise of his pies. All day long does he heap the most 
 superlative commendation on them. An African says, " Strike 
 me, but do not curse my mother :" John will a thousand times 
 sooner submit not only to be abused, but even personally assaulted, 
 rather than that a word should be said against the quality of his 
 pies. His character as pie-man is dearer to him than life itself. 
 If he had a purse, which he has not, he would say, in the words 
 of Shakspeare, with an emphasis superior to any with which the 
 phrase has ever been repeated before, " Who steals my purse, 
 steals trash ; but he who filches from me my good name, 11 — that 
 is to say, as a pie-man, — " takes from me that which not enriches 
 him, but makes me poor indeed. 11 " Let me have one of your 
 pies, John, 11 said a hungry-looking cobbler, while I was one day 
 present, as he gazed on the assortment before him, at the same 
 time laying down a penny on the tin stand. 
 
 " Will you have an eel \in, or a pork "un, or a weal "W? 1 ' in- 
 quired John. 
 
 " Whichever^ best, 1 ' was the answer. 
 
 " That's vich vay people's tastes goes, 11 said John. " They arc 
 all of the werry best quality as can be made,' 1 he added.
 
 DEUTORb' PRISONS THE QUEERS BENCH. 57 
 
 " I thinks 111 take an eel 'un," observed the cobbler, eyeing 
 the whole lot as eagerly and hungry-like as if he could have 
 swallowed every one of them at once. 
 
 " An eel 'un?' 1 said John, as he handed him the desired com- 
 modity. 
 
 " O, this is a cold 'un V exclaimed the cobbler, laying it down 
 again the moment it had been placed in his hand. " Vy don't 
 you give me a hot 'un at once V 
 
 " And vy didn't you ax for a 'ot 'un?" answered the pie-man, 
 somewhat tartly. " How vas I to know as how you liked a hot 
 "un in pref Vence to a cold 'un ? " 
 
 John rummaged through his entire stock of pies, in quest of 
 an " 'ot eel "un," but the search was in vain. " Not got any 'ot 
 eel 'uns," he intimated in accents which showed that he pos- 
 sessed that caloric, as the chemists say, in his temper which was 
 lacking in his eel-pies. 
 
 " Then let me have a hot weal 'un,' 1 said the other, gruffly, 
 being manifestly more powerfully impelled to the step by hunger 
 than by choice. 
 
 " There's a weal \m, all 'ot, 11 exclaimed the pie-man, with an 
 evident air of complacency, as he transferred the article to the 
 mender of shoes. The latter conveyed it to the interior of his 
 person, through the conduit of his throat, with amazing expe- 
 dition. 
 
 " It tastes queerish, old chap," said the cobbler, looking 
 rather droll, in a second or two after the pie had accomplished 
 the passage of his mouth. " I say, I vishes to know vether that 
 'ere pie wich I ate vas a weal pie?" he added somewhat sharply. 
 
 " Yes, it vas, 11 answered John, in still angrier accents. 
 
 ** Vy, it doesn't taste like a weal pie, anyhow, that's certain, 1 ' 
 observed the other. 
 
 " None of your insinuations, you ragamuffin-looking feller : 
 you says that bekase ye've got no money to get no more on 'em.' 1 
 
 " Never mind that 'ere person there, John, 1 ' interposed a ragged 
 starved-looking youth, about sixteen, who was employed to sup- 
 ply the racket-players with balls. 
 
 " He's werry imperent, to make any reflekshuns o' the kind. 
 He vishes to ruin my professional respectability of karackter, 1 ' 
 remarked the pie-man. 
 
 " He's not worth the mindin 1 , John,' 1 said the young fellow, 
 with a knowing wink at the cobbler. " Let me have one o' your 
 pork "uns,' 1 he immediately added. 
 
 " Have you got a penny ?" inquired John, significantly looking 
 the youth in the face, and not stretching out his hand to supply 
 him with the desired commodity.
 
 58 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " I should think I have,'' answered the other drily. " It's 
 time enough to give it though, ven I gets the pie." 
 
 " I von't do no sich thing, without the penny first. 1 ' 
 
 The youth made a form of fumbling in his pocket in search of 
 a penny, but none, of course, was to be found. " I finds I've lost 
 the penny, John : vill you just give me the pie on tick, and I'll 
 pay you to-morrow. 1 ' 
 
 " I von't do nothin' o 1 the kind, 11 answered John, energetically. 
 " You owes me three hap'nies already. 11 
 
 " O, wot a thundering lie !" exclaimed the other. " I owes 
 you nothing but one ha'penny." 
 
 The cobbler telegraphed the little rascal encouragingly. 
 
 " You're a little too fast, young man ; but mind, I stands none 
 o' that 'ere gammon — dash my vig, if I do!' 1 said the pie -man, 
 shifting one of his " weal 'uns" from one part of the tin case to 
 another. 
 
 " I only owes you a ha'penny, old chap, and no mistake," 
 reiterated the other. " I say, John, you gets more hobstinate 
 as you gets older, 1 ' he added, looking the " all 'of'-man jeer- 
 ingly in the face. 
 
 The latter took no notice of the remark for a few moments ; 
 but then, as if suddenly seized with a fit of boundless indigna- 
 tion, he shouted out, giving the words the accompaniment of a 
 lusty application of his fist to the tin concern before him, — " If 
 you says that 'ere agin, I'll smash every bone in your ugly carcase 
 to pieces. I'm bless'd if I don't." 
 
 The cobbler again winked at the youthful tormentor of the 
 pie-man, by way of encouraging him to proceed. The latter, 
 taking the hint, observed, " I don't vonder that that 'ere gemman," 
 pointing to the shoe-surgeon, " shouldn't like them 'ere pies ; 'cos 
 they're made of cats'-meat." 
 
 John's eyes flashed the " fire of infinite indignation" at the 
 base and unfounded imputation ; and, bristling up, he thundered 
 out the threat of making cats'-meat of the body of the " im- 
 perent Old Bailey-looking youth," provided he could lay his 
 hands on him. 
 
 " Vy, old 'un, you knows as how I got a bit of an 'oss's hoof in 
 that 'ere consarn I got from you yesterday, and vich you called a 
 weal pie." 
 
 " Blow me tight, young gallows, if I don't pound your ribs 
 to powder ! " shouted John, and with that he made a bound 
 towards his juvenile tormentor ; but his apron having got entan- 
 gled somehow or other in the feet of his tin machine, the latter 
 was upset, and the whole stock of pies hot and cold, whether 
 made of pork, veal, or eel, or any other animal, was scattered in
 
 DEBTOP.s' PRISONS — THE QUEERS BENCH. 59 
 
 all directions. Possessing, as they all did, the circular form, 
 some of them rolled themselves to an amazing distance. The 
 little rascal, however, who was the cause of the disaster, took 
 care to run much farther and faster. 
 
 A crowd of prisoners immediately gathered around the sub- 
 verted stand of the pie-man , some condoling with him in his 
 affliction, and others assisting in collecting the widely-circulated 
 pies. John himself held up his hands, and looking aghast at 
 what had happened, growled out curses loud and deep on the 
 head of the " gallows-looking young feller" who had caused the 
 disaster. 
 
 In less than a minute, the whole of the runaway pies were 
 brought back, and replaced on the stand, which had been kindly 
 restored to its proper position for their reception. Some of them 
 were, as an American would say, " pretty considerably covered 
 with mud ; " others were so much broken and shattered, that the 
 contents of the interior were exposed to the unhallowed gaze of 
 every spectator. 
 
 John looked with a most rueful countenance at his stock of 
 pies. And it was no wonder ; for the muddy aspect of some, and 
 the fragmentary appearance of others, were very materially ag- 
 gravated by the collectors of them having huddled them up 
 together in a heap, just as if they had been intended for pigs'- 
 meat. 
 
 " I can never sell them 'ere pies to any respektable customer,'" 
 said John, in doleful accents, as he gazed on the confused 
 heap before him ; " 'cos, if I did, it would lose my karakter. O, 
 wot shall I do ? " he added with great emphasis, and wringing his 
 hands. 
 
 At this moment, a humane gentleman, who had the day before 
 been received into the prison, advanced to the spot to see what 
 was the matter. He was informed of the disaster, and how it 
 had happened. " How many were there of them?" said he, 
 addressing himself to John. 
 
 " Just three dozen and a half, Sir, 1 ' was the answer. 
 
 " Is there any one here who will eat any of them?" asked the 
 gentleman, looking round among the poorest and most hungry- 
 like parties in the little crowd. 
 
 " I vill F " I vill V shouted at least two dozen voices at once. 
 
 " Then let these people have them," said the gentleman, put- 
 ling three-and-sixpence into John's hand. 
 
 The words were no sooner uttered, than there was a brisk 
 scramble among the proprietors of fifteen or sixteen unwashed 
 paws, to possess themselves of the pics. In an instant tho whole 
 vanished. Most of the parties, instead of waiting to carry them 
 to their rooms, and eat them there, set to work, and despatched
 
 60 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 several of them at once. What is worthy of observation is, that 
 one and all of those who tested the qualities of the pies declared, 
 in the hearing of all present, that they were incomparably the 
 best they ever tasted. This, coupled with the three-and-sixpence, 
 was compensation of the most ample kind to John for the ex- 
 treme misery caused by his youthful tormentor. His countenance 
 brightened up, and he looked the very personification of self- 
 complacency as he heard the pi'aises of his pies thus publicly 
 proclaimed ; and he withdrew with his empty tin stand, observ- 
 ing that the young rascal could have got no greater punishment 
 than to be denied the luxury of a " prime weal 'un.' 1 
 
 The Queen's Bench has its general and twopenny post-offices. 
 In both establishments a good deal of business is done, chiefly 
 consisting of letters sent by the prisoners to their friends, suppli- 
 cating pecuniary assistance. 
 
 There is one room in the place which is contradistinguished 
 from all the other apartments. It is called the strong-room, and 
 is appropriated to the reception of those who commit criminal 
 acts in the prison. They are doomed to a fortnight's or month's 
 solitary confinement, according to the magnitude of their offence, 
 or the light in which the marshal happens to view it, he hav- 
 ing the power in all such cases vested exclusively in his own 
 hands. 
 
 The tap-room of the Queen's Bench is decidedly the most in- 
 teresting locality in it. It is but very imperfectly lighted, and 
 is vaulted at the top, while the walls, instead of being lathed and 
 plastered, exhibit the bricks of which they are composed. When 
 I last saw it the walls and vaulted ceiling seemed to have, some 
 short time before, undergone the process of white-washing. I 
 should suppose, judging from my recollection of its size, that it 
 is about sixteen feet in length by twelve in breadth. There are 
 four boxes, if so they must be called. The tables, which look as 
 thick and strong as if they were cut out of a solid piece of 
 wood, are all covered over with every variety of figures, to say 
 nothing of their exhibiting all the letters of the alphabet in glori- 
 ous confusion. They were, I suppose, originally meant, as succes- 
 sively carved out, to signify the initials of the names of the parties 
 who engraved them there ; but they are now so incorporated to- 
 gether, and with representations of horses, cows, dogs, cats, hens, 
 &c, that the tables exhibit one mass of hieroglyphics. Some of 
 the letters, and also of the pictorial abortions — for such they 
 assuredly are — are two or three inches in length, and engraved 
 full one quarter of an inch in depth in the tables. The appear- 
 ance of the majority of the inmates of the tap-room is in perfect 
 keeping with the place. There you see a variety of " waft 1 '' 
 characters : judging from their beards, you would come to tho
 
 DEBTORS 1 PRISONS THK QUEEN'S BENCH. 61 
 
 conclusion, that there were not only no barber, but no razor in 
 Christendom. As for washing their faces — I speak, of course, only 
 of a portion of them — that is an idea that never enters their 
 head. That would require soap, provided it were to be done 
 effectually ; they have got none. It would also require trouble, 
 a thing they do not like to put themselves to. Their hats are 
 almost, without exception, either crownless altogether, or they 
 contain so many perforations as to answer all the purposes of 
 first- rate ventilators. A whole brim is a perfect rarity ; the last 
 remains of the wool have vanished, so that it is sometimes a very 
 nice question to settle the original colour of the article. Their 
 coats have in many instances degenerated into jackets ; while in 
 others, one tail remains to indicate what the article of apparel 
 originally was. As for the other portions of the generality of 
 the wardrobes to be seen in the tap-room of the Queen's Bench, 
 I will not attempt to describe them, because I know I should not 
 succeed. The group of characters which are always to be seen 
 in this classical spot, presents an edifying appearance, heightened 
 as is the effect of that appearance by the various employments in 
 which they are engaged, and the attitudes in which they are to 
 be seen. That dark-looking man, with the reserved expression 
 of countenance, cooped up in the corner of the nearest box as 
 you enter, and reading the advertisements of a double-sheet 
 " Times" with as great an apparent avidity as if he would eat 
 them, — is one of the most respectable individuals in the room, 
 which is the chief cause why he takes so little interest in the oc- 
 cupations of others. You see that thin-visaged personage, " whose 
 tattered clothes his poverty bespeak," standing at the fire place, 
 turning over seriatim the three or four dozen herrings which are 
 the property of a little bandy-legged man who visits the Bench 
 four or five times every day, for the purpose of vending his 
 finny commodities : you see this personage, do you not? He is a 
 " rum customer, " as the herring-merchant calls him, for he never 
 purchases but one per diem, and before he commences his nego- 
 tiation as to price, he examines and re-examines every bloater in 
 the basket. Even when he has fixed on the herring he prefers, 
 he usually spends a quarter of an hour before he concludes the 
 bargain. In the box directly opposite the fire-place you see four 
 or five favourable specimens of regular recklessness ; they are 
 just as comfortable inside as out, always provided they get plenty 
 of beer. The one half of the day they sleep with their heads 
 resting on the table, and the other they spend in swilling Bar- 
 clay and ( !o/a Entire. And what is worthy of observation is, that 
 as if actuated by a sort of Siamese sympathy, they address them- 
 selves, as Don Quixote would say, to sleep, and awake from their
 
 62 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 slumbers much about the same time. Give them beer enough, 
 and they will never seek to pop their heads, far less their feet, 
 out of the walls of the place. Mahomet, were he still alive, 
 might keep his paradise to himself for anything they care : they 
 are in a perfect elysium as it is. In another box there are four or 
 five strange-looking broken-down personages, enveloped in so dense 
 an atmosphere of smoke, manufactured by themselves, that it is 
 with difficulty you can recognise their features. The head of one 
 of them is buried amidst a heap of empty pewter pots, and his face 
 is immersed in a pool of heavy wet, which one of the others has 
 made, without awakening him from his profound sleep. Six 
 or seven other "gemmen," as they call one another, are knock- 
 ing one another's hats down over each other's eyes, and display- 
 ing their ingenuity by inventing new tricks at each other's expense. 
 Those three persons in the seat farthest off, with unwashed faces, 
 and beards which would defy any razor in London, in earnest con- 
 versation together, — are just as busy and united as they can be 
 in abusing Sir John Campbell and the Whig Ministry, for not 
 passing the abolition of imprisonment for debt bill. If these same 
 Whigs, as Dr. Wade would say, only heard what the triumvirate 
 are saying, it would make their ears tingle again. Sterne himself, 
 had he flourished in our time, and been present on the occa- 
 sion, would have found some new hints which would have been 
 well worth his consideration in framing his celebrated curse. The 
 man in the opposite side of the box, with a most revolutionary 
 head of hair, and a most republican-looking countenance, is quite 
 occupied in signifying his assent to every word they say, by a hearty 
 nod, and in withdrawing his pipe at intervals from his mouth, 
 to enable him to mutter an audible concurrence. The middle- 
 aged little "gemman," with the flannel jacket and one eye, who 
 is leaning with his back against the box opposite the fire, owes 
 the extraordinary elongation of his countenance to the fact of his 
 having spent his last " bob,"" knowing as he does that no " tick" 
 is to be had in " this here shop." See the envious glance he every 
 now and then casts at those who have the luxury of a pot of beer 
 before them, or of a " pipe o" 1 baccy " in their mouths. Poor fellow, 
 his misery is aggravated bj contrast. Others again are quite 
 uproarious. Nature has given them first-rate lungs, and they are 
 constitutionally disposed to make the best possible use of them ; in 
 which disposition they are ably assisted by the oceans of "Entire" 
 which they are everlastingly swigging. Every one has heard the 
 observation, that some people are born with a silver fork in their 
 mouths ; you cannot help fancying, from the enthusiastic devo- 
 tion of some of the inmates of the Queen's Bench tap-room to 
 heavy wet, and from the circumstance of the lower part of
 
 DEBTORS' PRISONS — THE QUEEN's BENCH. 63 
 
 their visages being constantly inserted in pewter pots, that they 
 have been born for no other purpose than to chronicle the turbid 
 liquid of the London brewers. 
 
 But the scene altogether is one to which no description can 
 do justice. On a stone painted black, above the fire-place, I ob- 
 served the words, written in chalk, " Tuesday, August the 29th, 
 1837" I inquired the meaning of this, and found that it was a 
 regular practice to chalk up the day of the week and the day of 
 the month, in the same way all the year round ; as, otherwise, 
 many of the poorer and more ignorant of the prisoners would 
 have no idea of either. Connected with this diurnal chalking 
 affair I may mention an anecdote of one of the prisoners, who 
 was under thirty years of age, and evidently a tailor. He re- 
 joiced in a tolerable wardrobe, certainly the best in the place ; a 
 circumstance, however, which might be satisfactorily accounted 
 For from the fact, that he was the most recent importation to the 
 prison. But though his exterior appearance was not amiss, he 
 soon gave woeful proof that he was most miserably furnished 
 within. In fact, he was as ignorant as his own goose. When I 
 asked the reason why the aforesaid " Tuesday, August the 29th, 
 ] 837," was chalked on the black stone above the fire-place, he, 
 addressing himself to the brother in adversity next to him in 
 a geographical point of view, at once chimed in with me, and 
 said, " Aye, and vy is that 'ere put up there f Snip got, I need 
 hardly observe, the same answer as myself. " Very good," re- 
 torted he, "but I think as how they might have spelt 'August' 
 right, any how." 
 
 The word was correctly spelt. 
 
 "If you spelt that 'ere word any other way, you would spell it 
 wrong, 1 "' observed a middle-aged man, withdrawing his pipe from 
 his mouth to let a small condensed cloud of smoke escape. 
 
 " It's all you knows about it," said Snip, " ven you says so." 
 
 "What way would you spell it, then, old dunderhead f ' inquired 
 another, opening his eyes, as if just awakened from sleep, and 
 closing them again the moment he had put the question. 
 
 " August, august, a — ag — ags," said the man of buckram, 
 making an ineffectual attempt to master the orthography of the 
 word. " Vy, I don't know as how it should bo spelt, but this I 
 knows as how that 'ere vay is a rum 'nn," he added. 
 
 Poor Snip looked as if particularly confounded. 
 
 " And how do you know that it's wrong, when you can't spell 
 it?" inquired the first of his opponents. 
 
 " I do know it though," he replied, assuming a bold front. 
 
 " You're a downright dunce," interposed his half-slumbering, 
 second opponent, again thrusting his face down in his breast 
 when he had paid Snip the flattering compliment.
 
 64 
 
 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " I say you're a " 
 
 "A what, Sir? 11 interrupted the other, starting up to his feet, 
 and having the appearance of anything but a slumbering man. 
 
 « A ras " 
 
 Snip was prevented completing his sentence by another of the 
 prisoners first clapping his hand on his mouth, and then draw- 
 ing him out of the place by the breast of his coat, he meanwhile 
 darting a most furious glance at his opponent. 
 
 " You are a ," repeated the tailor, twisting about his 
 
 head as his friend was dragging him out of the room ; but the re- 
 newed application of the aforesaid open fist to his mouth, again 
 prevented the completion of the sentence. 
 
 " Only say that again, you blundering blockhead, you nine- 
 teenth part of a man, 11 shouted his lately slumbering adversary, 
 " an' Fll knock your ivory down your throat. 11 
 
 " I do say you're a . 11 Snip again made an effort to 
 
 apply some ugly epithet to his opponent, but the latter part of 
 the sentence was lost, in consequence of the violence with which 
 his friend shut the tap-room door as he got the " nineteenth part 
 of a man 11 outside. 
 
 But for the timely interposition of the latter, a regular affray 
 must have taken place ; and the probability is that the conse- 
 quence would have been a broken head to both parties. Hence 
 the result would have been certain, namely, that both would have 
 got a month's location in the strong-room. I thought with 
 myself how narrowly Pope's lines escaped an exemplification, — 
 " What dire effects from trivial causes spring I' 1 
 
 But decidedly the most eccentric character with whom I came 
 in contact, in the course of my visits to the tap-room, was a per- 
 sonage who went by the sobriquet of Tom Snaggs. He was 
 altogether an extraordinary personage. He was as different in 
 appearance and manners from all the other human beings I 
 have ever met with, as if he had belonged to some other species, 
 or been projected from another planet, in consequence of some 
 eruption ; just as philosophers tell us of meteoric stones being 
 thrust from the moon into our world, through some volcanic or 
 other powerful agency. Tom belonged, as the phrase is, to the 
 lower classes. He was a singularly odd-looking character. His 
 face was thin, and as much shrivelled as if he had been dried in 
 a kiln for the purposes of preservation in the collection of some 
 naturalist. His complexion bore a strong resemblance to the 
 colour of a radish ; while his long lean neck, which was much 
 exposed in consequence of the absence of a neckerchief, had pre- 
 cisely the appearance of a plucked turkey. In the expression of 
 his countenance, there were actually blended all the peculiarities 
 of physiognomy presented in the faces of Lord John Russell and
 
 DEBTORS 1 PRISON* THE QUEEN 's BENCH. 65 
 
 Mr. Goulburn. His eyes were especially remarkable ; they 
 seemed the most tractable pair I have ever seen in human head. 
 At one time their mutual affection was so powerful, that you 
 would have thought they would actually embrace each other. 
 But for the obstruction presented by the bridge of Mr. Snaggs' 
 nose, I am sure they would have done so. Never did two 
 " peepers," as Tom himself called them, look so lovingly towards 
 each other. If they had possessed the faculty of speaking, attri- 
 buted by the fabulists of old to inanimate things as well as to 
 beasts, birds, and fishes, I can well imagine with what cordiality 
 they would have concurred in anathematizing the aforesaid sec- 
 tion of Tom's nose, because it interposed to prevent a closer inti- 
 macy. At other times, both the luminaries of our hero darted off 
 at a "tangent, and looked in the most opposite directions, just as if 
 some ground of deadly quarrel, unknown to any but themselves, 
 had suddenly started up. This latter singular attribute in Tom's 
 eyes may be best illustrated by the remark, that had he been sitting 
 in the centre of a large room, with his face directly to the opposite 
 wall, he would have seen, without moving his head in the slight- 
 est degree, two persons coming into the room at either end, with 
 the same distinctness as if his gaze had been exclusively directed 
 to one. Every one has heard a great deal about the "seeing capabi- 
 lities" of Argus, with his century of eyes. Had Tom possessed 
 two additional ones of the same power in the back of his head, 
 he would. I doubt not, have been quite as well furnished, for 
 all practical purposes, as the hundred-eyed personage of antiquity 
 whose name I have just mentioned. 
 
 Tom's wardrobe was in tolerable keeping with his personal 
 appearance. He was wrapped up — and this, be it remembered, 
 in the warmest weather of last summer — in a dreadnought coat 
 of most ample proportions. It was of a brown colour ; and I beg 
 to be understood as not exaggerating in the slightest degree 
 when I say, that the wool or pile was about half an inch long. 
 I would have given something to know the weight of the 
 article ; but had not an opportunity of gratifying my curiosity. 
 If Tom, instead of vegetating in the tap-room of the Queen's 
 Bench, where, in addition to the oppressive warmth of the 
 weather, there is always a blazing fire kept for culinary pur- 
 poses ; had Tom, instead of this, been the inmate of some habi- 
 tation in the polar regions, formed of snow, he would not, one 
 would have supposed, have required any addition to his clothing. 
 I have a strong impression that he must have a good deal of 
 the salamander in his composition ; for amidst all this exces- 
 sive warmth of weather, and his constantly wearing this mountain 
 of a great coat, he always took care to take the seat next to the 
 fire. He evinced an unconquerable aversion to solid meat, at 
 
 v
 
 66 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 any rate, he ate nothing, so far as I saw, during the day I was there ; 
 and I did not learn from any one that he ever, under any circum- 
 stances, put his masticators into requisition. Let me not be 
 understood as insinuating by this that Tom Snaggs lived on 
 chameleon's fare ; that would be doing him an injustice of which 
 I would not, on any consideration, have the sin on my head. 
 Everybody must be aware that there is an intermediate alterna- 
 tive, if I may so speak, between not eating any solid food and living 
 on the thin and unfattening air. Tom lived on Barclay, Perkins, 
 and Co.'s Entire ; and I doubt if these gentlemen, amidst their 
 myriads of customers, could ever boast of a better one than Tom. 
 To thrust his head into a pot of their frothy liquid, was the very 
 first act he performed in the morning ; to do ditto was his last 
 employment in the evening. To say that he was similarly en- 
 gaged during the whole of the intervening day, would be an 
 exaggeration ; for drinking heavy wet, as well as eating solid food, 
 requires that there should be at least temporary pauses, to allow 
 one, were it for nothing else, to take his breath. But this I 
 can say, that there was rarely an hour of the day in which Tom 
 had not his jug of beer before him. 
 
 His manners and conversation were quite as singular as his 
 appearance ; and most largely did he contribute to the amuse- 
 ment of those who frequented the tap-room. He possessed 
 much natural shrewdness, and was happy in turning the laugh 
 against those who sought to raise it at his expense. I saw at 
 once, on entering the place, that he was a character. He was 
 in the act at the time of carrying on a political discussion with 
 a shoemaker of the middle size and of a pug-looking dark-com- 
 plexioned countenance. 
 
 " You don't know your own principles, Tom,'" was the first 
 observation which greeted my ears, as I walked up towards tho 
 fire. 
 
 " Don't I f said Tom emphatically. 
 
 " No you don't ; I'm bless'd if you do." 
 
 " I 'spose you thinks, old leather-mender, as how you knows 
 your'n," observed Tom, raising the jug of beer to his mouth. 
 
 " I'd be 'shamed of myself if I didn't," answered Crispin, taking 
 out of his waistcoat pocket and unfolding a small dirty paper which 
 contained the remains of his limited stock of tobacco. 
 
 " Then vat is your sentimens ?" inquired Tom. 
 
 " Vy, I'm a Radical to be sure," replied the other, with en?ohasis. 
 
 " A Radical, eh ! I'm blow'd if you an't like un." 
 
 " Yes, and vill be while the world lasts," added Crispin. 
 
 "You're quite sure of that 'ere, are you V ' observed Mr. Snaggs. 
 
 " I am quite sure of it," answered the other, with great em- 
 phasis. " I'll stand by my principles while I has a button to
 
 DEBTORS PRISONS — THE QUEBWS BENCH. i'~ 
 
 my coat. May I be if I don't," he added with increased 
 
 energy, giving a violent blow with his list on the table. 
 
 " If you don't stand by them any longer than that 'ere, I think 
 that vont be very long," remai'ked Tom, significantly eyeing his 
 opponent's coat, which had only two buttons remaining. 
 
 " None of your ignorant jeers, Tom. I'll be hanged if I stand 
 them, 1,1 said Crispin, pulling himself up and assuming a most valor- 
 ous aspect. 
 
 " Vy this is liberty-hall, 1 '' retorted Tom. " Every one has a 
 right to speak vat he thinks in this 'ere place." 
 
 " I won't be insulted by no man as vas ever born," said the 
 testy shoemaker. 
 
 " Vy you speak as if you were the prime minister, old shoe- 
 doctor." 
 
 " I have a right to speak as I please, you stupid jackass." 
 
 " And so have I," observed Mr. Snaggs, winking at the by- 
 standers. " Ve lives here in liberty-hall, don't ve, Harry? 11 he 
 added, addressing himself to a sturdy son of Vulcan, who was 
 lighting his pipe with a match. 
 
 "To be sure we do, Tom, my boy, 1 ' answered the latter in 
 encouraging accents. 
 
 " I don't vant to have any think at all to say to an old fool 
 like you," remarked Crispin, in a pettish tone. 
 
 " Vy, if so be as I be an old fool, we're well met, my chap. 1 ' 
 
 " Vat's that, you old dotard, you were a-calling me I" inquired 
 the shoemaker, looking fiercely at Tom. 
 
 " Should you like to hear it again, old boot-butcher V answered 
 Tom, with provoking coolness. 
 
 " You'll better take care of vat you say, that's all," was the 
 only reply. 
 
 " You said take care, did you not, old Radical V rejoined Tom, 
 drawing the jug of beer towards him. 
 
 " I did, 1 ' was the answer. 
 
 " You're a Melbourne chap, are you not V 
 
 " Vat's that to you, I should like to know ?" was the reply. 
 
 "Because as how all you Radical-looking fellows are Mel- 
 bourne chaps." 
 
 " I vont stand this 'ere any longer. I'll be if I do,' 1 
 
 shouted Crispin, as he suddenly started up to his feet, and as- 
 sumed a menacing attitude. 
 
 " Vy you're a-standin' it now," said Tom, with provoking cool- 
 ness ; " you're on your legs, are you not, old leather-head f ' 
 
 " I say you're a " 
 
 " And you're a Radical," interrupted Tom, before his opponent 
 of tli^ bodkin and the awl could complete his sentence. 
 
 " [f you say that ere agin, 111 knock your rascally head into 
 
 p'2
 
 G8 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 atoms with this here veapon," said Crispin, now worked up to an 
 alarming pitch of anger, and brandishing in his right hand a 
 last which he chanced to have with him at the time 
 
 " You're a Radical, and a Melbourne chap too," repeated Tom, 
 with the most perfect composure, and knocking on the table 
 with a jug, as an intimation to the waiter to bring him another 
 pint of beer. 
 
 " Just say that agin, you vagabond-looking fellow, and as sure 
 as I'm a livin' man 111 ." 
 
 i. 
 
 Holloa ! what's the matter V interrupted one of the officers 
 of the prison, who happened to enter at the moment. 
 
 " O nothin' at all," answered Crispin, softening down all at 
 once into the calmest tone, — a fear of a month's confinement in 
 the strong-room having suddenly flashed across his mind; "O 
 nothin' at all, I was only a-showin' Tom Snaggs the vay in which 
 I once heard two men a- quarrelling in the streets ; vasn't that 
 it, Tom V 
 
 " Here's jolly good luck, my boy !" said Tom, by way of re- 
 sponse, thrusting his mouth into the jug, and taking a hearty 
 
 draught. 
 
 " Gemmen," said Tom, as soon as the officer withdrew, " Gem- 
 men, I'll sing you a song, vich is better than disputing about 
 politiks." 
 
 " Aye, do!" shouted every person present. 
 
 Mr. Snaggs chanted six verses of a song, which afforded inter- 
 nal evidence of its being one of his own composition. I was struck 
 with one very appropriate idea which Tom introduced. It con- 
 tained an admission that he had contracted debts which he was 
 unable to pay. 
 
 " Sing the song over agin, Tom, if you please," said a short, 
 squatting consequential personage, who had been a butler in a 
 gentleman's house, addressing Mr. Snaggs in a tone of offensive 
 authoritativeness . 
 
 " If you have a servant," answered Tom, " ask him to execute 
 your orders ; I don't quite like being spoken to in that 'ere way. 
 I'm not hobligated to sing to please you, my litrtle pot-bellied 
 
 chap." 
 
 " True, Tom ; quite right, Tom," cried a dozen voices. 
 
 " But I'll tell you vat," he resumed, addressing the ex-butler ; 
 " 111 tell vou vat, I'll sing it over agin for a pint of beer." 
 
 " Done* Tom ; you shall have it. Come, begin," said the ad- 
 mirer of Mr. Snaggs' vocal talents. 
 
 " Von't we better have the beer a'fore we begins ? It clears 
 and improves the windpipe, you knows," observed Tom. 
 
 " O, certainly, if you prefer it," was the answer. 
 
 " Veil, I do prefer it," said Tom, emphatically.
 
 DEBTORS' 1 PRISONS THE QUEENS BENCH. 69 
 
 The beer was ordered, and was forthwith on the table. Tom 
 took a liberal draught of the beverage, and keeping fast hold of 
 the handle of the jug, treated his co-inmates to a repetition of 
 the song. 
 
 " That's a true part of it, Tom, which says you have contracted 
 debts you'll never be able to pay. 1 " 
 
 This was spoken by a tall demure-looking personage, who had 
 been some time an apothecary in a small town in the neighbour- 
 hood of London. 
 
 " Is it V said Tom, looking the apothecary sarcastically in the 
 face. 
 
 " Never mind, Tom," said an attorney's clerk ; " never mind, 
 so as you gets out." 
 
 " I don't vant to get out," interposed Mr. Snaggs, hastily. 
 
 " You don't, eh ?" 
 
 ;< No, I don't ; and surely I knows best myself.' 
 
 " Certainly you must, Tom," said I, now venturing for the first 
 time to make a remark, with the view of eliciting more fully some 
 of his more eccentric traits of character. 
 
 " Yes, I does knows best," repeated Mr. Snaggs, giving a 
 knock on the table with the bottom of the pewter pot, which 
 made the greater part of its contents leap out in the faces of 
 those who were next to him. 
 
 " And are you so much attached to this place X" I inquired, in 
 as encouraging: a tone as I was master of. 
 
 "• Quite delighted with it, Sir ; it's a perfect paradise. ' 
 
 " Well, Tom, I can't fancy anything which could make the 
 place so attractive." 
 
 " Lots of beer, Sir, and plenty of racket : call you that no- 
 thing, eh?" 
 
 Tom looked up in my face with an air of infinite self-com- 
 placency, and then decanted the remainder of the beer in the 
 pot before him. I was about to answer his question when he 
 resumed. 
 
 " But I've other reasons, and better 'uns too, for preferring to 
 remain here : blow'd, if I haven't ! " 
 
 " Can you mention them, Mr. Snaggs?" 
 
 " I can mention one on 'em." 
 
 " What may it be, Tom?" 
 
 " Vy, Sir, if so be as I must speak the truth, I likes this place, 
 because I'm out of the reach of my vife ; bad luck to the 'ooman !" 
 
 " Ah, Tom ! you're married, then ?" 
 
 " Aye, I believe you ; married, indeed !" answei*ed Mr. Snaggs, 
 fetching a deep sigh, and accompanying it with a most significant 
 shake of the head. 
 
 " So, then, you are no advocate for matrimony, Mr. Snaggs V
 
 70 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " Vy, I says nothink against, being spliced once ; but, Tin 
 bless'd, if I likes second 'uns." 
 
 "Second what, Tom?" 
 
 " Second vives, Sir. 1 ' 
 
 " Oh ! married a second time, then ?" 
 
 " Vy, yes, I be's, as I knows in experience," replied Tom, with 
 a very emphatic groan. " People," he added, " says second 
 thoughts is best ; Fin bless'd, if second vives be ; they are all 
 reg'lar bad 'uns." 
 
 " And you don't, then, approve of second matches?" 
 
 " Matches ! " exclaimed Mr. Snaggs, starting up, and looking 
 surprised at my using the word. " Matches ! May I never swig 
 another pint of beer, if so be as there be any match in it. I 
 knows as I'm more than matched, anyhow." 
 
 " Yes, Tom," interposed a dark-looking, little- faced man, with- 
 drawing his pipe from his mouth to enable him to articulate 
 more distinctly. " Yes, Tom, you've been regularly done by your 
 second wife." 
 
 " You may say that, Ben, my boy ; she's a precious bad 'un 
 But its all my own fault ; blow'd, if it ain't." 
 
 "How so, Tom?" 
 
 " Vy, because I vas so big a fool as to take the 'ooman on 
 character," replied he, looking at the beer-pot. 
 
 "On what, Mr. Snaggs?" 
 
 " On character, Sir." 
 
 I intimated to Tom that his meaning was beyond my compre- 
 hension. 
 
 " What I means, Sir, is this 'ere : I took the chap,"— an odd 
 term to apply to one's wife, — " I took the chap on the faith of a 
 good character I got of her from one of her former acquaint- 
 ances, without knowing anything about her. Made short work 
 of courtship, Sir,— knew her only for seven days, — married the 
 eighth." 
 
 " That was certainly making short work of it, Tom." 
 
 " You're right, Sir ; never take any vife on character agin ; 
 never be in such a hurry to get married agin. Made a deuced 
 bad speculation of it." 
 
 " Possibly Mrs. Snaggs may improve, Tom." 
 
 " Improve !" he shouted. " Did you say improve?" 
 
 " 1 did, Tom ; it is to be hoped she will." 
 
 " Vy, if she improves, all I can say is this, — it will be like the 
 cow's tail, — in the wrong direction. She improve ! You knows 
 nothing about her, Sir, othervise you vould never say so." 
 
 " Ay, Tom, you're a very unfortunate person," suggested one 
 of his boon companions. 
 
 " That's a truth, Henry, my boy ; however, Fm out of the
 
 DEBTORS' PRISONS — THE QUEENS BENCH. 71 
 
 reach of the hussey here. Plenty of freedom in this 'ere place. 
 Here's the liberty-hall of the right sort. May I be scragged 
 (hanged) if I ever seeks to leave this place so long as they lets 
 me remain in it." Mr. Snaggs again had recourse to a liberal 
 potation. 
 
 " Does your wife never come to see you, Tom?" 
 
 " She come to see me .'—not though I vas a dyin' by the yard. 
 I've now been nine veeks in this 'ere paradise, and she's never 
 come to see me once. No loss, as to the matter of that ; never 
 vish to be vhere she is ; but I vish she had sent me a clean 
 shirt. I've only had this one," pointing to a piece of linen in his 
 breast, whose soiled appearance afforded presumptive proof of 
 the truth of his statement ; " I've only had this one for the last 
 nine veeks. " 
 
 " Too bad, Tom," said his friend Ben, who had on one or two 
 former occasions interposed a word or two of modified commise- 
 ration. " Too bad, Tom ; it is, indeed." 
 
 " Never mind," observed Mr. Snaggs, looking into the pot 
 before him to see if there was any remnant of the turbid liquid 
 in the bottom. " Never mind ; one consolation, anyhow." 
 
 " What's that, Mr. Snaggs?" inquired a short, flabby-faced- 
 looking personage, who all the while had been standing before 
 the fire, but had never until now opened his mouth. " What's 
 that, Mr. Snaggs?" 
 
 " Vy, I left her at home without a farthing ; consequently 
 she's on starvation allowance ;" and his two eyes sparkled with 
 delight as he made the observation. 
 
 " O, Tom, Tom ! " observed Ben, " you're just as bad as she 
 is. Come, that's werry wrong." 
 
 " You knows nothing about it, you booby ; you have never 
 had a second vife, or you vouldn't say so." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Snaggs, you might as well beat Mrs. Snaggs to 
 death, as starve her to death," observed a rather respectable- 
 looking man, of a reserved expression of countenance. 
 
 " O, Sir, she von't die ; she'll neither be starved to death, nor 
 beaten to death : second vivos has as many lives in 'em as an eel." 
 
 " I say, Tom, you vouldn't speak in that 'ere way, if your 
 vife vas in this 'ere place to hear you," remarked his friend 
 Benjamin. 
 
 " O, vould'nt I, Ben, my boy I Aye, that I vould, and give her 
 a good wal lopping to the bargain." 
 
 " Come, come, Tom ; you don't mean to say you would beat 
 Mrs. Snaggs V observed the aforesaid respectable reserved-look- 
 ing man. 
 
 " Say it; aye, that I do; and vat's more, Sir, I vould do it 
 too.'" As Tom spoke, he gave a violent knock with his fist to
 
 7*2 SKETCHES IN LOXDON 
 
 the crown of his hat, which forced the article down over his 
 eyes. l ' I vish," he continued, with great energy, and raising 
 up his hat again ; " I vish I had my vife here just now. O, 
 vouldn't I wallop her so, I'm ■ !" 
 
 Here Tom, who had risen from his seat to show his auditors, 
 by a forcible flourish of his right hand in the air, with what effect 
 he would " wallop" Mrs. Snaggs, suddenly paused in the midst of 
 a sentence, and, in an instant afterwards, uttered an exclama- 
 tion of u Oh, Lor !" and turning as pale as death, fell back in 
 the box. 
 
 " O, you rascal, you ! Ill give it you ! " shouted a strong mas- 
 culine, virago-looking woman, who had that moment entered the 
 tap-room. As she spoke, she rushed up to the place where Tom was 
 sitting, shaking her hand at him all the way, while her eyes 
 glared with ungovernable rage. The stranger woman, it was 
 soon discovered, was no other than the redoubtable Mrs. Snaggs 
 herself. What passed between the couple I will not mention, 
 on the ground of the acknowledged impropriety of taking any 
 notice of matrimonial quarrels. 
 
 It is interesting to reflect on the various circumstances under 
 which the inmates of the Queen's Bench Prison have been 
 brought there. The vast majority, as may be inferred from 
 other parts of this chapter, have to attribute their deprivation 
 of liberty to their own folly and utter want of principle. They 
 are men who care nothing about the sufferings they entail on 
 individuals and families, and the injury their bad example reflects 
 on society, provided only their own humours can be indulged, 
 and their propensities gratified. 
 
 There are others who are there because they either are, or 
 fancy themselves to be, the victims of injustice. There is at the 
 present time, or at least there was some few months since, a 
 young gentleman, the representative of a family of wealth and 
 antiquity in one of our English counties, who has spent the meri- 
 dian of his life in prison, rather than relinquish, in compliance 
 with the decision of a court of law, what he conceives to be his 
 right, and what he thinks would be doing an unpardonable injus- 
 tice to his family were he to give it up. To his determination 
 not to part with property which he holds to be by every consi- 
 deration of morality and justice the property of his family, and 
 which, regarding himself as a trustee for them, he feels bound to 
 protect, — he I have no doubt still adheres, though with the cer- 
 tain prospect before him, if he does not change his resolution, of 
 perpetual imprisonment. In this there is much to admire ; it is 
 a specimen of heroism and self-denial in what the party con- 
 ceives — whether right or wrong does not affect the question — a 
 good cause, — worthy of the best days of ancient Greece or Rome;
 
 DEBTORS' PRISONS — THE QUEEn's PENCIL 73 
 
 for his own pecuniary circumstances, altogether independent of 
 this case, are so ample that they would enable him to move in 
 what is called fashionable life. 
 
 A third class of persons are confined in the Queen's Bench 
 Prison from adverse circumstances over which they had no con- 
 trol. These are the only persons who feel their incarceration to 
 be a punishment, and yet they are the only inmates of the place 
 who ought not to feel it a punishment ; for they did everything 
 which, human exertion made in an honest and honourable way, 
 could do, to meet the demands of their creditors, and conse- 
 quently escape imprisonment : they are the victims of adversity 
 brought about by an agency not their own. One would think 
 that this reflection would tranquillise their minds, and reconcile 
 them to that which no exertions of theirs could have shielded 
 them against. Such, however, is not the fact: they are degraded 
 persons in their own estimation, and neither the dictates of 
 reason nor the representations of friends can remove the 
 erroneous impression. Their susceptibility on the subject is 
 in some cases so excessive, that they are impelled to the frightful 
 alternative of committing suicide. In other instances, though 
 their sense of religion guards them against a step so revolting 
 to society, and so opposed to revelation, their sense of self- 
 degradation preys so forcibly on their minds, that they pine 
 away, and eventually die under it. I could mention many 
 instances of this ; but it is unnecessary, as most of my metropoli- 
 tan readers will be able to recal to their minds cases of the kind 
 which consist with their own personal knowledge. There are at 
 this moment three or four individuals in the Queen's Bench 
 Prison, whose sense of self-degradation, in consequence of their 
 incarceration, is so great, that they never venture out to the 
 open area allowed the prisoners, nor on any account suffer them- 
 selves to be seen by their fellow-inmates. They shut themselves 
 up in their narrow cells all day, brooding over their adversities, 
 though these are not the consequence of any misconduct of their 
 own ; and never cross the threshold of their rooms until it has 
 become quite dark. Even then they wrap themselves up in 
 cloaks, lest any one should by accident get a glance of their fea- 
 tures. I know instances of this kind, in which other parties, 
 who have no feelings of shame, but who rather glory in their 
 confinement though entirely the result of their own misconduct, 
 have lived for upwards of twelve months in the next room to the 
 individuals to whom I refer, and yet have never been able by any 
 accident to get a glance of their features. What stronger argu- 
 ment than this could be urged against the principle of imprison- 
 ment for debt? That principle subjects the very parties to 
 punishment who ought not to be punished, because their cmbar-
 
 74 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 rassed circumstances have been brought about by causes 
 which it was not in their power to control ; while those un- 
 principled persons who really do deserve punishment, do not 
 feel confinement within the walls of a civil prison to be any 
 punishment at all. The honest man is thus punished, while the 
 rogue virtually escapes. It is high time that in this Christian 
 country and this enlightened age, so monstrous a state of things 
 were put an end to. 
 
 There is a fourth class of persons who are confined within the 
 walls of the Queen's Bench Prison from choice. This may 
 appear a startling announcement ; it is a true one nevertheless. 
 I do not mean to say that such persons are numerous; they are, 
 on the contrary, extremely few; but they do exist. It is only a 
 few months since, that an extraordinary instance of this kind was 
 pointed out to me, in the person of a man apparently about 
 fifty-five years of age. This individual was first confined in this 
 prison about eighteen years ago; and after being fifteen years 
 an inmate, he was liberated. At first he fancied that his libera- 
 tion would add to his happiness, and consequently rejoiced at the 
 circumstance. He had not, however, been many days out, when 
 he began to feel himself in the midst of a social desert, though 
 living in the neighbourhood of Newport Market, which is in the 
 very centre of London. All his former acquaintances were either 
 dead or removed to other parts of the country, or, at all events, 
 to places which rendered it impossible for him to obtain any 
 traces of them, far less to hold intercourse with them. The 
 desolateness of his new position was rendered still greater by 
 contrast. The new acquaintances he had formed in the Queen's 
 Bench Prison were all left behind him ; so were the exercises 
 and amusements in which he was wont daily and hourly to 
 indulge when an inmate there. Even the very stones of the 
 pavement, the walls of the building, and the place altogether, 
 had become, through so lengthened and intimate an acquaint- 
 anceship, dear to him. These things all rushed on his mind ; 
 they haunted it by day, and he dreamed of them by night. The 
 man, in other words, was miserable in his altered position. He 
 felt as if he had been alone in the world — as if he had been, in 
 one sense, the " last man," and he literally shed tears at the 
 thought of his freedom. It was feared by some, who were 
 acquainted with the circumstances, that he would either pine 
 away, or, if he did not, that he would lay violent hands on himself. 
 It was suggested to him that he should return to the Queen's 
 Bench Prison. In that suggestion he at once and most cordially 
 concurred ; but he did not, at the moment, possess the requisite 
 qualification : he was not then in debt. He soon, however, did 
 acquire it, and was again confined in his old quarters, where
 
 DEBTORS"' PRISONS — THE QUEEN*S BENCH. 75 
 
 I saw him some months ago, one of the happiest of the three or 
 four hundred inmates in the place. 
 
 I am sure that most of my readers will readily remember 
 a story which is very similar to this : it is the only parallel one 
 which my memory can bring to my mind at this moment. I 
 allude to the well-known story of the man who had been forty 
 years a prisoner in the Bastile of France. When the populace 
 burst open the doors of that building, and liberated the pri- 
 soners, an old man, whose appearance had, by forty years' con- 
 finement in a dark dungeon, become almost unearthly, was 
 found among the number. He was carried to the part of the 
 town in which he had lived previous to his imprisonment. The 
 whole aspect of the place was altered, and he could discover 
 no trace of even one solitary former friend. The aged man felt 
 himself, as it were, in a new and strange world. The very light 
 of heaven proved a burden to him ; he felt he could not long 
 survive in the altered circumstances in which he was placed; 
 and, with tears streaming down his cheeks, he implored those 
 who had liberated him, in mercy and for Heaven's sake, to have 
 the humanity of carrying him back again to his dark and gloomy 
 dungeon in the Bastile. Habit is, indeed, a strange thing : there 
 never was a more just observation, than that it is a second nature. 
 It is curious to witness the efforts which are made by some 
 of the inmates in the Bench to keep up their former dignity, — in 
 appearance, at least, — in despite of their altered circumstances. 
 There are scores of persons there who fancy themselves as impor- 
 tant (and are infinitely surprised and mortified to find others do 
 not also think them so) as when they were living in the greatest 
 splendour, residing in princely mansions, and keeping up magni- 
 ficent establishments. Though practically on the same footing 
 with the humblest of their co-inmates, — with this difference, that, 
 having more money at their command, they can procure greater 
 comforts in some respects, — they affect to look down on all 
 others as if they were not of the same species. This is ridi- 
 culous enough out of prison, — in prison it is peculiarly so ; 
 for a place like the Queen's Bench is, to all intents and pur- 
 poses, a republic. When the purse of such persons is empty, 
 their attempts to keep up their fancied dignity not only often 
 reach the ultima thule of ridiculousness ; they are sometimes 
 amusing in the highest degree. A lady formerly moving in the 
 highest circles of society, who had for several years been one of 
 the inmates, determined, within the last twelve months, or it 
 may be a little more, to ask four others of her West-end friends 
 to dinner one Sunday afternoon. The invitations were duly 
 forwarded, and answers, accepting them, were received in duo 
 course. Unfortunately, the lady had not a sovereign in her pos-
 
 76 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 session, and whai was the next worst thing, she had neither credit 
 enough with any of her fellow-prisoners to get the loan of a few, 
 nor with the individual who furnishes the dinners to get a 
 dinner — to use the phraseology of the place — " on tick." She 
 had, in other words, a heavy score in that quarter already. 
 What was to be done? It would be a fearful wound to her 
 pride, an awful outrage on her dignity, to ask friends to dinner 
 and yet have nothing to set before them when they came. She 
 saw there was no alternative but to endeavour to do something 
 by some means or other, with the party who acted as " provi- 
 der" on such occasions. After in vain using every argument 
 and entreaty she could think of, to induce him to furnish the 
 requisite repast, and add the bill to the previous account, she at 
 last proposed that he should have a dinner, consisting of certain 
 things which she mentioned, ready by six o'clock next Sunday 
 afternoon ; adding, that she would by that time receive some 
 money, and pay him the amount before she would ask him to lay 
 the things on the table. To this he agreed, at the rate of 
 a guinea a-head, not doubting that when the guests were come, 
 they would rather pay for it than see their friend and themselves 
 made ridiculous. At all events, he determined that, if the 
 amount of the bill was not forthcoming, not a morsel should be 
 tasted, either by mine hostess or the guests. The day appointed 
 arrived ; so did the hour, and so did the friends. The lady was 
 as unencumbered by the circulating medium then as before. She 
 had not a shilling in her possession. To ask the loan of the 
 requisite sum from the friends she had invited, — in other words, 
 to ask them to pay for the dinner of which she had asked them 
 to partake, — was an expedient to which she was most unwilling 
 to resort. Telling her friends that dinner would be on the table 
 presently, she begged to be excused for a minute or two ; and 
 so saying she hurried off to the party engaged to provide the 
 feast. She renewed her entreaties for credit once more, and was 
 most prodigal of her protestations that the amount of that parti- 
 cular bill, as well as the old score, would be honourably and 
 cheerfully paid in a few days, by which time she was sure of 
 a liberal remittance from her friends. But all would not do ; 
 the "provider" was inexorable. His motto, after the experience he 
 had had already, was — " No money, no dinner.*" She left him, 
 and returned to her friends, thinking that if his heart did not 
 soften, the circumstance of the dinner being sure to be spoiled, 
 if not speedily eaten, and his thus losing money by it, would in 
 two or three minutes operate favourably on him. The lady told 
 her friends on her return, that dinner was not quite ready, but 
 would be in a minute or two. They, of course, assured her they 
 were in no hurry. About three minutes afterwards a knock
 
 DEBTORS PRISONS THE QUEEN S REXCH. 77 
 
 was heard at the door. Mine hostess immediately opened it. 
 " Are you, ma'am, to have the dinner, or not ! " inquired a voice 
 on the landing. 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! don't speak so loud," answered the lady. 
 
 " Say at once, ma'am, whether I'm to bring it, or not." 
 
 " Yes, do ; bring it presently ; we're all waiting for it," said 
 she, in an under tone. 
 
 " The money, then, if you please, ma'am." 
 
 " O, do bring it, and 111 pay you to-morrow ; I will indeed." 
 
 " No, ma'am , not a morsel shall be brought without the 
 money : if you do not pay first, before I quit this place, I shall 
 go and dispose of it at a reduced price to the other prisoners. On 
 that, ma'am, I'm resolved," said the " provider," laying a peculiar 
 stress on the word resolved, and giving a forcible stroke with the 
 palm of his right hand to one of his legs a little above his knee. 
 
 This announcement, coupled with the energetic manner in 
 which it was made, alarmed the lady. She saw that if the 
 dinner was not got by some means or other, without loss of time, 
 it would not be got at all. The thought was horrifying ; it was 
 still more so, if possible, to think that it should be disposed ot 
 to, and be eaten by, the vulgar herd of prisoners ; that their 
 palates should be regaled by the dainties provided for herself 
 and friends. " O ! the very idea was enough to annihilate one !" 
 She opened the door, and rushed half frantic into the room. 
 " My dear friends, how awkward ! O, I can scarcely utter a 
 word ! but the truth is, that I have been disappointed in a small 
 remittance I expected yesterday, and which I am sure to receive 
 to-morrow ; and this brute of a man is so rude and unmannerly 
 as not to give me credit even for a few hours. I'm quite ashamed ; 
 indeed, I am !" 
 
 The explanation of the cause of the non-appearance of the 
 dinner was unnecessary ; the party had overheard every word 
 that had passed between the lady and the other party. 
 
 They were as much confounded as herself; each looked at the 
 other; and what aggravated the unpleasantness of the circum- 
 stances in which they were placed, was the fact that they had 
 not above a guinea amongst them all. In fact, not dreaming of 
 so " untoward" an affair, they had not thought of taking any 
 money with them. The confusion of the intended guests was 
 only made so much worse by the countless apologies and unspeak- 
 able mortification of their friend, the lady prisoner. And if any- 
 thing could have added yet more to the confusion of the lady's 
 friends, and rendered her own mortification complete, it would 
 have been the fact of hearing the party providing the dinner 
 singing out, in tones sufficiently stentorian to make all the pri- 
 soners hear it, as he walked up and down the place — "A dinner
 
 78 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 provided for *, to be disposed of in small portions, 
 
 at reduced prices. The lady's friends were obliged to return 
 home with empty stomachs, and she herself has not yet recovered 
 the shock which her pride received on the occasion. 
 
 I am convinced that the deprivation to which I have referred 
 of that respect and obeisance which are paid to the aristocracy 
 outside the walls of the prison, embitters their situation within, 
 much more than the mere confinement itself. In the course of 
 my visits to the place I have been often struck with the crest- 
 fallen appearance of the scions of the aristocracy, when I have 
 seen them walking about on the pavement without any one 
 deigning to take the slightest notice of them. Those only who 
 have been accustomed to be treated with the greatest deference, 
 and to have all manner of respect shown to them, just as if they 
 were a sort of superior beings, can form an idea of the depth 
 to which those persons fall in their own estimation, when they 
 are reduced to a level with the humblest individuals in the land. 
 
 It is worthy of observation, that there are generally a fair 
 sprinkling of the nobility in the Queen's Bench. Considering 
 the proportion which the aristocracy bears to the other inhabit- 
 ants of the country, their relative number in the Bench to the 
 other prisoners is strikingly great. Take the aristocracy, strictly 
 so called, of the country at 5000, and the population of the 
 United Kingdom at 25,000,000, that would give only one aris- 
 tocrat for 5000 of the people. Go to the Queen's Bench, and 
 you will usually find the nobility to be, to the people, in propor- 
 tion of one to one hundred and fifty ; which conclusively shows 
 that, considering their relative numbers, they much more gene- 
 rally incur debts they are unable or unwilling to pay, than those 
 in the lower walks of life. 
 
 It were desirable for the sake of what Lord Grey would call 
 " the order," that the number of the nobility, who from time to 
 time grace the Queen's Bench, were not so great ; but there is 
 another class of persons whom every one must much more regret 
 to see there. I mean the clergy of the church of England. The 
 number of clergymen imprisoned in that place for debt is 
 relatively great. Not long since there were no fewer than nine 
 or ten at once. I know of nothing more prejudicial to the inte- 
 rests of that religion, whose ministers they profess to be, and 
 whose principles they solemnly swore on the day of their ordina- 
 tion to have adopted from conviction, than that, through habits 
 of extravagance, to use no harsher terms, they should render 
 themselves amenable to the civil jurisprudence of their country. 
 A clergyman in the Queen's Bench, through misconduct of hi? 
 
 * The name was pronounced in full.
 
 DEBTORS' PRISONS THE QI'EEn's BENCH. 79 
 
 own, is a most painful spectacle. Not only is his own usefulness 
 ever afterwards impaired, but scandal is, through his means, 
 brought on Christianity itself. It is due to the Dissenters 
 to say, that while the Queen's Bench prison is scarcely ever — I 
 doubt if it be ever — without several clerical inmates, the circum- 
 stance of one of their ministers being confined within its walls, is 
 an occurrence which hardly ever takes place. 
 
 There are always a considerable number of attorneys and 
 barristers in the Queen's Bench. I need scarcely say that in the 
 great majority of cases the attorneys were without practice, and 
 the barristers briefless, before their entrance. Some of the 
 former, however, manage to raise a tolerable business within 
 the walls of the prison. Strange as it may appear, it does some- 
 times happen that persons have to date their prosperity in life to 
 their incarceration in the Queen's Bench. One remarkable in- 
 stance consists with my personal knowledge. The party was a 
 barrister, but had never in his life had a single brief in his bag. 
 I am not sure, indeed, having no use for it, whether he had a 
 bag at all. He was sent to vegetate for ten or twelve months 
 in the Bench. While there he contracted an intimacy with one 
 of the prisoners of some station in society, and of considerable 
 wealth, though, through some illegal proceedings, temporarily 
 deprived of it. The case was laid before the briefless barrister, 
 and having abundant time on his hand he made himself com- 
 pletely master of it in all its bearings. On his liberation he 
 undertook to bring it before the proper tribunal, making his re- 
 muneration entirely dependent on his success. He did succeed: 
 the party was liberated, and he amply rewarded for his trouble. 
 But the remuneration he received was but a very subordinate 
 portion of the benefit he derived from the case. Possessed of 
 very respectable natural talents, and knowing the case so 
 thoroughly, he made so creditable a professional appearance in 
 court, that briefs, from that time, poured in on him in copious 
 abundance. This was the tide in his affairs of which Shakspeare 
 speaks : he wisely took it at the fountain, and it led on to fame 
 and fortune. 
 
 Of military men there is always a good number in the 
 Queen's Bench Prison. They consist of all degrees of rank in 
 the service, from the general down to the officer of the humblest 
 grade. You can easily distinguish them from the rest of tho 
 ).i i -oners by the stiffness of their gait. 
 
 But of all classes of men to be found in the Queen's Bench, 
 that of authors, in proportion to their relative numbers to 
 society generally, is by far the most numerous. On some occa- 
 sions they are to be seen in crowds, in that locality. Napoleon 
 called the English a nation of shopkeepers ; and when George
 
 80 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 the Fourth visited Scotland, mistaking the holiday clothes in 
 which the people were dressed to greet his arrival, for the 
 apparel in which they daily appeared, he called the Scotch 
 a nation of gentlemen. Were a foreigner, again, to make 
 his first place of visit, on his arrival in this country, the 
 Queen's Bench, he would, from the number of literary men he 
 would find among the inmates, immediately come to the conclu- 
 sion that we were a nation of authors. Formerly, when the 
 privations and misfortunes of authors were adverted to, the 
 garrets of Grub-street were mentioned as the place where literary 
 men were chiefly to be found pining in want and wretchedness. 
 The miseries of authorship are still more forcibly illustrated in 
 the Bench. It is, beyond all comparison, the worst trade 
 going. For one man that succeeds in it, thousands fail. No 
 wonder that Sir Walter Scott always admonished young men of 
 literary tastes, not to dream of earning their bread by their 
 writings. Had he ever visited the Queen's Bench, he would 
 have been still more earnest in his cautions to them not to lean, 
 as he himself used to say, on so broken a reed. I have heard 
 of literary men who had themselves largely experienced the 
 wretchedness of making literature a profession, giving it as their 
 most earnest advice to their sons, never to think of making 
 authorship a trade ; and they have enforced their counsels and 
 cautions by a reference to particular cases of misery which have 
 resulted from the attempts thus made to earn their bread by their 
 literary labours. If such parents were to take their sons to the 
 Queen's Bench, and by that means bring before them examples 
 in wholesale, demonstrative of the pains and penalties of living, 
 or rather endeavouring to live, by literature, — their counsels 
 would have a much greater chance of making a permanent 
 impression, and of producing the intended effects. 
 
 The number of female prisoners in the Queen's Bench bears 
 but a small proportion to the male. I should think that, on an 
 average, there is not one woman for seven or eight of the 
 male sex. 
 
 It is curious, on a visit to the Queen's Bench, to contrast the 
 external appearance of the higher classes of the prisoners, after 
 they.have been a short time in the place, with what it was before 
 their admission. The metamorphosis they undergo in the course 
 of a few months is almost incredible. It is sometimes so com- 
 plete, that their own friends, one would think, would have some 
 difficulty in identifying them. Were they to meet them acci- 
 dentally in the street, I am sure they would pass them by without 
 recognising them. It is quite a common thing to see noblemen 
 and gentlemen, who but a few months before were dressed, or, 
 as a tailor would say, " decorated, 11 in the extreme of fashion ;
 
 DKPTORS* PRISONS THE QUEEN'S BENCH. 81 
 
 persons, on whose apparel Stultz, and Willis, and Crellin, and 
 our other first-rate tailors, had expended all their ingenuity and 
 taste, in order to make an exquisite fit ; it is, I say, quite a 
 common thing to see such persons in the Bench nothing better 
 than the mere wrecks of dandyism. In some instances, you see 
 their wardrobe " all tattered and torn, 1 ' just like that of the 
 little hero in the nursery -book, price one halfpenny, " who 
 kissed the maiden all forlorn. 11 In many cases parties who on 
 their introduction to the Queen's Bench were dandies of the 
 first water, have not the means of " keeping up the steam of 
 Beau Brummellism ;" they have no cash, and what is worse for 
 them, no credit. In other cases, they have no inducement to 
 sustain their reputation as dandies ■ they see nobody, and are 
 seen by nobody, as they themselves phrase it. Hence they get 
 careless in the article of apparel ; and that carelessness eventu- 
 ally degenerates into slovenliness. The brush comes in contact 
 with their clothes : button after button drops off without being 
 replaced, until they are pretty nearly buttonless. There is a 
 hole here, and a rent there. " The shine"'*' is taken out of their 
 shoes, and is not put into them again. If Warren had no better 
 customers than the inmates of the Queen's Bench, he would be 
 obliged to advertise less. The columns of so many country papers 
 would not be enriched by the poetical praises of his " unrivalled, 1 ' 1 
 nor would those journals be so often embellished by the picture 
 of the cat fighting with her own shadow as reflected in the well- 
 polished boot. Then there are the hats of these broken-down 
 demi-dandies : they are, indeed, "shocking bad 11 ones, if they 
 are worthy of the name. The pile is gone, the colour is faded ; 
 they are broken and bruised all over. As regards their beards, 
 again, they find it the least troublesome course to let them have 
 their own way of it ; hence the chin, which on their entrance 
 was scraped by some tonsor as bare as if no crop had ever grown 
 on it, is embellished by a most abundant harvest of hair, which 
 is dignified with the. name of mustachios. 
 
 There are always some persons in the Bench who illustrate the 
 old proverb of not learning wisdom from experience. A few months 
 since, there was a lady there, who had, after having been for seven 
 years an inmate before, procured her liberation. By a curious 
 coincidence, within a few days of her discharge she had the 
 further good fortune of coming into the possession of property 
 which had been left her by a deceased relation, to the amount of 
 4000/. This might have kept her comfortable for life, as she 
 had no one dependent on her for support. In a few weeks after- 
 wards, she saw an advertisement in " The Times" newspaper, in 
 which the advertiser intimated his desire to meet with a party, 
 commanding a capital of 4000/., to enter with him into a specu- 
 lation which he pledged himself would, the very first year, yield
 
 82 SKETCHES IN LONDON, 
 
 a return of 50 per cent, on the money embarked in the affair. 
 The lady answered the advertisement ; it was too tempting a 
 prospect to be slighted. A personal interview followed. The 
 advertiser, who was an exceedingly plausible person, assured her 
 that he had discovered a method of making candles of the first 
 quality without tallow, and that, if he had the command of 
 4000/., wherewith to erect the necessary machinery, and to fit 
 up suitable premises, the party advancing the sum should be 
 received as full partner into the concern, and that the fortunes 
 of both would be made in a few years. The simple lady was 
 exceedingly pleased with the scheme ; she advanced the last far- 
 thing of her money ; the ingenious rogue was, of course, no more 
 heard of ; and, in exactly twelve months afterwards, she was sent 
 back to her old quarters in the Bench. 
 
 Very unexpected meetings sometimes take place between near 
 relations or intimate friends, in the Queen's Bench. Not long 
 since, a woman, moving in a respectable sphere of life, was com- 
 mitted, as the phrase is, to the custody of the Marshalsea. She 
 had not been three hours in the place, when she was surprised to 
 see her daughter, who had lived in lodgings of her own, make 
 her appearance in the coffee-room. " Mercy on me, Matilda ! 
 how did you hear so soon of my being here?" she exclaimed, 
 advancing to embrace her daughter. The latter uttered a shriek, 
 and fainted away at the sight of her mother. She had not heard 
 of her parent's incarceration. The coincidence of both being 
 imprisoned in one day for their individual debts was curious 
 enough. We often hear of agreeable surprises : this was a sur- 
 prise of a very different kind : it was a most ^agreeable one for 
 both parties. 
 
 But a meeting of two friends in the Queen's Bench, under still 
 more singular circumstances, occurred a short time ago. Mr. 
 Bagster, a literary man in a small way, was most devotedly 
 attached to Miss Bridget Shrimps, who had been many years 
 known as a dress-maker, in the neighbourhood of Leicester- 
 square ; and his ardent affection was reciprocated on her part. 
 Never, indeed, did novelist lavish more high-wrought encomiums 
 on the ardour of the attachment entertained towards each other, 
 by any couple of imaginary lovers which his own fancy called into 
 being, than were merited by Mr. Bagster and Miss Shrimps. 
 Their love was on the eve, as it was right it should do, of attract- 
 ing each other, by a sort of Siamese sympathy, towards the 
 hymeneal altar. Just three days more, and Miss Shrimps would 
 have been metamorphosed into Mrs. Bagster ; but " the course 
 of true love" — the reader can complete the sentence. Mr. Bag- 
 ster was one evening on his way, through Coventry-street, to 
 Miss Shrimps, to renew to her his protestations of ardent and 
 unalterable attachment, and to make some necessary prepara-
 
 DEBTORS' PRISONS — ]f!E ftUEEN*S BENCH. 83 
 
 tions for the approaching nuptials, when he received a rather 
 smart tap on the right shoulder. He turned about, and encoun- 
 tered the physiognomy of a personage whose visage, even in the 
 contemplation, had been associated for six months before with 
 very unpleasant feelings. Mr. Bagster was landed in an hour 
 or two afterwards in the Bench. That night did pass away ; 
 but it was an age to poor Mr. Bagster. The image of Miss 
 Shrimps haunted his mind continually, not even allowing 
 him one moment's repose. He thought next day what a 
 wretched person he must be if he was kept many weeks from 
 the embraces of Miss Shrimps. On the afternoon of the second 
 day, he sat down to unburden his mind by pouring into her ear, 
 through means of a letter, his woes, caused by his sudden and 
 unexpected separation from her. The letter, so far as it had pro- 
 ceeded, was instinct with affection : it was full to overflowing of 
 protestations of undying attachment. " O, Miss Shrimps ! my 
 ever adored and ever adorable Miss Shrimps ! how shall I endure 
 the pangs of separation from you ! Last night was an age ; this 
 night will be an eternity, because of my not seeing you. Your 
 presence here would convert this miserable place into a para — " 
 Mr. Bagster was in the act of completing the sentence, by indit- 
 ing the word " paradise," when interrupted by what he thought 
 a gentle knock at the door. " Who's there? Any one there V 
 said he, leaving the word " paradise 1 '' in its incomplete state, and 
 raising his head and looking towards the door. He resumed 
 writing. 
 
 No answer was returned to his queries. 
 
 " Yes, my " 
 
 He was again interrupted by what he conceived to be another 
 gentle knock at the door. 
 
 " Any person there?" he again inquired, in a subdued tone of 
 voice, directing his eye towards the door. 
 
 Still there was no answer to his question. 
 
 " It's all imagination with me," he observed to himself. 
 
 "Yes, my dearest!" resuming his epistolary employment^ 
 " yes, my dearest Bridget, your presence, which is but another 
 name for happiness, would convert even this miserable place into 
 a perfect paradise ; but how " 
 
 A loud knock, which there was no mistaking, interrupted Mr. 
 Bagster a third time ; and throwing down the pen, he started to 
 his feet, and threw the door wide open in a moment. A female 
 figure appeared before him. " Bridget ! " he exclaimed, with an 
 expression of countenance which showed that he could hardly 
 credit the evidence <>f his eyes. 
 
 " O, Francis ! (), my " The remainder of the sentence 
 
 was lost, in consequence of Miss Shrimps thrusting her face into 
 Mr. Bagsters breast. Mr. Bagster opened his arms as wide as
 
 84 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 their length would admit of, to receive his Dulcinea, and then, 
 pressing her to his bosom, exclaimed, with a most emphatic sigh, 
 "O, Bridget! Bridget! O." 
 
 "Francis!" faintly ejaculated Bridget, looking up languish- 
 ingly in her lover's face. 
 
 ' Bridget, my dear ! " responded the latter, with a sort of sob 
 wnich defies specification. 
 
 Miss Shrimps looked up in Mr. Bagster's face, but uttered 
 not a word. 
 
 Mr. Bagster looked down in Miss Shrimps's face, and was 
 equally silent. 
 
 " This is a meeting," gasped Bridget after a minute's pause ; 
 " a meeting " 
 
 " It is a meeting, my dear!" answered Mr. Bagster. " But, 
 come inside." As he spoke, he led Miss Shrimps into his room, 
 seated her on a chair, and after both had begun to recover 
 from the effects of so unexpected an interview, Mr. Bagster 
 handed to Miss Shrimps the letter he had been writing. 
 
 She forthwith commenced reading it, and on coming to the 
 tender passage which Mr. Bagster had been in the act of indit- 
 ing when she knocked at the door, she threw down the letter, 
 and thrusting her arms round his neck, cordially embraced him. 
 
 " O, Bridget ! I'm so delighted you're come. But how shall 
 I bear the pang of parting from you when the gates are about to 
 be shut in the evening I " 
 
 " My dear Francis, I'll stay here ; I won't leave you." 
 
 " But you must, my angel ; all strangers must quit previous 
 to the gates being shut." 
 
 " O ! but they won't ask me to go." 
 
 " Indeed they will, my dear ; they never allow any one but the 
 unhappy inmates to remain." 
 
 " Francis ! Francis ! How shall I tell you " 
 
 Here Miss Shrimps gasped for breath, and seemed within a 
 few degrees of a regular swoon. 
 
 " Tell what, my dear?" inquired Mr. Bagster eagerly. 
 
 " How shall I tell it ?" repeated Miss Shrimps, with additional 
 emphasis. 
 
 " Do tell it, my dearest Bridget." 
 
 " /am an inmate — a, prisoner, Francis," answered Miss Shrimps, 
 and she again buried her head most poetically in the breast of 
 Mr. Bagster. 
 
 " You don't say so !" exclaimed the latter, starting back on 
 the first intimation of the fact. 
 
 " I do, indeed," rejoined Miss Shrimps, clinging still closer to 
 Mr. Bagster. 
 
 "Bridget! my adored Bridget! I'm happy to hear it,"" ob- 
 served Mr. Bagster with great emphasis, after a moment's reflec-
 
 DEBTORS' PRISONS — THE QUEEN'S BENCH. 85 
 
 tion ; and as he spoke, he pressed Miss Shrimps with redoubled 
 vigour to his bosom. 
 
 " O, I'm so happy to hear you say so ! 
 
 " I was afraid, Bridget, that I might forfeit your affections 
 when you discovered that I was in embarrassed circumstances." 
 
 " And I laboured under a similar apprehension when you found 
 out the state of my pecuniary matters,' 1 rejoined Miss Shrimps. 
 
 " We are now again on a footing of perfect equality," remarked 
 Mr. Bagster. 
 
 " Quite so," answered Miss Shrimps ; and the lovers again 
 embraced each other. 
 
 They were both liberated in six weeks ; and before the seventh 
 week had passed away, Miss Shrimps was transformed into Mrs. 
 Bagster. 
 
 And there was, after all, more philosophy in the mutual con- 
 gratulations of the lovers, on finding themselves both in prison 
 for debt, than might appear on the first blush of the thing. The 
 one would not, in the bickerings which are incidental, as if by 
 some sort of moral necessity, to the matrimonial state, be able to 
 reproach the other with a stigma which attached equally to each. 
 The same philosophy dictated the mutual confessions of Dr. John- 
 son and the lady to whom he was paying his addresses, immediately 
 before their marriage. " I had a near relation who was hanged," 
 said the lady, in order that the Doctor might not afterwards have 
 any ground for accusing her of concealing the fact, or of reproach- 
 ing her, with any justice, with the circumstance. " My dear," 
 said the lexicographer, " there is no inequality in our circum- 
 stances in that respect ; for though no near relation of mine has 
 been hanged, I have at least twenty who deserve to be so." 
 
 I have alluded, in a former part of the chapter, to the length 
 of time which some of the present prisoners have been inmates of 
 the Queen's Bench ; and also to the causes, in some cases, of their 
 protracted imprisonment. There is one of these individuals who 
 has been fifteen or sixteen years in the place, simply because he 
 refuses to answer certain questions put to him by the commis- 
 sioners of bankrupts. He has been several times before those 
 gentlemen, and might, at any time since he was first committed, 
 have procured his liberation by saying either "Aye," or " No" 
 to their queries. But no consideration will induce him to use 
 either of these monosyllables in connexion with their questions, 
 though he has no particular objection to the words in other 
 circumstances. On one occasion he was brought before Lord 
 Brougham, then Lord Chancellor, with a view to the overcoming 
 what the commissioners of bankrupts call his obstinacy ; and 
 bis Lordship made every effort in his power to get either an. affir- 
 mative or negative answer to the questions referred to ; but with- 
 out effect. " Why, my good man," said his Lordship, in the most
 
 86 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 winning tone of which he was master, — never, by the way, very 
 winning at any time, — " why, my good man, would it not be 
 a very simple thing to answer affirmatively or negatively the ques- 
 tion put you I " 
 
 The prisoner was silent. 
 
 " Your conduct is most extraordinary," added his Lordship, 
 giving a twitch or two to his nose. 
 
 Still the prisoner uttered not a syllable. 
 
 " You are not asked to answer the questions in any parti- 
 cular way, but only to give such answers as are in accordance 
 with the truth." 
 
 Not a word proceeded from the prisoner. 
 
 " Can't you," resumed his Lordship, in his usual tart and hasty 
 manner, and imparting a variety of very violent twitches to the 
 aforesaid part of his face ; " can't you say ' Yes or No V " 
 
 Whether his Lordship was aware that, in putting the matter 
 to the prisoner in this way, he was quoting the title of one of 
 Lord Mulgrave's novels, I cannot say ; but the prisoner con- 
 tinued as mute as before. 
 
 " Then, Sir, you won't say either ' Yes or No V" repeated Lord 
 Brougham, with additional warmth. 
 
 " No," said the prisoner, in an audible voice. 
 
 " O, then," observed his Lordship, in a subdued tone, and his 
 countenance assuming a much milder expression ; " O, then, you 
 mean, at last, to answer the questions in the negative, do you?" 
 
 " Certainly not," answered the prisoner in a firm and steady 
 voice. I meant by ' No,' that I did not intend to answer them 
 either way." 
 
 " Officers," shouted Lord Brougham, addressing the parties in 
 whose custody the prisoner was ; " officers, remove this person 
 back to prison." And he was re- transferred to the Bench accord- 
 ingly, where he has remained ever since. 
 
 There are some prisoners, again, who, so far from going into 
 the Bench with the determination of remaining there for a length- 
 ened period, enter it with the full determination, and under the 
 assured conviction, of not being in it above a few weeks at furthest. 
 There was some months since, and I suppose is still, an individual 
 in it, of the name of Such, who has been an inmate, without once 
 crossing its threshold, for more than twenty years, who on his 
 incarceration felt so assured of his being liberated next day, that 
 be observed to Mr. Sams, a fellow-prisoner who had been a pre- 
 vious acquaintance, that he had come to a resolution not to take 
 off his boots while he remained there. " Don't be too sure of 
 regaining your liberty so promptly," observed the other. 
 
 " If I don't get out to-morrow, I'll jump down my own throat," 
 rejoined the other. 
 
 This promise to jump down his own throat was a favourite
 
 DEBTORS' PRISONS — THE QUEEN^S BENCH. 87 
 
 expression of his, when pledging his word to anything which he 
 was confident would occur. 
 
 The hour for shutting the gates next evening arrived, without 
 any appearance of Mr. Such being liberated. " Come, now," said 
 Mr. Sams, on the bell being rung for the departure of stran- 
 gers, — " Come, now, I suppose you'll have no objection to take 
 off your boots?" 
 
 44 Take them off ! Certainly not ; perfectly sure of getting out 
 to-morrow. If I don't, I'll jump down my own throat; blame 
 me, if I don't ! " 
 
 44 P'raps you would like your boots cleaned, Sir?" said a man 
 of all-work, on seeing the unpolished aspect they presented next 
 morning, as Mr. Such promenaded the pavement. 
 
 " O, not at all, my good man. I'll have them cleaned in the 
 Tavistock Hotel in a few hours." 
 
 " Vould'nt you better have them done now?" inquired the 
 other, having an eye to the penny which was his usual charge. 
 
 ■' Certainly not : I'm resolved they shall never come off my 
 feet while here ; far less, have them cleaned." 
 
 14 Veil, Sir, but you knows as how, if you don't get out o' this 
 here place so soon as you expects, you must take them off to get 
 them cleaned, for decency's sake." 
 
 44 O, I'm quite certain of getting out to-day : there can be no 
 mistake about the matter. I'll jump down my own throat, if 
 there be." 
 
 That day passed away like its two predecessors; and still Mr. 
 Such's efforts to procure his liberation were unsuccessful. " Come, 
 come, 11 said his friend, " don't be so foolish ; off with your boots, 
 and go to bed at the usual time, and in the usual manner, like 
 other people." 
 
 " Will I ! — Not for worlds. I have pledged my word that I 
 shall not take off my boots while I remain in this place. How- 
 ever, I know the causes why I have not already regained my 
 liberty. All owing to accidental circumstances : but sure to be 
 out to-day. Here goes, if I don't." As he uttered the last sen- 
 tence, he pointed his finger to his open mouth. 
 
 Nearly a month elapsed, during every day of which Mr. Such 
 was repeatedly urged by one or more of his fellow-prisoners to 
 take off his boots ; but to each of their entreaties he replied by a 
 threatened descent of his own throat, if he did not get out be- 
 fore night. By the close of the fourth day of his incarceration, 
 he was so uncomfortable and exhausted with sitting up all night, 
 or only lying down for a few hours with his clothes on, that he 
 was obliged to go to bed like other people, only that he neither 
 < luffed his boots nor trowsers. Just about the commencement of 
 his fifth week, his toes began to peep out between the soles and 
 uppers of his •• uTHlcrst:uHlings. v, -r-:i8 he sometifoefl facetiously
 
 88 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 called his boots. This was deemed by Mr. Sams a fortunate 
 circumstance. He thought the boots of Mr. Such must come off 
 now, whether he was willing or not. " Mr. Such," said he, " your 
 boots want mending." 
 
 " Why, I know that," observed the latter, coolly. 
 
 " Take them off, and I'll send for a cobbler to have them 
 mended." 
 
 " O, not at all, Mr. Sams ; though equally obliged to you for 
 your kind offer." 
 
 ' ; Why, really, Mr. Such, you are carrying the joke a little too 
 far. You look quite ridiculous with your toes staring people in 
 the face that way," pointing to his feet. 
 
 " Can't help it ; it will only be for this one day more. I'm 
 sure to be out before nine this evening. If I be not, I'm down 
 directly." The latter sentence was accompanied by the appro- 
 priate action of again pointing to his open mouth. 
 
 " Come, come, no more nonsense, Mr. Such. Let me bring 
 you a cobbler at once." 
 
 " O, bring him by all means, if you please ; only, if my boots 
 are to be mended, they must be so on my feet." 
 
 " Well, Sir, have your own way of it. Keep them on till dooms- 
 day, if you wish it," observed Mr. Sams in an angry tone, as he 
 quitted Mr. Such's room. Mr. Sams determined with himself that 
 he would never again utter a syllable to him on the subject. 
 
 In about a fortnight afterwards, one of the prisoners, in pass- 
 ing Mr. Such, chanced to accost him with " Not out yet, Mr. 
 Such I " He was surprised at not receiving the usual reply of 
 " I will be out to-night, though. If I don't, down my own 
 throat I go." 
 
 " You should be advised, and take off your boots, Mr. Such." 
 
 " /"won't take them off," replied Mr. Such, in a subdued tone, 
 looking significantly at his feet. 
 
 " Will you allow me to take them off?" 
 
 " O, if you wish it, I have no objections ; only, I don't do it 
 myself: I won't break my word." 
 
 The other endeavoured to release him from the state of living 
 martyrdom in which he had been for seven weeks, but found his 
 legs were so swollen, that the boots could not be got off in the 
 usual way. They were obliged to be cut off in pieces. When 
 the process had been completed, and Mr. Such saw the frag- 
 ments lying before him, he observed, with something between a 
 sigh and a groan, " O, there they are ! I have now no longer any 
 wish to regain my freedom. Here I am willing to live and die." 
 From that time, nearly a quarter of a century ago, the eccentric 
 gentle man has never been heard to express a desire to get out of 
 the lit nch ; while his favourite threat of jumping down his own 
 throat has never since escaped his lips.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. 
 
 Origin of the Troop — Distinguished members — Coat of Arms — Troop Hall — Ad- 
 mission of distinguished members — Remarks on the Charge delivered on the 
 admission of Troopers of distinction — System of punishments adopted by the 
 Troop — Scenes which sometimes occur on the proposed exaction of fines — An 
 instance given — Visit of the City Members to Troop Hall — Their speeches on the 
 occasion — The uproarious scenes which sometimes occur — Specimen of one — 
 Miscellaneous Observations. 
 
 The period at which this body was first formed, cannot now be 
 ascertained. Ask a member of the " Ancient and Honourable 
 Lumber Troop ," the time when it was first instituted, and his 
 answer will be — " Its origin is lost in the mist of ages." This, 
 at any rate, is the answer I have always got from the Troopers 
 when I have questioned them as to the origin of the Troop. 
 Some intelligent persons are of opinion that it was originally 
 instituted to commemorate the destruction of the Spanish Ar- 
 mada, in Queen Elizabeth's time. I do not see any probability 
 in this hypothesis ; for so far as I am acquainted with the annals 
 of the Lumber Troop, I can discover no connexion which it could 
 ever have had with that event. Others are of opinion that it 
 was founded in the reign of Queen Anne. This theory also 
 appears to me to be untenable ; for some of the writers in the 
 commencement of that reign, allude to it as a body of some 
 standing. Besides there is a portrait of some noted Trooper 
 of a former period, in the Hall, which, from the style of paint- 
 ing, coupled with the costume of the Trooper, could not have 
 been taken posterior to the time of the second Charles. 
 
 But though the precise time of the institution of the " Ancient 
 and Honourable Lumber Troop" is thus involved in uncertainty, 
 there seems to be a pretty general concurrence of opinion as to 
 the circumstances under which it originated. The general im- 
 pression among the members themselves is, that it originated in 
 the circumstance of a few boon and frolicsome acquaintances 
 being in the habit of meeting together to spend their evenings in 
 the same public-house, and that one of the number having, in 
 joke, proposed that they should call themselves a Troop, for the 
 purpose of burlesquing the then trained-band of London, immor- 
 
 H
 
 90 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 talized by Cowper in his John Gilpin, — they agreed to the pro- 
 posal ; and that afterwards, by way of ridiculing themselves, or 
 rather of having their joke at each other's expense, they called 
 themselves the " Lumber" Troop ; meaning that, instead of being 
 available soldiers, they were no better than so much mere lum- 
 ber. If this hypothesis be correct, we can have no difficulty in 
 coming to the conclusion that the very imposing adjectives of 
 " Ancient and Honourable" were prefixed in the same spirit of 
 burlesque. 
 
 From first to last, there have been many members of distinc- 
 tion in the Lumber Troop. Such persons, however, have joined 
 it, in most cases, from a pure love of fun. Prince George of Den- 
 mark, the consort of Queen Anne, was a Lumber Trooper ; and so 
 was Hogarth, the prince of humorous painters. In fact, Hogarth 
 joined the Troop with the view of forwarding his professional 
 business. Some of his best subjects were selected from Troop 
 Hall. John Harrison, of Bell-yard, Temple-bar, an eccentric 
 personage, who kept a tobacco-shop, and went to all the meet- 
 ings of the Troop with his pockets stuffed with tobacco, which he 
 sold in retail to the Troopers, is supposed to be the character 
 whom Hogarth represents in his " Modern Midnight Conversa- 
 tion," as leaning over the parson when challenged to drink to a 
 particular toast. The allusion will be better understood by the 
 following lines : — 
 
 *& 
 
 " Warm'd and wound up to proper height, 
 He vows to still maintain the fight; 
 The brave surviving priest assails, 
 
 And fairly s the first that fails ; 
 
 Fills up a bumper to the best 
 In Christendom, for that's the taste : 
 The parson simpers at the feast, 
 And puts it forward to the rest." 
 
 One thing is clear, from this morsel of poetry, — if the latter 
 word be not a misnomer, — namely, that the Troopers of a cen- 
 tury since were equally renowned with some of their descendants 
 of the present day for their love of jollity. Hogarth, in return 
 for the professional advantage which he derived from the Troop, 
 through the oddities of some of its members, made it a present 
 of a design by himself for a coat of arms. As most people will 
 be curious to see what so great a genius designed for so droll a 
 body of persons as the Ancient and Honourable Lumber Troop, 
 I here give a correct engraving of it, only premising that a simi- 
 lar engraving is given on the ticket of every member on his 
 admission.
 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. 
 
 91 
 
 There is a common impression among the membei's of the 
 Troop, that Prince Blucher, the celebrated general, was a 
 Trooper. Past- Colonel Birch assures me that such was not the 
 fact ; but adds, that the mistake is a very natural one, as one 
 of his most intimate friends, who was almost always in his com- 
 pany when in this country, joined the Troop, and received from 
 it, on the occasion, the very appropriate present of a brace of 
 pistols. The late Alderman Waithman evinced a lively solicitude 
 in the fortunes of the Troop : so did Sir John Key, for a time. 
 The latter gentleman, indeed, when lord mayor, gave a consi- 
 derable number of the Troopers, and their wives, a grand ball 
 and supper at the Mansion-house. Sir John Hobhouse was also 
 a Trooper, svhcn member for Westminster : but all these gentle- 
 men had political objects to serve by joining the Troop, the 
 members being, almost to a man, of liberal opinions in politics. 
 I shall afterwards have occasion to refer to the fact of the pre- 
 sent members for the city of London being Lumber Troopers 
 for the same reason. 
 
 Troop Hall, the " head-quarters" of the Troop, is in Bolt- 
 court, Fleet-street, in the very house where Dr. Johnson so long 
 lived, and where many of his greatest works were written. 
 This place is called the Doctor Johnson Tavern, and is kept by 
 Mr. Beck, the Suttler of the Troop. Troop Hall is open to the 
 public on the payment of twopence by each individual who en- 
 ters. As he presents himself at the door, he is asked whether he 
 be a Trooper or visitor, and on answering that he is the latter, his 
 name is inserted in a book as such. If he do not wish to give 
 
 h 2
 
 92 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 his right name, he can assume one for the occasion. When he 
 takes his seat in the Hall, he is politely waited on by one of 
 Mr. Beck's servants, who coaxingly looks in his face, and says 
 " What will you take, Sir?" The visitor may order a pint of 
 ale, or some brandy-and -water, or anything else in the subterra- 
 nean regions of the suttler ; only if it be heavy-wet, the favourite 
 beverage, according to the Tory journals, of Dr. Wade, he will 
 not be allowed to drink it out of " the pewter," that being con- 
 trary to a formal resolution of the Troop ; but out of a glass. 
 The Troopers also order what they please, provided they pay for 
 it ; but until about thirty years ago, the immemorial practice 
 was to pay sevenpence on their entrance ; they being allowed 
 to drink, without any further charge, as much porter as they 
 pleased, and to call for as much tobacco, technically termed 
 " Troop-sand," as they could consume at the sitting. This regu- 
 lation was found to answer extremely well for the suttler, for a 
 time ; but some blacksmiths, whose throats were full of smoke, 
 thought that to join the Troop was an excellent way of giving 
 them, at a cheap rate, a thorough " clearing out, 1 ' as they them- 
 selves used to say ; but the suttler made the discovery that the 
 quantity of " Entire, 11 requisite for the purifying operation, cost 
 himself at least twice the sum of sevenpence. Hence the change 
 to the charge of twopence on entering, and paying for whatever 
 should be ordered. 
 
 Troop Hall is a spacious room, beautifully fitted up with a 
 variety of military trappings. On the walls are hung a number 
 of well-executed portraits of distinguished Troopers, while on 
 the table or bench, where the Colonel presides, there are two 
 mortars ; and projecting from the wall, at the Colonel's back, 
 are twenty-one guns, and a sword seven or eight feet long. 
 
 The Lumber Troopers have certain great occasions, on which 
 new members of importance or celebrity are admitted into the 
 fraternity, amidst much show of pomp and circumstance. It is 
 impossible to describe the interest which the Troopers generally 
 manifest on such occasions. There is a peculiar animation in 
 their eyes, and their countenances glow with an unusual bright- 
 ness. Not more important is the coronation of a sovereign to 
 other people, than is the admission of a member, amidst " tho 
 proper forms, 11 to the Troopers. They magnify it into an im- 
 portance of which the uninitiated can form no conception. The 
 ceremony has nothing very complicated about it. After being 
 declared duly elected, the affair begins. The first thing to be 
 done, is to present the newly-made Trooper to the Colonel, whose 
 self-importance on such occasions is so great, that it is matter 
 of wonder that there is not a realization of the fate of the frog
 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. 93 
 
 in the fable, which would not rest satisfied with the proportions 
 which nature had assigned it, but must needs distend its little 
 body in the hope of forcing itself out to the dimensions of the ox. 
 Every one knows what was the result. Every Colonel of the 
 Lumber Troop is, in like manner, so self-consequential on the 
 great occasions to which I refer, and struts about with an air of 
 such importance, that it is really surprising no explosive acci- 
 dent occurs to him. When the new-made Trooper is presented 
 in due form to the Colonel, which is always done by the Ser- 
 jeant, the robe -master standing by his right hand, thus addresses 
 him : " Sir, allow me to invest you with the star and ribbon 
 worn by William the Fourth's grandfather, when Prince of 
 Wales." The robe-master always assumes a very dignified 
 aspect when performing his part of the ceremony. He moves 
 as stiffly as if he were a piece of wood, instead of a human being , 
 only that when he comes to extend his hand to bestow the 
 ribbon and star on the newly- created Trooper, he does contrive 
 to make a bow, and thereby shows that there are joints in his 
 body. The robe-master then decks out the person of the 
 newly-enlisted Trooper with the insignia of the corps, by attach- 
 ing the ribbon to his left shoulder, and affixing the star to his 
 left breast. This done, you see the countenances of all the 
 Troopers beaming with ineffable joy at the circumstance of 
 receiving a new comrade ; and that joy is so great that, but for 
 their rising to their feet, and giving vent to it in roars of 
 applause which would almost drown the thunder of their own 
 artillery, there is no saying what might be the consequences. 
 Some of them, indeed, might die from the very excess of their joy 
 and happiness. Of the feelings of the party himself, when he sees 
 the ribbon floating from his shoulder, and beholds the star deco- 
 rating his breast, 1 will say nothing : no description could do 
 them justice. Grattan, the Irish orator, in one of those beauti- 
 ful figures of speech of which he was so distinguished a master, 
 speaks of a man walking forth in all the majesty of freedom. I 
 wish Grattan had seen a newly-made Lumber Trooper strutting 
 about in all the majesty of a " comrade." I am convinced, if he 
 nad, he would have blushed at the thought of having used the 
 metaphorical expression to which I have referred, as applied to 
 one's emancipation from slavery. He would have seen how vastly 
 superior — at least, in the party's own estimation — was the ma- 
 jesty of the Trooper to that of the freeman. 
 
 The next part of the initiatory ceremony is for the Colonel to 
 fill his cup with ale, and drink to the new-made comrade. The 
 Colonel having quaffed the contents, which most of the colonels 
 are remarkably expert at doing, he is to transfer the empty cup
 
 1 
 
 94 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 to the robe-master, who takes it, and, filling it to the brim, 
 hands it to the new-made comrade, saying, " Take this in your 
 right hand, and repeat after me — ' To the Colonel, the rest of 
 the officers and comrades, and prosperity to the Ancient and 
 Honourable Lumber Troop : ' drink this toast : it is the only 
 thing we have to require of you." The new Trooper repeats the 
 words audibly, swills the ale, and is then pronounced a comrade. 
 He is next addressed by the Colonel in the following lines, which 
 are called " The Charge :" 
 
 Let the Freemasons boast of what they please, 
 Or Gormagons (of origin Chinese), 
 The Troopers are as ancient as these. 
 To this illustrious Troop you have now a right ; 
 We are merry, drink, and sing, but seldom fight. 
 We had rather meet within this house to dine, 
 Than beat a march t'other side the Rhine. 
 But should our country's foes our rights invade, 
 And our great noble king* require our aid, 
 No Troop more ready then to take the field, 
 The first to battle, and the last to yield. 
 To show that we are free from war's alarms, 
 Bacchus and Ceres both support our arms : 
 A bowl of punch does in the centre flow ; 
 The moon and stars above, lantern below. 
 For crest there stands a butt of Domine, 
 Perch'd on the top of which an owl you see ; 
 Apparently, this emblem well implies, 
 That Troopers, though they're merry, still are wise. 
 Our motto (- -) means, if you construct it right, 
 
 hi node laetamur. 
 The merry Troopers revel in the night. 
 
 fiolu for pour profits ; 
 
 You've twenty pounds a-year as private man ; 
 To get which sum, you must do the best you can ; 
 Lend to the Troop a buck oft as you please, 
 Breeches made of its skin shall be your fees. 
 If, on a march, you're pennyless and dry, 
 And , t our suttler's house, is nigh, 
 
 * Of course the phrase " great noble queen" ought now to be substituted. 
 f A blank is left here to be filled up with the name of the suttler for the time 
 sing. Mr. Beck, of the " Doctor Johnson," being the present suttler, the reader 
 n write his name in the blank. 
 
 bein 
 can
 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. I).") 
 
 Boldly advance, and claim a Trooper's due — 
 
 Some bread and cheese, a pint of ale (not two). 
 
 Don't impose on us — pray have a care ; 
 
 For if your pockets are search'd, and money there, 
 
 'Tis not only paying- for your bread and cheese, 
 
 But expulsion you've to fear, should the Colonel please. 
 
 If you at midnight chimes, when Troopers roam, 
 
 With strength renew'd should seek your happy home, 
 
 And being too much prim'd, — unlucky wight ! — 
 
 Should chance to offend the guardians of the night, 
 
 And are by constables, who'll hear no reason, 
 
 Under strong guard sent to the nearest prison; 
 
 Next morn, before the justice takes his chair, 
 
 Send for the Colonel or the Treasurer : 
 
 You'll quickly be discharged, if they appear. 
 
 But if jhey come not to afford you aid, 
 
 And your discharge thereby should be delay'd, 
 
 Why then submit to law, and pay your fees, 
 
 And the Troop will contribute what they please. 
 
 The following song used to be always sung by the assembled 
 company immediately after the delivery of the Charge ; but it has 
 been omitted on some late occasions : 
 
 SONG. 
 
 We are full ten thousand brave boys, 
 
 Content with a competent wealth ; 
 And we make an agreeable noise 
 
 When we drink to our Colonel's good health. 
 
 We scorn to accept any pay, 
 
 Each man keeps himself and his steed: 
 
 We frequently moisten our clay, 
 
 And fight for the King* when there's need. 
 
 Our Troop is of excellent blood, 
 
 Each man has a generous soul ; 
 I'm sure it will do your heart good 
 
 To go and join the jolly Troop bowl. 
 
 There is another verse, but it is not altogether fit for the 
 public eye, and therefore I omit it. 
 
 The newly-made Trooper then descends from the elevated 
 place which had been the thcatro of all his glory, into the 
 midst of his comrades, by whom ho is received with an enthu- 
 siasm equal to any thing of the kind witli which the most dis- 
 
 * Read the Queen now.
 
 .96 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 tinguished conquering hero of ancient Greece or Rome, was ever 
 received by his grateful and admiring countrymen. 
 
 The task of commentator is one which I do not often take 
 upon myself, but here the temptation is too great to be resisted. 
 By whom the above piece of poetry, if so it must be called, was 
 written, is as great a mystery as is the authorship of Junius. 
 My researches on the subject have only conducted me to two 
 certain conclusions ; which conclusions are, that it was written 
 in Pope's time, but not by Pope himself. There is internal evi- 
 dence of the clearest kind, that the versifier who did the affair, 
 must either have been by nature as destitute of brains as the 
 artillery of the Troop, or that, if he ever had any, they must 
 have been " stole away" by the ale or brandy of the suttler. 
 But let the poetry of the "Charge" and its authorship pass; 
 and now for a word or two on the Charge itself. 
 
 The first line which deserves notice is the fourth : 
 
 " We are merry, drink, and sing, but seldom fight." 
 
 This is partly true and partly not. The first clause is perfectly 
 correct in point of fact : the latter clause is to be received with 
 certain qualifications. A " merrier" race than the Lumber 
 Troopers are not to be found. They are the most hearty and 
 jolly assemblage of beings with whom I have had the fortune to 
 meet. The merriment of some of the comrades occasionally 
 verges on " Merry Andrewism" itself. If any one wishes to see 
 a specimen of Lumber Troop merriment, let him visit the " head- 
 quarters" on any of the evenings on which there is a particular 
 muster of the Troop. There his eyes and ears will afford him 
 ample proof of the attainments of the Troopers, both in the art 
 of drinking and singing. See how constantly and actively the 
 waiters of the suttler are engaged in meeting the demands of the 
 comrades, officers and all, for ale, stout, gin, brandy, and so 
 forth ; and see how suddenly the new supplies vanish. " Bring 
 me another go, William," is a command enjoined on the poor 
 fellow before he has had time to give the change for the one he 
 has just brought. And while one set of Troopers are thus dis- 
 playing such dexterity at absorbing anything and everything in 
 the shape of liquids which comes before them, another set arc 
 putting their vocal capabilities to the test. Some are singing, 
 others are roaring : between the two classes of performers, there 
 is no lack of sound. 
 
 But the Troopers, it seems, if the statements of the " Charge" 
 may be credited, 
 
 « Seldom fight." 
 
 It is quite true that they are as innocent, as the most peaceably 
 disposed people in Christendom could desire, of ever fighting
 
 THE LUMBER THOOP. 97 
 
 with deadly weapons, or with any of their country's enemies ; 
 nevertheless they do have their occasional skirmishes among 
 themselves. Their weapons in such cases, are usually their 
 tongues ; but these last are sometimes followed by their fists. 
 Pugilistic encounters, however, are, it is but justice to the An- 
 cient and Honourable Lumber Troop, to say, of very rare occur- 
 rence. They are not only, taken as a body, the most pacifically 
 disposed set of soldiers, in reference to other people, I have ever 
 seen, but they usually breathe a most peaceable spirit as regards 
 each other. It is not to be denied, that a little martially- 
 inclined personage, who is remarkable for the quantity of Edin- 
 burgh ale he drinks, without at all exhibiting the slightest 
 symptoms of a tendency to inebriety, but who having, on a late 
 occasion, so far forgot himself as to intermingle four " goes''' of 
 brandy-and-water with half-a-dozen glasses of his favourite beve- 
 rage ; it' is, I say, quite true, that he, on a recent occasion, sallied 
 out to the streets, and meeting with no fellow-mortal who would 
 accept of his challenge to fight, " pitched in," to use his own 
 elegant phraseology, to a lamp-post. It is unnecessary to say 
 that in this conflict he came off second best. He not only 
 knocked his hands, but his head, against his metallic antagonist, 
 of which conclusive proofs were afforded by his person for several 
 weeks afterwards. There are various other instances in which 
 the heroes of the Lumber Troop have, on leaving head-quar- 
 ters, quarrelled with policemen, and after a regular fight been 
 safely transferred to the watch-house, which a Trooper always 
 calls the Black Hole. And there is one recent instance of a 
 Trooper going home, and, in the ardour of his military zeal, giv- 
 ing his wife a sound beating, under the idea that she was one 
 of some imaginary "enemies" that were running in his mind. 
 But these are only exceptions to the rule ; and they occur so 
 seldom, that it is hardly fair to allude to them. As a body of 
 martial men, the Troopers are the most harmless and peaceable 
 personages in Christendom. Their artillery has not only never 
 destroyed the life of a single human being, but it has never dis- 
 charged a single ball. 
 
 Let me not be understood as at all reflecting on the bravery 
 of the Troopers, when adverting to the fact that they have never 
 been engaged in any great martial enterprise. They don't under- 
 take to peril their lives in war, except their country were unhap- 
 pily invaded by some foreign foe. Tn such a case, if their own 
 word may be taken, they would distinguish themselves in the 
 battle-field by deeds of surpassing prowess. Hear what they say : 
 
 " But, should our country's foes our rights invade, 
 And our £re;it noble King (Queen) require our aid, 
 
 i
 
 98 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 No Troop more ready then to take the field ; 
 The first to battle, and the last to yield." 
 
 Brave boys ! Captain Bobadil himself was not a bit more 
 valorous at his own fireside, than are the Ancient and Honour- 
 able Lumber Troop in Troop Hall. They would put to the blush 
 the forty-second regiment of Scottish Highlanders, who won for 
 themselves so brilliant and enduring a reputation on the field of 
 Waterloo. Even the valour of the heroes of Thermopylae would 
 shrink from a comparison with the martial exploits of the 
 Troopers, did circumstances call the latter to the field of battle. 
 Passing over various points in the " Charge" which invite com- 
 ment, I come to the line — 
 
 " If you at midnight chimes, when Troopers roam," &c. 
 
 This roaming at midnight is one of the worst things connected 
 with the Troop. It is the grand objection which many wives 
 have to their husbands enlisting under its banners. Why don't 
 the more domestic class of the Troopers endeavour to procure a 
 law for the expulsion from the body of those who, on quitting 
 Troop Hall, do not go direct home ? 
 
 The natural consequence of " roaming at midnight chimes'" is 
 clearly predicted : 
 
 " And are by constables, who'll hear no reason, 
 Under strong- guard sent to the nearest prison," &c. 
 
 The number of " unlucky wights'" belonging to the Troop, " too 
 much primM," as the " Charge" has it, who are nightly sent to 
 prison, is greater than is usually supposed, owing to the circum- 
 stance that, from regard to the character of the corps, they 
 seldom represent themselves as members of the Ancient and 
 Honourable Lumber Troop. The phrase " constables who'll 
 hear no reason," is exceedingly just and happy. Policemen 
 are the most unreasonable class of men who are to be met 
 with, when they chance to encounter an " unlucky wight" of a 
 Trooper, " too much prim'd," roaming about " at midnight 
 chimes." 
 
 A woid or two now on the " Song." The first line an- 
 nounces an important fact : 
 
 " We are full ten thousand brave boys." 
 
 The number of Troopers necessarily varies : at present the num- 
 ber is estimated at from 8000 to 9000. They are scattered 
 abroad, not only through the British empire, but over all the 
 world. There is not a part of the civilized globe where Lumber 
 Troopers are not to be met with ; and when two comrades do
 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. 99 
 
 happen to meet in some distant part of the earth, the friendship 
 they evince for each other, and their mutual joy at the meet- 
 ing, baffle all description. But though the number of Lumber 
 Troopers be what I have mentioned, they seldom muster above 
 1000 strong at a time. The great gatherings with them are 
 at the amiual meetings for the election of the Colonel and officers. 
 
 " And we make an agreeable noise 
 When we drink our Colonel's good health." 
 
 That the Troopers do make a noise, when in their more uproari- 
 ous moods, nobody who has ever been in their head-quarters can 
 deny. But that this noise is agreeable, is a point on which 
 a difference of opinion obtains. Ask the good people of Bolt- 
 court, that being the place nearest to Troop-hall, whether they 
 think the noise caused by the " comrades" agreeable? They will, 
 on the contrary, one and all, pronounce it to be of a most dis- 
 agreeable kind. Those of them, indeed, who are conversant 
 with iEsop, will quote for you the fable of the Boys and the 
 Frogs, observing that the " noise" may be amusement to the 
 Troopers, but that it is death, or a species of living martyrdom, 
 which is the next greatest earthly evil, to everybody else. 
 
 " Our Troop is of excellent blood :" 
 
 This remains to be proved ; and until it has been so, there will 
 be a difference of opinion on the subject. Why do not the 
 Troopers achieve some glorious exploits, to set the question as 
 to the quality of their blood, at rest ? 
 
 " Each man has a generous soul." 
 
 Far be it from me to deny this ; only it were as well that the 
 Troopers gave some proof of the thing by performing some glo- 
 rious deeds : others would then be forward to admit the fact. 
 Coming from the Troopers themselves, it smacks of egotism, to 
 say the least of it. 
 
 " I'm sure it will do your heart good 
 To go and join the jolly Troop-bowl." 
 
 This is all true. The Troopers, as before mentioned, are the 
 most "jolly" set of mortals in Europe: only see them over 
 their " Troop-bowl,''' and then doubt it who can. But I will 
 not expatiate on this topic further; abundant proofs of the 
 jolly disposition, and jolly conduct of the Troopers, will be found 
 in this chapter. 
 
 The system of punishments which obtains in Lumber Troop 
 Hall, is as lenient as the most strenuous advocates for a gentle 
 code of penalties, could desire. The soldier who is found asleep 
 at his post in her Majesty's army, subjects himself to the penalty
 
 100 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 of death : in the Lumber Troop, the punishment to the officer 
 who takes a nap is one shilling : and for the same offence, when 
 committed by a private, sixpence. The soldier who gets drunk 
 in her Majesty's service, when on duty, incurs the penalty of as 
 many lashes as the surgeon of the regiment conceives may be 
 inflicted without actually flogging the soul out of the body : an 
 officer in the Lumber Troop who gets drunk, escapes on payment 
 of a shilling ; and a private, on paying the penalty of sixpence. 
 There are various other still more lenient punishments for minor 
 offences ; but it is unnecessary to refer to them. 
 
 The proposed or actual -exaction of the fines often leads to 
 amusing scenes in Troop Hall. Some time ago, on a rather im- 
 portant occasion, the gallant Colonel himself* either had so 
 forgotten himself as to have degenerated into a temporary doze, 
 or was supposed to have committed that outrage on the dignity 
 of his office. " I'm blow'd if that 'ere comrade there, 11 pointing 
 to the Colonel, " bean't a-sleepin' !" shouted a Mr. Jambo, a 
 green-grocer of homely manners, and of a still more homely per- 
 sonal appearance, who had been made a Trooper the week before, 
 and who having the rule against sleeping on duty fresh on his 
 mind, deemed it proper, in the plenitude of his zeal as a new 
 recruit, to give intimation of the circumstance. 
 
 " Do you hear that, Colonel 2 " said another officer who was 
 sitting next to him, giving him a gentle shake by the arm, his 
 head being at the time drooping in his breast. 
 
 " What is it 2" said the gallant gentleman, in a gruff and 
 drowsy voice, not deigning to raise his head to its usual position. 
 
 " Why, you're charged with being asleep." 
 
 " Who charges me with it?" inquired the Colonel, in a smart 
 and determined tone, and looking up with neck erect, as if 
 strongly resenting the dishonourable imputation. 
 
 " Why, comrade What's the Troopers name who pre- 
 ferred the charge ?" As the officer, whose name I did not learn, 
 spoke, he looked in the direction of the Trooper making the 
 charge with great eagerness, not doubting that as he had for- 
 gotten his name, he would come boldly forward at once, and 
 avow himself. 
 
 " My name is Jambo," said the valiant green-grocer, with 
 much energy. 
 
 " Oh, aye ; comrade Jambo," observed the officer, nodding to 
 the vender of vegetables. 
 
 " Comrade Jambo!" echoed a hundred voices at once. 
 
 " You said, did you not, comrade Jambo, that the Colonel 
 was asleep V inquired the officer in question, encouragingly. 
 
 Not the present Colonel.
 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. K'l 
 
 " I did, and I does,'"'' shouted Mr. Jambo, with an air of im- 
 mense importance. 
 
 " I say it's a " Here the Colonel was about to say 
 
 something in a loud and energetic tone ; but having checked 
 himself, as if conscious he had been on the eve of uttering some 
 great verbal impropriety, he continued in a lower voice. " I say 
 it's a downright untruth." 
 
 " Order ! order ! " shouted a score or two of very excellent 
 voices. 
 
 " I say, with comrade Jambo, 11 remai*ked a little pot-bellied 
 proprietor of a neighbouring public-house ; " I say, with him, 
 that the Colonel vas asleep. 11 
 
 " And so do I, 11 said another Trooper. 
 
 " And me too, 11 added a third. 
 
 " And a lot on us saw him," cried a fourth. Who the latter 
 Trooper represented, it was not so easy to ascertain ; unless, 
 indeed, they were the proprietors of eighteen or twenty voices 
 which severally exclaimed " I saw him a-sleepin 1 ." 
 
 " Brother officers and comrades," said the gallant Colonel, 
 rising up, and addressing the Troopers with as important and 
 dignified an air as if he had been some general of celebrity 
 addressing his soldiers on the eve of some great battle. " Bro- 
 ther officers and comrades, I deny the charge ; there is no truth 
 in it. I was not asleep. Comrade Potter, did you see me 
 asleep?" 
 
 " No, I didn't," answered the latter, with an edifying promp- 
 titude, as he rose up in the body of the room. 
 
 " I thought so," observed the gallant Colonel, in a tone of 
 self-gratulation. " Comrade Dunderhead, did you see me 
 a-sleepin 1 ?" 
 
 "Certainly not, Colonel," answered a very bustling conse- 
 quential-looking personage, with a face as red and glowing as a 
 full moon, at the farthest end of the room, the appeal having 
 been made to him. 
 
 " Or did you see it, comrade Short?" 
 
 " See what ?" answered a little man, with infinite good-nature 
 in his physiognomy, who was just entering Troop Hall. 
 
 " See me asleep ?" repeated the Colonel. 
 
 " I object to the question being put to him," interposed com- 
 rade Cotton, with great warmth. " He can't know nothin 1 about 
 it ; for he was not in the Hall at the time." 
 
 " Raally, gintlemen," said an unadulterated Irishman, mount- 
 ing one of the chairs, while his face displayed the most intense 
 anxiety mingled with benevolence ; " raally, gintlemen, that 
 ]xa-son," pointing to the Colonel, " ought not to be condemned 
 without the clearest proof. Remember, gintlemen, that if he bo
 
 102 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 found guilty of slaping at his post, he'll be shot dead for it. And, 
 gintlemen, it's— " 
 
 While poor simple Pat was thus interposing, from pure hu- 
 manity in favour of the gallant Colonel, he was interrupted by 
 comrade Joss inquiring whether he was a Trooper. 
 
 " I don't know what you mane, Sir." 
 
 " Do you belong to the Ancient and Honourable Lumber 
 Troop?" 
 
 " Is it, am I a soldier, your honour manes?" 
 
 The Troopers looked each other in the face. 
 
 " Have you joined this body?" inquired another, thinking the 
 question might be more level to the capacity of the Irishman 
 when put in that form. 
 
 " Och ! sure and it's myself did join, when I came into this 
 same place a few minits ago. And it's myself could not bear to 
 think of that gintlemin being shot for slapin', if he didn't slape 
 at all at all." 
 
 It was now clear to all that poor Pat was no Trooper ; but 
 that having been recently imported from the Emerald Isle, he 
 had gone into Troop Hall simply because he saw the door open, 
 and others entering ; and that confounding the Troopers, from 
 the strictness of the military phraseology he heard spoken in the 
 Hall, with a regular military force, and knowing that to sleep on 
 duty was death to the soldier, — he became alarmed for the fate of 
 the gallant Colonel. 
 
 " Fellow officers, and comrades all," said the Colonel, in a 
 stentorian voice, and giving a smart knock on the table to com- 
 mand attention ; " fellow officers, and comrades all, I pledge my 
 honour, as the Colonel of the Ancient and Honourable Lumber 
 Troop, that I was not asleep." 
 
 Loud cheers from the gallant Colonel's special friends fol- 
 lowed the emphatic declaration. 
 
 " I say you was," shouted comrade Jambo, in an equally loud 
 and energetic voice." 
 
 " And so do I," said comrade Collins. 
 
 " And I too," observed comrade Wink. 
 
 " And I also," bawled out some dozen comrades all at once. 
 
 " I rise to order," said comrade Slow, assuming a perpendi- 
 cular position, and looking immensely dignified and indignant. 
 " Really, if such a scene as this is to be any longer exhibited, it 
 will cover the Troop with deep and indelible disgrace. Possibly 
 there is a little mistake on both sides." (Cries of " No mis- 
 take," from both parties, with tremendous uproar.) " Really, 
 comrades," continued comrade Slow, " if this sort of work is to 
 go on much longer, there is no saying " 
 
 " I beg pardon for interrupting you, comrade Slow," inter-
 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. 103 
 
 posed some other comrade, whose name I could not learn, ad- 
 dressing himself to the Trooper who was playing the orator ; " I 
 beg pardon for interrupting you ; but possibly the suggestion I 
 have to throw out may set this matter to rest. It ' 
 
 Here the speaker was himself interrupted by some of the other 
 comrades singing out, " Out with the suggestion at once, then.'" 
 (Cries of " Order ! order! 11 ) 
 
 The other resumed; on order being restored. " If comrade 
 
 , what do you call him? — I do not know the gentleman's 
 
 name, — would only be kind enough to hold his tongue till I 
 finish my sentence, he would then be at liberty to speak as much 
 and as long as he pleases. What I was going to say, officers 
 and comrades, was, that possibly the Colonel had only been 
 dozing. 11 
 
 " I deny the fact, 11 said the Colonel, indignantly. 
 
 "What is the difference between dozing and sleeping? 11 in- 
 quired comrade Smallshins in an under tone, addressing himself 
 to comrade Trench, who sat opposite to him. 
 
 " Bless'd, if I knows, 11 answered Trench, who was a journey- 
 man blacksmith. 
 
 " / knows the differens, 11 observed a diminutive, thin-faced, 
 unshaved Trooper, on the left hand of comrade Smallshins. 
 
 " Then, what is it? 11 inquired comrade Trench. 
 
 " O, I knows, 1 replied the other, with a significant shake of 
 the head, which was promptly followed by a copious draught of 
 the suttler's best ale. 
 
 "And why don't you tell us? 11 inquired Smallshins, slightly 
 offended at the reserve of the little thin-faced personage. 
 
 " Veil, then, the differens is this," answered the latter, look- 
 ing as wise as if he had been a second Solomon ; " ven a man 
 sleeps, he is asleep ; but vhen he's a-dozin', he is neither asleep 
 nor avake. 11 
 
 " O, that's it, is it?" said Trench, with marked emphasis, as 
 if he had clearly comprehended the luminous distinction. 
 
 " That's it!" nodded the other, with quite an oracular aspect, 
 withdrawing the pipe from his mouth for the double purpose of 
 uttering the couple of words, and ridding the interior of his 
 speaking-box of an immense quantity of smoke which had accu- 
 mulated in it. 
 
 This conversation between the two Troopers was carried on in 
 an under tone, and was confined to themselves. It consequently 
 offered no interruption to the discussion which was then pro- 
 ceeding among the Troopers, as a body, respecting the alleged 
 fact of the Colonel having resigned himself for a moment to the 
 embraces of Morpheus.
 
 I04t SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " Comrades ! " shouted comrade Slow, " our Colonel denies 
 that he was even dozing. I " 
 
 " I do ! " interrupted the Colonel, with prodigious emphasis ; 
 " and I will rather re " 
 
 Here the gallant gentleman was interrupted in his turn by 
 comrade Slow, who protested against being interrupted by the 
 Colonel. "Comrades!'" continued Mr. Slow, knocking his fist 
 on the table with great warmth ; " comrades, you all know it 
 is the duty of the Colonel to preserve order, and to procure a 
 patient hearing for any Trooper who chooses to address the 
 Troop ; but instead of this, he himself- 
 
 u 
 
 I deny it, Sir." (Loud cries of " Order ! order !") 
 ' Will you allow me to make the charge, Sir, before you deny 
 it?" (Tumultuous applause.) 
 
 When the cheers had subsided, comrade Slow resumed. " I 
 was about to state, my brave comrades," laying great stress on 
 the word " brave ;" "I was about to state, when interrupted by 
 the Colonel, — by the Colonel, comrades, — that instead of keeping 
 order, as from the nature of the important office he fills he is 
 bound to do, he is the first to set the example of border."" 
 (Loud cheers, mingled with equally loud hisses, and deafening 
 cries of " Order ! order ! ") 
 
 Here the Colonel rose, and looking a perfect tempest of in- 
 dignation at the indignity cast upon him, or, as he himself 
 termed it, the outrage offered to the office he filled, was about 
 to address the Troop, when an officer of an inferior grade inter- 
 posed, by stepping in before him, and thus intercepting his view 
 of the Troopers. " Really," said the interposing party, " if this 
 unseemly squabble be not put an end to, the Ancient and Honour- 
 able Lumber Troop will be disgraced in the eyes of the civilized 
 world." (Loud cries of " Hear, hear !") 
 
 " You're right," exclaimed some unknown comrade in the 
 body of the Hall ; " and, therefore, the best way to put an end 
 to this unsoldierly squabble, will be to take the sense of the 
 Troop on the question." 
 
 " On what question V inquired a short thick-set cheesemonger, 
 rejoicing in the appropriate appellation of comrade Stilton. 
 
 " Why, the question of whether the Colonel was or was not 
 asleep ?" replied the other. 
 
 " Oh, thafs it, is it !" observed Stilton, seemingly quite enlight- 
 ened by the reply. 
 
 " But I cannot put the question myself," said the Colonel, in 
 a subdued tone, doubtless from a conviction that his acquittal 
 from the serious charge would be carried by a large majority. 
 
 " Oh, I'll put it," said the officer before alluded to. " As many
 
 THE LU.MHF.H TROOP. 1 0t5 
 
 of the Troop as are of opinion that the Colonel was asleep, will 
 please to signify the same by holding up their hands." Twenty- 
 six hands responded to the call. 
 
 " You that are of opinion that the Colonel was awake, will 
 hold up yours." The identical number of twenty-six, including the 
 fist of the officer putting the question, was again held up, amidst 
 loud laughter, and cheers from those who espoused the Mor- 
 pheus side of the question. 
 
 " The numbers, fellow officers and comrades," said the officer, 
 " are equal ; but I see a great many Troopers who have not 
 voted at all. 11 
 
 The reason why many did not vote, was that they had not 
 been paying any attention to the Colonel before the charge was 
 made, while a considerable number declared that they could only 
 conscientiously vote for the dozing view of the matter. " Then I 
 say now, as I said before, 11 observed the Colonel, thrusting up his 
 right hand in a perpendicular position, " that I was not asleep." 
 
 " Carried, by a majority of one, that the Colonel was not 
 asleep," said the officer. 
 
 The announcement was received with deafening plaudits by 
 the friends of the gallant gentleman, and with much dissatisfac- 
 tion by the hostile party. 
 
 I have before stated, that among the distinguished members of 
 the Troop may be mentioned the four representatives of the city 
 of London ; namely, Mr. Alderman Wood, Messrs. Grote, Craw- 
 ford, and Pattison., These gentlemen, however, are not Troopers 
 on whom much dependence is to be placed. I am pretty confi- 
 dent I may say, without any breach of charity, that the honour- 
 able gentlemen whose names I have just mentioned, only join 
 the Troop for electioneering purposes, and that they never bestow 
 a thought either on it or its affairs from one general election 
 time to another. Of this 1 am certain, for I heard some of 
 themselves state the fact at the last general election, that they 
 never attend any of its meetings, except one or two immediately 
 previous to the polling-day. When an election is about to take 
 place in the city of London, a special meeting of the Troop is inva- 
 riably called, to receive, in true military style, comrades Wood, 
 Grote, Crawford, and Pattison, each of whose names being at 
 the particular period minus the magical M.P., and the parties 
 being anxious to have the appendage restored, submit with an 
 exemplary patience to all the nonsensical ceremonies observed 
 on such occasions. I was present at the last visit of Messrs. 
 Wood, Grote, Crawford, and Pattison, to the head-quarters of 
 the Troop, where their " comrades" were all met to receive 
 them. There sat the Colonel, whose name I forget just now — 
 which, however, is no great matter, and will, I dare say, be 
 no great privation to the reader — there sat the Colonel on a
 
 ] 06 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 sort of elevation at the farthest end of the room, regularly 
 equipped in what I suppose was the military uniform of the 
 Troop. Instead of a sword, or any other warlike weapon, he 
 held in his hand a brass hammer ; so, at least, it appeared 
 to me ; and anything more necessary or appropriate he could 
 not have grasped. The " use," as Shakspeare would have 
 said, to which this hammer was to be applied, was that of 
 giving the noisy a hint to be silent, by a rather smart knock on a 
 sort of desk which lay before the Colonel ; and which desk, let 
 me observe in justice to it, possessed the most wonderful acous- 
 tical properties I have ever witnessed in any thing of the kind. 
 I have often admired the sounding capabilities of a little red- 
 looking box on the table of the House- of Commons, especially 
 when thumped by Sir Robert Peel ; but the sounds evoked by 
 the hammer of the gallant Colonel of the Lumber Troop from 
 the small desk, which on this occasion lay on the table before 
 him, would, I am convinced, have made the box on the table of 
 the House of Commons quite ashamed of itself. And it was of 
 no ordinary importance to the proceedings of the Lumber Troop 
 on the evening in question — as it is, I doubt not, to its proceed- 
 ings on every occasion on which it meets — that this desk should 
 be able to perform the function of emitting sounds of first-rate 
 power ; for really the noise of the Troop was so great that it would 
 have drowned any ordinary sounds which the Colonel, by means of 
 his hammer, might have made, and consequently his commands 
 could not have been heard. Need I add that, according to all 
 the admitted rules of sound reasoning, if they had not been 
 heard, they could not have been obeyed? To speak a truth, 
 " the men" were not over prompt in their obedience to the 
 commands of their gallant Colonel as it was ; but this, though 
 bad enough in itself, was not quite so bad as it would have been 
 had they not been obeyed at all. 
 
 Comrades Wood, Grote, Crawford, and Pattison, were received, 
 on entering the " head-quarters" of the Troop, with all due 
 honours. Their fellow-soldiers, though bearing no musketry 
 with which to greet them on their appearance by firing a salute, 
 could nevertheless boast of weapons of another kind, which were 
 duly charged. Each had his " go" of brandy-and- water, or some 
 other " ardent spirit " and water, before him. The four gentle- 
 men visiting the Troop must have been highly gratified with the 
 display of '* ardent spirits," in a double sense, before them ; for 
 it is only doing the Troop justice to take for granted, that all 
 " the men" composing it are, as all soldiers ought to be, " ar- 
 dent spirits." Comrades Wood, Grote, Crawford, and Patti- 
 son, having been greeted with thunders of applause on their 
 entrance, — I do not mean the thunder caused by artillery, but the
 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. 107 
 
 thunder caused by the throats of the troops, — marched up in 
 regular military style to an open space set apart for them on 
 the right hand of the gallant Colonel who presided on the occa- 
 sion. On reaching their destined station in the " head-quarters 1 ' 
 of the Troop, their comrades set up another loud shout of 
 applause. And no wonder though they did ; for what soldier 
 would not rejoice once more to meet with an old fellow " trooper" 
 after an absence of several years \ Every face beamed with de- 
 light at seeing Comrades Wood, Grote, Crawford, and Pattison, 
 once more in Troop Hall. The latter, I doubt not, were much 
 gratified with their reception ; for many of their fellow-soldiers 
 had votes to bestow at the approaching elections, and those who 
 had not could influence persons who had. The thing, therefore, 
 was all perfectly intelligible on both sides. 
 
 A great many little matters, which, not being a military man, 
 I cannot well describe, having been disposed of, Comrade Wood, 
 as being, I suppose, the senior of the other three as a member 
 of Parliament, if not of the Ancient and Honourable Lumber 
 Troop, — first rose to address his fellow-soldiers : and really I had 
 no previous conception, that one of whom I had never heard a 
 word, except in his capacity of politician or citizen, could be so 
 intimately conversant with military phraseology, as the worthy 
 Alderman — I must still occasionally call him by his civic title — 
 proved himself to be. After adjusting his collar, and standing 
 up a la militaire, he commenced thus : — " Colonel, officers, and 
 comrades ! " and then proceeded to express the supreme satis- 
 faction with which he again met his gallant companions in arms, 
 after an absence of three years. He assured them, however, 
 that though not with them, he had not been an idle soldier, but 
 had been fighting for them and for his country. It was true, he 
 continued, that the battles in which he had been engaged, since he 
 last appeared among his fellow-soldiers of the Ancient and 
 Honourable Lumber Troop, were bloodless battles ; but they 
 were not less important battles on that account. He referred, 
 he added, to the battles in which he had been engaged in the 
 House of Commons with the common enemy of the country and 
 the human race. Need he say to whom he alluded ? (Cries of 
 " The Tories, of course.") Yes, said comrade Wood, the Tories ; 
 and he was ready to go and battle with them again ; and he 
 hoped his gallant comrades would, in the true spirit of soldier- 
 ship, assist him in his ambition again to measure swords with 
 the enemy on the field of conflict in the House of Commons. 
 Comrade Wood, still standing in that stiff and upright position 
 peculiar to military men, went on at some length in the same 
 strain, amidst the loud applause of his fellow-troopers. And not 
 content with his soldier-like aspect and warlike phraseology, ho 
 
 i 2
 
 T08 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 actually endeavoured, and with tolerable success, to mimic tins 
 mode of pronunciation, in addressing his fellow-soldiers, which 
 dandy officers sometimes adopt. The word " here," the gal- 
 lant gentleman pronounced " eeor ; " and the word " years,' 
 4i ye-o-ars ; " and so on with most of the other terms he used in 
 the course of his military harangue. 
 
 Comrade G rote's turn came next. The gallant gentleman 
 deserves all praise for the attitude he assumed while delivering 
 his oration. He pulled himself up immediately on starting to 
 his feet, and looked as stiff and erect all the while he retained 
 his perpendicular position, as if he had been for a long series of 
 years in the army ; but the matter of his address to his fellow- 
 soldiers, was not at all in keeping with the military character. 
 In imitation of the gallant gentleman (Comrade Wood) who pre- 
 ceded him, he certainly did manage to begin with " Colonel, 
 officers, and comrades ! " but scarcely had these soldierly terms 
 ci'ossed his lips, than he flew off at a tangent to the subject of 
 the ballot ; and, to make the matter worse, he never found his 
 way back to military topics or military phraseology during the 
 whole course of his somewhat lengthened address. It is but 
 right, however, to say that, though his speech was so unmili- 
 tary, if I may invent a word, it was vociferously applauded by 
 the Troopers. If I may hazard a hypothesis, I should say that 
 the secret of this was, that the time chosen by Comrades Wood, 
 Grote, Crawford, and Pattison, for this visit to the head- quar- 
 ters of the Troop, being, as before stated, on the eve of a general 
 election, the soldiers assembled on the occasion merged their 
 character as military men, for the moment, in that of politicians. 
 
 Next came Comrade Crawford. This gallant gentleman ap- 
 peared to me the most unsoldier-like personage I have ever 
 seen. He had not a particle of the manner of a martial man 
 about him, and could not manage to string a couple of military 
 phrases together. Instead of standing, like his two comrades, 
 Wood and Grote, in the erect and dignified attitude of a sol- 
 dier, he, in the fervour of the fit of speechification with which he 
 was seized, repeatedly put his person into a diagonal position, 
 and to scores of other positions which I will not name, because I 
 cannot ; into every position, in a word, except that which be- 
 came a hero of the Ancient and Honourable Lumber Troop to 
 assume. His attitude sometimes resembled that of a disciple of 
 Tom Spring or Dutch Sam. Had I been the Colonel, I would 
 have ordered him off at once to the awkward squad department 
 of the service, and given peremptory instructions to the officers 
 to see that he was properly drilled into his military movements 
 before he again undertook to exhibit before his fellow-soldiers. 
 The applause with which his performances were received was very
 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. 109 
 
 faint and feeble indeed, compared with that with which the 
 addresses of the two gallant gentlemen who preceded him were 
 greeted. Whether it was owing to the ignorance of military 
 phraseology and military attitudes which Comrade Crawford 
 displayed, I cannot say ; but the fact was that the Troopers, 
 generally, before he had finished his address, began to exhibit 
 manifestations of insubordination ; and it was with no incon- 
 siderable difficulty, aided as he was by the hammer before 
 referred to, that the gallant Colonel could maintain order. 
 Not content with telegraphing Suttler Beck, the proprietor of 
 the head-quarters of the Troop, and his waiters, by winking 
 with one eye and making significant motions to " charge" their 
 glasses again with brandy-and-water, and to bring them a fresh 
 supply of rt 'baccy ; " not content with this, some of the more 
 undisciplined of the band uttered a variety of ludicrous expres- 
 sions, and conducted themselves altogether in a most unmilitary 
 manner duringthetime their gallant comrade was addressing them. 
 Knowing that Comrade Pattison's turn would come next, and 
 feeling so disappointed by the unsoldier-like address and deport- 
 ment of Comrade Crawford, I had withdrawn my eye and atten- 
 tion from the latter military gentleman for some time before he 
 resumed his seat, and fixed both on Comrade Pattison. I felt 
 for him ; and, what is worthy of mention, though I saw others 
 who were suffering from the closeness of the room and the 
 atmosphere of cigar and tobacco smoke within which they were 
 enveloped, — I somehow or other felt for nobody but himself. I 
 never saw a human being look more uncomfortable in my life. 
 The infinite "jolliness" of countenance which I had always 
 before seen characterize him, and which I had persuaded myself 
 could only disappear with life itself, had completely vanished 
 before his turn came to harangue his fellow-soldiers. Poor 
 Comrade Pattison ! I can fancy I see him at this moment. Not 
 more out of its element would a fish be on dry land, than was the 
 gallant gentleman on that occasion in the head- quarters of the 
 Lumber Troop. And no wonder, truly ; for, in addition to the 
 unmeaning military jargon he was, the whole of the evening, 
 doomed to hear — the soldierly attitudes he saw everybody 
 around him attempting to assume — and a closeness and un- 
 pleasantness of atmosphere which could only have been sur- 
 passed by that of the memorable Black Hole of Calcutta, which 
 proved so awfully destructive of life to those who were doomed 
 to breathe it ; in addition to all this, some of the Troopers who 
 sat opposite to him kept up — whether intentionally or not it is 
 not for me to say — a constant battery of smoke at his face. 
 They emitted it at him in such continued streams, that it ap- 
 peared to him for some time ~uitc a matter of choice, whether
 
 110 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 he should suffer martyrdom from the suffocating volumes of 
 tobacco smoke which came from across the table ; or whether he 
 should come by it by hermetically sealing his mouth with tho 
 view of shutting out the tobacco exhalations. It required no 
 great stretch of imagination to arrive at the conclusion, that he 
 was all this while contrasting, in his own mind, the blessings of 
 the Bank parlour with the miseries he was then enduring. At 
 length his turn came, and with wonderful alacrity did he take 
 to his pedestals. For some moments before, he was all but invi- 
 sible through the dense clouds of smoke which filled the place : 
 not more smoky, indeed, could it have appeared though all the 
 artillery of the Troop had been for some time before engaged in 
 discharging a succession of rounds. I had my fears that when 
 he rose, I might not get a sight of him ; but from some cause or 
 other, which it is beyond the reach of my philosophy to explain, 
 the smoke, contemporaneously with his rising to address his com- 
 rades, did partially disappear in the immediate locality of the 
 spot where he had taken up his position, and I got a tolerably 
 fair view of him. The remaining smoke, however, had the effect 
 of operating, in so far as my optics were concerned, as a magni- 
 fying medium; for great as are the geometrical dimensions or 
 physical proportions of Comrade Pattison at any time, they now 
 appeared to me of a vastly increased magnitude. But let that 
 pass. Comrade Pattison made short work of it : his speech had 
 the merit of brevity. It was pre-eminently short ; and because 
 short, it was sweet. He proved that he was no wordy warrior : 
 this appeared to me to augur well for him as a Trooper. I 
 always find that those persons do the most who say the least. 
 He resumed his seat with all due expedition, and in a few seconds 
 after was to be seen in Fleet-street. I am strongly of opinion 
 that. Comrade Pattison would rather lose his election next time 
 for the city of London, than spend such another hour or so 
 with his fellow-soldiers at their head-quarters at Mr. Beck's, 
 Bolt-court. 
 
 I have already referred to the artillery or musketry of the 
 Lumber Troop. Which is the proper term, is more than I can 
 determine ; for their fire-pieces are in the form of cannons, 
 though not larger than guns. Some of the London journals 
 gave great offence to the Troop, by calling their fire-pieces pop- 
 guns, a few weeks ago. They have also two mortars of decent 
 dimensions. The Troop only discharge their artillery on great 
 occasions : the last time, I believe, was when the ever-memorable 
 Mary-le-bone Festival of 1836, took place at St. John's Wood. 
 The moment that Mr. Wakley, the member for Finsbury, arrived 
 at the scene of that great festival, there were nearly five thou- 
 Band persons, including the ladies, present. Several rounds were

 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. 1 1 1 
 
 fired, to testify the respect of the Troop for Comrade Wakley. It 
 was proposed, and also eventually agreed to, to fire the guns on the 
 occasion of the late visit of her Majesty to the city of London. 
 One of the Troopers, a past suttler, however, through his indivi- 
 dual interference, prevented the intentions of the Troop being 
 carried into effect. He communicated to the Lord Mayor the 
 resolution of the Troop, and the circumstance being brought 
 before a Court of Aldermen, they interdicted all firing in the 
 City on that day. As might be expected, the conduct of this 
 comrade became the subject of discussion on the next meeting of 
 the Troop, which took place on Wednesday evening, the 1st of 
 November. Of all the scenes which it has ever been my lot to 
 witness, that which was exhibited on the evening in question 
 was, out of sight, the most extraordinary. I will venture to 
 say that it was unparalleled even in the annals of the Troop 
 itself. At all events, all the Troopers with whom I have con- 
 versed on the subject, say they never saw anything like it. In 
 attempting to give some idea of it, I seriously assure my readers — 
 and scores of individuals who were present will bear testimony 
 to the truth of what I say — that so far from exaggerating the 
 exhibitions of that evening, no description can come up to the 
 reality. 
 
 The motion before the Ancient and Honourable Lumber 
 Troop, when the scene began, related to the rescinding or suspen- 
 sion of a resolution which had been come to at the previous meet- 
 ing, expressive of the intention of the Troop to salute her Ma- 
 jesty, by a volley from Troop Hall, when she entered the City at 
 Temple-bar. Four or five Troopers were reproaching comrade 
 Stout for having communicated the intention of the Troop to the 
 City authorities, and thus frustrated their wishes, when he ob- 
 served that he had been deputed by some other Troopers to do 
 what he had done. 
 
 Seven or eight comrades — " Who deputed you to do it I 
 Name, name." (Loud cheers, and cries of " Hear, hoar !") 
 
 Comrade Stout raised his glass of brandy-and-water to his 
 mouth with infinite coolness, but uttered not a word. 
 
 Comrade Blood — There's a pretty go of it, to undertake to 
 do anything of the kind, and then shelter himself under the au- 
 thority of some other Troopers. (Hear, hear, hear, he-ar ! and 
 laughter at the drawling way in which the last " hear" was 
 pronounced.) 
 
 Comrade Stout — I say that I did not shelter myself under 
 the authority of any one. (Cries of " Oh, oh ! " " Attention ! " 
 and great uproar.) 
 
 Comrade Blank — Colonel, officers, and comrades, I rise to 
 order. I protest against this proceeding. We have nothing
 
 112 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 before us. If we are to have a debate, let us have something to 
 debate about. (Cries of "So we have," drowned by cries of 
 '• We have not.") 
 
 Comrade Blank, with prodigious emphasis — I say we have 
 not : the resolution has not yet been read. 
 
 A perfect hurricane of cries of " Read the resolution," " Read 
 the revolution, 11 succeeded the last observation. 
 
 Major Stumps — The resolution is on the books, and there- 
 fore there is no necessity for reading it. 
 
 Deafening cries of " There is, there is, 11 " Read it, read it," 
 followed this remark. In the midst of this uproar, eight or ten 
 Troopers rose all at once in different parts of the Hall, each 
 protesting, in the loudest tones, and with the most violent gesti- 
 culation, — " ril be heard; I'm determined Til be heard." The 
 Colonel in the meantime kept knocking as regulai'ly with his 
 brass hammer on the table as if he had been a blacksmith at the 
 anvil, accompanying every knock with a loud call for " Atten- 
 tion." Past-Colonel Birch, on the other hand, who acted as 
 vice-chairman at the other end of the room, took the whole 
 thing with the most perfect coolness, smoking his pipe as if he 
 had been sitting at his own fireside, and never uttering a word, 
 or making any attempt to restore subordination among the dis- 
 orderly Troops, beyond an occasional gentle application of his 
 hammer to the table. Amidst the Niagarian roar of Lumber 
 Troop voices, which threatened to " split the house, 11 as one of 
 the visitors observed, that of Comrade Blood occasionally rose 
 above all the rest. He was heard repeatedly to say, though no 
 one paid the least attention to him — 1 rise to a pint — 
 (Cries of " A pint of half-and-half, 11 and laughter,) — of order ; 
 and I von't be called down by any one. Not by any com- 
 rade, he continued, after an expressive pause, and flourishing 
 his right hand above his head in the air. I'm an old officer of 
 this 'ere anshent and honourable Lumber Troop. — (Loud cries 
 of " No, no. 11 ) Who's that a-saying " No, no, 1 ' I should like to 
 know? Several voices here said — " I say it, 11 followed by roars of 
 laughter, and an extraordinary scene of confusion, in the midst 
 of which, Comrade Trope was repeatedly heard roundly rating 
 the waiter for not bringing him a fresh supply of troop-sand. 
 
 At this moment, another Trooper named Tickler, rejoicing 
 in the rank of lieutenant-colonel, who had been on his legs for 
 the previous five minutes, but without uttering, or even attempt- 
 ing to utter a word, now laid down the glass of ale he held in 
 his hand, and said, in a voice of stentorian power, " I'll stay 
 here till the Troop break up, rather than be defeated in my 
 attempts to obtain a hearing. 11 (Cries of " I wish you may get 
 it," drowned amidst exclamations of " Hear him, hear hiai.")
 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. 11 
 
 n 
 
 Lieutenant-colonel Tickler here looked at his watch : it wanted 
 precisely two hours to the usual time of breaking up the meet- 
 ing. At this moment, some one behind the gallant officer, as a 
 proof of his respect for the Troop, and his own acquisitions in 
 military discipline, put an open handkerchief with a yellow 
 ground, and liberally embellished with large black spots, around 
 his head, which made the upper story of the Trooper look won- 
 derfully like a leopard's hide. The walls of Troop Hall literally 
 resounded with the peals of laughter which followed. Not even 
 the gallant Colonel himself who presided, could in this instance 
 refrain from joining in the universal laugh, however indignant he 
 must have been at the deplorable want of military respect which 
 the party had exhibited. 
 
 When the roars of laughter had subsided, which they eventu- 
 ally did from the mere exhaustion of the Troopers, the cry of 
 " Read the resolution'" was again raised with redoubled vigour. 
 
 Lieutenant-colonel Tickler — Troopers may assail and at- 
 tempt to annoy me in any way they please, but here I'll stand 
 till I'm heard. I've got plenty of time. My time is of no im- 
 portance. (Laughter, mingled with groans and hisses ; in the 
 midst of which, the gallant officer took out his box, and assisted 
 himself to a pinch of snuff with the most perfect composure ; 
 after which he called for another go of brandy and water— the 
 water to be quite hot.) 
 
 The Colonel here interposed with success, for the first time, 
 and said, addressing himself to Lieutenant-colonel Tickler — If 
 you wait till the resolution is read, I'll hear you for an hour, if 
 you like. (Loud cheers, in which the Lieutenant-colonel cordi- 
 ally joined.) 
 
 At this moment, another officer, whose name I could not 
 learn, rose, and was proceeding to address the Troop, but had 
 not uttered many words, when his voice was drowned amidst 
 the universal uproar which followed. 
 
 The resolution was at length permitted to be read ; on which 
 Comrade Blank rose, and moved — " That the standing order of 
 the body be rescinded ."" 
 
 Lieutenant-colonel Tickler — Not "body;" "Troop," Sir, if you 
 please." 
 
 Comrade Blank — Then " Troop," if you wish it, Mr. Critic ; 
 but I contend that the Troop is a body. (Loud cries of " No, 
 no," and "Yes, yes," amidst stentorian instructions to the waiters 
 to bring more troop-sand, and to fill up certain glasses again.) 
 
 A Trooper — The effect of the motion will be, if carried, to 
 prewent the firing of the artillery on the Queen's wisit to the 
 City. I vish to know vy ve should not persist in our original 
 intention ?
 
 114 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 A host of voices — Because we've got a letter from the City 
 authorities a-forbiddin 1 it. (Loud cries of " Read the letter.") 
 
 Comrade Jones — I advise the Troop to be cautious; for the 
 public press is ready to hold us up to ridicule. (Tremendous 
 cries of " No ! no !" with equally loud exclamations of " Yes ! 
 
 y es! ") 
 
 Comrade Jones, with an emphatic application of his fist to the 
 table — I say yes, though. They ridicule us as smokers, revel- 
 lers, and uproarious persons. (Roars of laughter.) 
 
 Comrade Blank — I rise, Colonel, officers, and comrades, to 
 order. ("Hear! hear! hear! hear! hear.") Comrade Jones 
 is quite out of order. He is not speaking to the question. 
 
 Comrade Jones (to Comrade Blank) — If you don't like my 
 speech, I'm blow'd if you don't have a precious dose of it. 
 (Deafening peals of laughter, mingled with cries of " Oh, oh !") 
 
 After a moment's pause, Comrade Jones gave a significant 
 shake of his head, and said energetically — I say he shall, 
 though; aye, and so shall the Troop too. — (Renewed bursts 
 of laughter, with loud expressions of disapprobation.) I re- 
 peat (Loud cries of "' Question ! question !") I'm asto- 
 nished — (Here comrade Jones scornfully tossed his head, and 
 curled his lip) — I'm astonished at those who cry ' Question. 1 — 
 (Renewed cries of "Question! question!'") Yes, I do say 
 
 I'm asto (Renewed cries of "Question! question !" from a 
 
 score of voices.) Will any person tell me that I am not speak- 
 ing to the question ? 
 
 The ludicrous gravity with which this last sentence was spoken 
 was so great, that another universal shout of laughter resounded 
 through the room, as if all the Troopers had been subjected in a 
 moment to the effect of a mental electrical agency, — if there 
 be not an impropriety in the expression. 
 
 Comrade Jones — I repeat the question : will any man tell me 
 that I am not speaking to the question \ 
 
 Comrade Blank (winking at a friend) — I do. 
 
 As Comrade Blank uttered the last two words, he took a liberal 
 draught of cold water. 
 
 Comrade Jones (assuming an aspect of great seriousness) : — 
 Will you tell me your name, Sir? — (Loud cries of "Order! 
 order!") 
 
 Comrade Blank (quite coolly) — There is no occasion. (Laugh- 
 ter and cheers.) 
 
 Comrade Jones — I must know what comrade I am address- 
 ing. (Loud cries of " Order ! order !" " Chair ! chair !") 
 
 Comrade Blank — My name is Fergusson. (Loud laughter.) 
 
 A Trooper (with great energy) — I say that person's name 
 is not Fergusson. (Tremendous uproar, during which the gal-
 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. 115 
 
 lant Colonel in the chair, seeing the utter impossibility of pre- 
 serving order, wisely determined, to use the phraseology of a 
 Trooper, to let the unruly and awkward squad have their full 
 swing.) The Trooper resumed, addressing himself to Comrade 
 Blank — You, Sir, are humbugging the Troop. Yes, Sir ; you 
 are, Sir. (Cries of " Shame ! shame ! ") 
 
 Comrade Jones (looking Comrade Blank fiercely in the face) — 
 You, Sir, have some aliases, perhaps. (Renewed cries of " Order ! 
 order ! " and a frightful storm of uproar.) 
 
 The gallant Colonel, seeing the altercation and uproar were 
 likely to be protracted to midnight, if not put a stop to, here 
 interposed, and said that both comrades were out of order : 
 Comrade Blood, in not asking the gentleman's name through 
 the Chair ; and he in giving a wrong name. 
 
 Comrade Blank — Very good, Colonel : my name is not Fer- 
 gusson. I'll tell you what my real name is, if Comrade Jones 
 sits down. 
 
 Comrade Jones — No, I won't. (Loud laughter.) Yes, I will. 
 (Renewed peals of laughter.) William, fill up this glass again. 
 
 Comrade Blank — Now, then. I'll first tell you why I called 
 myself Fergusson ; and then (looking towards Comrade Jones) 
 I'll give you my real name. It is — 
 
 Comrade Jones— I won't have it. (Loud laughter, and cries 
 of "Oh! oh!") 
 
 Comrade Blank-- 1 won't answer any question unless I'm 
 heard. My name is Blank ; and if comrade Jones wishes my 
 address, it is — (Here a tremendous burst of applause greeted 
 Comrade Blank for the manly and courageous course which he 
 adopted.) The reason why I gave a wrong name was, that I 
 wished to have a little bit of pleasantry at Comrade Jones's ex- 
 pense. (Deafening cries of " Order ! order !" " Chair ! chair !" 
 " Waiter, bring me another go of gin-and- water ; " " More troop- 
 sand here," &c.) 
 
 Comrade Jones — I'm quite delighted to hear it. (Loud 
 laughter.) I assure — (A cry of " Order ! " here proceeded 
 from some one in the body of the Hall.) Who calls ' Order,' 
 I should like to know ? Will anybody call ' Order' again ? I 
 assure friend Blank that — 
 
 Comrade Blank — I rise to order, Colonel. I insist on my 
 right to bo called comrade. (Great applause.) 
 
 Comrade Jones (sneeringly) — Well, then, Comrade Blank gives 
 me his address as if I wished to call him out. I never fights 
 with any other weapon than this 'ere, (pointing to his tongue, 
 amidst great laughter and loud cheers.) I wish, (continued 
 Comrade Jones, looking to the Colonel ;) I wish the Colonel 
 would keep his brother officers in summut better order. —
 
 116 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 (Loud cheers and laughter, mingled with a cry from the middle 
 of the Hall, " William, bring me some more 'baccy.") 
 
 The Colonel — O, but I can't. (Shouts of laughter.) 
 
 Comrade Strap — I rise, Colonel, to move — 
 
 Comrade Pewter — I rise to order. I say — 
 
 Comrade Strap — / say, Sir, you hold your chat. (Laugh- 
 ter, and cries of "Order! order!') I'm in possession of the 
 chair and the Troop, Sir. I move, as an amendment to the 
 motion for rescinding the resolution, that it be allowed to stand ; 
 my object being, that the guns should be fired on her Majesty's 
 visit to the City. 
 
 Comrade Blank — I rise to object to the amendment. I 
 maintain — 
 
 Comrade Jones (interrupting Comrade Blank*) — You as- 
 sume too much, young man. — (Loud laughter.) You cannot 
 object to it till it is seconded. — (Renewed laughter.) 
 
 Past-Colonel Hodson — I've seen many scenes in this place, 
 but I've never seen any one equal to this. ("Hear! hear!") 
 We are betrayed by Troopers. (Cries of " We are , we are.") 
 
 A Trooper (in a small penny- trumpet sort of voice) : — Yes, ve 
 is. I says it, too, past-colonel. Dash my buttons if we ain't 
 a-being burlesqued ! (Cries of " Hem ! hem !") 
 
 Comrade Franks — All this has come from the doings of a 
 disappointed past-suttler. (Immense applause.) Yes ; von vot 
 now vishes to disgrace this 'ere Troop. (Renewed plaudits.) 
 
 Here Comrade Blank handed up to the Colonel the motion he 
 had made, as altered, and moved that it be read. 
 
 The Colonel commenced reading the resolution ; but when he 
 got to the third line, he made a dead pause. 
 
 Cries of " Read, read !" and " Go on !" resounded from all 
 parts of Troop Hall. 
 
 A Trooper — It's very easy to bawl out — anybody could do 
 that—' Read, read !' and ' Go on; 1 but can the Colonel read the 
 writing? — Some more 'baccy, vaiter."(Loud laughter.) 
 
 The Colonel — No ; I can't ; and I don't think anybody could. 
 (Laughter and cheers.) 
 
 Comrade Blank — Give it to me, and I'll read it. (Cries of 
 " No, no ; it must be read by the Colonel.") 
 
 Comrade Blank — Then I insist that the Colonel read the 
 alterations made with the pencil. — Waiter, bring me some cold 
 water. (Loud laughter.) 
 
 The Colonel again closely scrutinized the pencilship, but was 
 still unable to proceed. 
 
 Comrade Blank — Oh ! you can't read it. 
 
 Comrade Blank is a young man.
 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. 117 
 
 Comrade Sprat — I rise to order. There's another insult to 
 the Colonel. I'll take (to the waiter) another go of brandy-and- 
 water, William. 
 
 The Colonel (his face brightening up at the circumstance of 
 being at last able to decipher the MS.) — Comrade Blank re- 
 quests me to read the pencil writing exactly as it is. It is this, 
 then, officers and comrades : " That the sZanding orders — " (Loud 
 laughter, and yells of " Oh ! oh ! oh ! ") 
 
 The Colonel — I don't doubt that it means standing orders ; 
 but I have read it as desired, exactly in the way in which it is 
 written. 
 
 A Trooper (addressing himself very indignantly to Comrade 
 Blank) — Yes, Sir, you never scores the tops of your fs. 
 
 " No, you don't, Sir," echoed a dozen voices, their proprietors 
 severally standing up as they delivered themselves. 
 
 A Trooper — You ought to score your t's, Comrade Blank. 
 Another Trooper (with great emphasis) — And vy don't you 
 do it, Comrade Blank I 
 
 Comrade Scraggs — Really, if we go on at this rate, we'll 
 never get through the business before the Troop (Loud cries 
 of " Hear ! hear ! " and of " Question ! question ! ") 
 
 Comrade Tugworth — I move that the amendment be put to 
 the vote. 
 
 A Trooper — Vat is the amendment ? May I be pounded in 
 a druggist's mortar, if I knows. — Vaiter, just bring me a little 
 more troop-sand. (Peals of laughter.) 
 
 Comrade Duckster — We can't put the amendment, because 
 it's not formal. (" Hear ! hear !") 
 
 Comrade Blank — O, never mind formalities : don't stand on 
 them. — (Loud cries of " Order ! order I" " Chair ! chair !" and 
 a scene of uproar, which defies description, followed this proposal 
 to depart from the rules of the Troop.) The scene continued for 
 some time ; and during the greater part of it, a forest of hands 
 were seen cleaving the air, and at least one half of the Troopers 
 present were either on chairs, or on their legs on the floor; 
 while the noise occasioned by the almost universal exclamations 
 or apostrophes to the gallant Colonel, was not only discordant 
 in the highest degree, but absolutely deafening. The Colonel 
 wisely leaned back in his chair until the Troopers had in some 
 degree exhausted themselves ; while the past-colonel, who pi-e- 
 sided at the opposite end, renewed his old practice, on such 
 occasions, of applying his hammer, with a slow but steady hand, 
 to the table, at the rate, on an average, of ten times a minute 
 by the Lumber Troop clock. 
 
 " I never saw such an unruly Troop," said the Colonel, with 
 marked emphasis, and much vehemence <>f gesture, after order
 
 118 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 had been in some degree restored. " I never saw such an unruly 
 Troop : I'll leave the chair directly." — (Loud cries of " No ! no ! 
 Colonel ; doiit do that ;" amidst a renewed scene of disorder and 
 uproar.) 
 
 Comrade Tapster— The Colonel must put the original motion. 
 
 (Loud cries of " No ! no ! " " The amendment first,") followed 
 the proposition, and the noise and confusion became still greater 
 than before. Eight or ten Troopers were seen — for they could not 
 be heard— addressing the Colonel at once; while others, in different 
 parts of the Hall, were disputing with and abusing one another 
 at the full stretch of their voice. Almost every one present was 
 on his legs; while growls of " Bow, vow, vow !" groans of every 
 kind, and zoological sounds in all their varieties — many of them 
 I am certain never heard before in any menagerie — issued from 
 every part of the room. And to complete the ludicrousness of 
 the scene, voices were now and then heard calling on the waiter 
 to bring a fresh supply of troop- sand, gin with cold water, brandy 
 " vith varm vater," &c. Order being again in some degree 
 restored, 
 
 Comrade Manson said — Though I seconded the amendment, 
 I never meant to second it." — (Roars of laughter.) 
 
 The amendment was then withdrawn, and the original motion 
 declared to be carried. 
 
 Comrade Blank then rose, and said — I am now about to 
 make a motion for a vote of censure on the officer who 
 wrote to the Lord Mayor about the intention 01 the Troop to 
 fire their guns on her Majesty's visit to the City ; and in doing 
 this, I beg to assure the Troop that I am not to be put down 
 by opposition bullies. (Deafening cries of " Order ! order ! " 
 " Chair ! chair ! " and cries of " Apologize," from comrade Tap- 
 ster.) I will apologize ; and (looking Comrade Tapster in the 
 face) I will pay you in gold instead of copper. (Loud laughter.) 
 I am prepared to — (Here Comrade Blank was interrupted 
 by a growl, exceedingly like that emitted by a surly Newfound- 
 land dog, from the left-hand corner of the Hall.) If you, Co- 
 lonel, don't put a stop to this under-growling work, I'll sit down 
 at once. Unless I be supported — (Here the interruption was 
 renewed from the same quarter, only that the sound was differ- 
 ent.) Can you not, Colonel, put a stop to the braying of this 
 animal ? ( Loud laughter.) The press has been aspersed this 
 night ; and before I make my motion, allow me to vindicate 
 the press of London from the aspersions thrown on it. (Cries 
 of " No ! no ! that has nothing to do with the question.") Well, 
 then, since I am denied the liberty of vindicating the character 
 of the London press, I'll confine myself to the motion. 
 
 Comrade Blank then proceeded to denounce, in the most un-
 
 THE LUMBEB TKOOP. 110 
 
 compromising terms, the conduct of their officer, in writing to 
 the Lord Mayor; and several other speakers gave expression 
 to their sentiments in the same strain, amidst peals of applause 
 which made the walls of Troop Hall resound again : and yet, 
 notwithstanding all this, and the groans and clamour also, 
 which were directed towards him from all parts of the room, the 
 criminated party smoked away at his pipe, supplied as it was 
 with additional troop-sand, and swilled suttler Beck's sparkling 
 ale, as if nothing had been the matter. When his turn came to 
 address the Troop in vindication of himself, he coolly rose, and 
 after looking about him for some time, began in the usual mili- 
 tary phraseology of " Colonel, officers, and comrades ; " but be- 
 fore he proceeded farther, he was assailed by such a volley of 
 yells, hisses, groans, and all sorts of menagerie sounds, that 
 a discharge of the Troop's twenty-one guns, with their two mor- 
 tars to boot, would have been comparative silence itself. The 
 scene of uproar which had thus again commenced, lasted for 
 nearly an hour, during which the accused Trooper took up his hat 
 two or three times, and said he would "march 1 ' himself home 
 for the night ; but that he would be happy to hear his conduct 
 discussed any other evening the Troop chose to appoint. On 
 one of these occasions, he " marched 1 ' to the door of Troop 
 Hall, but was induced to return again, on some Trooper promis- 
 ing he would be heard. The second presentation of himself, 
 however, only served, if possible, to add to the uproar. Eventu- 
 ally he desisted from the attempt to address his comrades ; but 
 by this time almost every couple of Troopers in the Hall had 
 involved themselves in a nice, snug, private quarrel of their own. 
 The most noisy and the most distinguished of the number was a 
 "man with a Macintosh;" but whether he was a Trooper, or 
 only a visitor, nobody seemed to know. He conducted, with 
 very great spirit, indeed, a smart quarrel with sundry Troopers 
 at once. But his most formidable opponent was a knight of the 
 thimble. " You're a tailor, Sir," said " the man with the Mac- 
 intosh" to his valorous adversary, who was a tall lean personage. 
 
 " And you're a wagabond," retorted Snip, giving a smart 
 knock on the table. 
 
 " Sir, I repeat, you're a tailor," said the other, sneeringly. 
 
 " And I say you're vorse nor a wagabond." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, old thread- the-needle." 
 
 " Sir, if you say that 'ere agin," said Snip, now wrought up to 
 
 the highest pitch of passion, — " III knock your ; 1 will, a.s 
 
 sure as I stands in this 'ere place." 
 
 " You'll do what, Sir?" observed the " man with the Macin- 
 tosh," eyeing the knight of the thimble steadily. 
 
 " Just '"ill me a tailor, agin, Sir."
 
 120 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " You are a tailor." 
 
 " I von't stand this insult any longer, may I ! " 
 
 Here the hand of the tailor was raised, with the view of suit- 
 ing the action to the implied threat ; but it was arrested in its 
 descent towards the person of his antagonist by a friend who 
 chanced at the moment to have elbowed his way towards the 
 particular part of Troop Hall in which the embryo pugilists were 
 stationed. 
 
 " What's all this about ?" inquired Comrade Spunk, addressing 
 his friend the tailor. 
 
 " It's that 'ere person has been a insultin' of me and my trade," 
 replied the latter, pointing to the " man with the Macintosh." 
 
 " In what way ?" 
 
 " Vy, he has called me a tailor, vich is no fault of mine. I 
 couldn't help it, if my father put me to learn that "'ere bisness." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! " said the other ; "if that's all, it is not worth 
 fighting about." 
 
 " Ay, but — " 
 
 The insulted tailor was about to say something, when the Co- 
 lonel suddenly rose from his seat, and said that, as no attention 
 was paid to him, there was no use in his sitting there. 
 
 "Good night, then, Colonel — I'm off," observed the "man 
 with the Macintosh." 
 
 " And I'll be marching too," said another, taking up his hat, 
 and walking himself out of Troop Hall. 
 
 " And we'd better all be gone," shouted a third. 
 
 The suggestion was received with acclamation ; the Colonel 
 observing that he had sate there for five hours without relief. The 
 Troopers then quitted the Hall in a most irregular and unsoldier- 
 like manner, without having either adjourned the discussion, or 
 come to any decision on the motion before it. 
 
 I have always observed that the uproarious scenes which are 
 so common in Troop Hall, occur when there is the greatest 
 muster of the Troopers. When the attendance is but limited, 
 nothing could pass off more smoothly or quietly. All are on 
 the most friendly terms, — as comrades ought to be. They smoke 
 their pipe, quaff their go of brandy-and-water, and enjoy their 
 song in the most perfect harmony. The Colonel, Past-Colonel 
 Birch, the Secretary, and a great many others whom it is unne- 
 cessary to particularize, are as pleasant and intelligent men as 
 any one could wish to spend a social hour with. 
 
 One of the principal amusements of the Troopers, when there 
 is no important business to transact, is to hear one another sing. 
 And I have much pleasure in mentioning, that there are some 
 very excellent vocalists among the body. I have repeatedly 
 heard singing in Troop Hall which would do no discredit to per-
 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. 121 
 
 sons who live, as Shakspeare would sa) r , by " discoursing the 
 sweet music" of their voices. And what has always been to 
 me the source of supreme gratification, is the promptitude with 
 which every Trooper responds to the call of the Colonel, when 
 he appeals to some particular comrade for a song. I am far 
 from meaning to say that there are no unmusical or inharmoni- 
 ous personages in the head- quarters : that could not be expected 
 when there usually is so strong a muster ; but this I will say, 
 that I never heard a Trooper refuse to comply with the request 
 of the gallant Colonel, when demanding a song, on the ground 
 that he could not sing. Every visitor to Troop Hall must have 
 contrasted this readiness to " favour the Troop with a song" 
 with the hesitation and excuses, and affected inability to sing, 
 which are so common in private society. To be sure, there are 
 several Troopers who exhibit no variety, either in the matter or 
 style of their singing. They have but one song, and but one 
 way of singing it : still they show their subordination by so rea- 
 dily complying with the call of their Colonel for a song. They do 
 their best, and more cannot be expected from any one. There 
 is one Trooper who has for years treated his comrades to the 
 same song almost every night he has been present ; and yet, 
 notwithstanding the frequency with which he has repeated his 
 vocal performance, he still sings the song with as much zest as 
 he did the first time. It is due to the Troop to say, that, judg- 
 ing from the plaudits with which they receive it, and the fervour 
 and unanimity with which they join in the chorus, they are no 
 less pleased than the gentleman himself. I am sorry that I do 
 not now recollect some of the verses of this song ; for, if I did, I 
 would give a specimen or two, because I think there are some 
 clever things in it. The chorus, as well as I can remember, is 
 something like this : 
 
 " Now listen to me, if you please, 
 And I'll soon prove my words, 
 That the world is but a nest, 
 And we're all birds, birds." 
 
 It is impossible to convey any idea of the effect which is pro- 
 duced by a large body of the Troopers, causing the walls of 
 Troop Hall to resound again by the fervour with which they 
 sing this chorus. 
 
 Another Trooper is so devotedly wedded to a particular song, 
 beginning with 
 
 " Mary's my lily, and Flora's my rose," 
 
 that no consideration would induce him to sing any other. This 
 Trooper is, I am told,— for I am not personally cognizant of the
 
 122 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 fact. — an undertaker by trade. He thinks he has a sort of pre- 
 scriptive right to monopolize the singing of this song in Troop 
 Hall. Not long since, a comrade treated the Troop to the same 
 song. It was clear that the undertaker was mortified beyond 
 measure at the circumstance, — the more especially as the vocal 
 performance of his rival was greeted with loud applause. Every 
 manifestation of approbation was like plunging a dagger into the 
 bosom of the poor undertaker. Some of his friends observing 
 this, expressed their opinion that he sang the song much better 
 than his rival. Some admirers of the vocal capabilities of the 
 latter, intimated their dissent from this. A fierce discussion in 
 the first instance, and afterwards a rather violent altercation, as 
 to the comparative merits of the vocal rivals, followed. It was 
 eventually proposed that they should both sing again, and that 
 the sense of the Troop should be taken as to whose vocal per- 
 formance was most meritorious. The undertaker declined the 
 competition that evening, on the alleged ground that he did not 
 then feel himself in good condition for singing ; but signified his 
 readiness to enter the lists with his rival on the next meeting of 
 the Troop. The proposal was agreed to. In the interim, — the 
 interim, namely, of a week, — there was a constant clearing of 
 throats, and an assiduous preparation on the part of the rivals 
 for the grand vocal competition. Troop Hall was crowded on 
 the next Wednesday evening, to enjoy the affair. Comrade 
 Swan, the opponent of the undertaker, was called on by the 
 Colonel for a song, and the other promptly responded to the call, 
 by singing, in his best style, 
 
 " Mary's my lily, and Flora's my rose." 
 
 The applause was pretty cordial, and general ; but the Troopers 
 were surprised to find that nine or ten persons, sitting beside 
 each other, and rejoicing in what Mr. CConnell would call 
 " churchyard-looking" visages, were wonderfully active, fervid, 
 and unanimous, in their expressions of disapprobation of Comrade 
 Swan's vocal exhibition. It was now the undertaker's turn to 
 sing. After taking out of his pocket a handkerchief of a greater 
 number of colours than Sir Isaac Newton ever dreamed of, and 
 applying it to his forehead for the purpose of drying up a perfect 
 pool of perspiration which had gathered there, in consequence of 
 the agony of fear as to the result under which he laboured, — he 
 gave two or three forced coughs, with the addition of a couple of 
 hems, and then commenced. Before he had finished the first 
 note, the assemblage of demure-looking personages, already re- 
 ferred to, burst forth, as if moved by some unaccountable sym- 
 pathy with each other, into a literal roar of applause. Of course
 
 f^H 
 
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 fl 
 
 
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 o^ 
 
 I 
 
 1
 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. 123 
 
 the undertaker's voice was drowned ; while that of the Colonel, 
 in calling " Attention !'' " Silence !" and so forth, was scarcely 
 in the first instance heard. Their cheers at last died away ; but 
 were renewed with undiminished energy when the undertaker 
 had reached the end of verse the first. A regular round of ap- 
 plause from the same vociferous party followed the last word of 
 each succeeding verse,— in which plaudits, several of the most 
 disciplined of the Troopers, carried unconsciously away by their 
 enthusiasm, could not refrain from joining. It was clear to all 
 that the undertaker was greatly encouraged by these demonstra- 
 tions of applause ; for he waxed more and more confident, till he 
 reached the end of the song, when he concluded by a vocal 
 flourish, appropriately accompanied by a flourish of his right 
 hand in the air, which afforded demonstrative proof that ho 
 already regarded himself as the victor. The melancholy-looking 
 gentry, who had been so active in cheering the songster as he 
 proceeded, rose to their feet as he resumed his seat, and wav- 
 ing their hats above their heads, rent the air of Troop Hall with 
 their plaudits. A general, though more moderate manifestation 
 of applause from the Troopers, confirmed the undertaker's anti- 
 cipations of a triumph over his rival. The Colonel was about to 
 put the question to the vote, as to who had sung " Mary's my 
 lily, and Flora's my rose," best, when one of the proprietors of 
 the demure physiognomies unguardedly shouted aloud, " Vy, 
 master's von the day, to be sure : he be the best ; blow me, if 
 he ben't." 
 
 The Troopers first looked at each other with amazement, and 
 then at the stranger who had made the unintelligible remark. 
 
 " Who are you, Sir I " said the Colonel, authoritatively. 
 
 " Who am I V answered the other, coolly. 
 
 " Aye ; who are you V interrogated the Colonel, with increased 
 emphasis. 
 
 " Vy, I be's in the sarvice of that 'ere gemman," pointing to 
 the undertaker, " vot's jost a-been a-singin' ; and ve came to this 
 'ere place to " 
 
 Here another of the sombre-looking party suddenly started up, 
 and clapping his hand on the mouth of the speaker, caused him 
 to break off in the middle of the sentence. 
 
 " Come, do tell us what you came here for, 1 '' said the Colonel, 
 beginning to suspect that something was wrong. The under- 
 taker's countenance exhibited double its usual longitude, as the 
 gallant gentleman put the question. 
 
 " Must I tell?" inquired the other, with great simplicity. 
 
 " Certainly you must," exclaimed a host of Troopers at 
 once. 
 
 " No, don't," whispered one of the demure-looking gentry.
 
 12-4 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " Order, Sir !" said the Colonel, with some sternness, looking the 
 latter hard in the face. The undertaker now appeared as crest- 
 fallen as if he had been about to be expelled from the Troop. 
 
 " Come, Sir," repeated the Colonel, " tell us what you came 
 here for." 
 
 " Vy, then, if so be as I must speak the truth, master engaged 
 nine on us to come here to-night, and to cheer his song, and to 
 hinterrupt the gemman vot's sung before him. Ve are all in 
 master's sarvice : ve assists him in performing funerals." 
 
 It is impossible to describe the effect produced on the Troopers 
 by this unexpected disclosure of one of the undertaker's mutes. 
 The conduct of the party, so unaccountable before, was perfectly 
 intelligible now. The undertaker saved himself from a vote of 
 censure in his own presence, for the deception he had practised, 
 by snatching up his hat, and quitting Troop Hall with an edify- 
 ing expedition. He has never since crossed its threshold. 
 
 I have often admired the polite way in which the Lumber 
 Troop rid themselves of the presence of any comrade who has 
 so far forgotten himself, and the respect due to the ancient and 
 honourable body with whom he is associated, as to get drunk. 
 The Colonel authoritatively desires the suttler, for the time 
 being, to " see that gentleman safely conducted out of the Hall." 
 A more genteel way of ejecting a troublesome customer, I hold 
 it were impossible to imagine. The suttler, thus instructed by 
 the Colonel, gently, in the first instance, takes hold of the in- 
 ebriated comrade by the breast of the coat. If the latter offers 
 no resistance, but resigns himself to the safe guidance of the 
 suttler, good ; all passes off quietly enough. But if he takes it 
 into his head to refuse quitting Troop Hall, as intoxicated com- 
 rades often do, then he must expect to be handled a little more 
 roughly. The suttler brings all the physical energy of which he 
 is proprietor, to bear on the forcible ejectment of the refractory 
 Trooper ; and if he be not competent for the task himself, there 
 are always plenty of comrades present, willing and ready on 
 a moment's notice, to lend a helping hand in a work which so 
 nearly concerns the honour and respectability of the Troop. 
 My only surprise is, that the Troop content themselves with the 
 mere ejection of such persons, and the exaction of a fine of a 
 shilling or sixpence, according as the offender is an officer or 
 a private. If I were a Trooper, one of the first motions I would 
 make, would be, that such members of the body as could disgrace 
 both themselves and the Troop in this way, should be expelled 
 at once. It strikes me, that this would be the proper course to 
 adopt, if the Troop are desirous of insuring well-conducted sol- 
 diers, and due decorum in the proceedings at head-quarters. I 
 am sure I need not repeat that, under the existing system of dis-
 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. ] 25 
 
 cipline, singularly lenient as that system is, the breaches of mili- 
 tary subordination are of rare occurrence, when the number of 
 Troopers is considered. But the adoption of a more rigid code 
 would have the effect of purging the Troop of all disreputable 
 persons. And here let me observe, that I would be for bringing 
 under the operation of the code 1 am recommending, all those 
 comrades, whether drunk or sober, who persist in creating a dis- 
 turbance in Troop Hall, by unnecessarily interrupting the due 
 course of the proceedings. There are many individuals, as may 
 be inferred from what I have said in a former part of the chap- 
 ter, who join the Troop for no other purpose in the world than 
 that of getting up what they call " scenes." There ought to be 
 a law for the summary expulsion of such individuals. It was 
 clear, that there were many of these individuals in Troop Hall 
 on the evening of the first of last month, when the scene, of 
 which I have attempted to give some idea in a previous part of 
 the chapter, occurred. And had the strict system of discipline I 
 am recommending obtained at that time, and been duly enforced, 
 all the disturbance and uproar, which threw so much discredit 
 on the proceedings that evening, would have been prevented. 
 My plan would be very simple : I would hold it competent for 
 any Trooper to move that any comrade, whom he supposed to 
 be seeking to create a disturbance, or to burlesque the Troop, 
 ought to be expelled Troop Hall at once. Let the question 
 then be put to the vote, and there would at once be an end to 
 the matter. 
 
 As it is, as before mentioned, any person wishing to enjoy 
 two or three hours' peaceable and pleasant conversation at a 
 cheap rate, may have it at the small charge of twopence, by 
 going to Troop Hall in the capacity of a visitor, on the Wed- 
 nesday evenings, when what is called the usual meetings of the 
 Troop are held. The lovers of uproar and confusion — for 
 singular as the taste is, there are some persons who only feel 
 themselves in their element when in the midst of such scenes — 
 may have their tastes gratified to their heart's content, by visit- 
 ing Troop Hall on those evenings appropriated for the election 
 of officers, or for the transaction of other important Lumber 
 Troop business. The annual election of officers takes place 
 about the middle of next month, when, as a matter of course, 
 the usual amount of disorder, noise, and uproar, will be ex- 
 hibited. 
 
 If any one is ambitious of being a member of the Troop, ir. 
 order that he may have a right to take part in their discussions, 
 and to vote on all questions submitted for discussion, surely the 
 annual payment of five shillings is not too great a price for so 
 important a privilege. Let no man bo deterred from allowing
 
 126 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 himself to be put in nomination for membership, from an appre- 
 hension that his pretensions to the honour will be too severely 
 scrutinized. There could not be a more unfounded apprehen- 
 sion. To speak the truth, there is not— unless under some very 
 peculiar circumstances — any scrutiny at all. A Trooper pro- 
 poses that Mr. So-and-so " be admitted a member of the An- 
 cient and Honourable Lumber Troop ; " another Trooper seconds 
 the motion ; and the Colonel, addressing himself to the party no- 
 minated, who receives a hint to assume a perpendicular position 
 on the occasion, says — " Is it, Mr. So-and-so, with your own free- 
 will and consent, that you are proposed for admission into this 
 Ancient and Honourable Lumber Troop?" The party either 
 answers " Yes, 11 or gives an affirmative nod ; and is that instant 
 pronounced by the Colonel to be a Trooper. 
 
 It is really amusing to hear the Troopers talking in regular 
 military style. Many of them can do it with the strictest pro- 
 priety. I doubt if Wellington himself be more conversant with 
 military phraseology than are some of the Lumber Troopers of 
 the greatest standing. I am almost convinced that the officers do, 
 on particular occasions, forget that they are plain citizens, and 
 that they actually, for the time being, fancy themselves to be 
 officers of regular regiments of soldiers. Even their written ad- 
 dresses are penned in the genuine military style. Let any one 
 who doubts this, visit Troop Hall at his convenience, and he will 
 see the walls placarded with the following : 
 
 TROOPERS! 
 
 SUPPORT YOUR BENEVOLENT FUND ! 
 
 And here let me give expression to the hope, that the appeal 
 thus made to the Troopers will be promptly responded to, and 
 that a liberal support will be extended to the Benevolent Fund ; 
 for the object of that fund is truly benevolent, being nothing else 
 than to assist Troopers who, by ill health, old age, or adverse 
 circumstances, are fit subjects of relief by those who are more 
 fortunate in the world. 
 
 There are two of the rules of the Lumber Troop which ap- 
 pear to me to be exceedingly injudicious, in so far as respects 
 the enlistment of new soldiers. I refer to the rule which pro- 
 hibits the drinking of ale or porter out of any pewter vessel ; 
 and to that which denies the members permission to eat any- 
 thing in the character of Troopers. 
 
 With regard to the first prohibition, everybody knows that 
 there are many persons who would rather not drink ale or 
 porter at all, than drink either out of a glass. Their affection for
 
 THE LUMBER TROOP. 127 
 
 pewter pots is so great, that one cannot help thinking there is 
 something in the peculiar metal itself as palatable to their taste, 
 though only put to their mouths, as is the liquid which it con- 
 tains. One of the late Irish M.P.'s was so devotedly attached 
 to drinking porter out of a pewter pot, that he rather preferred 
 running the risk, when he went into any tavern, of being voted, 
 as he used to say, " ungenteel," than submit to the privation of 
 not having the liquid in a pewter pot. His plan for con- 
 cealing his metallic partialities from the other persons in the 
 room, was to instruct the waiter, when he brought in the porter, 
 to place it under the table. This done, the ex-honourable gen- 
 tleman bowed down his head, and took draught after draught of 
 Whitbread and Co.'s " Entire," as occasion required, replacing 
 the pewter pot with its contents, each time, in its locality beneath 
 
 the table. Supposing, now, that the quondam M.P. for D , 
 
 had intended to join the Lumber Troop, the circumstance of 
 pewter vessels being prohibited in Troop Hall would, with him, 
 have been an unconquerable objection to his becoming a com- 
 rade. And I have no doubt whatever, that many others who 
 would have shed a lustre on the Troop, have been deterred from 
 enlisting themselves under its banners for the same reason. 
 
 As regards the prohibition of eating anything in the head- 
 quarters, I am no less convinced that it has largely contributed 
 to keep down the numbers of the Troop. Many people have no 
 notion of sitting for hours in a public-house, swilling ale or 
 porter, or quaffing go after go of brandy-and- water, without 
 partaking of something of a solid kind. It is only a short time 
 since the Troopers had a practical illustration furnished them of 
 the strong disapprobation with which some persons regard the 
 rule which prohibits eating, as well as drinking out of the pewter. 
 A stout country-looking man, whose dialect clearly proved that 
 he was a recent importation from Yorkshire, chanced to drop one 
 evening into Troop Hall, without knowing anything of the Troop. 
 William, as usual, before the visitor had well seated himself, 
 seductively inquired, looking up in his face, what he would take. 
 " A pint of half-and-half," was the answer. 
 
 " Yes, Sir," said the waiter, and away he flew to meet the 
 wishes of his customer. In an incredibly short time he returned 
 with the liquid in a glass vessel, and was in the act of depositing 
 it on the table before the Yorkshireman, when the latter said, 
 " Be kind enough to bring it me in the pewter." 
 
 " No pewter jugs allowed, Sir, to-night." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Oh, Sir, because it's a rulo of the place." 
 
 " Coom, coom, none of your nonsense," said the other, as if 
 looking on the thing as a joke.
 
 128 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " Quite true, Sir, I assure you," repeated William, with much 
 politeness. 
 
 " Are you serious V 
 
 " Perfectly so." 
 
 " Oh ; then there is no help for it, I suppose. Just bring me 
 a crust of bread and cheese." 
 
 " Can't, Sir," said the waiter. 
 
 " Can't bring a customer some bread and cheese ! " said the 
 Yorkshireman, looking as much amazed as if he were at a loss to 
 know whether or not he ought to credit the evidence of his ears. 
 " Why, good man, I don't want it for nothing: I mean to pay 
 for it." 
 
 " Don't doubt that, Sir ; but can't bring it. It's contrary to 
 the rules." 
 
 " What rules ?" inquired the other, with considerable emphasis. 
 
 " The rules of the Troop, Sir." 
 
 " The Troop ! What Troop ?" 
 
 " The Ancient and Honourable Lumber Troop, Sir." 
 
 The countryman was as much in the dark as before ; but some 
 one sitting beside him entered into such details as eventually en- 
 abled him to form some idea of the nature of the institution. 
 
 " But still," he # observed, after the other had concluded his 
 explanations ; " but still, I don't see why a man should coom 
 into a public-house to be refused bread and cheese, when he is 
 willing to pay for it. — Waiter, you bring me some." 
 
 " Can't do it, Sir," answered William, pathetically. 
 
 " But I insist that you shall. I have a right to demand it," 
 said the other, with considerable warmth ; his Yorkshire blood 
 rising some degrees at the reiterated refusal to meet his wishes. 
 
 A regular squabble ensued between the countryman and seve- 
 ral of the Troopers around him, in consequence of their asserting 
 the propriety of the prohibition. 
 
 " Who is that gentleman?" inquired the Colonel, while the 
 altercation was at its height. " Is he a Trooper?" 
 
 " He is only a visitor," answered two or three voices at once. 
 
 " Then, Mr. Beck, you see that gentleman conducted safely 
 along the passage," said the Colonel. 
 
 Mr. Beck advanced for this purpose, when the Yorkshireman 
 dared any man to lay a hand upon him, but signified his inten- 
 tion of quitting Troop Hall of his own accord. He accordingly 
 proceeded along the passage, and on reaching the door, took 
 the knob in his hand, and, turning about, shouted as loud as he 
 was able, " What a precious starved squad you must be, when 
 you never goes to mess ! " and so saying, he violently slammed the 
 door, and bolted out of Bolt-court.
 
 THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 129 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 
 
 Meeting of Parliament — Taking the oaths — Introduction of a new Peer into the 
 House of Lords — Further observations on taking the oaths — Mr. O'Connell's 
 manner in taking the oaths — Opening of the Parliament by her Majesty in per- 
 son—Appearance of the House of Lords on the occasion — Conduct of the mem- 
 bers of the House of Commons on being summoned into the presence of the 
 Queen — The Queen's delivery of her speech — Her Majesty's personal appear- 
 ance — Moving the Address in the Lords, in answer to the Queen's speech The 
 
 Duke of Sussex— Lord Portman — Lord Brougham — The Address in the Com- 
 mons — Lord Leveson — Mr. Gibson Craig — Scenes in the House of Commons — 
 
 A missing amendment which had been moved by Mr. Daniel Whittle Harvey 
 
 Parliamentary debuts in the present session — Mr. Blewitt — Mr. Disraeli — 
 Remarks on the reception of the latter gentleman by the House — New members — 
 Miscellaneous observations. 
 
 The day appointed for the meeting of the present parliament 
 was Wednesday, the 15th of November. On that day the 
 Commons limited their proceedings to the re-election of Mr. 
 Abercromby as speaker. In the Lords, they were confined to the 
 usual formality of reading her Majesty's writ, — the Commons 
 being assembled at their Lordships 1 bar,— authorising the meet- 
 ing of the new parliament. Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and 
 the early part of Monday, were occupied with swearing in the 
 members of both Houses. The oaths taken on these occasions 
 are two : the oath of allegiance, and that which disclaims all 
 faith in the Roman Catholic religion. No member in either 
 House can take his seat, or vote on any question, until he has 
 taken the first oath. The second, as a matter of course, is only 
 taken by Protestants. For the Roman Catholic Peers, and the 
 Roman Catholic Commons, a different oath is provided : they 
 are made to swear that they will do nothing in their capacity of 
 members of the legislature to deprive the Church of England of 
 any part of its property, nor seek to injure it in any way. It was 
 curious to witness the exposition lately given in both Houses, of 
 the peculiar notions of particular individuals on the subject of 
 the Roman Catholic religion. Lord Melbourne, Earl Mulgrave, 
 and others of the more liberal Whigs, seemed, judging from the 
 careless and indistinct manner in which they muttered over the 
 words of the oath, to look upon it as a piece of mere mummery ; 
 while Lords Kenyon, Roden, Winchilsea, and others of the 
 
 L
 
 130 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 ultra Tory party, repeated the words with a seriousness of coun- 
 tenance, and an emphasis of manner, which showed that they 
 felt what they uttered. The oath in question disclaims all belief 
 in the doctrine of transubstantiation, or in the propriety of pray- 
 ing to the Virgin Mary, or other saints. The praying to saints, 
 and the sacrifice of the mass, the parties taking the oath declare 
 to be idolatrous. All acknowledgment of the authority of tho 
 Pope is also disclaimed. In the House of Lords, the Lord Chan- 
 cellor sat as motionless and mute on the woolsack, while the two 
 clerks were administering the oaths to the Peers, as if he had 
 been a statue. I have often pitied the noble and learned Lord 
 before, while doomed to witness the nonsense which such men as 
 Lord Londonderry and the Duke of Newcastle were inflicting on 
 the House ; because, while other Peers can escape the visitation 
 by quitting the House, he must remain on the woolsack to hear 
 every word they utter ; and what is more, must, as a matter of 
 courtesy, appear to listen with respectful attention to everything 
 they say. Great, however, as has been my compassion for the 
 Lord Chancellor on the occasions to which I refer, it never 
 was half so great as when witnessing him on the woolsack 
 during the four days he was compelled to sit there while the 
 oaths were being administered to the Peers. His Lordship's 
 face is grave at any time : on the occasions to which I allude, it 
 was peculiarly so. And no wonder ; for what could be more 
 tiresome than to have his ears dinned by hearing the same ever- 
 lasting oaths so often repeated ? Nonsensical speeches, if they 
 have no other recommendation, have at least this one — that 
 there is variety in them. Here all was an unbroken monotony ; 
 and what is more, a monotony of a very unpleasant kind. To 
 be sure, a Peer, either on his entrance, or after he had taken the 
 oaths and his seat, now and then advanced to the woolsack, and 
 shook hands with the noble and learned Lord ; but this was 
 scarcely worthy of the name of variety. The most interesting 
 little episode which occurred while I was present, in the four 
 days' sederunt of his Lordship, took place when the new Bishop 
 of Hereford was being admitted to the House as a spiritual peer. 
 One of the leading officers of tho House, whose duty it is to see 
 that none but Peers be permitted to pass the bar, having ob- 
 served the right reverend prelate standing outside the bar, with 
 some other bishops behind him, while the Bishop of Durham, 
 who had undertaken to introduce him, was motioning him to 
 follow, — sprang to the bar from the centre of the House, where 
 he chanced to be standing at the time, and inquired audibly of 
 the reverend prelate, whether he had brought his writ with him ? 
 ' I have," answered the right reverend prelate ; and as ho 
 epoke, he produced the important piece of paper.
 
 THK VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 131 
 
 " Then you may walk in," said the officer, opening the little 
 iron door, and admitting his reverence. 
 
 The latter, preceded by the portly Bishop of Durham, and 
 followed by another ecclesiastical dignitary, then advanced to 
 the table of the House, where the clerks were in readiness to 
 swear in the new member. One clerk stood on the ministerial 
 Bide of the table, and the other on the Tory side. Whether this 
 was indicative of the respective political views of the parties, or 
 was the result of pure accident, or agreeably to some usual 
 arrangement, are points on which I can give no opinion ; nor is 
 the matter of much importance either way. I allude to the cir- 
 cumstance of the two clerks being thus, as regarded local posi- 
 tion, pitted against each other, for the purpose of mentioning, 
 that the clerk on the ministerial side handed over to the one on 
 the Tory side, a small slip of paper, carefully folded up. The 
 latter opened the piece of paper, and began reading thus : — " To 
 our trusty and well-beloved, James, Earl of — " Here he sud- 
 denly paused, and looked confounded. The fact flashed on him 
 that he had been reading the wrong writ, and tossing it over to 
 the clerk, on the opposite side, from whom he had received it, 
 indicated by his looks that he thought his colleague had com- 
 mitted a very stupid blunder. The error, however, was forth- 
 with rectified, by the proper piece of paper being handed over to 
 him whose duty on the occasion it was to read aloud the au- 
 thority on which the new bishop was about to be recognised as 
 a member. Instead of " the Earl of," the words " right reve- 
 rend father in God" greeted the ears of every one present. The 
 reverend prelate then proceeded to take the oaths ; which having 
 done, he laid down the paper and the New Testament on the 
 table, and looked about him with a strangeness of manner 
 which denoted that he was in a place which was new to him. A 
 few seconds passed before the Bishop of Durham, who acted on 
 the occasion as his " guide, philosopher, and friend," gave any 
 indication of an inclination to budge from the spot on which he 
 stood ; during which time the new spiritual peer looked as if he 
 had been saying in his own mind, " Well, I wonder what comes 
 next ! " The thing that came next was, that the Bishop of Dur- 
 ham, instead of going the nearest way to the bench of bishops, 
 in order that the new-made spiritual legislator might comply 
 with the form of " taking his seat," took the most circuitous 
 way to the ecclesiastical locality which he possibly could, — tho 
 Bishop of Hereford and the other unknown bishop following his 
 reverence with a most exemplary docility. The form of taking 
 the seat having been gone through, the Bishop of Durham intro- 
 duced the Bishop of Hereford to the Lord Chancellor, sitting, 
 as before mentioned, as if " the sole inhabitant of some desert 
 
 i,2
 
 132 SIC ETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 isle," on the woolsack. His Lordship seized the extended hand 
 of the newly-admitted spiritual peer with so much energy, — 
 arising doubtless from the cordiality with which he congratu- 
 lated him on being added to the members of the House, — that 
 he almost pulled him down on his own knee. After about half 
 a minute's conversation with the noble and learned Lord, the 
 Bishop of Hereford left the House, in the company of his right 
 reverend friends. 
 
 In the swearing-in of the members of the Lower House, there 
 were also many amusing circumstances to be seen. It was not 
 only amusing, but sometimes laughable, to see those gentle- 
 men returned for the first time, when about to take the oaths. 
 The members, including old and new, advanced to the table on 
 several occasions in droves of from a dozen to a dozen-and-a-half ; 
 and anything more awkward than the movements of the newly- 
 fledged legislators it were impossible to imagine. But decidedly 
 the best scene of all was exhibited on Friday, when upwards of 
 one hundred members were sworn in at once. Some of" the new 
 M.P.'s stared at the huge proportions of the Speaker's wig, as if 
 they had been afraid of the article ; but what chiefly embar- 
 rassed them was, to ascertain the position which they ought 
 respectively to occupy at the table. They dashed against each 
 other, displaced each other, and trod on each other's toes, just 
 as if engaged in a regular jostling match. An Irishman would 
 have thought the thing an imitation of a row. At one time, two 
 or three were seen snatching at the same copy of the New Tes- 
 tament ; and immediately after, the same two or three legis- 
 lators were seen holding the book at once with an air of great 
 gravity. The limited supply of the sacred volume — limited, I 
 mean, as compared with the number of gentlemen being sworn 
 in at one time — rendered this necessary. The various moods of 
 mind in which the oaths were evidently taken, afforded matter 
 for curious reflection. Those of liberal politics, and of latitudi- 
 narian notions respecting denominational differences in religion, 
 clearly regarded, like the Whig Peers, those portions of the oath 
 which relate to the Roman Catholic faith as a species of mum- 
 mery ; for they hummed over the words in that careless and 
 impatient manner in which a school-boy repeats an ungrateful 
 task, They often looked, on the sly, off the printed slip whence 
 they read, just as boys of a trifling disposition do at school when 
 they fancy the eye of the pedagogue is not on them. The Tories, 
 on the other hand, and all who entertained a conscientious horror 
 of the Roman Catholic religion, were remarkably serious and 
 emphatic when repeating the portions of the oath which apply 
 to it. I think it would have been no difficult matter, with- 
 out any particular pretensions to a practical knowledge of the
 
 •mi: VICTORIA PARLIAMENT 133 
 
 system of Lavater, to have distinguished between the more de- 
 vout of the Tories and the more latitudinarian of the Liberals, 
 from a simple glance at their several countenances while leading 
 the denunciations against certain points in the Roman Catholic 
 faith. The grave visages of the former exhibited a marked con- 
 trast to the careless physiognomies of the latter. 
 
 The circumstance of so many persons audibly repeating the 
 same words at once, had a singular effect on the auricular organs. 
 Only fancy that you hear upwards of one hundred individuals, all 
 repeating in loud tones the same words after the clerk of the 
 House of Commons, — words, too, which many of them had never 
 pronounced before, — and you will easily conceive what must have 
 been the variety of voices, and the deviation from the proper 
 time in the delivery, which must have been exhibited on the 
 occasion. Anything more inharmonious, it has happily been but 
 seldom my lot to listen to. It needed not aught of the pro- 
 phetic spirit, after hearing the voices and elocution of many of 
 the honourable gentlemen, to predict that they were not des- 
 tined to achieve any remarkable oratorical triumphs on the floor 
 of the House of Commons. 
 
 While the large assemblage of members, of whom I have been 
 speaking, were undergoing the initiatory process of taking the 
 oaths, a rather awkward circumstance occurred. I refer to the 
 fact, that at the same time another of the clerks was engaged in 
 administering a different "oath to six or seven Roman Catholic 
 members standing at the same table ; so that the latter were 
 obliged to submit, without even a word of murmur, far less of 
 remonstrance, to hear themselves denounced by the Protestant 
 members as idolaters, for whom a certain doom, which I shall not 
 here mention, is in sure reserve. This might have been avoided 
 by administering the oath to the Catholics at an after period 
 
 Mr. O'Connell came into the House by himself. His ever 
 smiling and ample countenance, redolent of health and of a 
 cheerful disposition, delighted all present as his athletic person 
 was recognised passing the bar, and swaggering up towards the 
 table. It is a positive luxury, in an assemblage where there 
 are so many artificial dandies and sprigs of fashion, to witness 
 the plain, farmer-like appearance, and unsophisticated manners 
 of Mr. O'Connell. Advancing to the corner of the table, on tho 
 ministerial side of the House, next the Speaker's chair, tho 
 honourable member intimated to one of tho clerks that he was 
 ready to take the oaths. The clerk, having placed the oath of 
 allegiance in his hand, forthwith commenced reading it. Mr. 
 O'Connell not being able to read without the aid of an eye- 
 glass, and not having taken out of his pocket that necessary aux- 
 iliary to his vision in time to enable him to start with the cleik,
 
 134 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 was obliged to repeat the words, for some time, after the clerk, 
 without knowing whether the latter was reading correctly or not. 
 All this while, the honourable gentleman was making a most 
 active search for his glass, first in one pocket, then in another ; 
 when eventually alighting on it, he promptly raised it to his 
 eyes, and carefully read the remainder of the oath, — as he also 
 did the one administered only to Roman Catholics, — from the 
 printed copy before him. It was amusing to observe the slow 
 and cautious way in which he repeated the words after the 
 clerk before he was in a condition to read the oath, contrasted 
 with the rapidity of his utterance when reading it himself off 
 the printed copy. In fact, he had hardly commenced reading the 
 document, when it must have struck all present that, instead of 
 following the clerk, he was rather in advance of him. It looked, 
 indeed, as if there had been a regular match between the two 
 as to who should read the oath most rapidly ; while it was be- 
 yond all question that Mr. O'Connell was the winner. While 
 this exhibition of rapid-reading rivalry was going on, Mr. O'Con- 
 nell, instead of taking the document in his hands, as the mem- 
 bers usually do when going through the ceremony of being 
 sworn in, laid it on the table, and applying his glass to his 
 eyes with his left hand, thrust the fingers of his right one be- 
 tween his black neckerchief and his neck, at intervals of a few 
 seconds, until he had got to the end of the oaths. Mr. CTCon- 
 nell read the whole of the oaths in a distinct and audible, 
 though rapid, manner ; but was repeatedly observed to lay pe- 
 culiar emphasis on particular expressions. He laid remarkable 
 stress on that part of the oath of allegiance which refers to the 
 Queen in particular. If any one had doubted the honourable mem- 
 ber's loyalty before, — which no one, so far as I am aware, ever 
 did, — they could no longer resist the conviction that he was not 
 only a loyal subject, but that he was one of the most loyal 
 subjects in her Majesty's dominions. Having got through the 
 ceremony of swearing in, Mr. O'Connell took up the Roman Ca- 
 tholic oath, and then contemptuously tossed it down again on 
 the table, as if he had either had some private quarrel with it, 
 or deemed it an altogether unnecessary affair. This done, he 
 glanced some half-dozen of his own peculiar smiles at some of 
 the honourable members beside him, and then went over to 
 the Speaker, with whom he cordially shook hands, and held a 
 brief confabulation : after which, he took his seat for a few 
 seconds, and then waddled out of the House again. 
 
 Nearly all the members of both Houses had taken the oaths 
 by four o'clock on the Saturday. Those who had not done so, 
 took them early on Monday, that being the day appointed for 
 the Queen's opening the parliament in person, and no member

 
 THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 135 
 
 of either House being qualified to vote on any division that 
 might take place on the Address, until the oaths had been taken. 
 
 The opening of a new parliament by the sovereign in person, 
 is, at any time, a most interesting circumstance, and never fails 
 to attract a large concourse of persons, not only to the vicinity 
 of the parliament-house, but to every part of the line of proces- 
 sion. The interest of such an occurrence was, on this occasion, 
 greatly heightened by the circumstance of this being not only 
 the first parliament of the sovereign, but of that sovereign being 
 an amiable female of the tender age of eighteen. Loyalty and 
 gallantly, therefore, both combined to draw out the population of 
 London on the occasion of Victoria's opening her first parlia- 
 ment in person. And as has hitherto been the case, on all the 
 occasions in which our young Queen has appeared in public, the 
 weather, on the day in question, was propitious in the highest 
 degree. Under all these circumstances, it is not to be wondered 
 at if the assemblage of persons v, ho greeted Victoria with their 
 plaudits on her way to and from her parliament, was far greater 
 — as I am convinced it was — than were ever congregated toge- 
 ther under similar circumstances. I have witnessed the openings 
 of several parliaments by the sovereign in person ; but the con- 
 course of people on such occasions was nothing to what it was on 
 the present. From Buckingham Palace to the Horse Guards 
 there were two unbroken lines of persons as closely wedged toge- 
 ther, ten or twelve deep, as it was possible for them to be ; 
 while from Charing-cross, down to Arlington-street, a distance 
 I should suppose of about half-a-mile, the broad pavement on 
 either side exhibited one dense mass of human beings. It is 
 hardly necessary to say that the windows and tops of the houses, 
 and every spot which could command a glimpse of the proces- 
 sion, were most thickly tenanted. In the fronts of most of the 
 houses in Parliament-street, scaffoldings were erected, many of 
 which were let out, while others were confined to the accommoda- 
 tion of friends. Palace-yard, again, exhibited one dense mass of 
 cabs, coaches, carts, waggons, and vehicles of every kind, which 
 were also let out for the occasion ; and many a Jehu made a 
 much more profitable couple of hours 1 work by letting out his 
 vehicle in this way, than he could have done by driving about in 
 the streets from morning to night with ordinary " fare." To 
 compute, with anything like confidence of being near the mark, 
 {he number of persons who, on the 20th of November, were 
 assembled together to get a glance of their young Sovereign, is 
 what no man would undertake to do. Forming a rough conjec- 
 ture on the subject, I should say it could not have been much 
 under 200,000. 
 
 So early as twelve o'clock, the interior of the House of Lords
 
 136 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 was nearly filled by peeresses and their daughters ; by one, it 
 was quite full ; and so great was the anxiety to obtain a view of 
 the Queen while opening parliament, that even the gallery of 
 the House of Lords was filled with the female branches of aris- 
 tocratic families by twelve o'clock ; all, as in the body of the 
 House, in full dress. Lady Mary Montague gives a graphic 
 description of the siege which a troop of duchesses, countesses, 
 and other titled ladies, laid to the door of the gallery of the 
 House of Lords when, in her time, some interesting debate was 
 expected ; and how, when they found, after a ten hours' assault, 
 the gallery was not to be taken by storm, they succeeded in 
 effecting an entrance by stratagem. The ladies, in the present 
 case, were not under the necessity of attempting an entrance into 
 the gallery by sheer physical force ; for they had, in most cases, 
 procured a lord-chamberlain's order of admission ; but several 
 of them effected an entrance by the persuasive eloquence of 
 their pretty and fascinating faces, accompanied by a few honied 
 words, which the officers could not resist ; and which no man, 
 possessed of an atom of susceptibility, to say nothing of gal- 
 lantry, could, had he been in the officers' places, have withstood. 
 But this was not all : not only did a number of ladies who had 
 no order of admission from the Lord Chamberlain, meet with 
 this wonderful facility of entrance ; but some of them carried the 
 joke still further, and actually took forcible possession of the 
 front seat in the gallery, which is always specially and exclu- 
 sively appropriated for the gentlemen of the press. This seat 
 is capable, on an emergency, of containing, including a back 
 form, about thirty persons, and yet only three reporters were 
 fortunate enough to obtain admission ; and even they, but for 
 the accidental circumstance of having taken possession of fheir 
 places the moment the door was thrown open, would also have 
 been among the excluded. And what does the reader suppose 
 would have been the consequence ? Why, none other than this : 
 that not one word of the important proceedings in the House of 
 Lords, on the opening of the parliament by the Queen, — be- 
 yond a copy of the speech, which is always sent from the govern- 
 ment offices to the newspapers, — could have appeared in next 
 day's papers. Let the public imagine what an " untoward affair" 
 this would have been, and be thankful that three gentlemen of 
 the press were fortunate enough to secure their places in 
 the gallery. The alacrity which the ladies displayed in possess- 
 ing themselves of the seats set apart for the reporters, was truly 
 astonishing. Philosophers tell us that nature abhors a vacuum, 
 and that whenever one is created, she rushes in to fill it up. I 
 am not myself philosopher enough to know with what ex- 
 pedition nature fills up such vacuums ; but this I know, that
 
 THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 137 
 
 9he could not be much more prompt in her movements, than were 
 the ladies in filling up the vacant seats intended for the gentle- 
 men of the press, on this occasion. The three reporters already re- 
 ferred to, when they saw the rush of the ladies to take possession 
 of the unoccupied seats, felt, in the first instance, inexpressible 
 surprise ; but on recovering themselves, the predominant feeling 
 in their minds was one of gratitude to their stars that they had 
 been fortunate enough to possess themselves of their places. There 
 they sat for two long hours, amidst a large assemblage of the 
 fairest of the fair, literally hid from the sight of those who were 
 lucky enough to get a peep into the House from the door, by 
 a forest of waving plumes of feathers of the richest kind. By 
 one o^loek, the House had an appearance which, I am con- 
 vinced may be said with truth, it has seldom, if ever, presented 
 before. The whole of the benches on the floor and the two side 
 galleries, were occupied by the female portion of the families of 
 the Peers, all attired in their costliest and most magnificent 
 dresses. I will not attempt to describe the effect produced on 
 the mind of the spectator by the dazzling splendour of the jewel- 
 lery they wore. Altogether, the spectacle was perhaps one of the 
 most interesting of the kind ever witnessed in this or any other 
 country. I have been in the House of Lords at the opening and 
 proroguing of several previous parliaments by the sovereign in 
 person ; but on no former occasion was there any comparison 
 with the scene in question, either as regarded the number of 
 ladies present, or the imposing and brilliant aspect the place 
 presented. 
 
 I could have wished that the opponents of Mr. Grantley 
 Berkeley's motion for the admission of ladies into the gallery of 
 the House of Commons, had been all present on this occasion : 
 that is to say, provided there had been accommodation for them. 
 There can be little doubt that, as respects a considerable num- 
 ber of these ungallant " honourable gentlemen," the real cause, 
 though they have not the courage to own it, of their opposition 
 to the admission of ladies into the gallery is, that they labour 
 under the impression that ladies could not refrain from speak- 
 ing to one another, and thus betray a want of proper respect 
 for the House and its proceedings. As to the amount of re- 
 spect which is due to the House and its proceedings, I beg to 
 be excused from expressing an opinion ; but this I feel bound 
 to say, in justice to the sex, that the supposition that women 
 could not, under any circumstances, refrain from speaking, is 
 altogether groundless. It was proved to have been so on the 
 occasion in question ; and this under circumstances of a very 
 trying nature ; for all the ladies had to sit about two hours be- 
 fore the arrival of the Queen, and while there were no proceedings
 
 138 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 in the House ; and yet everything was as quiet as the most de- 
 voted admirer of the " silent system" could have wished. I do 
 not mean to say that the ladies remained all this time as mute 
 as if they had been so many statues ; but this I will say, without 
 the fear of contradiction, that when one exchanged a word with 
 another, it was done in a perfect whisper, so as to be audible, 
 with few exceptions, to no one but her to whom it was addressed. 
 If, then, an unbroken silence was observed by the ladies present, 
 during the two tedious hours they were in the House without 
 anything in the shape of proceedings to occupy their atten- 
 tion, what a groundless and ungallant imputation for the mem- 
 bers of the House of Commons to say— and I myself have heard 
 members say it in private, — that if ladies were admitted into 
 their gallery, they could not refrain from speaking ! 
 
 A little before two o 1 clock, a discharge of artillery announced 
 that her Majesty was on her waj r to parliament. The first round 
 startled many a " lady fair," as might be seen by the sudden and 
 somewhat ungraceful nodding of so many plumes of feathers ; 
 but the momentary surprise over, every countenance beamed with 
 joy at the thought that a sovereign of their own sex would in a 
 very little time be seated on the splendid throne before them. 
 A short time passed away, and the striking-up of a band of 
 music on the outside, announced the near approach of her Ma- 
 jesty. A few moments more elapsed, and the thrilling tones of 
 the trumpet intimated that Queen Victoria, though as yet unseen, 
 was proceeding along the passage to her robing-room, and would 
 be in the midst of them presently. That was a moment of 
 intense interest, and it was visibly depicted in every counte- 
 nance. Every eye momentarily expected to gaze on the youthful 
 Queen, attired in her robes of state. In a few seconds more, 
 Victoria entered the House. The Peeresses and all present 
 simultaneously rose, while every breast throbbed with exultation 
 at the sight of their sovereign. It was a sight to be seen, not 
 to be described. The most lively imagination would fall far short 
 of the reality : how fruitless, then, were any effort to attempt to 
 convey any idea of it by mere description ! There stood, in the 
 presence of their young and interesting sovereign, — all emulat- 
 ing each other in doing homage to her in their hearts as well 
 as outwardly, — the Peers and Peeresses of the land ! It was a 
 touching sight : it was a sublime spectacle : it was one which 
 will never be forgotten by those whose happiness it was to wit- 
 ness it. 
 
 Her Majesty having taken her seat on the throne, desired the 
 Peers to be seated. The intimation was known to be equally 
 meant for the ladies. The Commons were then summoned 
 into the royal presence. The summons was forthwith followed
 
 THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. ISO 
 
 by a scene which strongly contrasted with that to which I havo 
 been alluding. There is a proverb, which is current in certain dis- 
 tricts of the country, that some people are to be heard when 
 thev are not to be seen. The adage received a remarkable illus- 
 tration in the case of the representatives of the people, on this 
 occasion. No sooner had the door been opened, in obedience to 
 the mandate of the Queen, which leads into the passage through 
 which they had to pass, on their way to the bar of the House of 
 Lords, than you heard a patting of feet as if it had been of the 
 hoofs of some two or three score quadrupeds. This, however, 
 was only one of the classes of sounds which broke on the ears 
 of all in the House of Lords, and even of those who were stand- 
 ing in the passages leading to it. There were loud exclamations 
 of " Ah ! ah ! " and a stentorian utterance of other sounds, which 
 denoted that the parties from whom they proceeded had been 
 suddenly subjected to some painful visitation. All eyes— not 
 even excepting the eyes of her Majesty — were instantly turned 
 towards the door of the passage whence the sounds proceeded. 
 Out rushed, towards the bar of the House of Lords, a torrent of 
 members of the lower House, just as if the place which they had 
 quitted had been on fire, and they had been escaping for their 
 lives. The cause of the strange, if not alarming sounds, which 
 had been heard a moment or two before, was now sufficiently 
 intelligible to all. They arose from what Mr. CConnell would 
 call the mighty struggle among the members, as to who should 
 reach the House of Lords first, and by that means get nearest 
 to the bar, and thereby obtain the best place for seeing and 
 hearing. In this mortal competition for a good place, the 
 honourable gentlemen exhibited as little regard for each other's 
 persons as if they had been the principal performers in some ex- 
 hibition of physical energy in Donnybrook Fair. They squeezed 
 each other, jammed each other, trod on each other's gouty toes, 
 and " punished" each other, as the professors of the pugilistic 
 art phrase it, in every variety of form, without the slight- 
 est compunctious visiting. Hence the exclamations — in some 
 cases absolute roars — to which I have alluded. The most seri- 
 ous sufferer, so far as I have been able to learn, was one of the 
 honourable members for Sheffield, who had his shoulder dislo- 
 cated in the violent competition to be first at the bar. Even 
 after the M.P.'s were fairly in the presence of their Sovereign, there 
 was a great deal of jostling and jamming of each other, which 
 extorted sundry exclamations indicative of pain, though such ex- 
 clamations were less loud than those before alluded to. The 
 Irish members played the most prominent part in this unseemly 
 exhibition ; and next to them, the English ultra Radicals : the 
 Tories cut tut a sorry figure in the jostling match. The Liberals
 
 1 10 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 were, as the common saying is, " too many for them." I thought 
 with myself at the time, what must the foreign ambassadors and 
 their ladies who were present, think of English manners, should 
 they unhappily form their notions on the subject, from the con- 
 duct on this occasion of the legislators in the lower House ? It 
 was a rather awkward exhibition for a body of men arrogating 
 to themselves the character of being " the first assembly of gen- 
 tlemen in Europe." 
 
 Her Majesty having taken the oath against Popery, which she 
 diil in a slow and serious, yet audible manner, proceeded to read 
 the royal speech ; and a specimen of more tasteful and effective 
 elocution it has never been my fortune to hear. Her voice is 
 clear, and her enunciation distinct in no ordinary degree. Her 
 utterance is timed with admirable judgment to the ear : it is the 
 happy medium between too slow and too rapid. Nothing could 
 be more accurate than her pronunciation ; while the musical 
 intonations of her voice imparted a peculiar charm to all the other 
 attributes of her elocution. The most perfect stillness reigned 
 through the place while her Majesty was reading her speech. 
 Not a breath was to be heard : had a person, unblessed with the 
 powers of vision, been suddenly taken within hearing of her Ma- 
 jesty, while she was reading her speech, he might have remained 
 some time under the impression that there was no one present 
 but herself. Her self-possession was the theme of universal ad- 
 miration. Nothing could have been more complete. The most 
 practised speaker in either house of parliament never rose to 
 deliver his sentiments with more entire composure. Nor must 
 I omit to mention, that the manner of her Majesty was na- 
 tural and easy in the highest degree : the utter absence of art or 
 affectation must have struck the mind of every one present. 
 
 The speech being ended, Victoria descended from the throne, 
 and with slow and graceful steps retired from the House to her 
 robing-room, a few yards distant ; nodding as she did on her en- 
 trance, to most of the peeresses whom she passed. In person she 
 is considerably below the average height. Her figure is good ; 
 rather inclined, as far as one could judge from seeing her in her 
 robes of state, to the slender form. Every one who has seen her 
 must be struck with her singularly fine bust. Her complexion is 
 clear, and has all the indications of excellent health about it. Her 
 features are small, and partake a good deal of the Grecian cast. 
 Her face, without being strikingly handsome, is remarkably plea- 
 sant, and is indicative of a mild and amiable disposition. She 
 has an intelligent expression of countenance ; and on all the 
 occasions — three in number — on which I have seen her, has 
 looked quite cheerful and happy. 
 
 On the conclusion of the Queen's speech, both Houses ad-
 
 THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 141 
 
 journed, as is usual on such occasions, till five o clock, when they 
 again met to discuss the royal oration, and to consider the pro- 
 priety of voting an address to her Majesty, expressive of the 
 gratitude of the legislature for her most gracious speech. 
 
 In both Houses there was a large attendance of members, 
 while the galleries were crowded with strangers. In proceeding 
 along the passage which leads to the reporters 1 gallery in either 
 House, immediately previous to the commencement of the de- 
 bate, it was an interesting sight to witness the reporters of the 
 evening newspapers, with a number of boys all ready to be de- 
 spatched to their several offices with the copy in piecemeal so soon 
 as prepared, sitting at a table, with the necessary apparatus of 
 pen, ink, and paper before them, and each more eager than the 
 other to give a practical proof of the accuracy and expedition * 
 with which they could commit to paper, and then extend their 
 notes for publication, the orations with which the minds of the 
 various intended speakers were surcharged. 
 
 In the Lords, the address to the Queen was moved by the 
 Duke of Sussex. To witness his Royal Highness on this occa- 
 sion, was an interesting sight. Not only did the circumstance 
 of his being for so many years a veteran in the cause of 
 reform, — and that, too, in the worst of times, — necessarily 
 give rise to a variety of associations, of the most hallowed kind, in 
 the minds of all who wish well to the cause of human improve- 
 ment ; but there was something so exceedingly venerable in his 
 personal appearance as could not fail to impart an unusual inte- 
 rest to everything which proceeded from his lips. There stood 
 his tall and exceedingly stout person, immediately before the 
 ministerial bench, not bowed down or decrepit by the load of 
 sixty-four years, yet evidently feeble, in a physical sense, through 
 the combined effects of advanced age and recent illness. Ilis 
 countenance wore a remarkably cheerful expression : it glowed 
 with benevolence, and so far was an accurate index of his dispo- 
 sition. The tones of his voice, and the occasional energy of his 
 manner, clearly showed that it was not from mere courtesy towards 
 the ministers, that he had undertaken the task of moving the ad- 
 
 * The accuracy and despatch with which " The Sun" publishes its reports of the 
 parliamentary proceedings, and of the speeches at public meetings, are really extra- 
 ordinary ; and can only be accounted for from the circumstance of Mr. Young 
 being so fortunate as to have a corps of reporters, who unite the greatest zeal to- 
 wards the establishment, with first-rate professional abilities. Mr. Young's achieve- 
 ments in parliamentary reporting are unparalleled in the annals of the press. One 
 very extraordinary recent one may be mentioned in proof. On the motion of Lord 
 Roden, in the end of November, on the subject of the present state of Ireland, 
 — "The Sun" gave a verbatim report of the speeches down to eight o'clock, 
 making upwards of seven columns in all, and had the whole published, in a third 
 edition by nine o'clock, at which hour expresses were despatched to all parts of the 
 country.
 
 142 SKETCHES IX LONDON'. 
 
 dress ; but that it was to him a labour of love. He spoke with much 
 distinctness, and with great seeming ease in so far as concerned 
 the intellectual part of the exercise. He was audible in all parts 
 of the House. His speech occupied nearly half-an-hour in the 
 delivery, and was listened to with the deepest attention by both 
 sides of the House. Considered as a mental effort, it would have 
 been regarded as worthy of all praise from any noble Lord in the 
 prime of life, and was such as but few of their lordships could 
 equal : considered as the speech of one who has attained the age 
 of sixty-four, and who has of late years been a severe physical 
 sufferer, it must have been looked on as a great intellectual 
 achievement. 
 
 Lord Poetman seconded the motion for the address. His 
 Lordship having been but recently raised to the peerage, and 
 not having made any speech before, — unless, indeed, a few desul- 
 tory observations, arising out of some casual circumstances, be 
 deserving the name, — his appearance on this occasion was re- 
 garded as his debut in the character of a speaker in the House of 
 Peers. Hence all eyes were upon him, to see how he would 
 acquit himself. He spoke for more than half an hour, and 
 acquitted himself in a highly respectable manner. The matter 
 of his speech, without being brilliant, displayed considerable 
 talent. It was occasionally argumentative, sometimes declama- 
 tory, always clear. His style was unassuming and plain : ho 
 never seemed to aim at being rhetorical. His manner was plea- 
 sant rather than impressive. One of his favourite attitudes was 
 to rest both hands on the table for a short time, and then sud- 
 denly withdraw them to enable him to resume a perpendicular 
 position. He usually kept his eye fixed on the two or three 
 noble lords immediately opposite him. He spoke with some 
 fluency, and without any seeming difficulty. His voice is of the 
 treble kind. He did not speak in loud tones, but was sufficiently 
 audible in all parts of the House. He had nothing worthy the 
 name of gesticulation, beyond his resting himself by means of 
 his two hands on the table, in the way I have described, and a 
 slight occasional movement of the head. He is dark-looking, 
 and has dark hair. His features are regular, and his counte- 
 nance wears an intelligent aspect. He is rather tall, and of a 
 stout frame. He is understood to be somewhat reserved in his 
 habits, and is said to have a good deal of the quality which 
 the French call hauteur. The noble lord is in the thirty-eighth 
 year of his age. 
 
 There have been already a good many discussions in the House 
 of Lords. Seven or eight of the debates have been of considerable 
 importance ; a very unusual circumstance so soon after the be- 
 ginning of a session. I believe there were as many interesting
 
 THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 143 
 
 discussions during the five weeks the Plouse sat, before the 
 Christmas holidays, as there were in as many months from the 
 beginning of either of the last three sessions. To the circum- 
 stance of Lord Brougham being again present, and perfectly 
 recovered in health, we are, in a great measure, to ascribe this. 
 The noble Lord seems determined to make up by his activity 
 this session, for his absence in the session of 183G, and his inac- 
 tivity in the last session, caused by the indisposition under which 
 it is now well known, though he himself tried to conceal it, 
 he then laboured. I know from private sources of information, 
 that he is resolved to make what is called a sensation this session. 
 I have met with gentlemen who have had lengthened interviews 
 with him, within the last few weeks, and they say that he is all 
 eagerness for rushing fairly into the political arena in the House 
 of Lords. He is in excellent spirits : he never was in better 
 in his life. This, indeed, has been visible in his appeai'ance 
 and manner during that part of the session which is already 
 past. He has all the appearance of excellent health about him. 
 He looks as well, in point of physical vigour, as he did twenty 
 years since, when, as plain Henry Brougham, he was day after 
 day achieving such splendid victories both at the bar and in the 
 senate. He is himself animated with the highest hopes of seeing, 
 ere long, the complete triumph of those principles, both in poli- 
 tics and education, with which he has within the last few weeks 
 identified himself in so remarkable a manner. His speech on 
 introducing his measure for a system of national education, occu- 
 pied upwards of two hours in the delivery, and was one of the 
 most masterly speeches I ever heard. It was equal to anything 
 the noble Lord ever himself achieved ; and yet it was delivered 
 under the most unfavourable circumstances. There were not 
 above fourteen or fifteen peers present during the delivery of this 
 address. Now, every person, who knows anything of public speak- 
 ing, must be aware how dispiriting it is to the speaker to have 
 to encounter the slight offered to the subject, if not to himself 
 personally, by the absence of most of those whose duty it is to 
 be present. Lord Brougham, however, did not seem in the 
 least disheartened by the thinness of the House, but displayed 
 great liveliness of manner as well as excellence in his matter. I 
 am satisfied, indeed, that he would have delivered his two hours' 
 speech with the same animation and spirit, had no other Peer 
 than the Lord Chancellor been present. He is not a man to bo 
 dispirited by marked neglect, any more than by strenuous 
 opposition. In regard to regularity of attendance this ses- 
 sion, Lord Brougham has exceeded every other Peer in the 
 House; always, of course, excepting the Lord Chancellor. I do 
 not recollect missing him for a single evening while the Houso
 
 14:4 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 was sitting. The only Peer who would probably have been Lord 
 Brougham's rival in the matter of regular attendance, is now out 
 of the country : I allude to the Duke of Cumberland, alias the 
 King of Hanover. His Hanoverian Majesty, as I mentioned 
 nearly two years ago in my " Random Recollections of the 
 House of Lords, 1 ' was, for some years prior to his quitting the 
 country, more regular in his attendance in the upper House 
 than any other Peer of the realm. He was always the first to 
 enter and the last to leave it. 
 
 The address in the Commons, in answer to the Queen's Speech, 
 was moved by Lord Leveson, son of the Earl of Granville, and mem- 
 ber for Morpeth. As this was the noble Lord's maiden speech,* 
 all eyes were naturally fixed on him. What added to the inte- 
 rest of his moving the address, was the circumstance of his 
 speech being the first after the regular meeting, not only of a 
 new parliament, but of a new parliament under a new sovereign, 
 and that sovereign a female of only eighteen. The proceedings 
 on the election of speaker are only considered a sort of prelimi- 
 nary matter which has no proper connexion with the actual 
 business of the session. The interest which the circumstances 
 to which I have alluded gave to the speech of Lord Leveson, was 
 greatly heightened by his exceedingly youthful, not to say 
 boyish appearance. The noble Lord is very young to be en- 
 trusted with the representation of an important constituency, for 
 he is only in his twenty-second year ; but young as he is, he even 
 looks still younger. He commenced with wonderful self-posses- 
 sion, under all the circumstances of the case, and spoke for about 
 fifteen minutes with much seeming ease. His utterance was 
 rapid rather than otherwise, and the words proceeded in regular 
 order from his mouth. His voice does not appear to be power- 
 ful, but it is clear and pleasant. His articulation was sufficiently 
 distinct, and in his pronunciation there was an absence of that 
 dandified " fine-young-gentleman" manner of speaking, which is 
 somewhat common among the sons of the aristocracy. His ac- 
 tion was quiet and unpretending ; in fact, beyond a slight move- 
 ment of his right arm, and an occasional gentle turning of his 
 head from one side to the other, there was nothing in his manner 
 to deserve the name of gesticulation at all. In the matter of his 
 speech there was little either to praise or blame. It was rather 
 above mediocrity, which is all that can be said about it. But, in 
 justice to the young nobleman, let me guard the reader against 
 prejudging him on the score of talent, in consequence of my 
 speaking of his maiden oration in the House as not rising much 
 
 ' The noble Lord was first elected for Morpeth towards the close of last ses- 
 sion ; but never made any regular speech in the House before.
 
 THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 145 
 
 higher than mediocrity. Supposing he were a man of command- 
 ing abilities, he could not, in the circumstances in which he was 
 placed, have made any striking display of his talents. The 
 movers and seconders of addresses in answer to royal speeches, 
 are necessarily tied down to certain topics ; the topics, namely, 
 embraced in the speech : and even in speaking on these topics, 
 the mover and seconder are expected to be exceedingly guarded 
 in what they say. They have no latitude either of thought or of 
 expression allowed them. It is for this, perhaps, more than for 
 any other reason that could be named, that no men of distinc- 
 tion as speakers are ever selected to move or second the address 
 in either House ; for Ministers would be apprehensive, were such 
 men to be entrusted with the moving: or seconding; of such ad- 
 dress, that they would, in some ill-starred moment, follow the 
 impulses of their genius, and overleap the limits of discretion. 
 
 Lord Leveson's personal appearance is very prepossessing. 
 His manner is modest : there is no assumption in it. He is 
 under the middle height, and slenderly formed. His features 
 are small ; his complexion is fair ; and his hair has something of 
 a flaxen hue. He has a bright eye, and a rather intelligent 
 expression of countenance. His face is exceedingly pleasing, 
 and is not without a feminine expression. I am anxious to 
 see how so young a legislator will acquit himself when he 
 takes part in any important debate. 
 
 Mr. Gibson Craig, the new member for the county of Edinburgh, 
 seconded the address which had been moved by Lord Leveson. 
 Mr. Craig having been long known as an advocate of consi- 
 derable distinction at the Scottish bar, great things were ex- 
 pected of him : great things, I mean, as to the manner of his 
 speech. The delusion was dispelled before he had uttered half 
 a dozen sentences. He completely broke down in the very out- 
 set, and never afterwards recovered himself. He commenced 
 thus: " Mr. Speaker, — I rise, Sir, for the purpose of seconding 
 the motion which has just been made by the noble Lord ; and 
 I — " Here he suddenly paused, and appeared to be labouring 
 under great tremor. Not resuming his speech for some seconds, 
 both sides of the House cheered him, with the view of enabling 
 him to recover his self-possession, and of encouraging him to pro- 
 ceed. I am convinced that these cheers only aggravated the 
 evil they were kindly meant to remedy ; for though it is the 
 custom, at all public meetings in England, to endeavour to en- 
 courage a tremulous speaker in this way, I do not recollect ever 
 having seen the expedient resorted to in Scotland ; and there- 
 fore it must have sounded strange in the ears of Mr. Craig, — if, 
 indeed, he did not understand it in a light the very opposite of 
 what was intended. I have seen it stated in several journals, 
 
 M
 
 ] 4() SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 that after he had uttered the first sentence, he actually sat 
 down, and did not rise again. This is not correct. He remained 
 on his legs at least five minutes; and during all that time did 
 continue saying something or other, though that something 
 was, to use one of his own favourite terms in the law courts of 
 Edinburgh, often as " irrelevant" to the subjects, to which he 
 should have confined himself, as it was possible to be. Nor is 
 this all. Not only did Mr. Craig wander from the topics intro- 
 duced into the royal speech, but he wandered from every other 
 topic. His language, in other words, had often no meaning at 
 all. One of the most experienced and accurate shorthand- 
 writers, in the gallery, mentioned to me, a few days after- 
 wards, that he could not, by any exertion of his intellect 
 and judgment, extract anything like meaning or coherency 
 from his notes of the learned gentleman^ speech. Mr. Craig, 
 on- finding himself break down in the commencement, re- 
 ferred to the notes, which he held in his hand, of what he meant 
 to say ; but they afforded him no assistance worthy of the name. 
 It is true, they did help him to an idea or two, when there 
 seemed to be an utter absence of any in his mind ; but the evil 
 of it was, that he could not clothe those ideas in the proper 
 phraseology, so as to make himself intelligible to his audience. 
 He stuttered and hesitated, corrected and re-corrected his ex- 
 
 { sessions, and then, after all, left his sentences worse at the 
 ast than they were at the first. His self-possession all but 
 completely forsook him ; and his nervousness was so excessive, 
 that in many cases he could not pronounce the word even when 
 it suggested itself to his mind. Hence, during a good part of his 
 speech (if so it may be called), not a word was heard by those 
 a few yards distant from him, though his lips continued to move. 
 i he most pleasant part of the matter, to all who were present, 
 was to see him again resume his seat, which he did very abruptly. 
 Great surprise has been generally expressed, that a lawyer, so 
 much accustomed to public speaking as Mr. Craig has been for 
 many years past, should thus have completely broken down in 
 the House of Commons. To my mind, there is nothing surpris- 
 ing in the circumstance. The causes of his failure appear to me 
 as plain as can be. They were the peculiar circumstances in 
 which he was then placed. These were different from any in 
 which he had ever found himself before. It was the first day of 
 the meeting of parliament, and the first time in which he had 
 been on the floor of the House, except during the election of 
 a Speaker, and while taking the oaths. Everything, therefore, 
 was new to him. He found himself, too, overwhelmed with that 
 undefinable sort of awe which almost every man, who ever ad- 
 drossed the House immediatelv on his introduction to it. has
 
 THE VICrORIA PARLIAMENT. 1 1*7 
 
 afterwards confessed that he felt. It will doubtless be urged, in 
 opposition to this hypothesis respecting the causes of Mr. Craig"^ 
 breaking down, that, on the same grounds, Lord Leveson ought 
 also to have failed, as he may be said to have been also a 
 new member. To this, I answer, that there was this difference 
 between them, — a difference, it will at once be seen to be deci- 
 sive in favour of my theory, — that Lord Leveson, not being a 
 practised speaker, took the wise precaution of previously writing 
 out and committing his speech to heart ; so that he had only to 
 repeat it, just as he did when giving one of his short recitations 
 at school a few years since ; while Mr. Craig, trusting to his ex- 
 temporaneous powers of utterance, had not prepared his speech, 
 but trusted to his consulting, if there should be a necessity, a 
 few confused notes which he had jotted down on paper. 
 
 It was a most ill-advised thing on the part of Ministers to ask 
 Mr. Craig to second the motion for the address, knowing as 
 they did that he had never been in the House before. It was 
 still more injudicious on his part to have undertaken the task. 
 I do not at this moment recollect any previous instance of the 
 kind ; but I know several instances in which the most distin- 
 guished men have either broken down altogether, or compara- 
 tively so, when they ventured to address the House on the first 
 day of their introduction to parliament. I have mentioned in 
 my " Random Recollections of the House of Commons,'''' that 
 Cobbett once stated to me, that, bold and confident in his own 
 resources as he was, lie felt a degree of tremor come over him 
 when he rose to address the House on the day of his first enter- 
 ing it, which almost unnerved him for the task ; but that know- 
 ing every word he uttered would be severely criticised, he took 
 the precaution of preparing his speech beforehand, and conse- 
 quently managed to get through it in a passable manner. 
 
 The instances are innumerable in which men of first-rate 
 talent have broken down in the House, when making their 
 maiden speech, even after they have been some time in it, and 
 consequently might be expected to have felt more at ease. The 
 case of Addison, who rose up and said, " I conceive," three suc- 
 cessive times, resuming his seat each time, because he was unable 
 to proceed, and who did not eventually succeed in uttering an- 
 other word, is known to everybody. Sheridan, also, in his first 
 effort, completely failed ; so did Erskine, and so also did the late 
 David Ricardo. The truth is, it will generally be found that 
 parliamentary failures most frequently occur in the case of great 
 men. The reason is obvious : they aro usually the most diffi- 
 dent : they want that assurance which is so common among per- 
 sons who are below mediocrity. Such tenth- rate personages as 
 Mr. Peter Borthwick never break down. Their stock of an 
 
 m 2
 
 148 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 overweening conceit of their own abilities is at all times, and 
 under all circumstances, abundant ; and they have consequently 
 an ample supply of mere words for all occasions. 
 
 The nervousness of Mr. Craig, under the peculiar circum- 
 stances in which he was placed, I should have regarded as pre- 
 sumptive proof of his being a man of superior intellect, had I 
 known nothing of him previously. Cicero mentions, that not 
 only did his knees tremble, and his whole frame shake, when he 
 first ventured to address an assemblage of his countrymen ; but 
 that he never, even after he had enjoyed for years the reputation of 
 being the first orator in Rome, rose to speak on any important 
 occasion without feeling himself oppressed in the outset by an 
 excessive nervousness. Mr. Craig has the matter in him ; and, 
 as Sheridan said of himself in similar circumstances, " out it will 
 yet come." I am much mistaken, indeed, if Mr. Craig does not, by 
 the success of his future efforts, more than atone for the failure 
 of his first attempt. 
 
 The Victoria Parliament has not, as yet, been productive of 
 many of those uproarious scenes which are of such frequent oc- 
 currence in the House of Commons. Abundance of such scenes, 
 however, are, I have no doubt, in store for those who are partial 
 to seeing the " first assembly of gentlemen in Europe" making 
 themselves ridiculous. All the scenes worthy of the name which 
 have occurred hitherto, took place on one night ; the night, 
 namely, on which the conduct of the " Spottiswoode gang," as it 
 has been called, was first brought under the consideration of the 
 House. The House sat on that evening till a quarter past ten ; 
 and from five o'clock till that hour there was nothing but a con- 
 tinued succession of scenes. The usual discussions, indeed, 
 constituted the exception, and the scenes the rule on that 
 memorable night. Sir Edward Knatchbull had the honour of 
 commencing, quite unintentionally there can be no doubt, the 
 uproar and disorder which so largely characterized the after 
 proceedings. He called Mr. O'Brien to order, in a few moments 
 after the latter honourable gentleman had risen to animadvert 
 on the " Spottiswoode conspiracy." Sir Edward Sugden soon 
 after followed the example of Sir Edward Knatchbull, and 
 lustily called out "Order!" Both baronets interrupted Mr. 
 O'Brien, on the ground that he was irregular in making observa- 
 tions when presenting a petition. Several other members soon 
 mixed themselves up with the question of " order," and a regu- 
 lar scene followed. Four or five rose repeatedly at once, amidst 
 deafening cries of "Order!" "Chair! chair!" and so forth. 
 Among those who seemed most eager to rush into an altercation 
 on the point of order, were Mr. O'Connell, Mr. Wakley, Mr. Lamb- 
 ton, and last, though not least, Mr. Henry G rattan. The latter
 
 THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 1 *9 
 
 honourable gentleman is most liberal of his gestures on all occa- 
 sions on which he speaks : when exhibiting in a " scene," he is 
 particularly so. The interposition of the Speaker restored order 
 for a time, but only for a time. Sir Francis Burdett made a 
 speech, which called up Mr. O'Connell, but the latter honour- 
 able gentleman had no sooner presented himself, than he was 
 assailed by a perfect tempest of clamour from the Tory benches. 
 In the midst of all the noise and commotion which prevailed 
 among the Opposition, and amidst all the din of voices at the 
 bar, and the moving of feet on the floor of the House, — loud cries 
 of " Spoke ! spoke ! " — meaning that Mr. CTConnell had no right 
 to rise a second time, — were distinctly heard. The honourable 
 gentleman stood with his arms folded across his breast, in an at- 
 titude of perfect calmness, and looked at the Tories opposite as 
 if he had been bidding them defiance. At last, seeing the uproar 
 continue, he threatened to move the adjournment of the House 
 if the interruption was persevered in. He was then allowed to 
 proceed for a few seconds, but was again assailed by cries of 
 "Spoke! spoke!" "Order! order!" Mr. Hume now rose 
 with the view of seeing what he could do for the purpose of 
 allaying the storm of uproar which was raging in the House ; 
 but poor good-natured Mr. Hume was himself received with 
 increased shouts of disapprobation from the Tory benches ; and 
 what aggravated the thing was, that a universal yell of " Chair ! 
 chair !" was set up before he had uttered a single word. Good- 
 tempered as the member for Kilkenny proverbially is, this was 
 really more than human nature could endure, and he exclaimed, 
 with considerable sharpness and energy, looking "the enemy" 
 fairly in the face, " Why ' chair,"' when I have not — " The 
 remainder of the sentence was lost amidst a most vociferous 
 renewal of the general cry of " Order ! order ! " Amidst some 
 half dozen who now rose to speak from the Tory side of the 
 House, — some of them exhibiting an alarming superabundance 
 of gesticulation, — Sir Robert Inglis was heard to say that he 
 called Mr. Hume to order because the Speaker wished to make 
 some observations. " But," shouted Mr. Hume again, starting 
 to his legs, before Sir Robert had time to resume his seat ; " but 
 how am I out of order ? and why call out ' chair,' when I have 
 not yet spoken at all V Loud laughter, accompanied by ad- 
 ditional uproarious demonstrations, followed the observation. 
 Eventually the Speaker's voice prevailed over that of the per- 
 formers in the scene ; and the scene itself was soon afterwards 
 put an end to. In about twenty minutes, however, it was suc- 
 ceeded by another, though of a different kind. It was one to be 
 iseen : not to be described. Sir Francis Burdett having been 
 keenly attacked by Mr. Maurice O'Connell, and having beei»
 
 150 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 asked by Mr. Handley whether, after subscribing to the Spottis- 
 woode Fund, he would not feel it binding on him, as a man of 
 honour, to abstain from voting on all matters connected with 
 Irish elections, — all eyes were turned to him; but, instead of 
 repelling the attack of Mr. Maurice CTConnell, or answering 
 the question of Mr. Handley, he rose from his seat, and without 
 uttering a word, made a low bow to the Speaker, and, with a 
 steady pace, but a most ludicrous carriage, walked out of the 
 House, as if he had been performing what soldiers call the dead 
 march. The cheers of the Tories were deafening, while the 
 laughter of the Reformers was so immoderate as to threaten 
 serious injury to their sides. 
 
 Soon afterwards came the " last scene of all, 11 — the last, I 
 mean, to which I shall advert, — in " the strange eventful 11 pro- 
 ceedings of this memorable evening. Mr. Blewitt, the new 
 member for Monmouth, having concluded a speech of an hour's 
 duration, by moving a string of resolutions nearly as long as the 
 speech itself, condemnatory of the Irish Election Petition Fund, 
 seemed perfectly at a loss as to whether or not he should press 
 them to a division. The honourable gentleman, who is a little 
 bustling man, leaped about from one part of the House to ano- 
 ther, asking the opinion of different members as to what he 
 should do ; and then, when he had got a most abundant supply of 
 advice, all to the effect that he should withdraw his resolutions, 
 he seemed to be, as they say in Scotland, " in a peck of troubles'" 
 as to whether he should take it or not. It is impossible to de- 
 scribe the scene of confusion which the House presented at this 
 time. The bar was so crowded with honourable gentlemen 
 laughing and talking, and otherwise amusing themselves, that 
 there was no getting out or in ; while the floor of the House was 
 promenaded by other honourable members, just as if they had 
 been on the pavement in Regent-street. Mr. Blewitt at last 
 said something about withdrawing four resolutions, and pressing 
 the fifth ; but the noise and confusion were so great, that nobody 
 but himself and the Speaker seemed to know anything of the 
 matter. Eventually, amidst the same scene of disorder, Mr. 
 Blewitt withdrew the remaining resolution ; but nobody being 
 aware of the circumstance, Mr. Peter Borthwick, Sir Edward 
 Knatchbull, Mr. Goulburn, Colonel Sibthorp, Sir Edward Sug- 
 den, and a number of others, all rose at the same time, some to 
 speak on the resolutions, and others to ask whether or not they 
 were still before the House. The scene which ensued defies de- 
 scription. Mr. Blewitt and some of his friends rose in threes 
 and fours at a time, to assure the House that all the resolutions 
 were withdrawn ; while the Tory members not only started up 
 in dozens to deny the fact, but were prepared, with great vehe-
 
 THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. J 51 
 
 mence of gesture, to argue the point. Their friends, on either 
 hand and at their backs, came forward with an edifying promp- 
 titude and unanimity to support their hypothesis, as to the non- 
 withdrawal of the resolutions, by loud cries of " They are not 
 withdrawn," " No, no," &c. Groans, yells, and other zoological 
 sounds proceeded from several parts of the ministerial side, by 
 way of answer to the exclamations and affirmation of the Tories. 
 In the midst of this uproarious exhibition, the Speaker several 
 times assured the House that the resolutions had all been form- 
 ally withdrawn, and that there was no business before theHouse ; 
 but for some time they persisted in maintaining that he was mis- 
 taken. At last he satisfied the Tories, or at least seemingly so, 
 that the resolutions were withdrawn, and order was once more 
 restored. But so keenly did the right honourable gentleman 
 feel the disrespect offered to him in the implied doubt of his 
 word, that he next evening mentioned, that if such conduct were 
 again repeated he would resign his office as speaker. 
 
 The most amusing circumstance, not coming under the cate- 
 gory of " scenes," which has yet taken place in the House of 
 Commons, happened in the second week of parliament. The 
 occasion was that of the Chancellor of the Exchequer bringing 
 the question of the Civil List under the consideration of the 
 House. It will be remembered, that Mr. Daniel Whittle Har- 
 vey gave previous notice of his intention to propose an amend- 
 ment to the motion of the right honourable gentleman. As is 
 usual on such occasions, as a matter of courtesy, Mr. Harvey, 
 before commencing his speech, handed to Mr. Spring Rice the 
 amendment he meant to propose ; but instead of handing the 
 right honourable gentleman a copy of the amendment in ques- 
 tion, Mr. Harvey handed him the original itself, and this, too, 
 without providing himself with a copy. There can be no doubt 
 Mr. Harvey's intention was to have asked his amendment back 
 from Mr. Spring Rice before beginning his own speech ; but 
 having forgotten to do this, and also forgetting for the moment 
 that the Chancellor of the Exchequer had his amendment in his 
 possession, Mr. Harvey concluded an able and luminous speech 
 by observing, with his usual volubility, that he now begged 
 " leave to propose the following amendment." Mr. Harvey im- 
 mediately leaned down to " pick up" his " following amend- 
 ment" from among a quantity of papers which were lying on his 
 seat ; but no " following amendment" was to be found. It was 
 then that the fact flashed across his mind that he had handed it 
 to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and that the latter gentle- 
 man had not had the politeness to return it. " My amendment."' 
 exclaimed Mr. Harvey, with some tartness of manner, "'is in tie 
 custody of the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Be pleased c hai d
 
 152 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 it me over." As the honourable gentleman uttered the last sen- 
 tence, he looked anxiously towards Mr. Spring Rice, who was 
 five or six yards from him, at the same time stretching out his 
 hand to receive the document when it should be returned to him 
 through the means of some of the intervening honourable gentle- 
 men. Mr. Spring Rice looked amazed and confounded when the 
 honourable member for Southwark so pointedly apostrophized 
 him as being the custodier of his amendment. To be sure, he 
 said nothing in the first instance ; but it was very easy to see 
 that he was inwardly ejaculating " Me, your amendment ! " 
 The fact was, that he also had become oblivious of the circum- 
 stance of the document being in his possession. However, in a 
 few moments, the conviction was brought home to his mind 
 that he was a defaulter in this respect ; and forthwith he com- 
 menced a most vigorous search for the amendment, Mr. Harvey 
 all the while standing in his place, with his eye as steadily fixed 
 on the honourable Chancellor of the Exchequer as if he had 
 been about to play the cannibal with him. Mr. Spring Rice 
 searched his pockets : the missing amendment was not there. 
 He eagerly and hastily turned over a miniature mountain of do- 
 cuments erected by his side on the seat on which he sat : still 
 there was no appearance of the lost amendment. He then rose 
 up, and advancing to the table, rummaged for some time among 
 a heap of papers there : the search was still in vain. He resumed 
 his seat, and inquired of Lord Morpeth, who was sitting beside 
 him, whether he knew anything of the mysterious disappearance 
 of Mr. Harvey's amendment. Lord Morpeth significantly shook 
 his head, being just as ignorant on the matter as the Chancellor 
 of the Exchequer himself. Lord Morpeth, however, kindly con- 
 sented to assist in the search for the missing amendment ; and 
 great was the activity he displayed in turning and re-turning 
 over, after Mr. Spring Rice, the various documents that lay on 
 the seat and on the table. Long before this time, Mr. Harvey, 
 tired of holding out his hand to receive that which was not likely 
 to be forthcoming in " a hurry," had drawn it in, and, as if de- 
 termined to take the thing as coolly as possible, folded his arms 
 on his breast, and stood in that attitude with all the seeming 
 resignation of a philosopher who patiently submits to a calamity 
 over which he has no control. In the meantime, however, 
 though thus motionless in one sense, he was not so in another. 
 His tongue was occasionally set a-going. He remarked, on one 
 occasion, with that bitter sarcasm of manner which is peculiar to 
 himself, that this was the first document of his which ever had 
 been taken so much care of by a cabinet minister. Roars of 
 laughter, to the manifest mortification of Mr. Spring Rice, fol- 
 lowed from both sides of the House. On another occasion, ho
 
 THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 153 
 
 observed that he was quite delighted to see that his amendment 
 was so* safe in the keeping of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, 
 as that no one would have any chance of abstracting it. All 
 this time, Mr. Spring Rice and Lord Morpeth were most ex- 
 emplary as regarded the eagerness with which they prosecuted 
 their search for the lost document. It is worthy of remark, that 
 no one joined with them ; but all, even the Liberal members, 
 seemed to enjoy the sport. To the Conservatives, the affair was 
 a rare piece of amusement. I observed some of them laughing 
 heartily, who were never seen to laugh within the walls of the 
 House before ; and in whose existence, even out of doors, a 
 hearty laugh might be said to be quite an era. Mr. Spring 
 Rice, after " turning about and wheeling about," in search of 
 the amendment, with an agility worthy of his namesake of Jim 
 Crow notoriety, at length bethought himself of unlocking a small 
 tin box, in which he keeps the more valuable of his papers, when, 
 to his infinite joy, after rummaging for a few seconds among 
 its contents, he discovered the missing amendment. He pounced 
 upon it just as a Bow-street officer would on some offender, for 
 whom he had been on a vexatious search, when alighting on 
 him ; and dragging the innocent amendment out of its place of 
 concealment, held it up in his hand to the gaze of the House, 
 exclaiming, as loud as his lungs would permit, and with an air of 
 triumph, " Here it is ! here it is !" l ' I'm happy to see that the 
 right honourable gentleman prizes it so highly, 11 said Mr. Har- 
 vey, in the sarcastic way to which I have alluded, "as to place 
 it among his most valuable papers, and to lock it up in his box." 
 Peals of laughter followed ; and during their continuance, the 
 amendment was handed over, through the assistance of two or 
 three intermediate members, to the honourable gentleman whose 
 property it was, who, as soon as it reached him, read it, amidst 
 renewed peals of laughter. The bursts of laughter, which 
 were thus resounding through the House, were much increased 
 by the circumstance of Colonel Sibthorp, who was directly oppo- 
 site Mr. Spring Rice, rising, with his own imperturbable gravity, 
 and with his huge mustachios looking unusually large, to second 
 the amendment. It certainly was a novelty in the proceedings of 
 the House of Commons, to witness the most ultra Tory, perhaps, 
 in the House, rising to second an amendment on a vital question, 
 moved by one of the greatest Radicals. The shouts of laugh- 
 ter which followed the circumstance, had their origin in the im- 
 pression that the gallant mustachioed Colonel had seconded the 
 amendment in a mistake ; but when it was understood that there 
 was no mistake in the matter, and that the gallant gentleman 
 was perfectly aware of what ho was about, the Liberal mem- 
 bers looked unutterable things at one another. It was at last
 
 154 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 understood that the Tories were, from factious motives, aoout 
 to join the extreme section of the Reformers on that particular 
 occasion, not doubting that, in the event of a division, ministers 
 would be in a minority, and consequently be compelled to resign 
 office. The circumstance, however, of the Chancellor of the Ex- 
 chequer giving Mr. Harvey certain specific pledges, in reference 
 to the treatment of the Pension List, induced the latter gentle- 
 man to withdraw his amendment, which of course prevented any 
 division taking place. 
 
 The debuts made by new members have not been numerous. 
 Those of Mr. Blewitt and Mr. D'lsraeli have attracted most 
 attention. Mr. Blewitt made his debut by bringing forward cer- 
 tain resolutions connected with the Spottiswoode Subscription. 
 He commenced by apologizing for venturing, so soon after his 
 introduction to the House, to occupy its attention by undertak- 
 ing to bring under its notice so important a subject as that em- 
 braced by the resolutions which he had given notice of his 
 intention to move. There being a self-possession and confidence 
 in his manner, which seemed at variance with his imploring the 
 indulgence of the House, the Tories at once set up a loud and 
 general laugh, mingled with other interruptions which it is not so 
 easy to characterise. This appeared to embarrass the honourable 
 gentleman in some small measure ; but several cheers from the 
 ministerial benches having immediately succeeded the interrup- 
 tions from the other side, he speedily recovered his composure 
 of mind, and proceeded to address the House in a distinct and 
 steady voice. He kept his eye for some time as constantly fixed 
 on the wig of the Speaker, as if it had been a crime of the first 
 magnitude to withdraw his gaze from it for a moment. By the 
 time he had been on his legs for about fifteen minutes, he waxed 
 wondrously magniloquent. He evinced a singular partiality for 
 expletives. He talked of the " purity and honesty of his mo- 
 tives," and so forth. He made repeated efforts to be impressive ; 
 but his intended pathos only ended in bathos. He regretted that 
 he could not introduce honourable gentlemen opposite, to the re- 
 cesses of the bottom of his heart. Of course he could not do this, 
 as the " recesses of his heart," however capacious, could scarcely 
 be expected to accommodate three hundred Tory gentlemen. Such 
 rhetorical flourishes as this — and they were not few in number — 
 caused, as might have been expected, loud shouts of laughter 
 from the Tories ; and even the honourable gentlemen who graced 
 the ministerial benches could not, in several cases, refrain from 
 joining in the merriment of those on the opposite side. For some 
 time the interruptions from the Tories were renewed, chiefly 
 however in the shape of laughter. At last the honourable gen- 
 tleman degenerated into a more tame and monotonous manner
 
 THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 155 
 
 •t speaking; and the consequence was, that the Tories, instead 
 of keeping up their merriment, entered, in most cases, into 
 conversation with each other ; while a few of them addressed 
 themselves to sleep. The greatest inattention to Mr. Blewitfs 
 speech, also prevailed on the ministerial side. During the hour 
 he spoke, he only got two cheers, and these very faint and very 
 partial ones. Mr. Hume, who sat immediately at the back of 
 the honourable gentleman, repeatedly yawned and spoke to Mr. 
 Bulwer, the celebrated novelist. Mr. Bulwer did not evince 
 any greater disposition to engage in conversation with Mr. Hume 
 than he did to listen to Mr. Blewitt, being, very probably, en- 
 gaged in his own mind in inventing the plot of some new work of 
 fiction. Mr. CConnell sat on the other side of Mr. Hume ; 
 and I speak with all seriousness, when I say that the honourable 
 and learned member for Dublin looked the very incarnation of 
 melancholy. I never in my life saw his countenance wear an 
 aspect of so much gravity. Towards the conclusion of his 
 speech, Mr. Blewitt repeatedly paused ; and there seemed, on 
 one or two occasions, to be a general impression that he would 
 not be able to resume, in consequence of his memory having 
 proved unfaithful. He contrived, however, to recommence again, 
 until, having unconsciously made some very ludicrous observa- 
 tion, a general and loud laugh from the Tory side of the House 
 fairly drove the remainder of his speech out of his head ; and not 
 being able to resume the thread of his argument, though not 
 losing his self-possession, he, after a short pause, observed in a 
 very characteristic manner, that if the gentlemen opposite would 
 not listen to his speech that was their fault, not his. This eli- 
 cited another burst of laughter ; when, after a temporary pause, 
 he remarked, with much emphasis, that they (the Tories) had 
 fairly laughed him out of a great part of his speech, and that, 
 therefore, ho must abruptly conclude by moving the resolutions. 
 Mr. Blewitt then sat down amidst loud laughter. 
 
 Among the new members who have already made their debuts, 
 Mr. D'Israeli, the member for Maidstone, is the best known. 
 His own private friends looked forward to his introduction into 
 the House of Commons as a circumstance which would be imme- 
 diately followed by his obtaining for himself an oratorical repu- 
 tation equal to that enjoyed by the most popular speakers in that 
 assembly. They thought he would produce an extraordinary 
 sensation, both in the House and in the country, by the power 
 and splendour of his eloquence. How different the event from 
 the anticipation ! It was known for some days previously that 
 he was to make his maiden speech in the course of the discus- 
 sion respecting the Spottiswoode combination : he himself made 
 no secret of the fact among his party, that he was labouring
 
 156 SKETCHES IN LONDON'. 
 
 with an oration which he expected would produce a great impres- 
 sion ; and this circumstance, taken in conjunction with the 
 sanguine notions already referred to of his friends, as to his ca- 
 pability of achieving mighty oratorical triumphs, made the House 
 all anxiety to hear him. When he rose, which he did immedi- 
 ately after Mr. O'Connell had concluded his speech, all eyes were 
 fixed on him, and all ears were open to listen to his eloquence. 
 Before he had proceeded far, he furnished a striking illustration 
 of the old story about the mountain in labour bringing forth a 
 mouse. For the first five minutes he was on his legs, the Tories 
 met every burst of laughter, or other manifestation of ridicule 
 which proceeded from the ministerial benches, with loud cheers. 
 And it is particularly deserving of mention, that even Sir Robert 
 Peel, who very rarely cheers any honourable gentleman, not even 
 the most able and accomplished speakers of his own party, greet- 
 ed Mr. Disraeli's speech with a prodigality of applause which 
 must have been severely trying to the worthy baronet's lungs. 
 The latter honourable gentleman spoke from the second row of 
 benches immediately opposite the Speaker's chair : Sir Robert, 
 as usual, sat on the first row of benches, a little to the left of Mr. 
 D' Israeli ; and so exceedingly anxious was the right honourable 
 baronet to encourage the debutant to proceed, that he repeat- 
 edly turned round his head, and looking the youthful orator in 
 the face, cheered him in most stentorian tones. All, however, 
 would not do. Mr. D'Israeli increased in the absurdity of his 
 matter, and the ludicrousness of his manner, with every succeed- 
 ing sentence he uttered. This, of course, called forth fresh bursts 
 of laughter from the ministerial benches. At last, his own most 
 devoted friends were obliged to abstain from all farther manifes- 
 tations of applause. For a time he endeavoured to brave out the 
 laughter and jeers of the gentlemen opposite ; but it was visible 
 to all, that when his own party ceased to cheer him on, he be- 
 gan to lose courage. There was not only less confidence in his 
 manner ; but, on one occasion, he intimated his willingness to 
 resume his seat, if the House wished him to do so. He pro- 
 ceeded, however, with his speech ; at one time talking a sort of 
 sickly sentimentality which would have been scarcely endurable 
 even in one of his own novels, but to utter which in the House 
 of Commons indicated a most miserable taste ; at another time, 
 speaking downright nonsense. What for instance, could be 
 more nonsensical than this passage \ " When we remember that, 
 in spite of the support of the honourable and learned gentleman, 
 the member for Dublin, and his well- disciplined phalanx of 
 patriots ; and in spite of all this, we remember the amatory 
 eclogue, (roars of laughter,) the old loves and the new loves 
 that took place between the noble Lord, the Tityrus of the
 
 THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 
 
 O/ 
 
 treasury bench, and the learned Daphne of Liskeard, (loud 
 laughter, and cries of ' Question ! ') when we remember, at 
 the same time, that with emancipated Ireland and enslaved 
 England ; on the one hand a triumphant nation, on the other a 
 groaning people ; and notwithstanding the noble Lord, secure 
 on the pedestal of power, may wield in one hand the keys of St. 
 Peter, and in the other — " The remainder of the sentence was 
 lost amidst peals of laughter : but it is not probable that any 
 after combination of words could have made sense of the pas- 
 sage. On another occasion he spoke of himself, amidst roars of 
 laughter the loudest and most general I ever remember to have 
 heard in the House, as being the representative of all the new mem- 
 bers of Parliament. By the time he had got half through his 
 speech, he was assailed by groans and under-growls in all their 
 varieties, as well as with continued bursts of laughter. The up- 
 roar, indeed, often became so great as completely to drown his 
 voice. Some of the peals of laughter lasted for a considerable 
 time ; and when it was thought that honourable members were 
 literally exhausted, the recollection of the ludicrousness of the 
 matter and manner of Mr. D 1 Israeli threw them into renewed con- 
 vulsions of laughter before he could commence another sentence. 
 At last, losing all temper, which until then he had preserved in 
 a wonderful manner, he paused in the midst of a sentence, and 
 looking the Liberals indignantly in the face, raised his hands, 
 and opening his mouth as wide as its dimensions would permit, 
 said, in remarkably loud and almost terrific tones, — " Though I 
 sit down now, the time ivill come when you ivill hear me.'''' Mr. 
 D 1 Israeli then sat down amidst renewed roars of laughter, which 
 lasted for some time. 
 
 A more extraordinary exhibition altogether I have never 
 seen in the House. Mr. Disraeli's appearance and manner 
 were very singular. His dress also was peculiar : it had much 
 of a theatrical aspect. His black hair was long and flowing; 
 and he had a most ample crop of it. His gesture was abundant : 
 he often appeared as if trying with what celerity he could move 
 his body from one side to another, and throw his hands out and 
 draw them in again. At other times he flourished one hand be- 
 fore his face, and then another. His voice, too, is of a very 
 unusual kind : it is powerful, and had every justice done to it in 
 the way of exercise ; but there is something peculiar in it which 
 I am at a loss to characterise. His utterance was rapid, and he 
 never seemed at a loss for words. Notwithstanding all the non- 
 sense he spoke, I am convinced he is a man of talent, and 
 possesses many of the requisites of a good debater. J doubt, 
 however, iflie will ever acquire any status in the House. His man- 
 ner and i natter created so strong a prejudice against him, that it
 
 158 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 will be exceedingly difficult, if not impossible, for him ever again 
 to obtain a fair hearing. He seemed himself to feel deeply mor- 
 tified at the result of his maiden effort. He sat the whole even- 
 ing afterwards, namely, from ten till two o'clock in the morning, 
 the very picture of a disappointed man. He scarcely exchanged 
 a word with any other honourable gentleman. He did not cheer 
 when his party cheered, Lord Stanley and Sir Robert Peel ; 
 neither did he laugh when they laughed. He folded his arms 
 on his breast for a considerable part of the evening, and seemed 
 to be wrapped up in his own unpleasant reflections. 
 
 Let me, before concluding my notice of Mr. Disraeli's parlia- 
 mentary debut, mention, in justice to him, that however foolish 
 his speech may have been, and however much calculated some 
 parts of it were to elicit laughter from the House, yet, that the 
 way in which he was assailed by the ministerial supporters, 
 was most unbecoming, if not actually indecent. There was an 
 evident predisposition on the part of many honourable gentle- 
 men to put him down, if at all possible, without reference to the 
 merits of his speech ; and I have always observed, that when 
 the Liberal members have come to a resolution of this kind, 
 they never scruple as to the means they employ to accomplish 
 their purpose. The Tories cannot stand a moment's comparison 
 with them, in the matter of putting down a member. Not only 
 are they, generally speaking, blessed with lungs of prodigious 
 powers, but, on such occasions, they always give them full play. 
 Their "Ohl's" and groans, and yells, to say nothing of their 
 laughing, or rather roaring capabilities, far exceeding anything 
 I have ever heard elsewhere, not even excepting the ultra Radi- 
 cal assemblages which meet at White Conduit House, or at the 
 Crown-and-Anchor. I am convinced that, on this occasion, 
 Mr. D'Israeli was made to utter a great many foolish things 
 which otherwise would not have escaped his lips ; for I observed 
 that he usually made some observations in reference to the inter- 
 ruptions offered to him ; and that it was when doing so, or im- 
 mediately afterwards, that he gave expression to the greatest 
 absurdities. In the middle of his speech, when respectfully soli- 
 citing the indulgence of the House, especially as it was his first 
 appearance,— a plea which one would have thought could not 
 have been ineffectually urged in an assembly, " not only of the 
 first gentlemen in Europe," but of men sitting there for the 
 specific purpose of doing justice, — Mr. D'Israeli very empha- 
 tically said, that he himself would not, on any account, be a 
 party to treating any other honourable gentleman in the way in 
 which he himself was assailed. I did think that this appeal to 
 the sense of justice and gentlemanly feeling on the ministerial 
 side of the House, could not be made in vain. The event showed
 
 THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 1 5[) 
 
 that I was mistaken. It had scarcely escaped the honourable 
 gentleman's lips, before he was assailed as furiously and as inde- 
 cently as ever. Mr. Disraeli is a man of the middling height, 
 rather slenderly made, and apparently about thirty-five years of 
 age. His complexion is sallow, and his countenance has so much 
 of the Jewish cast in it that no one could see it without at once 
 coming to the conclusion, that he is of Hebrew extraction ; which, 
 I need not say, he is. 
 
 The number of new members in the Victoria Parliament is 
 unusually great : it is no less than 158, being nearly a fourth 
 part of the whole. The appearance of so many strange faces in 
 the House had a curious effect on the old members during the 
 first few days of the session. It awakened in the minds of those 
 of them accustomed to reflection, a train of interesting reflec- 
 tions. They thought of the varied circumstances by which their 
 absence from the new House was to be accounted for. Some 
 were excluded from ruined fortunes ; some because they had 
 quitted the country ; some because of their apostacy from the 
 principles they had formerly professed, and in the faith of which 
 they had been returned ; others, from the fickleness of popular 
 favour ; and a fifth class, because they are now in their graves. 
 The contemplative mind had only to follow out this train of re- 
 flection, by recollecting particular individuals who belonged to 
 each of these five classes. On some occasions, old members 
 seemed as if in a strange place ; for on particular nights the new 
 members, impelled by the novelty of the situation in which they 
 were placed to be marvellously punctual in their attendance, 
 whether the business to be transacted was important or not, far 
 outnumbered the old stagers. The side galleries were, for the 
 first three weeks of the session, nightly crowded by the newly - 
 iiuported M.IVs. And hen* I may remark, that new members 
 have a particular partiality to the side galleries. By taking 
 up their position in them, they are enabled to look down on the 
 more experienced M.P.'s, and by carefully observing their move- 
 ments, become acquainted with the forms and proceedings of the 
 House. The awkwardness of new members, for the first few 
 weeks of the session, can only be conceived by those who have 
 witnessed it. Not only are they, with the few exceptions fur- 
 nished in the case of some two or three self-confident or adven- 
 turous spirits, afraid to utter even one brief sentence on any 
 subject which is under discussion, but they do not even know 
 how to deport themselves as regards their moving from one 
 pk'ce to another. The knowledge necessary for this, however, 
 thry soon acquire, by lounging about in the side galleries. 
 Hence, in addition to the motive to frequent these galleries 
 afforded by their anxiety to learn the forms and proceedings of
 
 160 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 the House, as regards speaking, they have a desire to avoid 
 laughter at their own expense because of any awkward physical 
 
 movement. 
 
 I do not recollect ever to have seen so many young members 
 in the House of Commons as there are at present. Some of 
 them have all the appearance of mere youths, whom one would 
 suppose ought to be still under the strict guardianship of their 
 tutors. How they came to be chosen as the representatives of 
 constituencies does, indeed, seem passing strange. The idea of 
 such youths having the destinies of a great country, in one 
 sense, committed to their care, is something more than odd. 
 There may be men of mature judgment among them ; but their 
 appearance is not calculated to inspire confidence in the wisdom 
 of' their deliberations. 
 
 Among the new members returned to the Victoria Parlia- 
 ment, there are a great many whose manner, both in the House 
 and out of the House, is the most undeliberative-like that the 
 human mind could fancy. In the House, you see them either 
 talking to or laughing with each other — very often both toge- 
 ther ; or if not, they are to be seen standing in dozens about 
 the bar, completely blocking up the passage, so as to deny other 
 honourable gentlemen all egress and ingress. To sit quite quietly, 
 and to listen with attention to what is going on, is a habit which, 
 in most cases, they have yet to acquire. Then, again, to see 
 them leaving the House smoking their cigars, and making a 
 regular noise as they proceed up Parliament-street, you would 
 suppose them to be so many sparks bent on what, in homely 
 language, is called a spree. I could not help contrasting, 
 in my own mind, the levity of demeanour exhibited by seve- 
 ral of the young members on their way up Parliament-street, 
 on one of the nights of the debate on the Spottiswoode combi- 
 nation, with the staid manner in which Mr. Hume, Mr. War- 
 burton, Mr. Wallace, and others of the older members, walked 
 themselves home. But this is a delicate topic, and therefore I 
 will say no more on it.

 
 161 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PENNY THEATRES. 
 
 Their supposed number — Computed attendance in them — Their moral tendency — 
 The manner in which they are fitted up — Destitute condition of the performers — 
 Squabbles between proprietors and actors about pay — Differences among the per- 
 formers — Abridging pieces — Character of the productions written by the actors — 
 The intimacy which subsists between the actors and the audience — Dramatic 
 taste of the audiences — Specimens of the pieces — The play bills — Mr. Guff and 
 his bear — Mr. Abel Smith's two dogs — Quality of the acting — The suppression 
 of the Penny Theatres recommended. 
 
 Penny Theatres, or " Gaffs/' as they are usually called by 
 their frequenters, are places of juvenile resort in the metropolis 
 which are known only by name to the great mass of the popu- 
 lation. I myself knew nothing of these places in any other way, 
 until I lately visited a number of them with the view of making 
 them the subject of one of my sketches. With regard to their 
 statistics, I must still confess myself to be, to a certain extent, 
 ignorant. There exist no means for ascertaining satisfactorily 
 either their number, or the number of the young persons in the 
 habit of attending them. Other facts, however, I have succeeded 
 in learning, though not without personal inquiry, respecting 
 these cheap places of juvenile amusement. They exist only, as 
 woidd have been inferred from what I shall afterwards have 
 occasion to state, though I had not mentioned the thing, in poor 
 and populous neighbourhoods. There is not a single one of them 
 to be met with in any respectable part of the town. It needs 
 but little if any philosophy to account for this. Respectable 
 parents would never allow their children to visit such places. 
 Their great patrons are the children not only of poor parents, 
 but of parents who pay no attention to the morals of their 
 offspring. 
 
 Though the number of Penny Theatres in London cannot be 
 ascertained with certainty, it is beyond all question that they 
 are very numerous. They are to be found in all the poor and po- 
 pulous districts. At the east end of the town, they literally swarm 
 as to numbers. Ratcliffe-highway, the Commercial-road, Mile- 
 end-road, and other places in that direction, are thickly studded 
 with Penny Theatres. St. George's-in-the-Fields can boast of a 
 
 N
 
 162 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 fair sprinkling of them. In the New Cut alone I know of three. 
 In the neighbourhood of the King's-cross there are several ; while 
 in the west end of Marylebone, they are not only numerous, but 
 some of them are of a veiy lai'ge size. One of them, I under- 
 stand, in Paddington, is capable of containing two thousand 
 persons ; and what is more, is usually filled in every part, or, as 
 the proprietors say, is honoured with " brilliant and overflowing 
 audiences." Incredible as it may appear, I am assured that, 
 by some means or other, the proprietors of one of these penny 
 establishments in the western part of the metropolis, have actu- 
 ally procured a license. In Marylebone, I know, some of them, 
 conducted on a very extensive scale, have lately, in consequence 
 of memorials to that effect being presented to the vestry by the 
 more respectable portion of the neighbouring inhabitants, been 
 put down as regular nuisances. It can scarcely be necessary to 
 say, that all the other Penny Theatres are unlicensed. I should 
 suppose, from all the inquiries I have made, that the entire num- 
 ber of these places, in London, is from 80 to 100. Assuming, as 
 wishing to be under rather than above the mark, the lowest num- 
 ber to be correct, there will be little difficulty in making a con- 
 jecture which may approximate to the truth, as to the average 
 number of youths in the habit of nightly attending these places. 
 The average attendance at these penny establishments which 
 have come under my own observation, I should estimate at 150; 
 but then a large proportion of these places have, in the winter 
 season, from two to nine distinct audiences ; or, to keep by the 
 phraseology of the proprietors, " houses," each night. About 
 three-quarters of an hour's worth of tragedy, or comedy, or 
 farce, or very likely all three hashed up together, is all that is 
 allowed for a penny ; and a very good pennyworth the actors 
 think it is, too, though the little urchins who principally form 
 the audience, often think very differently. At the end of the 
 " first house," there is a clearing out of the audience, which is 
 followed by the ingress of another set of " little fellows." If 
 any one choose to treat himself to the second " entertainment 
 for the evening," it is all well ; only he must pay for his plea- 
 sure by the prompt production of penny the second ; and so on, 
 at each successive " house," till the last scene of all is enacted. 
 In many cases, each " house" has its two pieces and a song, 
 thus allowing about twenty minutes to each piece, and five 
 minutes to the doggrel dignified with the name of song. Sup 
 posing, which certainly is a moderate computation, that forty 
 out of the assumed eighty Penny Theatres have severally their 
 plurality of " houses" eveiy night, and average 450 patrons, that 
 would give an entire aggregate nightly attendance of 18,000; to 
 which, if we add, for the other forty penny establishments which
 
 1'ENNY THEATRES. 1 G3 
 
 are supposed to have only one & house" per night, 6000, we 
 should have an entire average attendance on the Penny Theatres 
 of the metropolis, of 24,000. 
 
 The audiences at these places, as has been already intimated, 
 almost exclusively consist of the youthful part of the commu- 
 nity. Now and then, it is true, you will see an audience diversi- 
 fied by some coal-heaver rejoicing in a dove-tailed hat, which 
 completely overspreads his neck and shoulders ; or it may be an 
 adult chimney-sweep, whose sooty visage, with his head graced 
 by a night-cap, is sure to attract the eye of the visitor; but 
 grown-up personages are rarely to be seen in such places : 
 youths, from eight to sixteen years of age, are the great patrons 
 of such places. There is always a tolerable sprinkling of girls 
 at the Penny Theatres ; but, usually, the boys considerably pre- 
 ponderate. 
 
 No one who has not visited these establishments, — if, indeed, 
 it be not a misnomer to use the word, — could have the faintest 
 conception of the intense interest with which boys in the poorer 
 neighbourhoods of London regard them. With thousands, the 
 desire to witness the representations at the Penny Theatres 
 amounts to an absolute passion. They are present every night, 
 and would at any time infinitely sooner go without a meal than 
 be deprived of that gratification. There can be no question 
 that these places are no better than so many nurseries for juve- 
 nile thieves. The little rascals, when they have no other way of 
 getting pence to pay for their admission, commence by stealing 
 articles out of their parents* houses, which are forthwith put 
 in pledge for whatever can be got for them ; and the transition 
 from theft committed on their parents to stealing from others, is 
 natural and easy. Nor is this all : at these Penny Theatres the 
 associations which boys form with one another are most de- 
 structive of all moral principle. The one cheers on the other in 
 crime. Plans for thieving, and robbing houses and shops, and 
 other places, by way of joint-stock concerns, are there formed 
 and promptly executed, unless the little rogues be detected in the 
 act. Then there are the pieces which are performed at these 
 places, which are of the most injurious kind, as I shall after- 
 wards have occasion to state at greater length. The dexterous 
 thief or villain of any kind is always the greatest hero, t»nd the 
 most popular personage, with these youths ; and such are the 
 personages, as a matter of course, who are most liberally brought 
 on the stage, if so it must be called, for their gratification. I have 
 not a doubt that a very large majority of those who afterwards 
 find their way to the bar of the Old Bailey, may trace the com- 
 mencement of their career in crime to their attendance in Penny 
 Theatres. The " gods," as (larrick used to call those who 
 
 ; 2
 
 1 (J4 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 tenant the shilling galleries of our larger theatres, first formed, 
 for the most part, their dramatic predilections in the Penny 
 ones. 
 
 The interior of the larger theatrical establishments is often 
 the subject of laboured panegyric by the press, as well as of ad- 
 miration by the public. There is what an American would call 
 a pretty considerable contrast in this respect between the levia- 
 than houses and the penny establishments. The latter are all 
 a sort of out-door houses : most of them, before being set apart 
 for histrionic purposes, were small stables, sheds, warehouses, 
 &c. They are, with scarcely an exception, miserable-looking 
 places. Judging from their appearance when lighted up, I 
 suppose they must have a frightful aspect through the day. 
 The naked bricks encounter the eye wherever the walls are 
 seen ; while, in an upward direction, you see the joist-work in 
 the same naked state in which it proceeded from the hands of the 
 carpenter. These establishments, in fact, have all the appear- 
 ance of prisons : and would answer the purposes of punishment 
 admirably, were they sufficiently secure against the escape of the 
 inmates. The distinctions of boxes, pit, and gallery, are, with a 
 very few exceptions, unknown. It is all gallery together. And 
 such galleries ! The seats consist of rough and unsightly forms. 
 There is nothing below the feet of the audience ; so that any 
 jostling or incautious movement may precipitate them to the 
 bottom. The ascent to the galleries is usually by a clumsy sort 
 of ladder, of so very dangerous a construction, that he who 
 mounts it and descends it without breaking his neck has abun- 
 dant cause for gratitude. In many of these establishments, the 
 only light is that emitted by some half-dozen candles, price one 
 penny each. The stage and the lower seats of the gallery com- 
 municate with each other, so that should the actors or actresses 
 chance to quarrel with the occupiers of the first row, in conse- 
 quence of anything said or done by the latter — and such things 
 do sometimes happen — they can adjust their differences by a 
 fistical decision, — which, being translated into plain English, 
 means, that they may settle their differences by having recourse 
 to a pugilistic rencontre. The stages in all the Penny Theatres 
 are of very limited dimensions, it being desirable, in the estima- 
 tion of the proprietors, that as much space as possible should be 
 set apart for the accommodation of the audience, — meaning, by 
 the word " accommodation," that room should be provided for 
 the greatest possible number of persons who are willing to pay 
 their pence. In some places, the stage is so small that the 
 actors must be chary of their gesture, lest they break one an- 
 other's heads. On the article of scenery, the expenditure of 
 the proprietors of Penny Theatres is not extravagant. They
 
 PENNY THEATRES. 1 65 
 
 nave usually some threj or four pieces of cloth, which are seve- 
 rally daubed over "with certain clumsy figures or representations; 
 and these are made to answer all purposes. I am sure I need 
 not add, that the wardrobe of these gentry is, for the most part, 
 equally limited in quantity, and moderate in expense. The same 
 dresses, in many of the establishments, serve for all pieces, no 
 matter what their diversity of character. The costume that 
 suits the broadest farce is found to answer equally well in the 
 deepest tragedy. The " lovely bride," about to be led to the 
 hymeneal altar, appears in the same apparel as the widow over- 
 whelmed with grief at the death of her husband. The Ghost of 
 Hamlet is to be seen in the same suit as Paul Pry. 
 
 Most of the Penny Theatres have their orchestra, if the term 
 can be applied to a couple of fiddlers. In fine weather, the mu- 
 sicians usually* stand at the door, because in such cases their 
 " divine strains" are found to answer a double purpose : they 
 attract the attention of the passers-by to what is going on in- 
 side, and they at the same time administer to the love of sweet 
 sounds which may be cherished by any of the audience. In 
 cold or rainy weather, the fiddlers take their station nearer the 
 gallery, though even then they do not venture farther than the 
 top of the ladder. In many cases, the proprietors dispense with 
 music altogether, by which means the sixpence usually paid to 
 the fiddler is saved; and that is, in most of these establishments, 
 a very important consideration. 
 
 Shakspeare has given a touching picture of the wretchedness 
 of a strolling player's life. He describes his wardrobe as a mass 
 of rags, and his appearance that of starvation personified. The 
 same description applies with equal truth to the histrionic per- 
 sonages who grace the boards of our Penny Theatres. Their 
 costume is literally a thing of shreds and patches: in many cases 
 the repairs made on the original garment have been so nume- 
 rous, that not a vestige of it remains. As for their physiogno- 
 mies, again, they must be guilty of bearing false witness, if a 
 substantial meal be not an era in the history of the parties. 
 The fact of Penny Theatre performers living, in a great mea- 
 sure, on chameleon's fare, satisfactorily accounts for the violent 
 squabbles which often occur among them when the piece repre- 
 sented requires there should be something in the shape of an 
 eating exhibition, — as to who has the best right to the slice of 
 bread provided on such occasions. In November last, a very 
 ludicrous scene, arising out of a squabble between two of the 
 actresses as to who had the best right to a piece of bread which 
 required to be munched, occurred at one of those establish- 
 ments in the immediate neighbourhood of the Victoria Theatre. 
 I do not recollect the name of the piece represented, but the
 
 ICyQ SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 leading characters in the plot were a Queen and a Duchess,. 
 These characters were sustained by two females, tall and bony, 
 and with a most hungry expression of countenance. Everything 
 went on smoothly enough for a time: never seemingly were there 
 two more attached friends in the world, than her majesty and 
 her o-race. At length, her majesty ordered dinner to be pro- 
 videcf for herself and the duchess. The servant in waiting 
 promptly put a piece of board across two chairs, which was 
 made to answer the purposes of a table admirably well. A 
 piece of cloth, which had all the appearance of being the half of 
 a potato-sack, was spread on the board as the only substitute for 
 a table-cloth which the palace could furnish at the time. A slice 
 of bread, about half an inch in thickness, was then brought in 
 on the fragment of a plate, by one of the queen's servants, and 
 laid on the table. Every one who saw it must have grieved to 
 think that the sovereign, who but a few minutes before had 
 been heard talking in pompous strains, as with an air of royal 
 dignity she strutted across the stage, of her extensive empire 
 and inexhaustible riches, — should not have had a better meal 
 provided for her; but so it was. Her most gracious majesty 
 and her grace the duchess had nothing for dinner between 
 them but the one slice of bread : they had not even a morsel of 
 butter, or a modicum of cheese. While dinner was being laid, 
 they had, as became the dignity of their station, retired to the 
 robing-room, which robing-room is made out of a corner of the 
 stage, cut off by a small wooden partition, with a door to admit 
 of egress and ingress. As this Lilliputian box adjoined the first 
 row of seats, everything that passed in it was distinctly heard by 
 a large portion of the audience, except when the noise, caused 
 by the performances on the stage, was sufficiently great to drown 
 the voices of the inmates. At this time, there being not only no 
 noise, but nobody on the stage, every word that was spoken by 
 either of the exalted personages in the little room, was audible 
 to all in that end of the house who did not choose to put their 
 fingers in their ears to exclude the sounds. In the first instance, 
 a sort of whisper was heard in the inside ; and for a time, as 
 neither of the inmates was likely to make her appearance, it 
 looked as if the dinner were to remain untouched. One could 
 not help thinking, homely as the meal was, that this was a 
 pity ; for it was clear, from the eagerness with wJiich some of 
 the audience, especially a chimney-sweeper's apprentice, gazed 
 on the slice of bread, that there were no want of mouths in the 
 house that would have despatched the humble meal ordered by 
 the queen, with an edifying expedition. The whisper, which was 
 at first so faint as to be scarcely cognizable by the ear, soon 
 broke out into sounds so loud as to be almost terrific. " I won't —
 

 
 PENNY THEATRES. 1G7 
 
 I shan't — I will not let her have it to-night again," said her 
 majesty, advancing to the door of the little room, and looking 
 quite savage as well as hungry. 
 
 " Let her have it to-night," said a voice, evidently that oi a 
 man, soothingly, " and it will be your turn to-morrow night." 
 
 " Oh, but I won't, though !" shouted the queen, with great 
 energy. As she spoke, she came out of the robing-room, and 
 walked, with all the appeal ance of offended majesty, a few steps 
 along the stage. " I don't see why she should have it oftener 
 than me," she added, wheeling about on her heels, and again 
 approaching the Lilliputian apartment. 
 
 " You have had it twice for my once for a week past," said 
 the duchess, apostrophizing her sovereign in \ery indignant 
 accents. 
 
 The audience were all this time lost in utter ignorance of the 
 cause of the scene ; and it seemed for some time to be quite_ a 
 question with many of them whether the parties to it were actu- 
 ally quarrelling with each other, or only acting. To any one of 
 ordinary penetration, it must at once have appeared that there 
 was too great a fidelity to nature for the scene to be acted; and 
 that, therefore, there existed some real ground of quarrel be- 
 tween her most gracious majesty and her grace the duchess. 
 The sudden appearance of the two amazons — for that was now 
 the character in which they appeared — on the stage, where the 
 quarrel rose to an alarming height, coupled with the frequent 
 reference made to the slice of bread, soon satisfied the audience 
 that it was the innocent cause of the deadly quarrel. The 
 duchess, not only forgetting all personal respect herself for her 
 sovereign, but regardless of the tendency of her disloyal conduct 
 to lower royalty in the estimation of the audience, was unmea- 
 sured in her vituperation of her majesty. Her grace stoutly 
 asserted that the queen hud a stomach for everything ; that she 
 was never contented with her own share of victuals, but wished 
 to have that of everybody else ; and that were she to have her 
 own way, she would waste all the proceeds of the establish- 
 ment in administering to the cravings of her insatiable ap- 
 petite. 
 
 "Miss," said her majesty, with much affected dignity, "you 
 know you don't speak the truth." 
 
 " Marm," shouted the duchess, " I do speak the truth, and 
 you know it too. You know you've got an appetite as there is 
 no satisfying; you have, indeed, you starvation-looking 'ooman." 
 As her grace spoke, she looked quite furiously at the queen, 
 and strutted a few paces across the stage. The audience, as 
 might be expected, were quite shocked at the insult thus offered 
 to her majesty.
 
 IgS SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " You are a good-for-nothing individwal — indeed you are, 
 Miss/' retorted the queen, with great warmth, and violently 
 stamping her foot on the floor. 
 
 It was now, for the first time, that those of the audience not 
 previously acquainted with the actresses learnt that her majesty 
 was married, and that her grace was single. 
 
 " Vv don't you divide it between you?" said a voice in the 
 
 gallery. 
 
 " Yes," responded another of the penny spectators ; u and 
 that would set all to rights." 
 
 "Ay, do," said the actor already referred to, who all this 
 time had been looking very much concerned at the quarrel that 
 was going on between the queen and the duchess, but seemed 
 afraid to interfere. " Ay, do, there 's good creatures ; and that 
 will end all disputes." 
 
 " Well, I don't mind though I do it this once," said her ma- 
 jesty, assuming an aspect of great condescension. The duchess 
 also assented to the compromise without a word of murmur; and 
 both sat down to the frugal repast the best friends in the world. 
 The division of the slice, which was made by her majesty, ap- 
 peared, as far as the audience could judge, to be of the most 
 equitable kind. The exalted personages, however, were not 
 allowed to eat their meal in peace. Before they had munched 
 the piece of bread, a noise, like that of an infant screaming, was 
 heard to proceed from behind the curtain, and, in a moment 
 afterwards, a shrill tremulous voice from the same locality, evi- 
 dently addressed to her majesty, was heard to say, " Make 
 haste, Mrs. Junks — do pray make haste, for Lubella is crying 
 for the breast." The matter was clear in an instant; the scream- 
 ing proceeded from a young princess. Her majesty, to her credit 
 be it spoken, did not allow the dignity of her situation to inter- 
 fere with her maternal duties ; but hastily snatching up the re- 
 mainder of her share of the slice of bread, and poking it into her 
 mouth, quitted the stage to administer to the wants of her infant 
 princess, leaving the duchess to enjoy her dinner at leisure. 
 
 It is curious to contrast the actual condition of the histrionic 
 personages who figure at the Penny Theatres with the circum- 
 stances in which they are often professionally placed. Their 
 assumed character, I have frequently thought, must very mate- 
 rially aggravate the evils of their real condition. On the stage, 
 they often appear as emperors, kings, dukes, empresses, queens, 
 duchesses, &c, and as such talk, in pompous and boasting 
 strains, of their inexhaustible wealth, their immense resources, 
 and their vast power ; when the real truth is, that they cannot 
 command a single sixpence wherewith to procure themselves a 
 homely meal ; nor does their power extend so far as to induce
 
 PENNY THEATRES. 169 
 
 any one to bestow on them a morsel of bi*ead. How great the 
 contrast between the poor creatures strutting about on the 
 stage with the assumed dignity of monarchs, while they are at 
 the very moment enduring the pains of hunger, and know not 
 an individual in the world who would move a step to rescue 
 them from the horrors of actual starvation. 
 
 The severity of the privations which these parties are often 
 doomed to undergo, will at once be inferred when I state what 
 are the usual salaries they receive. Fourteen pence per night, 
 and this, be it observed, for performing, it may be, in six or 
 seven pieces, is thought a high rate of remuneration for the 
 histrionic services of a poor wight acting at a Penny Theatre. 
 Tenpence, or five shillings per week, is the more common rate 
 of salary. How the poor creatures manage to subsist at all on 
 this, I am at a loss to know ; for between rehearsals through 
 the day, and committing new pieces to memory, they have not 
 time, even if they had the opportunity, to endeavour to eke out 
 a miserable existence in any other way. But even this is not 
 all. I know many instances in which penny theatre performers 
 have a wife and three or four children dependent on them for 
 support. Mr. Hector Simpson, the proprietor of the Tooley- 
 street penny establishment, and also of a theatre in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Queen-square, Westminster, lately detaded several 
 affecting cases of this kind to me. When I spoke of one in 
 particular, in which each member of the family had not above 
 three halfpennyworth of food per diem, I asked him how they 
 managed in such a case to preserve existence 
 
 "That's quite a mystery, Sir," replied Mr. Hector Simpson. 
 
 " It is, indeed, a mystery. 1 cannot think how it can be done 
 at all." 
 
 " They do it, though," observed Mr. Simpson, significantly 
 shaking his head. 
 
 " But how?" I again inquired. 
 
 " Ay, that 's the rub," observed Mr. Hector Simpson, quoting 
 Shakspeare quite seriously, and still declining to enlighten me 
 on the subject. 
 
 " But it appears to me," I added, " that the thing is physi- 
 cally impossible." 
 
 " Oh, you've come to physical impossibilities, have you? These 
 are things we know nothing about, Sir ; there are no physical 
 impossibilities with us. Mr. Hector Simpson drew his hand 
 across his beard as he spoke. 
 
 " I'm happy to hear it, Mr. Simpson ; it 's very fortunate for* 
 you." 
 
 " It's the case, Sir," said the latter, with an air of some 
 importance; "it is, indeed, Sir."
 
 170 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 In many cases the proprietors of Penny Theatres are as poor 
 as the players. In other words, the speculation does not pay, 
 and they are sometimes obliged to withhold the supplies, scanty 
 as they are at best, from the poor performers. This, as might be 
 expected, often leads to disputes between the lessees and the 
 actors ; and it does sometimes happen that, in imitation of the 
 conduct which has of late been once or twice pursued at some 
 of the larger theatrical establishments, the actors unanimously 
 refuse to play until their arrears, or at least an instalment of 
 them, are paid up. This usually has the effect of either prompt- 
 ing the proprietor to make some extraordinary exertions to 
 raise what they call the "wherewith," or of breaking up the 
 concern altogether. In those cases in which the latter alter- 
 native occurs, it does occasionally happen that, in imitation of 
 the example set them some short time since, by the company at 
 the English Opera House, the corps dramatique enter into the 
 speculation on their own account, thankful if they are able, at 
 the close of the establishment each evening, to divide among 
 themselves as much profit as will make the remuneration of the 
 services of each, tenpence or one shilling. 
 
 It sometimes happens that the proprietor of a Penny Theatre 
 takes advantage of the good nature of some particular performer 
 by allowing his salary to " run up," while he is pretty prompt in 
 the payment of the salaries of others. Such proprietors, how- 
 ever, are sure to find in the end, that even the best-natured of 
 mortals cannot be always trifled with, or unjustly treated, with 
 impunity. " A hungry man is an angry man," — so says the 
 proverb ; and never was there a truer adage. I need not re- 
 peat Lord Bacon's just observation, "that of all rebellions the 
 rebellion of the belly is the worst." Hence when a good-natured 
 actor is goaded on by hunger to quarrel with his employer in 
 consequence of the non-payment of his salaiy, he usually assumes 
 a very determined aspect, and acts with a decision and spirit 
 which no one would otherwise have expected of him. At one of 
 the Penny Theatres over the water, an amusing scene of this 
 kind lately occurred. The fall of the curtain intimated that the 
 first piece was over. A considerable space of time having elapsed 
 without any appearance of the second piece being about to be 
 commenced, the audience became impatient, and set up the 
 shouts and exclamations usual in such circumstances. Even- 
 tually the curtain was raised ; but, behold, the stage was un- 
 occupied ! After the lapse of about half a minute, cries of 
 " Why don't you begin ?" proceeded from all quarters ; but for 
 a time no one appeared on the boards to answer the question. 
 The conduct of the audience eventually became alarmingly 
 uproarious. Apprehensive of an actual riot, the lessee at last
 
 PENNY THEATRES. 17J 
 
 came forward, and begged the indulgence of the " ladies and 
 gentlemen," on the ground that a temporary accident had 
 occurred to the actor who was the leading character in the 
 piece. 
 
 "Vat accident is it?" inquired an unwashed ragged youth 
 in the midst of the audience. 
 
 " Vy, it was — hem ; it was ." Here the lessee hesitated, 
 
 as if unable, on the moment, to invent some plausible answer. 
 
 " I say, old 'un, you seem at a loss," shouted a tailor's 
 apprentice. 
 
 " Voy, I'm blessed if he knows vat to say," said another patron 
 of the penny drama. 
 
 " Come, old chap, can't you tell us vat 's the matter," said a 
 third. 
 
 " Vy, ladies and gemmen, he 's ashamed on himself," observed 
 one of the actors, rushing on the stage. " The cause, ladies and 
 gemmen, of this delay is, that I von't hact, because this 'ere 
 person von't pay me my salary." 
 
 Cries of " Shame ! shame ! " proceeded from every throat in 
 the house. 
 
 " Fill you allow me to explain?" inquired the lessee of the 
 establishment, with great earnestness, looking imploringly to- 
 wards his patrons, dignified with the name of an audience. 
 
 " No, don't you !" said the actor, casting a most piteous 
 glance in the same direction, — " no, don't ; he owes me a fort- 
 night's salary, and I can't get a stiver from him." 
 
 The cries of " Shame ! shame !" were here renewed with re- 
 doubled energy. 
 
 " I do assure you " The unfortunate lessee again 
 
 struggled hard to obtain a hearing, but without effect. His 
 voice was drowned amidst a volley of exclamations denunciatory 
 of his conduct in withholding the poor actor's miserable salary 
 from him. 
 
 " I will pay him to-morrow," said the lessee. 
 
 " Don't believe a word he says," observed the actor. 
 
 " I pledge myself to pay him to " 
 
 " Vy don't you do it now ? " interrupted a gruff voice in 
 the gallery, the proprietor of which was afterwards ascertained 
 to be an errand-boy in the employ of a neighbouring cheese- 
 monger. 
 
 "Ay, vy don't you do it now?" echoed the poor actor, 
 whose lank cheeks bespoke his distressed condition ; " you 
 knows that no one can hact well without vittals, and I have not 
 had a mouthful since yesterday." 
 
 The lessee renewed his promises to settle matters on the 
 morrow.
 
 172 SKETCHES IN LONDON'. 
 
 " Oh, it von't do," said the actor, drawing back his head, and 
 giving it a significant shake ; I 've had a precious deal too 
 many of your promises already, not to know that they are not 
 worth a straw. 
 
 This short speech of the unfortunate actor was greeted with 
 loud cheers and cries of " Bravo ! bravo !" — " Go it ! old boy." 
 
 " Vill you just allow me one word ? Upon my honour " 
 
 "We didn't know you ever had any," interrupted a small 
 shrill voice. 
 
 " If he has, I never saw any of it," observed the refractory 
 actor, with some sharpness. 
 
 " I vill pay you to-morrow," said the lessee, in soothing strains, 
 addressing himself to the histrionic personage whose refusal to 
 act had caused the unpleasant scene which was being exhibited. 
 
 " I will not move a step nor utter a word until I'm paid," said 
 the latter, in a firm and audible voice. 
 
 " I really cannot pay it you just now; I have not got as much 
 money at my own disposal. 
 
 " I'll take a part, then, just now, and the rest to-morrow," 
 said the poor half-famished performer. 
 
 Loud cheers, mingled with cries of " Surely, the old chap can't 
 refuse that," greeted the intimation. 
 
 u Here 's five shillings, just now," said the lessee, after fum-. 
 bling some time in his pocket. 
 
 " And you '11 pay me the other five shillings to-morrow," said 
 the actor, as he held out his hand to receive the crown. 
 
 « I vill." 
 
 " Then let the play commence," shouted the histrionic per- 
 sonage, advancing some paces on the stage with an aspect of 
 great dignity, but still keeping the five shillings close in his 
 hand, which by this time had been thrust into his pocket. The 
 piece was accordingly begun, amidst the cordial applause of the 
 audience, and it was a positive luxury to witness the spirit and 
 effect with which the poor fellow now went through his part, 
 compared with the feeble, spiritless, and inefficient way in which 
 he performed his character in the first piece. And it is no 
 wonder ; for not only did he now see the prospect of " summut 
 to eat to supper," but it was an epoch in his history to have five 
 shillings in his possession at once. 
 
 But though many of the Penny Theatres are such losing 
 concerns to the proprietors and all concerned, that it is with 
 difficulty that either can obtain as much from them as will 
 support life, there are some of them that prove profitable spe- 
 culations. Mr. Hector Simpson has the supreme satisfaction of 
 thinking, that if he loses money by his theatre at Westminster, 
 he gains more than he loses by the penny establishment in the 
 classic regions of Tooley-street.
 
 PENNY THEATRES. 173 
 
 The rentals of the Penny Theatres vary, as a matter of course, 
 according to the size and condition of the house. Perhaps the 
 average rental is fifteen shillings per week. In some cases, when 
 a place is to be fitted up for the first time as a theatre, the 
 proprietors of the house enter into an arrangement with the 
 lessee, that when the latter thinks fit to leave the place, or is 
 ejected from it by the proprietor, the latter shall take every 
 thing in the shape of fixtures off the lessee's hand, paying him 
 whatever money he expended in the article of fitting up. 
 When such arrangements have been entered into between the 
 parties, the lessee is expected to produce a separate bill for 
 every thing he had, even in matters of the most trifling nature, 
 for his fitting up. One of these lessees lately mentioned to me 
 a variety of articles, for which he had separate bills to produce 
 whenever he and the proprietor should tire of each other. 
 Some of them are rather funny. Among the number, one for a 
 pennyworth of nails, made out as all of them were, in due form, 
 ran thus : — 
 
 Mr. Tobias Trunk, 
 Bought of Saun t ders and Raff, 
 One pennyworth of nails for his establishment in the New Cut £0 1 
 .1837. Received piyment, 
 
 Nov. "20. Saunders and Raff. 
 
 Let the reader only fancy three or four score accounts, all for 
 articles whose individual price was under threepence, made out 
 in the same way, and he will be able to form some idea of the 
 regularity which the lessees of Penny Theatres are obliged to 
 observe in their financial dealings with the proprietors. Mr. 
 Tobias Trunk, observing that I felt considerably surprised at 
 the circumstance of his asking a bill duly receipted for so 
 trifling a purchase as a pennyworth of nails, said, with a sig- 
 nificant shake of the head, and a slight twitch of his nose, 
 " I have no doubt, Sir, you think this very strange ; but still it 
 is necessarv it should be done. We never take one another's 
 word in such matters ; we must have black and white for every 
 thing we do ; we must indeed, Sir." 
 
 " But, Mr. Trunk," said I, " what did the merchants whom 
 you patronized when making your penny and twopenny pur- 
 chases think, when you asked them for a bill and receipt?" 
 
 " Bless my soul, Sir," answered Mr. Tobias Trunk, " they 
 thought, as I suppose you do, that I was a little cracked." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Trunk! that's too bad; I neither have said nor 
 done anything that could justify you in concluding that I had 
 formed that opinion of you." 
 
 " You have not : but I could easily see that they thought 
 there was a screw loose in the upper part of my machinery; for
 
 174 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 they first looked as amazed at me as if I had asked them to 
 make me a present of their property, and then observed that 
 they were not in the habit of making oxit accounts for such small 
 purchases." 
 
 " But still vou managed to get them to do it at last, Mr. 
 Trunk/' 
 
 " I did, Sir, I persewered ; and persewerance, as the world 
 now wags, you know is everything." 
 
 " It certainly performs wonderful feats, Mr. Trunk." 
 
 " Wery vonderful feats, Sir." 
 
 Among the most amusing circumstances to be met with in 
 the annals of penny theatrical establishments, are the squabbles 
 which take place betwixt the performers in the private room, 
 when contrasted with the ardent friendship and boundless affec- 
 tion they show towards each other on the stage. At one of 
 these theatres in the New Cut, a very laughable instance of this 
 kind occurred about six weeks since. Mr. Trotter appeared in 
 the character of a gay Lothario, paying his addresses to an old 
 and masculine-looking female, rejoicing in the appellation of 
 Miss Honoria Chessmore. 1 will answer for it that two more 
 devoted lovers than this interesting couple, never existed in a 
 poet's imagination, far less in the regions of actual life, 
 seen only as they trod the classic boards of the theatre in 
 question ; and yet, the moment they made their exit, in order 
 that other of the dramatis persona? might appear on the 
 stage, they renewed with a vigour and point seldom equalled, 
 (surpassed were out of the question,) an old quarrel, which I 
 afterwards learnt was of very considerable standing, respecting 
 the share which each had in the emptying of a pot of beer which 
 the lessee had left in the green-room, while none but themselves 
 were present. After being engaged for about a minute, in an 
 altercation on the subject, of so violent a nature that the whole 
 of the audience who heard it, must have momentarily expected 
 it would end in a throttling; match, it became theii turn ao;ain 
 to appear on the stage. They did so with the strictest histrionic 
 punctuality, and again embraced each other with a fervour of 
 affection which it was a positive luxury to witness ; while the 
 words in which they conversed together, were of the most honied 
 description that ever escaped human lips. By-and-bye it again 
 became their duty to retire, to allow other characters to unfold 
 the part of the plot with the developement of which they were 
 entrusted, when the mortal quarrel about the pot of beer was 
 recommenced with the same enersry as before. These transitions 
 from being the most deadly enemies, which they were in reality 
 in the green-room, to the most devoted of lovers on the stage, 
 were continued for about ten minutes, and afforded a view of
 
 PEN.VY THEATRES. 175 
 
 human nature in its connection with the realities and assumed 
 circumstances of life, •which the philosopher might have con- 
 templated with an interest of no ordinary kind. 
 
 In connection with the observations I have just made, I may 
 mention that it often happens, that a husband and wife, not in 
 the habit of living on the most affectionate terms at home, have 
 to personate a married couple whom the author has described as 
 living in a state of the purest love and of uninterrupted concord. 
 The contrast between their appearance on the stage and at 
 home, must, in such cases, forcibly strike the minds of all such 
 parties, if not lost to all reflection. Not long since, a poor wight 
 of a husband at one of these penny establishments, was so 
 affected with the acting of his spouse in the character of a 
 devoted wife, though a perfect Xantippe at home, that he could 
 not help whispering in her ear in the midst of the perform- 
 ance — " Ah, my dear, I would give the whole world to see you 
 as kind and affectionate at home as you appear just now." On 
 the following night a new piece was produced at the same esta- 
 blishment, in which the poor hen-pecked fellow had again to 
 sustain the character of husband, and in which his better half 
 appeared in the character of his wife. In the case of the latter, 
 however, there was this very important difference, as compared 
 with her appearance the previous evening — that it now devolved 
 on her to act the part of a wife who played both the tyrant 
 and virago at home. Plere her acting far surpassed that of the 
 former evening, though it was wonderfully fair ; because she 
 now appeared in her natural character. She had now simply to 
 exhibit on the stage what she had for years nightly practised 
 without an effort at home. And so great was the resemblance 
 of her manner on the stage, to what it was in her capacity of 
 wife in the domestic relations of life, that the poor fellow could 
 not help bursting out, looking significantly and with uplifted 
 hands, towards the audience — " It's so like — jist the thing — 
 that's the very way she goes on at home." 
 
 The histrionic gentlemen and ladies who grace the boards of 
 P^nny Theatres, are remarkably dexterous hands at mangling, 
 or, as they call it, abridging pieces. Hamlet is often performed 
 in twenty minutes ; and Macbeth, and Richard the Third, and 
 the other tragedies of Shakspcare, are generally " done" in much 
 about the same time. Of all Shakspeare's plays, Othello is the 
 greatest favourite of these establishments ; very possibly because 
 it is easier to assume the appearance of the Moor, than of any 
 other of Shakspeare's heroes. A little soot smeared over the 
 phiz of the actor undertaking the part, is deemed a sufficient 
 external qualification for the part ; whereas in many other cases, 
 something in the shape of dresses is supposed to be necessary.
 
 176 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 In the abridging of pieces the performers at the Penny Theatres 
 are guided by no fixed rules. Time is the only counsellor to 
 whose directions they will condescend to lend an ear. They 
 ■will sometimes unwittingly devote perhaps ten minutes to the 
 representation of some of the more interesting scenes in the 
 first act, and then on being apprised that they have only ten 
 minutes more to finish the whole, they overleap the second, 
 third, and fourth acts, and very possibly land about the middle 
 of the fifth. Should they even then be getting on more slowly 
 than the lessee deems it right, and he wishes to have the piece 
 " done out of hand," he desires them to come at once to the " last 
 scene of all," which they do, and then enact that scene with an 
 expedition with which it were in vain for any steam power to 
 attempt to compete. I was lately very much amused on learning 
 that at most of these places the lessee is in the habit of stand- 
 ing on one side of the stage watching the time, and that when it 
 is within a minute or two of that which he has in his own mind 
 allotted for that particular piece, he exclaims, u Time up ! — 
 finish the piece ! — down with the curtain \" and it is all done as 
 he desires. Scarcely have the words passed his lips, when the 
 whole affair is over, and down falls the curtain. In those cases 
 in which he knows how the thing ought to end, he is more 
 precise in his directions. In the case of Othello, for example, 
 when the time has expired, even though the performers should 
 not have got beyond the first act, he says, " The time is up 
 — commit the murder, and down with the curtain." Desdemona 
 is then strangled in a moment, down goes the curtain, and out 
 go the audience. 
 
 In several of these establishments, as many as from ten to 
 twelve new pieces are sometimes produced in one week. In the 
 theatre in Queen-square, Westminster, a round dozen new 
 pieces were actually brought out in one week in the middle of 
 last December. Of course, in such cases, but little pains are 
 bestowed on the composition. Even suppose the writer, and 
 there are seldom more than one or two writers for one esta- 
 blishment, had the talents requisite to the production of a 
 tolerable piece, he can neither have the time nor the scope 
 to display those talents to any advantage. With regard again 
 to the performers committing pieces to memory, that Mere 
 altogether out of the question. They are told a few of the 
 leading incidents, and are either allowed to look at the manu 
 script of the piece, and by that means endeavour to remembei 
 some of the phrases, or to express themselves in any words 
 which occur to themselves. They are, in fact, obliged to do 
 from necessity, what John Reeve used to be in the habit of 
 doing from sheer indolence, namely, express themselves in the
 
 r-ENNY THEATRES. 177 
 
 best way they can. And horrible work, as might be expected, 
 from the very imperfect education of many of their number, do 
 they visually make of it. They murder the Queen's English 
 much more remorselessly than they do their own heroes ; for, in 
 the latter case, you sometimes see in their countenances, 
 or demeanour, the operation of some qualm of conscience ; but 
 in the former there is nothing of the kind. To speak the 
 truth, they remain ignorant, and will do so to the last, of 
 the butchery of the English language of which they have been 
 guilty. 
 
 But there is something still more ludicrous in the Penny 
 Theatre productions. Their authors, who are always performers 
 in the establishment, often begin not only to write them with- 
 out having made up their minds as to how they will end, but 
 even cause the acting of the first part to commence before the 
 latter part is finished. When the author sees the length of 
 time which the manuscript he has given out takes to act, he is 
 then able to decide on the length to which he ought to extend 
 the remainder of the piece. The performers, in such cases, after 
 being made acquainted with the incidents, must do the best they 
 can with them. An instance of this kind occurred about six 
 weeks since, under my own observation. 1 asked the lessee 
 what was the nature of the new piece which was then beginning 
 to be acted. " Upon my word, Sir, 1 cannot tell you," was 
 the answer. " I usually leave these things to the actor who gets 
 them up/' he added. After a moment's pause, he asked, for my 
 information, the author-actor who chanced to pass us at the 
 time, how the piece would end. " Vy," said the latter, whose 
 name was Hardhead, " I'm not exactly sure yet ; but I think 
 I'll end it either with a murder or a suicide." 
 
 tc Why not with both ?" suggested the lessee. 
 
 " That certainly would give the piece a more tragic termina- 
 tion," I observed. 
 
 " Werry veil, then, I shall have both on 'em," said Mr. Hard- 
 head, with the utmost indifference, as if it were quite immaterial 
 in what way the piece should end ; and with what the penny- 
 a-liners call a " shocking case of suicide," and a " dreadful 
 murder," it did accordingly end. 
 
 The dramatis personae of the Penny Theatres keep up, in 
 most cases, a very close intimacy with the audience. In many 
 instances they carry on a sort of conversation with them during 
 the representations of the different pieces. It is no uncommon 
 thing to see an actor stop in the middle of some very interesting 
 scene, to answer some question asked by one of the audience, or 
 to parry any attempted witticism at his expense. This done, 
 the actor resumes his part of the performance as if nothing had 
 
 o
 
 178 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 happened; but possibly before he has delivered half a dozen 
 sentences more, some other question is asked, or some other 
 sarcastic observation made by one of the auditory, in which case 
 the performer again stops to answer or retort, as if by way of 
 parenthesis. A cross fire is thus sometimes kept up between 
 the audience and the actors for several minutes at a time, 
 and, to my taste, such " keen encounters of the wits" of the 
 parties are much more amusing than the histrionic performances 
 themselves. Decidedly the best thing of the kind which I ever 
 witnessed while collecting, by personal observation, materials for 
 this chapter, occurred about four months since, in an establish- 
 ment some forty or fifty yards off High Holborn. A poor 
 fellow, short in stature, and half-starved in appearance, with a 
 ragged coat, which, but for its tails, would, from its shortness, 
 have been mistaken for a jacket, came forward in the midst of 
 the piece to treat the audience to one of his best vocal efforts. 
 I do not now recollect the name of the song, but it was one of 
 course of a prodigiously comical kind ; for all the songs at these 
 establishments are remarkable for their excess of the comical. 
 I could not help thinking with myself, what a difference there 
 must have been between the poor fellow's actual mood of mind, 
 and that in which the song made him appear. The audience, 
 however, did not seem to be encumbered by anything in the 
 shape of moralization, but were clearly resolved to have as much 
 amusement as possible for their pence. Most heartily did they 
 laugh at the most laughable things in the song. So far all 
 w r as well ; for they had an undoubted right, having paid for 
 it, to exercise their risible faculties as much as they pleased ; 
 but in the middle of the song, a little urchin threw a potato 
 at the vocalist, and hit him right on the forehead. As might 
 be expected, he suddenly paused : and made a remarkably rapid 
 transition from the comical to the tragic. He put his hand 
 to his forehead, and looked for a few seconds terrifically at 
 the part of the house whence the potato was projected. At last 
 he stammered out, in half indignant half pathetic tones, " Who 
 did that ?" 
 
 " It was not me ?" answered one. 
 
 " Nor me," said another. 
 
 tt I didn't do it, any how," observed a third. 
 
 " Nor I either," shouted a chorus of voices. 
 
 " Perhaps nobody did it," said the poor fellow, with an aspect 
 of great simplicity. 
 
 " Per'aps not," answered a little rogue, amidst peals of 
 laughter. 
 
 " Whoever did it," said the songster, becoming better hu- 
 moured as the pain abated ; " whoever did it, might, at any rate, 
 have boiled the potato first."
 
 FENNY THEATRES. 179 
 
 "Vat for?" inquired another of the patrons of the penny 
 drama. 
 
 « I'll tell you what for " 
 
 Here the vocalist was interrupted by a voice — " O I knows 
 vat for ! " 
 
 " No you don't," said the actor. 
 
 " I do though." 
 
 " Veil, vat is it for?" inquired a little sickly-looking boy who 
 sat beside him. 
 
 " Vy, bekase as how if it had been a boiled 'un, it would 
 have been so soft as not to have 'urt him." 
 
 " No, that 's not it," said the poor fellow. 
 
 " Veil, vat is it then?" shouted a dozen voices. 
 
 " I'm blessed if / don't know," said a tin-trumpet sort of 
 voice, from the centre of the audience. 
 
 u Let's have it then," said the vocalist. 
 
 " Voy, bekase if as how it 'ad been a boilt, you could have 
 eaten it." 
 
 A shout of laughter followed the clever observation of the 
 urchin, in which the vocalist could not refrain from joining. He 
 then endeavoured to resume the song at the place at which he 
 was interrupted ; but not being able to remember it, observed, 
 with infinite good nature, e{ O, we must begin again ;" and he 
 did begin again, and end too, in excellent style. 
 
 I will just mention one other amusing proof of the familiarity 
 Avhich so generally subsists between the corps dramatique at 
 Penny Theatres and the audience. It occurred about eight 
 weeks since, at Cooke's establishment in the New Cut. The 
 piece which had been performing was one of so awfully a tragic 
 kind, especially towards the conclusion, that even two policemen, 
 a class of men not said to be remarkable for their susceptibilities 
 on such occasions, who had stationed themselves in a dark corner 
 of the house, for the purpose of pouncing on two young thieves 
 whom they expected to make their appearance that evening, 
 could not refrain from affording some indications that they, any 
 more than the rest of the audience, were not insensible to the 
 touching scenes which were passing before them. The denoue- 
 ment was at length at hand. The piece was a love one ; and 
 the lover, goaded on by the violence of the green-eyed monster's 
 operations in his bosom, determined to be revenged both on his 
 rival, and on the mistress of his heart, for countenancing the 
 tender advances of any one but himself. No sooner had he 
 formed his determination than he prepares to carry it into 
 immediate effect. He procures a pair of pistols and a dagger. 
 He loads the former, and concealing them, with the dagger, 
 under his cloak, seeks a meeting with the intended victims. 
 
 o 2
 
 180 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 That meeting he soon gets : he discovers them both together 
 in very earnest and affectionate conversation. He discharges 
 one pistol at his rival, and the other at his sweetheart, and 
 then plunges the dagger into his own bosom. The whole 
 three fall almost instantaneously; but as they fell, and while 
 the audience were all wrapt in horror at the frightful tragedy, 
 out came from behind the scenes a ragged boy, with a corduroy 
 jacket, and a basket in his extended hand, and stepping over 
 the bodies of the dying trio, as careless-like as if he had been 
 walking on Waterloo-road, sang out, "Apples ! — six a penny!" 
 A little dog, at the same instant, as if the thing had been the 
 result of concert, sprung also from behind the scenes, and set up 
 a loud barking. The affair was infinitely ludicrous, and con- 
 verted, as if by some magical influence, the horror and sorrow 
 with which the audience were overwhelmed but a moment 
 before, in consequence of the dreadful tragedy they had wit- 
 nessed, into a loud and universal roar of laughter, which was 
 only put an end to by the fall of the curtain. 
 
 The audiences at the Penny Theatres are peculiar in their 
 dramatic taste. They are not only fond of extremes, but will 
 tolerate nothing else. Comedy is completely proscribed by them; 
 they must either have the deepest tragedy or the broadest farce. 
 In the tragic way, they evince a remarkably strong predilection 
 for " horrible murders •" and the moment that accounts of any 
 such occurrence appear in the newspapers, a piece embodying 
 the most shocking incidents in that occurrence is got up for 
 representation at these establishments. The recent atrocity 
 known by the name of the Edgeware murder, was quite a wind- 
 fall to many of the Penny Theatres. Pieces founded on the 
 most frightful of the circumstances connected with it were forth- 
 with got up, and acted to crowded houses, amidst great ap- 
 plause. It will hardly be believed, yet such is the fact, that 
 so late as November last — that is, full ten months after the oc- 
 currence took place — it was represented in these establishments 
 to numerous audiences. The following is a verbatim copy of 
 one of the placards, announcing it for a particular night, as the 
 leading piece for the benefit of one of the performers : — 
 
 FOR THE BENEFIT OF MR. TWIG. 
 
 On Tuesday next will be performed the Grand National Dramar 
 
 OF 
 
 GREENACRE, 
 
 OR 
 
 THE MURDER OF CARPENTER'S BUILDINGS.
 
 PENNY THEATRES. 1 SI 
 
 The farces, as I have just stated, are of the broadest kind : 
 the broader and more absurd, the better do they take. At a 
 penny establishment on the Lambeth side of the water, which 
 my curiosity, and the desire of procuring accurate information, 
 induced me to visit seven or eight weeks since, one of the most 
 successful pieces consisted of such matter as the following : — 
 
 Enter Tom Snooks, Harry Finch, and Ned Tims. 
 
 Tom Snooks. — 1 say, Harry, will you lend me a tanner (a six- 
 pence) till to-morrow ? 
 
 Harry Finch. — I vould if I could, but blow me tight if so be 
 as I've got one. 
 
 Tom Snooks. — I say, Ned, old 'un, can you do anything ? 
 
 Ned Tims. — Voy, Tom, may I never smoke another pipe 
 o' baccy, if I've got a stiver in the world. 
 
 Tom Snooks. — I say, chaps, as we are all poor alike, vat do 
 you say to a goin' a robbin' o' some old rich fellers ? 
 
 Harry Finch. — Capital, Tom, nothing could be better ; don't 
 you think so, Ned? 
 
 Ned Tims. — Voy, yes, if it were not for wot follows. 
 
 Tom Snooks. — Vat do you mean ? 
 
 Ned Tims. — Vat I means is this 'ere, that I'm afear'd we might 
 all three get scragged (hanged). 
 
 Tom Snooks. — Pooh, pooh ! all nonsense. 
 
 Harry Finch. — Veil, Ned, I'm bless'd if I ever thought you 
 were such a coward. 
 
 Ned Tims. — Veil, dash my vig if I cares vat be the consekence — 
 I'll go. I say, chaps, hush — I'm blowed if there be not an old 
 feller on the road there : let's begin with him. 
 
 Tom Snooks. — Done, Ned, done. 
 
 Harry Finch. — Come, Ned (patting him on the shoulder, 
 and looking him coaxingly in the face), may I never have a 
 button to my coat if you ben't a regular trump. 
 
 Enter an eccentric-looking Stranger. 
 
 Stronger. — Can you tell me, friends, how far I am from the 
 next inn? 
 
 Ned Tims (seizing the stranger by the throat). — Your money 
 or your life, Sir. 
 
 Tom Snooks. — Yes, my old bowl, your money or your life. 
 
 Harry Finch. — And this moment too. 
 
 Stranger. — Oh, ho ! that's it, is it ? But how do you know 
 I've got any ? 
 
 Ned Tims. — Then out goes your brains (putting his hand be- 
 neath a sort of cloak, as if grasping a pistol in his hand). 
 
 Stranger. — Why, my good friends, if the truth must be told, 
 I'm quite as destitute of brains as of money : I've got none oi 
 neither.
 
 J 82 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 Ned Tims (to the stranger). — Come, old feller, no gammon 
 with us. If you don't fork out the yellow boys (sovereigns) pre- 
 sently, I'll send a ball through your carcass, which will make a 
 passage broad enough to let a coach and six be driven through 
 with ease. 
 
 Stranger. — You don't mean that ? 
 
 Ned Tims. — We do, indeed. Don't we, young men. 
 
 Harry Finch. — Ay, that we do. 
 
 Tom Snooks. — Yes ; and no mistake. 
 
 Here the appearance of some person puts an end to the 
 dialogue, the trio of scamps taking to their heels without loss of 
 time. In a short time afterwards, they again appear on the 
 stage, when they are found in a very jocular mood, and con- 
 versing on a variety of subjects. 
 
 Tom Snooks. — They say the cholera is coming to wisit this 
 t own. 
 
 Harry Finch. — Veil, and vat about it? 
 
 Tom Snooks. — Voy, it's wery alarming. 
 
 Ned Tims. — But voy should they let it come into the town ? 
 
 Tom Snooks. — But how can they keep it out ? 
 
 Ned Tims. — Voy, by giving the toll-keeper strict orders not 
 to let it pass the turnpike-gate on any account. 
 
 I shall only give one more short specimen of the sort of dra- 
 matic literature which is most popular at the Penny Theatres. 
 
 Harry Finch. — I say, Ned, old feller, do you know I've be- 
 come^a father this morning ? 
 
 Tom Snooks. — Vat ! a papa, Harry ? 
 
 Mr. Finch nodded in token of assent. 
 
 Ned Tims (seizing his hand). — Ah, Harry, my boy, I wish 
 you much joy. Pray, vot have you got ? 
 
 Harry Finch. — Guess. 
 
 Ned Tims. — A boy ? 
 
 Harry Finch. — No ; guess again. 
 
 Ned Tims. — Per'aps a girl, eh ? 
 
 Harry Finch (apparently with great surprise). — Bless my soul, 
 Ned, I'm blow'd if you ain't a guessed it. 
 
 This has but little effect in the mere telling; but when spoken 
 with a certain archness of manner, it sets the whole audience in 
 a roar of laughter. 
 
 The play-bills of the Penny Theatres are never printed. The 
 expense of printing is too great for the state of the treasury to 
 admit of that. They are all written, and are seldom to be seen 
 anywhere but on a board in the immediate neighbourhood of 
 the various places. The titles of the pieces are always of a 
 riap-trap kind. The following is a specimen : —
 
 PENNY THEATRES. 1&3 
 
 On Thursday next will be performed at Smith's Grand Theatre, 
 THE RED-NOSED MONSTER, 
 
 OR 
 
 THE TYRANT OF THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Red-nosed Monster - - - Mr. SAVAGE. 
 
 The Assassin - - - - Mr. TONGS. 
 
 The Ruffian of the Hut - - Mr. DARTMAN. 
 
 The Villain of the Valley - - Mr. PRICE SHORT. 
 
 Wife of the Red-nosed Monster - Mrs. TAPSTER. 
 
 Daughter of the Assassin - - Miss BLACK. 
 
 To conclude with the 
 
 BLOOD-STAINED HANDKERCHIEF, 
 
 OR 
 
 THE MURDER IN THE COTTAGE. 
 
 The Characters by the Company. 
 
 The Christmas holidays are the most productive seasons at 
 the Penny Theatres. The Pantomimes " draw" houses "crowded 
 to excess." The playbills, on such occasions, are written in un- 
 usually large and striking letters. The following specimen is 
 copied, without the alteration of a word, or the slightest de- 
 parture from the punctuation, from a placard which was exhi- 
 bited at one of these establishments in St. George's Fields, on 
 the 28th of December last : — 
 
 To. Day. 
 
 Will, be produced. A, splendid 
 (New) PANTOMIME 
 
 With, New. Scenery Dresses. 
 
 Tricks (and) Decorations, Written and 
 
 Got, up. under (the) Direction, of 
 
 Mr. CLARKE entitled 
 
 DR. BOLUS OR HARLEQUIN-THE FAIRY 
 
 Of. The 
 TEMPLE DIANA. 
 
 Albert, afterwards Harlequin - - Mr. GUTHRIE. 
 
 Gobble, afterwards the Clown - Mr. BUCKSKIN. 
 
 Dr. Bolus, afterwards Pantaloon - Mr. DRINKWATER. 
 
 Runabout Mr. SMITH. 
 
 Dozey Mr. JONES. 
 
 Rosa, afterwards Columbine - - Miss SHUTTLE. 
 
 Sunbeam, a Fairy - - - Miss SHORT. 
 
 Fishwoman Mrs. SPRATT.
 
 184 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 In imitation of the conduct of the managers of the larger 
 establishments, — places which are professedly set apart, in a 
 special manner, for the protection and encouragement of the legi- 
 timate drama, — the Penny Theatre lessees occasionally treat their 
 audiences to the performances of the brute creation. I need 
 hardly say that their boards are not sufficiently large to admit 
 of the performances of elephants or of horses. The largest 
 animal I have ever heard of as performing on the stage of a 
 Penny Theatre, was a bear. Bruin was amongst the largest of his 
 species, and was remarkably ferocious in his appearance, to boot. 
 He Avas the property of a little, lank-cheeked, sharp-eyed man, 
 named Monsey Guff. To his master, Bruin was very strongly 
 attached, though a pei'fect brute to everybody else; and it is 
 but justice to Mr. Guff to say that there was no love lost be- 
 tween them, for Mr. Guff was exceedingly partial to his bear. 
 The affection of the parties for each other was far stronger than 
 anything of the kind which goes by the name of Platonic. A 
 very interesting practical display of their mutual attachment 
 was afforded, under very trying circumstances, some years ago. 
 It was arranged between the two that they should make the 
 tour of Scotland together, to see what luck they should have in 
 the way of an exhibition; for Bruin, under the able instructions of 
 his master, had made considerable progress in the art of dancing. 
 It is doubtful, indeed, whether he would have made greater 
 proficiency had he been under the tuition of the most distin- 
 guished French master extant ; for Mr. Guff thoroughly under- 
 stood the genius of his pupil, which a stranger could not be 
 expected to do. With the bear's acquirements in the art of 
 tripping on the light fantastic toe, Mr. Guff confidently calcu- 
 lated on realizing a rich harvest from the tour in Scotland. 
 He fancied that Bruin would be just the thing to " draw" the 
 Scotch. Alas ! how different the event from the expectation ! 
 Mr. Guff says, that he soon found, to his sad experience, that 
 the Caledonians either had no " siller" to spare, or that they 
 Mould not part with it. In the lower districts of the country, 
 he, and his friend the bear, just managed to get a subsistence ; 
 but when they came to the Highlands, nothing but starvation 
 stared them in the face. Before setting out on their journey, 
 the parties came to a distinct understanding that they should 
 live or die together; and for some days they bore their privations 
 with a fortitude that would have done credit to philosophers of 
 the first order. Mr. Guff says that not a single murmur escaped 
 his lips, — unless, indeed, the occasional utterance of a wish to 
 be back to England deserved the name; while poor Bruin, as far 
 as his friend and master could understand what was passing 
 within his mind — if a bear can be said to have a mind —
 
 TENNY THEATKES. 185 
 
 contented himself with wishing that he were once more in 
 the polar regions. At length, however, matters reached a crisis : 
 the hunger of Mr. Guff and Bruin became so great, that, as in the 
 case of a shipwrecked crew who have been several days Avithout 
 food, no other alternative presented itself to them but that of the 
 one eating the other to preserve life. The question, therefore, 
 was, whether Mr. Guff should eat the bear, or whether the bear 
 should eat Mr. Guff. It was true, that the animal could take 
 no audible part in discussing the matter ; but Mr. Guff, who 
 says he clearly understood, on this occasion, Bruin's thoughts, 
 from his physiognomy and manner, unhesitatingly affirms that 
 the bear was perfectly willing to be sacrificed for the preservation 
 of his master and friend; but that he (Mr. Guff) could nor 
 reconcile it to his notions of justice, or to his attachment to the 
 bear, to entertain for a moment the idea of eating him up, 
 without first drawing lots, and by that means giving him the 
 same chance as himself for life. Mr. Guff was accordingly about 
 to draw lots as to whether he or the bear should be the victim, 
 when he happened, after having travelled through a bleak and 
 barren part of the country, fifteen miles in length, without seeing 
 a single house, — to discover smoke issuing from a small turf hut 
 about forty or fifty yards before them. To the hut they both 
 proceeded, and so far from the inmates, two aged brothers, 
 being frightened at the sight of Bruin, as they had invariably 
 found the peasantry to be before, — they were delighted to see 
 him, observing that he recalled to their minds the repeated voyages 
 they had made years before, when sailors, to the polar regions. 
 Both Mr. Guff and the bear were treated to a homely but 
 abundant repast, and from that day to this, Mr. Guff says that 
 neither he nor the bear has ever known what hunger is. 
 
 But, of all quadrupeds, those teachable animals called dogs 
 are most frequently introduced to the juvenile personages who 
 grace with their presence the Penny Theatres. Some years 
 ago, a Mr. Abel Smith had acquired a tolerable reputation 
 for the exploits which he had taught a couple of Newfoundland 
 dogs to perform. He used to tell a curious story about one 
 of his engagements with the proprietor of a Penny Theatre. 
 For some time he and his dogs confined their exhibitions to 
 Sadler's Wells, which has been for more than a century, as 
 many of my readers are aware, the leading establishment in 
 town for appreciating merit in the brute creation, or anything in 
 the shape of " astonishing" gymnastic performances in the two- 
 legged class of animals. Mr. Abel Smith's dogs, like actors of 
 another kind, eventually ceased to "draw" at the Wells;" and 
 accordingly their engagement soon came to a termination. The 
 proprietor of one of the penny establishments having been ap-
 
 » 
 
 1S6 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 prised of this, thought it would prove a profitable speculation if 
 he could get a fortnight of Mr. Abel Smith's dogs on reasonable 
 terms. He said the thing would be a novelty, at any rate, and 
 could not fail to please, whether it paid or not. Mr. Cross, the 
 Penny Theatre proprietor, consequently waited on Mr. Abel 
 Smith. " Mr. Smith," said the other, " I have come to have a 
 word or two about your dogs." 
 
 " Very good, Sir : very wonderful animals, Sir. 
 
 " They are said to be very clever, Mr. Smith." 
 
 " They are very clever, Sir/' 
 
 " What terms would you propose for the use of them in my 
 theatre, in Shoreditch, for a fortnight ?" 
 
 " For a fortnight of successive nights ?" said Mr. Abel Smith. 
 
 "Just so," answered Mr. Cross. 
 
 " Oh, we had ten shillings each per night at ' Sadler's 
 Wells.'" 
 
 " Ah ; but, Mr. Smith, you must remember, that while the 
 price of admission to the boxes at Sadler's Wells is half-a- 
 crown, the pit eighteenpence, and the gallery one shilling, I 
 have got neither boxes nor pit in my establishment ; and the 
 price of admission is only one penny." 
 
 " Bless my heart !" said Mr. Abel Smith, looking surprised, 
 " I'm not sure, Mr. Cross, if it would be respectable for us to 
 appear on the boards of such an establishment." 
 
 " Well, certainly, Mr. Smith," said Mr. Cross, pulling him- 
 self up, "you do astonish me. This is the first time I have 
 heard anything about the respectability of dogs." 
 
 " Do you mean to say we're not respectable, Sir ?" remarked 
 Mr. Abel Smith, with great emphasis, entwining his arms on his 
 breast. 
 
 " Not at all, Mr. Smith. I assure you, nothing could be far- 
 ther from my intention as regards yourself personally : I only 
 meant your dogs." 
 
 et My dogs, Sir !" exclaimed Mr. Smith, with great energy, 
 and looking Mr. Cross fiercely in the face. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Smith, only your dogs." 
 
 " Only my dogs ! I tell you what, Mr. Cross, those dogs are 
 very respectable animals. I wish all animals with two legs con- 
 ducted themselves with as much propriety." Mr. Abel Smith 
 made two or three hasty paces through the room as he spoke. 
 
 " Do you mean any reflection on me, Sir ?" said Mr. Cross, 
 with much sharpness. " Do you mean to say that your dogs 
 are more respectable than me ?" 
 
 " I mean to say this," answered Mr. Abel Smith, with a firm 
 and steady voice, but evading the question put to him ; " I 
 mean to say this, that I shall never stand silent by while the re-
 
 PENNY THEATRES. 187 
 
 spectability of my dogs is called in question. I Avill not, Mr. 
 Cross. They are noble animals ; they are, Mr. Cross." 
 
 " Mr. Smith, you seem to labour under a strange misconcep- 
 tion," observed Mr. Cross, in a more conciliatory tone. " I 
 never impugned, nor meant to impugn, the respectability of 
 your dogs." 
 
 " Then you admit that they are respectable ?" 
 
 " I have no doubt they are, in their own way, Mr. Smith." 
 
 " Very good," said the latter, in a tone that showed he was 
 quite satisfied. " Very good : if you wish to engage us, our 
 terms are seven shillings a-piece." 
 
 " Seven shillings a-night ; that is fourteen shillings altoge- 
 ther," observed Mr. Cross, in a slow and subdued tone, and fixing 
 his eye on the hob, as if lost in a calculation as to what the 
 entire sum would be which he would have to pay Mr. Abel 
 Smith for the fortnight's performances of his dogs. 
 
 " Fourteen shillings !" said Mr. Abel Smith, with much sur- 
 prise ; " you're mistaken, Sir ; it's a guinea." 
 
 "A guinea! How do you make that out? There's only 
 two dogs." 
 
 "Very true, Sir ; but there's me." 
 
 " Oh, but it is not necessary to have you, Mr. Smith. You 
 don't act ; you only say two or three words to the animals, 
 which we can say ourselves." 
 
 " Sir," said Mr. Abel Smith, adjusting his collar, "if we don't 
 go together, we don't go at all." 
 
 " Really, Mr. Smith, I think that is unreasonable." 
 
 " It shall be the case, Sir. My dogs and myself, or no dogs 
 at all. Besides, Sir, the animals won't perform their wonderful 
 feats with any one but myself." 
 
 " I don't see why they shouldn't." 
 
 " But I tell you they won't, Sir," said Mr. Abel Smith, in a 
 gruff voice. 
 
 " Have you any objections to let me try them ?" 
 
 " Oh, none in the least." 
 
 " Well, then, Mr. Smith, perhaps you would call in the first 
 one, and see whether, on my running across the room and re- 
 peating the words you use, the animal does not seize me by the 
 neck of the coat without doing me any infury." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, Sir. Stampheels ! here, here, here." 
 
 A large lively-looking dog immediately responded to his mas- 
 ter's call, and quitting a back yard, presented himself before 
 Mr. Abel Smith and Mr. Cross. 
 
 The latter made a sort of run through the room, and uttered 
 the words which Mr. Smith invariably used in Sadler's Wells 
 when he wished the animal to perform the exploit of seizing
 
 188 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 him by the neck of the coat without hurting him ; but the dog 
 remained motionless at his master's feet. 
 
 " Well, Sir," said Mr. Abel Smith, triumphantly, " you are 
 convinced now, I suppose, that the animals won't perform with- 
 out me ?" 
 
 " It strikes me," answered Mr. Cross, " that if you were to 
 say, 'Go, Sir,' in a harsh tone, when I repeat the words, that 
 he would go at once, and perform the feat." 
 
 " Very well, Sir ; Ave shall try the experiment, if you wish it." 
 
 " Do, Mr. Smith." 
 
 Mr, Cross again made a bound across the room, repeating the 
 particular words ; on which, Mr. Abel Smith, addressing him- 
 self in an assumed angry tone to Stampheels, said, " Go, Sir !" 
 The animal that moment started to his feet, and springing on 
 Mr. Cross, seized him ferociously by the neck of his coat. He 
 then threw him on his back on the floor, and gave two or three 
 tremendous growls, as if he had been about to tear kim to pieces. 
 Here Mr. Abel Smith interfered, and by rescuing Mr. Cross 
 from the paws and mouth of the animal, prevented the occur- 
 rence of any such catastrophe. Mr. Cross, as might be expected, 
 was petrified with fright at the horrible situation in which he 
 had been placed. 
 
 " Satisfied now, Sir, I presume, that the dogs won't do with- 
 out me ?" said Mr. Abel Smith, with an air of much self-compla- 
 cency, addressing himself to Mr. Cross, on the partial recovery 
 of the latter from his fright. 
 
 " Oh ! quite satisfied, Mr. Smith," said the latter. " You 
 shall come with the dogs, and you'll have your own terms." 
 
 Mr. Abel Smith has told this story about " me and my dogs" 
 with infinite zest, a thousand times over, and he tells it still with 
 a glee and earnestness of which no description could furnish an 
 idea. 
 
 It is amusing to contrast the respect which the speculators in 
 Penny Theatres pay to their audiences when going in, with the 
 rudeness they often show to them when coming out. When 
 a person is going into one of these establishments, he meets with 
 every politeness from the proprietor, or the person whom he may 
 have stationed at the door to take up the money. When coming 
 out again, the audience are ordered to clear the way, just as if 
 they Mere so many serfs at the beck of the proprietor or his 
 servants. At some of these establishments, the audience are 
 told on going out, in most authoritative tones, by the proprietor, 
 to " make haste out of the way, to let in my fresh audience." 
 The " fresh audience" are treated with all deference on their en- 
 trance, because they then pay their money ; but they in due 
 course become what I suppose the proprietors would call their
 
 TENNY THEATRES. 189 
 
 atafe audience, and meet with the same disrespectful treatment 
 on their quitting the place which they saw those receive whom 
 they encountered in the passage coming out, while they them- 
 selves were going in. And yet this is but a modification of a 
 principle which is every day seen and felt in its operations in 
 the ordinary affairs of life. So long as we are of service to our 
 fellow men, they treat us with at least the outward manifesta- 
 tions of respect ; but the moment we cease to be so, we meet 
 with a very different treatment. The fable of the man who over- 
 looked the ninety-nine times in which the greyhound had caught 
 the hare, when the animal failed in the hundredth attempt, is 
 hourly illustrated in every walk of life. Of course, there are 
 exceptions, but they are comparatively few in number. 
 
 I must in justice say there are some such exceptions — for I 
 know of two — in the case of the proprietors of Penny Theatres. 
 Mr. Hector Simpson, to whom I have made such frequent refer- 
 ence already, is one. So respectfully does Mr. Hector Simpson 
 treat his audiences, that he often goes into the pit unobserved 
 by his company of actors, to see that they do full justice to the 
 audience by fairly acting the piece ; and if he sees that any part 
 of the piece has been slovenly represented, or rather misrepre- 
 sented, or, worse still, not represented at all, he immediately 
 starts up with the suddenness of an apparition, and sternly 
 commands his actors to play the part over again, or to perform 
 that which they omitted, adding, in indignant and stentorian 
 accents, " I 'm determined that no persons in my employment 
 shall insult my audience with impunity." Mr. Hector Simpson 
 is most assiduous in enjoining on his performers, that they pay 
 the utmost respect, on all occasions, to his audience. It is not 
 improbable that this is one of the principal causes of the great 
 success of his establishment in Tooley -street, while he sees so 
 many other Penny Theatres around him in so deplorable a con- 
 dition. There is one thing which, in this respect, is in Mr. 
 Hector Simpson's favour : he never suffers the salaries of his 
 actors or actresses to fall into arrear, which very naturally 
 insures obedience to orders that otherwise might be slighted. 
 
 Hitherto I have said little of the quality of the acting at the 
 Penny Theatres. In those cases in which the arrangements are 
 such that pieces must be got through in a certain time, without 
 regard to effect, there can, of course, be no good acting, even 
 where there is the requisite talent on the part of the performers. 
 In some of the establishments, however, where there are only 
 two or three, instead of six or seven, " houses" in one night, and 
 where the proprietor trusts to a superior order of acting drawing 
 numerous audiences, and by that means making up for a reduced 
 number of "houses," the acting is, in many cases, really good.
 
 190 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 1 have seen some pieces, both in tragedy and farce, represented 
 at these establishments, with wonderful effect. Indeed, I am 
 convinced that the acting, as a whole, in the cases to which I 
 refer, would have been applauded at some of our more respectable 
 larger theatres. This will appear the less surprising, when I 
 mention, that many of those who are now subsisting on the 
 miserable pittance they receive for their performances at Penny 
 Theatres, were once great favourites at the larger establishments. 
 One of these unfortunate persons was lately pointed out to me as 
 not only the bosom friend of the late Mr. Munden, one of the 
 most distinguished comedians of his day, but as having manj 
 years acted with him in important characters at Drury-lane, and 
 most efficiently supported him in his most arduous parts. And now 
 the poor fellow has only tenpence a night. I forbear mentioning 
 his name, as that would only add to the unhappiness of his con- 
 dition. It is really painful to think that one who had for so many 
 years been a popular actor, should now, in his old age, partly 
 from the infirmities of his advanced years, and partly from the 
 fickleness of the public taste, be unable to obtain an engagement 
 in any of the larger houses, and consequently be driven as a last 
 resource against the workhouse, to toil night after night at one 
 of these miserable places.* Yet so it is ; and not in his case only, 
 but also in that of many others. These unfortunate men, as will 
 easily be understood, having been in the habit of acting well, 
 now act well without an effort ; it has become a sort of second 
 nature to them. There are others, again, who have a natural 
 talent for the stage, but who, having never been fortunate 
 enough to get an engagement in any larger house, are obliged to 
 
 * It is generally admitted that there is no class of men more improvident than 
 the memhers of the theatrical profession, taken as a body. In many cases, they 
 have what, in speaking of the pieces in which they perform, they would call such 
 '•' a run" of good luck, that in a few years they might, with proper economy, save as 
 much as would place them beyond the reach of want ; yet it so happens that very 
 few of them have the prudence to lay aside a part of their earnings. They usually 
 live up to their means ; very often above their means, even when those means are 
 abundant. They never contemplate for a moment the possible, not to say probable 
 contingency of their popularity declining, and eventually dying away altogether ; 
 or of any of the accidents of life occurring to prevent their successful prosecution 
 of their professional pursuits. They take for granted that they are to continue 
 to run an equally prosperous career, and think it enough if they make the day 
 and the journey alike ; consequently, when a reverse of circumstances occurs, they 
 have nothing to fall back upon, but are obliged to accept of any engagement, no 
 matter how disrespectable, or how painful to their feelings, which is offered to 
 them. But while I thus refer with regret to the improvidence which is so general 
 among the members of the histrionic profession, it must be admitted, that from 
 the extreme precariousness of that profession, the most provident are often unable 
 to make any provision against a future period. 1 believe that between improvi- 
 dent habits and the precarious nature of their pursuits, there is more suffering 
 among actors and actresses, than among the members of any other body that 
 co ild be named.
 
 PENNY THEATRES. 191 
 
 vegetate in obscurity in these Penny Theatres ; so that between 
 these two classes of actors, good acting, where sufficient time is 
 allowed by the proprietors, may often be witnessed at them. In 
 the generality, however, of these establishments, there is no such 
 thing as acting at all. The performers say what they like and 
 do as they like. Stabbing and thrusting in the tragic pieces, and 
 slapping one another's faces, and pulling one another's caps over 
 each other's eyes in the farces, are the principal kinds of acting 
 which are to be seen. The pleasure which would otherwise be 
 enjoyed by those who can appreciate the good acting, must 
 necessarily be much diminished by the consciousness that the 
 actors are so miserably remunerated for their services. I have 
 often wondered how they are able to keep up their spirits suffi- 
 ciently to enable them to play their parts so well. 
 
 I may here observe, not having done it when speaking of the 
 number of Penny Theatres, that they are rapidly on the in- 
 crease. The oldest of them is of comparatively modern growth, 
 and if they continue for a few years to increase as rapidly as they 
 have done for the last five or six years, they cannot fail to 
 attract the attention of the magistrates, if not the legislatm-e 
 itself. I am quite satisfied, from what I have myself witnessed 
 at these establishments, to say nothing of what has been com- 
 municated to me by persons whose word or opportunities of 
 acquiring correct information I had no reason to question, 
 that they do incalculable mischief to the morals of the youths 
 who frequent them.* Whenever the police have reason to 
 believe that some particular boy has been guilty of any act of 
 theft, or other crime cognizable by the civil authorities, they 
 proceed as a matter of course to some spot in the neighbourhood 
 of some of these establishments, not doubting they will meet with 
 the youth of whom they are in quest, either when going in or 
 coming out. But to expatiate here on the mischievous tendency 
 of these places on the morals of the youths who frequent them, 
 would only be to repeat what has been said on the subject in 
 the opening of the chapter. My purpose in again adverting to 
 the matter, is to impress, if possible, on the minds of the civil 
 authorities, the propriety of shutting up the Penny Theatres. 
 The process by which this may be done, is sufficiently simple 
 and easy. The magistrates have only to indict them as nuisances, 
 which they undoubtedly are, to the neighbourhoods in which 
 
 * I could indeed refer to particular cases in confirmation of the injurious conse- 
 quences to the morals of both sexes from attendance on Penny Theatres, hut that is 
 unnecessary. One has only to spend a single half hour in one of these places to 
 see and hear what is passing, to he convinced of their highly immoral tendency. 
 \ few visits to Fenny Theatres by the moralist or philanthropist, could not fail to 
 afford information which might be made conducive to the interests of society.
 
 192 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 they are severally placed. This has already been done by the 
 proper authorities in several districts in town. A year or two 
 ago, two or three of them were put down in the east end. 
 leading, if I remember rightly, out of Ratcliffe Highway; and 
 within the last ten or twelve months, several of them, as before 
 stated, have been shut up in the West End. The evil has already 
 reached a sufficient height to justify the interference of the 
 magistrate. Were it likely to abate of itself, that might afford 
 some excuse for looking passively on these places ; but when, as 
 already stated, the evil is rapidly on the increase, instead of being 
 on the decline, and when, as I have lately been assured by the 
 proprietors of two of these establishments, they are likely to go 
 on increasing to an extent of which no one has at present any 
 conception, it is surely high time that the proper authorities in- 
 terfered. As before observed, they must sooner or later be put 
 down by the arm of the law ; and consequently it were better 
 they Mere put down now. Enough of evil has already been done 
 by these places in the way of corrupting the morals of the youths 
 in their respective neighbourhoods ; let not the amount of that evil 
 be increased, by not only suffering those already in existence to 
 continue their nightly performances, and by that means extend 
 the mischief, but by allowing new ones to be called into being in 
 different parts of the town.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE POLICE OFFICES. 
 
 Their Number and Names — Remarks on Bow Street Office — The Thames Police 
 Office — The Magistrates — Number of cases daily brought before them — Yearly 
 Expenses of the Police Offices — Their Expenses Forty Years ago — The Station 
 Houses — Anecdote of a Prisoner — Scenes to be witnessed in the Station Houses — 
 Exhibitions of Human Nature to be witnessed in the PoUce Offices — Specimens 
 given — North Country Simplicity — The Poetical Cobbler — A Drunken Frolic — 
 Case of alleged Horse-stealing. 
 
 In a work devoted to the metropolis, it were an unpardonable 
 omission to pass over in silence the Police Offices. I will, there- 
 fore, make them the subject of the present chapter, and shall 
 endeavour to enliven the statistical details which it will be 
 necessary to give by the introduction of matter of a lighter 
 kind. 
 
 The Police Offices of London are nine in number. They are 
 thus enumerated in the Report of the Parliamentary Committee 
 appointed in 1833 to inquire into matters connected with the 
 police of the metropolis : — Bow Street, including the horse- 
 patrol — Marlborough Street — Hatton Garden — Worship Street 
 — Lambeth Street — High Street, Marylebone — Queen Square — • 
 Union Hall — Thames Police — City of London Police. In this 
 list of the Police Offices, it will be observed that no mention i3 
 made ot the Mansion House, Guildhall, or the Town Hall in 
 Southwark. The reason of this is, that these three places are 
 differently constituted from the other police establishments. 
 The Mansion House, as every one knows, is presided in by the 
 Lord Mayor for the time being, while justice is gratuitously 
 administered in Guildhall, and the Town Hall, by one or more 
 Aldermen. These last three offices are under the jurisdiction 
 of the City authorities, who have a large police establishment ot 
 their own. 
 
 The oldest of the existing offices is that in Bow Street. It is at 
 least a century since it was originally established for the pur- 
 pose of administering justice. Until 1792, however, it was on a 
 very different footing from what it has been since. Previous to 
 
 P
 
 194 SKKTCHF.S IN LONDON. 
 
 that time, it was not established by act of parliament, but was 
 simply an office used by the county magistrates, who gave their 
 sendees gratuitously. Mr. Henry Fielding, the author of "Tom 
 Jones," and other celebrated novels, was the first magistrate 
 who received any remuneration for his sendees in administering 
 justice in Bow Street. The precise time when he first received 
 a salary is not known. To the circumstance of Fielding having 
 been a London police magistrate, we are, in a great measure, 
 indebted for some of his choicest works of fiction. The mativ- 
 coloured scenes o* life which he witnessed while discharging the 
 functions of a magistrate there, furnished him with that intimate 
 knowledge of human life which he displays so strikingly, and 
 at the same time afforded him some of the happiest incidents 
 which are to be found in his works. 
 
 In 1792, seven police offices were established by act of parlia- 
 ment in different parts of the metropolis. To each of these 
 offices three magistrates were appointed, at a salary, respectively, 
 of 400/. per annum. The other two offices were subsequently 
 established, a growing metropolitan population having so much 
 increased the amount of police business, as to render them 
 necessary. 
 
 Bow Street Office has the most extensive jurisdiction among 
 the police offices of London. It can "take cognizance of any 
 case which may occur in any part of the county, though its 
 positive limits are the line of the city, which is at Temple Bar 
 eastward, Holborn and High St\*eet on the north, St. Martin's 
 Lane on the west, and the river Thames on the south. 
 
 The only other establishment whose limits I shall mention, is, 
 the Thames Police Office. My reason for specifying the extent 
 of its jurisdiction is, that it is much greater than any of the 
 remaining seven offices. The limits of this office upon the 
 Thames are as far as the river runs between the counties of 
 Middlesex and Surrey, Essex and Kent. The more common 
 supervision, however, is confined to the busier and more active 
 parts of the river, — namely, from Greenwich to a little above 
 Westminster Bridge. The land district is restricted to the 
 populous parishes of Wapping, Aldgate, St. Katharine's, Shad- 
 well, and Ratcliffe. 
 
 All the police magistrates are either barristers -at-law or 
 serjeants-at-law. This was not the case formerly: it is the 
 effect of a recent resolution on the part of government, made 
 under a conviction that it would prove highly essential to the ends 
 of justice, and conducive to the respectability of the magisterial 
 character, that the magistrates should be men, not only ot 
 general intelligence, but that they should be well acquainted 
 with the law which they are called to administer.
 
 POLICE OFFICES. 195 
 
 The appointment of the magistrates is vested in the Home 
 Secretary ; and their continuance in office is dependent on the 
 good pleasure of every successive individual who may hold that 
 important appointment under his sovereign. The magistrates 
 are liable to be set aside, without being entitled to any pension, 
 at any time, should it suit the whim or caprice of the Home 
 Secretary to come to such a determination. In this respect they 
 are very disadvantageously circumstanced as compared with the 
 judges ; the latter being, from the very moment of their appoint- 
 ment, ever afterwards entirely independent of the crown. It is 
 but right, however, to say that police magistrates are seldom 
 dismissed from their situations, and never without some reason. 
 The only recent instance was that of Mr. Laing, of Hatton 
 Garden, who was set aside seven or eight weeks ago. 
 
 The salaries of the police magistrates were doubled some years 
 since. They are now 800/.* per annum. After they have served 
 for a certain time, they may retire, if they wish it, on a pension 
 of 500/. per annum. Mr. Halls, of Bow Street Office, retired 
 on that pension about twelve months since. The police magis- 
 trates are prohibited from pursuing their professional pursuits 
 as barristers, or engaging in any trade or business : it is ex- 
 pected that they shall apply themselves exclusively to the duties 
 of their office. They have to sit every day during the week, 
 Sunday excepted. They commence their sittings at eleven 
 o'clock, and continue, in most cases, till five ; and again sit an 
 hour or two after seven o'clock. One out of the three magis- 
 trates always presides at each office. Hence the expression, the 
 " sitting magistrate." One of the other two is always present, 
 but takes no part, except in extreme cases, in the proceedings. 
 Two magistrates must be in the office when hearing cases. They 
 always sit by rotation ; so that each magistrate is the sitting or 
 presiding magistrate two days in every week. 
 
 The magistrates at the Police Offices have no control over the 
 police constables. They have all a greater or less number of 
 officers of their own, according to the amount of business done 
 at each establishment. In Bow Street Office, the number of 
 constables or officers at the disposal, and under the sole control 
 of the magistrates, is ten. Their salaries are in most cases twenty- 
 five shillings per week ; but when they are sent to the country 
 in pursuit of any party, the individual so employing them must 
 allow them ten shillings each per day for his pay, twelve shillings 
 for living, and pay all coach hire and other expenses besides. 
 These constables are all appointed by the Home Secretary, the 
 magistrates seldom interfering even so far as to recommend any 
 
 * The chief magistrate in Mow Street has a salaray of 1200/. a year. There is no 
 chief magistrate at anv of the other ortices. 
 
 i» o
 
 196 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 particular person for the situation. They are always dressed in 
 plain clothes, and have no connexion, and but very little inter- 
 course, with the other policemen. The magistrates employ them 
 in all those cases in which they have themselves received private 
 information either of an actual or intended violation of the law. 
 If, for example, information were communicated of a contem- 
 plated duel, the magistrate to whom such information is given, 
 immediately despatches two of his own officers to arrest the 
 parties. The magistrates never employ the ordinary police. 
 In the other offices, except the Thames Street Office, the num- 
 ber of constables retained by the establishment is seven, eight, 
 or nine, according to circumstances. In the Thames Police 
 Office, there are nearly as many constables as in all the other 
 offices put together : the number is seventy, exclusive of thirty- 
 one surveyors. The reason why so great a number of officers is 
 required at this establishment, is the circumstance of all the 
 business connected with the river being under its jurisdiction. 
 The parties in the employ of this office have to look after all 
 illegal transactions on the Thames. The whole number of per- 
 sons employed as constables in the Police Offices is about one 
 hundred and forty. 
 
 The number ot cases daily tried before the Police Offices of 
 London considerably varies. Some days it is as high as ninety, 
 other days it is as low as sixty. The Edinburgh Review, in its 
 last number, estimates the average number at seventy. The 
 writer grounds his opinion on an examination of the police sheet 
 for a given day. Probably seventy is about the average number. 
 Of course it will be understood, that I am here speaking only 
 of the number of cases for larceny, and those other crimes 
 which, if proved, w r ould render the party liable to be tried at the 
 central criminal court. I exclude altogether what are called 
 night charges : that is, quarrelling with the policemen, getting 
 up a row, or being drunk. If those cases were to be included, 
 the number would be nearer three hundred ; for instances have 
 occurred in which upwards of ninety persons have been shut up 
 in Bow Street Station-house alone, in one night. 
 
 The police sheet, which passes between all the offices every 
 day, and to which the Edinburgh Review refers as its authority 
 for the supposition that the average daily number of cases of 
 the class of offences to which I allude, is seventy, divides that 
 seventy into three descriptions of cases. It giyes the summary 
 convictions or commitments for trial at the Old Bailey Sessions 
 at sixteen ; the remands twenty-seven ; and the discharges as 
 twenty-seven. 
 
 The yearly expense of the nine Police Offices is upwards of 
 50,000/., making that of each to be on an average somewhat about
 
 POLICE OFFICE! 
 
 197 
 
 5500/. One considerable item of expense at each of these 
 establishments is the salaries of clerks. There are three or four 
 clerks at each of the eight offices, and double the number at 
 Thames Street Office. Their salaries vary from 400/. to 120/. 
 per annum. 
 
 Connected with the Police Offices there is a Receiver, at a 
 salary of 500/. per annum. The following tabular view will 
 show at one erlance the various kinds of officers at the different 
 police establishments, with the salaries they severally receive tor 
 their services. It is taken from the parliamentary returns of 
 1835. 
 
 PAY OF EACH CLASS OF OFFICERS. 
 
 Chief Magistrate of Bow Street, 1200/. per annum. 
 
 Police Magistrates, 800/. per annum each. 
 
 Receiver of the nine Police Offices, 500/. per annum. 
 
 Chief Clerk of Bow Street, salary 250/., increasing 10/. per 
 annum to 450/. 
 
 Second Clerk, salary 180/., increasing 8/. per annum to 300/. 
 
 Third Clerk, salary 120/., increasing 5/. per annum to 250/. 
 
 Constables and Police Officers, 25s. per week. 
 
 Thames Police Principal Surveyor, 160/. per annum. 
 
 Inspecting Surveyor, 100/. per annum. Twenty Surveyors, 
 from 75/. per annum to 90/. per annum each. 
 
 Thames Police River Constables — thirty at 23s. per week 
 each; forty at 21s. each. 
 
 The following were the expenses of each of the offices in 1835, 
 including contingencies : — 
 
 CONTINGENCIES. 
 
 £. 
 1263 11 
 432 
 351 
 246 
 280 
 365 
 205 10 
 329 19 
 
 s. 
 
 d. 
 4 
 
 
 10 
 
 
 11 
 4 
 5 
 
 
 763 19 11 
 
 OFFICES. 
 
 Bow Street 
 Queen Square 
 Marlborough Street 
 Marylebone 
 Hatton Garden 
 Worship Street 
 Whitechapel 
 Union Hall 
 Thames Police, including in K ir » 17 n 
 the River Force I 1 ";/ 1 - ^ 
 
 TOTAL EXPENSES 
 
 £. 
 
 s. 
 
 d. 
 
 9768 
 
 14 
 
 2 
 
 4574 
 
 7 
 
 
 
 4402 
 
 10 
 
 
 
 3978 
 
 17 
 
 5 
 
 4250 
 
 18 
 
 3 
 
 6106 
 
 9 
 
 4 
 
 
 6 
 
 4 
 
 4152 
 
 4 
 
 10 
 
 Making the aggregate expenses of the nine Police Offices, m 
 1835,-51,724/. 5s. bd. 
 
 Connected with Bow Street Office, as before stated, is the 
 Horse Patrol, the expenses of which, in the same year, were 
 10,169/.; making, if the "cost of both departments be put to- 
 gether, the expenses of that office, in 1835, about 20,000/.
 
 198 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 Forty years ago, the expenses of Bow Street were not above 
 one-third of what they now are, as will be seen from the fol- 
 lowing table : — 
 
 Three Magistrates, at 400/. per annum each 
 
 One Clerk at ----- - 
 
 One Clerk at ----- - 
 
 One Clerk at ----- - 
 
 One Extra Clerk - 
 
 Six Officers, at lis. 8d. per week 
 
 An Officekeeper - - 
 
 A Housekeeper - 
 
 A Messenger ------ 
 
 An Assistant Gaoler - 
 
 Attached to the office there is a patrol, con- 
 sisting of sixty-eight persons, divided into thir- 
 teen parties, each having a captain at 5s. per 
 night, the men having 2s. 6d. per night, amount- 
 ing in the whole, annually, to about - - 3695 12 6 
 
 There is also paid to the clerks, on account 
 of the patrol - - - - - - 71 00 
 
 And in remuneration to the magistrates, in lieu 
 of fees and perquisites, and for special services 900 
 
 £. 
 
 s. 
 
 d. 
 
 1200 
 
 
 
 
 
 160 
 
 
 
 
 
 130 
 
 
 
 
 
 100 
 
 
 
 
 
 80 
 
 
 
 
 
 182 
 
 
 
 
 
 35 
 
 
 
 
 
 35 
 
 
 
 
 
 35 
 
 
 
 
 
 17 
 
 10 
 
 
 
 £6641 2 6 
 
 The amount of gratuities, and penalties levied at each of the 
 nine offices in the same year, is thus given in the parliamentary 
 paper whence I have copied the above statistics :- 
 
 Bow Street - 
 Marlborough Street 
 Queen Square - 
 
 Hatton Garden - 
 Worship Street - 
 Whitechapel - 
 
 Marylebone - 
 Union Hall - 
 
 Thames Police - 
 
 £. 
 
 s. 
 
 d. 
 
 1528 
 
 16 
 
 4 
 
 1040 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 1007 
 
 12 
 
 11 
 
 1112 
 
 3 
 
 9 
 
 804 
 
 6 
 
 11 
 
 799 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 1025 
 
 7 
 
 1 
 
 1312 
 
 17 
 
 2 
 
 753 
 
 6 
 
 10 
 
 Making a total of - £9383 18 6 
 
 Of this sum upwards of 1000/. consisted of fines exacted from 
 parties who had committed assaults on the police. The money 
 thus collected is applied to the expenses of the several offices. 
 
 Of the expenses of the three City Police Offices, I have said 
 nothing. As the magistrates there receive no salary, the ex-
 
 POLICE OFFICES, 199 
 
 penses are confined to the pay of a few officers, and do not 
 much exceed 500/. per annum. 
 
 The Police Offices are for the most part ill ventilated, con- 
 fined, sombre-looking places. They are not at all worthy of a 
 great city like London, and the important space they fill in the 
 public eye. There is a great want of room in them, considering 
 the amount of the business which has to be transacted. They 
 are often crowded to suffocation, to the great annoyance of 
 every one who has occasion to be present. They are also, with 
 two or three exceptions, in badly chosen situations. 
 
 The cells in the station-houses belonging to them, in which 
 prisoners are locked up over the night, are in striking keeping 
 with the offices. These cells are most uncomfortable places : 
 they are so, apart from the unpleasantness of feeling which arises 
 from the disgrace of the thing, in all those cases, where the 
 party is not so intoxicated as to be deprived, for the time, of 
 his reflecting powers. They are narrow, damp, dark, and cold. 
 In some of the station-houses they are on a level with the 
 streets ; in others, they are under gi-ound. In either case they 
 are the most miserable receptacles into which a human being 
 could be put, short of burying him alive. When the num- 
 ber of prisoners is few, each one has often a cell for himself. 
 When an u apartment" cannot be spared to each, owing to the 
 number of candidates for admission, two, in some cases it may 
 happen three, four, or five, are shut up together in one little 
 cell. It is often curious to reflect on the strange errors as to 
 where a party is, and with whom he is, into which he falls on 
 recovering from that state of extreme intoxication called " dead 
 drunk." A few months ago I was amused with the account 
 given me by one who was in the same cell, of the conduct of a 
 young man, whose name I afterwards ascertained to be Snitch, 
 and who had been deposited in the station-house about twelve 
 o'clock the previous evening, in a state of such entire intoxica- 
 tion, that but for the circumstance of his breathing, you would 
 have concluded he was dead. Until five o'clock in the morning — 
 it Mas in the summer season — he slept as soundly and lay on the 
 stones as quietly as if he had been in his grave ; but he then all 
 at once opened his eyes, and sitting up, looked for a moment 
 wildly around him. His eye at last lighted on his fellow prisoner ; 
 and after a temporary gaze on him, he uttered in accents of 
 a most unearthly kind, "Where am I? Who is that? So- 
 phemia! who is that?" Who Sophemia was, whether sister, 
 sweetheart, or wife, was at the time a mystery; but it was clear 
 the unlucky wight fancied he was in his own home, and that he 
 bad metamorphosed his companion in trouble into an apparition. 
 His horror and bewilderment seemed for a few seconds only, to
 
 200 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 increase when the other spoke to him. He had not the most 
 remote idea of where he was ; nor, when acquainted with his 
 temporary "local habitation/' could he recal to his mind a 
 single circumstance connected with his capture by the police, 
 or his conveyance thither. His latest reminiscences did not 
 come within two hours of the time at which the police took 
 charge of him. He was then, he stated, admiring " a show of 
 beauties" in the saloon of Drury Lane Theatre. The period 
 which elapsed from that hour, which he stated to have been ten 
 o'clock at night, down to the time of his waking in the station- 
 house next morning, which, as before stated, was five o'clock, 
 was a perfect blank in his existence. Had he been literally 
 dead, he could not have been more oblivious of what had oc- 
 curred in his personal history in the interim. But the most 
 interesting circumstance in the affair, was his ignorance of the 
 offence for which he was locked up, coupled with the intense 
 anxiety he manifested to ascertain it. What could it be ? Was 
 it murder or manslaughter ? Was it committing some serious 
 assault ? Was he a prisoner for felony ? Could he have smashed 
 people's windows? What in the name of wonder could he have 
 done to justify the police in confining him in the dungeon — he 
 was in a cell below ground — in which he then found himself? 
 These and a dozen other questions suggested themselves to his 
 mind, and filled him with the most horrible fears. His awful 
 apprehensions were not lessened by observing that his hat Avas 
 shattered to pieces, and that one of the tails of his coat had 
 been entirely torn away. At last, no longer able to endure the 
 frightful forebodings of what might be the disclosures when 
 brought before the magistrate, he turned to his brother in 
 adversity, having been by this time satisfied that he was a 
 fellow mortal, and with a most dolorous expression of counte- 
 nance, and in truly touching accents, said, " Pray, Sir, can you 
 inform me for what crime I was brought here ?" 
 
 " I know one violation of the law with which you are charged," 
 answered the other, quite coolly. 
 
 " Violation of the law, Sir?" said the terrified party, with 
 great earnestness. 
 
 " Of course ; otherwise you would not have been here." 
 
 " Pray, Sir, do inform me of its nature ! Was it a serious 
 breach of the law ?" 
 
 a Very serious," answered the other, with some emphasis. 
 
 " No life lost, I hope ?" gasped Mr. Snitch. 
 
 " Why, the policemen who brought you here did say some- 
 thing about being uncertain whether some person of whom they 
 were talking, were living or dead." 
 
 " Pm a lost man !" groaned the poor fellow, violently striking
 
 POLICE OFFICES. 201 
 
 his forehead. A public trial, a verdict of guilty, transportation 
 for life — if not suspension by the neck — with all their con- 
 comitant horrors, were ideas which in a moment crowded on his 
 mind. " Oh, Sophemia ! that ever it should have come to this ! 
 Little did I think " 
 
 " Don't be so much alarmed," interrupted his companion ; 
 a possibly your fears are worse than the reality. It may have 
 been yourself the policemen alluded to, when they spoke of its 
 being uncertain whether the party was dead or alive." 
 
 " My dear friend," said the poor frightened youth, seizing his 
 fellow-prisoner with a cordial grasp by the hand, " do you really 
 think that is the fact ?" 
 
 " I hope it may be so," replied the other. 
 
 " My dear Sir, you delight me. I feel as if " 
 
 At this moment a friend, to whom the other had written to 
 come and bail him out, arrived, and he was liberated, — leaving 
 the unhappy youth to himself to be tormented between his 
 doubts and fears until he appeared before the magistrate, as to 
 what crimes he had committed while drunk. 
 
 I was present at the police-office when the charges for the 
 night were brought before the magistrate. After several others 
 had been disposed of, the magistrate said, in his usual sharp 
 and hasty manner, — " The next charge on the list." 
 
 " Sophemia Burgess !" bawled out one of the officers, at the 
 full stretch of a powerful voice, opening, as he spoke, a door 
 which communicated with a passage leading to another room, 
 where the undisposed "charges" were congregated together. 
 
 In a few seconds, Mr. Snitch was conducted to the bar. His 
 pale countenance, Avith the marked expression of horror which 
 was depicted on it, told in silent but impressive terms of the 
 agony of mind under which he laboured. His unshaved beard, 
 his dirty face, the crumpled breast and collar of his shirt, and 
 sundry patches of mud which still adhered to his apparel, were 
 in strict keeping with his one-tailed coat. Taken altogether, 
 the appearance of Mr. Snitch was so much in character with 
 the usual effects of a drunken debauch, that it needed not the 
 testimony of any living witness as to the way in which the 
 unfortunate wight had spent the previous night. 
 
 " Why, officer," said the worthy magistrate, with some tart- 
 ness, " you have made a mistake. You have brought me a 
 man instead of a woman." 
 
 K It's quite right, your worship." 
 
 " It's what?" 
 
 " Quite right, your worship." 
 
 " Why, the name on my list, of the next charge, is Sophemia 
 Burgess."
 
 202 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 "This wSophemiaBurgess,"said the officer, with a steady voice. 
 
 The magistrate looked at the officer with an air of infinite 
 surprise ; and Mr. Snitch's pale face coloured deeply, as well 
 as indicated the utmost amazement, when the name was men- 
 tioned. The latter rapidly glanced his eye round the office, as 
 if looking to see whether some person of that name, with whom 
 he was on terms of intimacy, was in the place. It was after- 
 wards ascertained, that Sophemia Burgess was a young lady to 
 whom he was paying his addresses; and as she still absorbed his 
 thoughts so long as he was able to think, he had stammered out 
 her name when asked his own. 
 
 " Why," said the worthy magistrate, addressing himself, with 
 increased shai-pness, to the policeman, — " why, Sophemia is a 
 woman's name, not a man's." 
 
 " That is his right name," insisted the knight of the bludgeon. 
 
 " Is that your name, Sir ?" said the magistrate, addressing 
 himself to Mr. Snitch. 
 
 " It is not, Sir," answered Mr. Snitch. 
 
 The magistrate now looked quite ferocious at the policeman, 
 as if he had meant to say, " What have you now to say for 
 yourself, you blundering blockhead?" 
 
 " That is the prisoner's name, your worship," repeated con- 
 stable H, of the G division, without the slightest disconcertion 
 of manner. 
 
 " Is that the name he gave you, when you took him into cus- 
 tody ?" inquired the magistrate. 
 
 " No, your worship ; he was not able to give any name at all." 
 
 " What ! was he so drunk as that?" 
 
 " He was, your worship, dead drunk : he could neither move 
 hand nor foot, let alone speaking." 
 
 Mr. Snitch hung his head still lower, and audibly groaned. 
 
 "And how did you come to know his name, then?" continued 
 the magistrate. 
 
 " Vy, your worship, a person who had seen him before he was 
 quite so bad, told me he had inquired his name, and that, with 
 an effort, he managed to answer, e Sophemia Burgess ;' but, be- 
 sides that, we found in his pocket a card with her name on it." 
 
 " And you mean to say, Sir, do you," said the magistrate, 
 addressing himself to the prisoner, " that Sophemia Burgess is 
 not your name ? " 
 
 " That is not my name, Sir." 
 
 " Well, then, will you tell the bench what is your name ?" 
 
 « It is Tugworth Snitch, Sir." 
 
 Mr. Snitch had no sooner mentioned his right name, than he 
 reproached himself for his stupidity in not giving an assumed 
 one; but the rapidity with which the magistrate proceeded to
 
 POLICE OFFICES. 203 
 
 dispose of the charge, left but little time for reflection on the 
 subject. 
 
 " Well, Sir, you hear the charge : what have you to say in 
 your defence ?" 
 
 Mr. Snitch whispered in tremulous accents, that he was not 
 aware of what specific offence he was charged with. 
 
 " Why, with being in a state of beastly intoxication," said 
 the magistrate, with some acrimony. 
 
 Mr. Snitch's countenance brightened up, as if a poet's para- 
 dise had all at once opened on his view, on thus hearing that 
 the charge against him was confined to being drunk. 
 
 " I am sorry for it, Sir," answered Mr. Snitch, in a tone of 
 mingled penitence and joy. " I never was in the same situation 
 before, and hope I never will be again." 
 
 " I hope it will be a warning to you, Mr. Tugworth Snitch : 
 you have great reason to be thankful that you were not run 
 over, and killed by some vehicle, when the policeman found you 
 rolling in the mud." 
 
 Mr. Snitch was silent, and looked as if he assented to the 
 proposition. 
 
 " You are fined five shillings, for being drunk," said the ma- 
 gistrate. " Officer, the next charge," he added, in the same 
 breath. 
 
 Mr. Snitch paid the fine, and retired from the bar, rejoicing 
 that matters were not much worse. 
 
 Some extraordinary scenes are to be witnessed in the station 
 houses, when all the " charges," as the prisoners are called, 
 are brought forward from their different cells, to one place, im- 
 mediately prior to their being transferred to the police-offices. 
 Not long since, I saw an odd exhibition of this kind in the Vine- 
 street station-house. The number of persons who had been shut 
 up during the greater part of the night, was fifteen. It will at 
 once be concluded, that they consisted of both sexes ; but it will 
 not be so readily inferred, though such was the fact, that a ma- 
 jority of the company belonged to the female sex. There may 
 be, in the estimation of some persons, but little gallantry in 
 making this statement ; but gallantry, in such cases, must give 
 May to the truth. A more motley assemblage than that to 
 which I refer, it has never been my fortune to behold, either at 
 a station-house or elsewhere. It embraced all ranks as well as 
 both sexes. There were parties moving in the higher walks of 
 life, and there were the very humblest of mankind. There were 
 persons of every shade of character ; from those of correct 
 morals, who had been consigned to a gloomy cell simply because 
 they had refused, in going home, to submit obsequiously to the 
 behests of a capricious policeman, down to the most worthless
 
 204 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 and depraved creatures to be met with in this vast metropolis. 
 And their external aspect exhibited as great a variety as did 
 their moral character. There was the tastefully-dressed man of 
 fashion, and the poor mendicant, wrapped up in a mass of dirty 
 rags. There were some, both men and women, whose apparel, 
 at the best, had only been of an humble description. There 
 were others who were what is called " elegantly attired " the 
 previous night, whose clothes were either torn to tatters, or 
 covered over with mud. Hats without crowns, and minus the 
 greater part of their brims to boot; coats converted, by the 
 tails being torn off, into jackets ; straw and silk bonnets trans- 
 formed into shapes which the milliners who made them never 
 intended; shawls and gowns either torn into fragments, or 
 affording abundant evidence that their wearers had recently 
 been paying their respects to the pavement, were among the 
 things which gave variety to the scene. Then there were the 
 langour and heaviness of manner caused by the dissipation of 
 the preceding night, which were so visibly impressed on the 
 countenances of many : to say nothing of the unwashed faces, 
 unshaved beards, and unbrushed clothes of others. The odd effect 
 which all this was so well calculated to produce on the mind ot 
 him who had slept comfortably in his bed at home, and was but 
 an accidental spectator of the scene, was very materially height- 
 ened by the hanging down of the heads of those who were parti- 
 cularly ashamed of the situation in which they Mere placed, and 
 the significant looks which others exchanged with each other, as 
 if they had meant to say, " We are brethren and sisters in ad- 
 versity." Altogether, it would have been difficult to have fancied 
 a group in which there could be a greater diversity of external 
 appeal ance, or in moral or social character. For a time they were 
 doomed to be separated : instead of being all conveyed together to 
 the police-office, they were transferred thither in separate detach- 
 ments of ones, twos, or threes. Those of them who could afford 
 to pay for a hackney-coach, and preferred incurring the expense 
 to being walked to the police office in Great Marlborough-street, 
 in the company of a policeman, had it in their power to avail 
 themselves of the services of Jehu ; while those who were less 
 favourably circumstanced, or grudged the coach fare, were 
 obliged to submit to encounter the rude and unhallowed gaze of 
 every unmannerly person they met on the way. The separation 
 of those who had parted at Vine-street station-house was but of 
 a temporary kind. At the police-office they were all destined to 
 meet again, previous to being severally called before the magis- 
 trate. Here they were all huddled together, and pent up in a 
 small space, as if they had been so many black cattle for sale in 
 Smithfi eld-market. They were introduced to another lot in the
 
 POFICE OFFICES. 205 
 
 same predicament as themselves, who had been deposited in the 
 course of the night in some other station-house. Here, again, the 
 scene was worth seeing. It was on a still more extensive scale. 
 What struck me particularly was, the genuine republican cha- 
 racter of the assemblage. The most strenuous advocate for the 
 extinction of all conventional differences in society, and for the 
 substitution of the most thorough equality, would have been gra- 
 tified with the spectacle to his heart's content. The highest and 
 the lowest — the most elegantly attired and the most ragged in 
 their apparel — stood there on precisely the same footing, and 
 treated each other in the genuine republican style. It was alto- 
 gether a truly curious spectacle to witness, and one which could 
 not fail to lead to an interesting train of reflection in a medi- 
 tative mind. 
 
 Perhaps there are no places in the world, in which a more com- 
 plete insight into human nature, in all its simplicity, extrava- 
 gances, eccentricities, follies, and viciousness, may be had, than 
 in the police-offices of London. The cases which daily come 
 before the magistrates, develope at one moment deep-laid 
 schemes of unredeemed villany; in the next, instances of such 
 perfect simplicity or " greenness," as no one could have previ- 
 ously deemed of possible existence. I will give a few of the 
 more interesting cases which have lately occurred in several of 
 the offices, which will go far to confirm what I have just said 
 about the complete exhibition of human nature, in all its aspects, 
 which is to be seen at these establishments. For the sake of 
 classification, it may be as well to give the cases such headings 
 as it is very likely they would have received, had they been 
 written for the daily newspapers. It may perhaps be right to 
 mention, that none of the cases have before appeared in print. 
 The first is a case of 
 
 NORTH-COUNTRY SIMPLICITY. 
 
 Thomas Watson, whose broad manner of speaking would of 
 itself have been sufficient to satisfy any reasonable person, that 
 he was a recent importation from the land o'cakes, came forward 
 to prefer a complaint against a young gaudily-dressed damsel, 
 well known in the neighbourhood of Covent-garden. Mr. Wat- 
 son was seemingly about twenty years of age, of a copper- 
 coloured physiognomy, thick lips, broad flat nose, and of o most 
 good-natured, unsuspecting expression of countenance. He was 
 clad in his holiday clothes, and had what is called a decent, 
 though sheepish, appearance. " Well, Sir, what is your com- 
 plaint?" said the magistrate, in a tone of kindness, being struck 
 with the manifest simplicity of the young man.
 
 206 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " It's aboot the loss of my siller, Sir ; may I speek a word or 
 twa ?" said the Scotchman. 
 
 "Certainly," answered the magistrate. "That's the very 
 ■thing I was requesting you to do. State your case." 
 
 "Weel, Sir " 
 
 "But, pray, what are you?" interrupted the magistrate. 
 
 " Do you mean, Sir, what country I belong to ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ; I don't want to know that : that is sufficiently 
 clear without your telling us." 
 
 " Do you mean, Sir, what line of life I follow ?" 
 
 " Precisely so." 
 
 " Aw, then, Sir, I'm a mekanic." 
 
 " But what is your trade ?" 
 
 " I'm a heckler, Sir." 
 
 "A heckler!" exclaimed his worship, evidently at a loss to 
 know what the simple Caledonian meant. 
 
 "Yes, Sir, a heckler," repeated the latter, with great in- 
 nocence. 
 
 " It means, your worship, a flax-dresser," interposed a ser- 
 geant of the police, who was himself a transplantation from the 
 north of the Tweed. 
 
 " Oh, very good ; I see," said the magistrate. " Pray go 
 on with your story," he continued, addressing himself to Mr 
 Watson. 
 
 " Weel, Sir, as I was a-going to tell you, I came up to Lun- 
 nun, to an uncle wha's in a good way, thinkin' he might do 
 something for me, as I dinna like my bisness very weel : but on 
 comin' up here, I found that he had left his former house, and 
 the folks that live in it couldna tell me whar he had gane to." 
 
 Here the young man stopped, as if he had finished Ins story. 
 
 " Well, go on," said the magistrate ; " you have not yet told 
 the Bench why this female is brought here." 
 
 " I'll tell you that the noo," resumed the other. " It was 
 near ten o'clock at night," he continued, " when I reached the 
 place which is called the Strand, whar my uncle formerly lived; 
 and findin' that he was not there, I made up my mind to go 
 into the first public-house I could see, to ask for lodgings for the 
 night. Jost whan I cam' to this resolution, I met this young 
 leddy, wha,' as I thought at the time, cam' in o'er to me with 
 great kindness, and spoke to me." 
 
 "What did she say ?" inquired the magistrate. 
 
 The poor Caledonian coloured, and hung down his head. 
 
 " Come, don't be so modest. Tell us what she said. Some- 
 thing tender, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Very /" answered the young man, in a tone something be- 
 tween a groan and a sigh.
 
 POLICE OFFICES. 207 
 
 " Why," said the magistrate, observing the blushes and 
 hesitation of Sawney, " she seems to have made an impression 
 on you !" 
 
 The Scotchman only coloured the more. 
 
 " Come/' resumed the magistrate, with some sharpness, " you 
 must lay aside your modesty, and tell us what she said." 
 
 « Weel, I will," answered Mr. Watson. " She said " 
 
 Here he again faltered, and looked as if he could have sunk 
 into the earth. 
 
 " Come, out with it," said the magistrate. 
 
 " She said, ' Ah, my dear! how do you do ?' " (Loud laughter., 
 
 " And you thought, I dare say, that there was something very 
 kind in her saying that?" 
 
 " I did, indeed, Sir : I thought she must be a tender-hearted 
 creatur to speak to a perfect stranger like me in that way." 
 (Renewed laughter, in which the magistrate joined.) 
 
 " And what more passed between you ?" 
 
 " I thaunk'd her kindly for her condescension, and hoped she 
 was weel hersel\" 
 
 " Ladies are not in the habit in your country, I suppose, of 
 speaking in this way to strangers ?" observed the magistrate. 
 
 " No, Sir, they are not : besides, what made me think mair 
 of this leddy's kindness was, that she was so brawly dressed. 
 She had on a veil, Sir." 
 
 " Well, but you have not told us what passed between you." 
 
 " W T hen I thaunked her for her kindness, she asked me whe- 
 ther I was not newly come to toon ; and I told her that I was, 
 and that I had been inquiring about an uncle, but could not find 
 out his hoose. She then asked my uncle's name ; I said it was 
 John Watson. e Oh !' says she, f I know him quite well : but 
 it 's too late to go after him to-night, as he lives at such a dis- 
 tance. You '11 better come with me, my love, and I '11 get you 
 a bed for the night ; and I '11 direct you towards your uncle in 
 the morning.'" 
 
 " Pray try to make your story as short as possible, and come 
 to the charge against her as quickly as you can," said the magis- 
 trate, thinking the Caledonian was rather diffuse in his mode of 
 telling his story. 
 
 " I '11 soon be done noo. I said to her that I could not think 
 ( f troubling a leddy of her respectability to get a bed to me ; 
 but she begged of me not to mention it, and assured me it would 
 be a pleasure, and not a trouble to her. As sure as death, Sir ! 
 I thought her the kindest creatur I ever saw in my life." 
 
 "But you don't think so now, I presume?" remarked the 
 magistrate. 
 
 Sawney held down his head, and muttered something, which
 
 208 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 was understood to signify a concurrence in the observation of 
 the Bench. 
 
 "You went home with her, I suppose?" continued the ma- 
 gistrate. 
 
 " Yes, Sir ; but I would not have presumed to do such a 
 thing, if she had not asked me. She took a-hold o' my arm, 
 Sir ; and I was almost ashamed to be seen walking with so 
 finely-dressed a leddy." (Loud laughter.) 
 
 "Well, and what more?" 
 
 "Then I went into an elegant room, whar I saw another 
 pretty leddy ; and she also spoke in the kindest and most con- 
 descending manner to me." 
 
 " I suppose," observed the magistrate, " that you thought all 
 the women in London were angels ?" 
 
 " I just did that same, Sir, if I must tell the truth ; for I 
 never saw the leddies in our country treat strange men with so 
 much kindness." (Renewed laughter). 
 
 " So the second was as kind to you as the first ?" 
 
 " She was, Sir ; indeed, if there was ony difference, she was 
 the kindest o' the twa." 
 
 " In what way did she show her kindness?" 
 
 The poor simpleton blushed at the question, and was silent. 
 
 " Come, tell us !" said the magistrate, in half authoritative 
 tones. 
 
 "Why, then," answered the other, in broken hesitating ac- 
 cents, "she cam' and sat doon on my knee." (Roars of laughter). 
 
 " Without your inviting her to do so, I presume ?" 
 
 " O dear ! yes, Sir. I would never have had the assurance to 
 use such freedom with a leddy." 
 
 " Well, go on." 
 
 " Weel, after being about a quarter of an hour in the same 
 room as the twa leddies, I said, if she would tell me whar my 
 bed was, I would go to it, as I was very wearied ; but, said I, 
 as I'm a stranger here, might I ask of you the very great favour 
 to keep my money to me till next morning, in case of accidents. 
 * Oh, with the greatest pleasure, my love !' said the one : * Oh, 
 certainly, my dear !' said the other. And with that I gave the 
 one — the one noo standing there, (pointing to the bar) — a five- 
 
 Eound note of the British Linen Company,* and said I would 
 e particularly obleeged to her if she would keep it quite safe to 
 me till the morn's morning." (Loud laughter). 
 "And, of course, she promised she Mould?" 
 " She did, Sir : they both assured me it would be quite safe." 
 
 * The name of the leading bank in Scotland.
 
 POLICE OFFICES. 209 
 
 " And you found, next morning, I suppose, that it was so safe 
 that you could not get a sight of it again ?" (Laughter.) 
 
 " It's a' true as your honour says. I never clapped an ee (eye) 
 on her or the money, after she got it." 
 
 " Did she leave the room as soon as you gave it her ?" inquired 
 the magistrate. 
 
 " Oh, no ; she sat about a quarter of an hour longer, until I 
 said, that if she would be kind enough to tell me whar my bed- 
 room was, I would bid them both good night." 
 
 " And did she tell you where your bed- room was to be ?" 
 
 u She said, Sir, that she would go and call the servant, who 
 would show me where I was to sleep ; and after thanking 
 her for her kindness, and saying I was sorry to be putting her 
 to so much trouble, she said, ' Oh ! it's no trouble at all, my 
 dear !' and then left the room." 
 
 ** And was in no hurry in returning, I suppose ?" observed the 
 magistrate. 
 
 "Ots, Sir!" said the poor fellow, with great simplicity and 
 much emphasis ; " Ots, sir ! she did not come back at a'." 
 (Loud laughter.) 
 
 " And did the other remain long with you ?" 
 
 u She did for some time, until I said, wondering that the 
 other leddy was so long in returning, ' I'm afear'd that I'm 
 gieing your frien' a great deal o' trouble ?' on which, she begged 
 me not to mention it ; and said she would go and see what was 
 detaining her." 
 
 " And she also disappeared ?" 
 
 u She jost did, Sir." 
 
 " And was in no haste in returning either ? " 
 
 " Faith, Sir ! she did not come back again at a', mair than 
 the ither." (Roars of laughter.) 
 
 " Well," said the magistrate, " and what did you do then ? " 
 
 " To tell you the truth, Sir, I did na ken what to do." 
 
 " But what did you do ?" 
 
 " What did I do !" repeated the raw Scotchman with great 
 innocence. 
 
 " Yes ; what did you do ? You either remained in the house, 
 or you quitted it." 
 
 " Oh, it's that you mean, Sir ! I remained in the place until 
 a middle-aged woman came and asked me who I wanted." 
 
 " And you told her, of course ?" 
 
 " I said to her that I wanted two leddies." 
 
 " Well, and what then ?" inquired the magistrate. 
 
 "'Two leddies/ says she, as if quite surprised. And I 
 said ' Yes, mem.' On which she said, ' Pray what's their 
 names ?' "
 
 210 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " And vou did not know, I suppose ?" observed the magistrate. 
 
 " You "have jost spoken the truth. I did not ; and I told the 
 woman so ; adding, that I had never thought of speering at 
 them." (Renewed laughter.) 
 
 " Well, and what happened then ?" 
 
 " Why, Sir, she said I must have mistaken the house ; for 
 that no leddies lived there ?" 
 
 " Well, go on," said the magistrate. 
 
 " I said I had been brought there by a leddy, who engaged 
 to get me lodgings for the night ; when she said, l Oh, there 
 must be some mistake ! There's no lodgings here ; but you'll 
 get lodgings in the public-house over the way." 
 
 " And did you leave the place ?" 
 
 " The woman made me leave it, Sir : she opened the door, 
 and told me I could not lodge there." 
 
 " Well, and what next did you do ?" 
 
 " I ga'ed o'er the way to the public-house, and told them a' 
 that had happened ; and they told me I had been regularly 
 done for, and called a policeman for me, to whom I stated 
 the whole circumstances ; and he said he would see what he 
 could do." 
 
 The magistrate then desired the policeman to be called. He 
 stated that, from the description given of the prisoner, he knew 
 her at once, and traced her to a gin shop, where she had tried 
 to get the five-pound note changed, but without effect, as it was 
 on a Scottish bank, and would not therefore pass current in 
 London. He took the money from the " leddy," and conveyed 
 her to the station-house. He then went and desired the young 
 man to attend at the office that day. 
 
 In answer to a question from the magistrate, the prisoner de- 
 clared that she did not mean to retain the five-pound note, but 
 only went out, knowing that the young man was quite unac- 
 quainted in town, to endeavour to get it changed for him. 
 
 " Eh me !" said Sawney, holding up both his hands, and 
 showing by his looks that, in the simplicity of his soul, he gave 
 " the leddy" full credit for the truth of her statement ; " Eh 
 me ! was not that so verra kind o' her ? I'm now so sorry that 
 I ever said a word about it." The broad accent in which this 
 was delivered, coupled with the manner of the raw youth, threw 
 all present into convulsions of laughter. 
 
 " If you take my advice, young man," said the magistrate, 
 when the laughter had subsided, " you'll never again trust to the 
 friendship or kindness of the ' ladies' who meet you in the 
 street : but pass on, and not mind them." 
 
 " Weel, Sir," said the unsophisticated youth, with great 
 earnestness, "if your honour thinks so, I'se tak' your advice.
 
 POLICE OFFICES. 211 
 
 I'se never open my mouth to them again, but appear as if I were 
 both deaf and dumb." (Loud laughter.) 
 
 " As for you, madam," said the magistrate, turning to the 
 prisoner, " it is fortunate for you that this unsuspecting lad 
 gave you the money, instead of your having taken it. As the 
 note has been recovered, you are discharged." 
 
 The next case I shall give is one of a different kind. It 
 smacks of matrimonial squabbles and of poetry, in pretty equal 
 proportions. Perhaps the most appropriate heading of it 
 would be, 
 
 THE POETICAL COBBLER. 
 
 Sally Muggs, a little squat-looking woman, not very fair, and 
 on the wrong side of forty, came bustling forward to the bar, 
 and looking the sitting magistrate expressively in the face, said, 
 " Please your vorship," and then suddenly paused. 
 
 Magistrate — Well, ma'am, and what is your pleasure ? 
 
 Mrs. Muggs — Vy, your vorship, it is (Here the lady 
 
 again abruptly paused, and buried her face, in quite a theatrical 
 manner, in her handkerchief.) 
 
 Magistrate — Well, what is it ? Let us hear it. 
 
 Mrs. Muggs — Please your vorship, this 'ere man at the bar 
 is my husband. 
 
 Mrs. Muggs turned about, and emitted a disapproving glance 
 at " the man at the bar." 
 
 Magistrate — Very well ; go on. 
 
 Mrs. Muggs — And he is a mender of old shoes, your vorship. 
 
 Magistrate — Well, and what about it? Why don't you 
 proceed ? 
 
 Mrs. Muggs (with a deep sigh) — And I married him six 
 months ago. 
 
 Magistrate — Really, my good woman, if you have any com- 
 plaint to make to the bench, you must proceed to do it at once, 
 otherwise I shall order you from the bar. You have, I under- 
 stand, a charge to prefer against the prisoner ; pray come to it 
 without any further circumlocution. 
 
 Mrs. Muggs — I vill, your vorship. Veil, as I was a sayin', I 
 married this 'ere man six months ago, and 
 
 Magistrate — What has your marriage six months ago to do 
 with the present case ? 
 
 Mrs. Muggs — I soon diskivered, your vorship, that I had mar- 
 ried a — Oh, Sir ! I cannot utter the word. 
 
 Here Mrs. Muggs held down her head, and appeared to 
 breathe so rapidly as to threaten instant suffocation. 
 
 Magistrate — And pray, madam, whom or what did you marry ? 
 
 Mrs. Muggs — A — a — a — a poet, your vorship. 
 
 Q 2
 
 212 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 The wife of the poetical cobbler pronounced the word " poet" 
 with a most emphatic groan, as if she had, in her own mind, 
 associated something horrible with it. 
 
 The court was convulsed with laughter, in which the worthy 
 magistrate heartily joined. 
 
 Magistrate — But what has the circumstance of your husband 
 being a poet to do with the present charge ? 
 
 Mrs. Muggs — I'll tell you presently, your vorship. I had some 
 money when I married him ; and so long as it lasted, he always 
 spoke to me in pleasant poetry; but ven the money was all 
 gone, his poetry became very disagreeable. 
 
 Magistrate — You mean, I suppose, that he scolds and quar- 
 rels with you in poetry ? (Laughter.) 
 
 Mrs. Muggs — He does both of them 'ere, your vorship ; but 
 he does something more. 
 
 Magistrate — Assaults you, perhaps ? 
 
 Mrs. Muggs — Yes, your vorship : he beats me, and kicks me 
 about most cruelly, and all the while keeps talking poetry. 
 (Renewed laughter.) 
 
 Magistrate — But pray do come to the present charge. 
 
 Mrs. Muggs — I vill, your vorship. He came home last night 
 a little the vorse for leekur, and axed me, in poetry, for half-a- 
 crown to spend with some fellow-snobs. I told him I had not a 
 single penny in the house ; on which he threatened, in poetry, 
 to make gunpowder of me, if I did not give him what he wanted. 
 
 Magistrate — And was he as good as his w T ord ? 
 
 Mrs. Muggs — I'll tell you all about it. (Laughter.) I again 
 told him I had not a farthing in the house : on which he took 
 down my best green silk bonnet, which was hanging on a nail, 
 and which cost me ten-and-sixpence a fortnight before, and which 
 I bought from Mrs. 
 
 Magistrate — Never mind what your bonnet cost you, or who 
 you bought it from, but tell us about the assault. 
 
 Mrs. Muggs — Yes, your vorship. Veil, as I was a sayin', he 
 took down the bonnet, which was as handsome and fashionable a 
 'un as was ever a-made by any milliner in Lunnun, and which 
 was 
 
 Magistrate (with considerable warmth) — Pray do not expa- 
 tiate any more on the good qualities of the bonnet, but come at 
 once to the assault on yourself. 
 
 Mrs. Muggs — 1 beg your vorship's pardon ; but I vas a-comin' 
 to that 'ere as fast as I could. Veil, ven he took down the 
 bonnet, he dashed it on the floor, and stamped upon it with his 
 feet, as if he would drive the werry life out on't. " Oh, my new 
 bonnet !" said I ; and the vords wos hardly out of my mouth, when 
 he gave another stamp on it with both his feet. " My ten-and-
 
 i I , '
 
 POLICE OFFICES. 213 
 
 sixpence bonnet !" said I ; and with that, he gave it a kick which 
 sent it right up to the ceiling, and down again. (Loud laughter.) 
 I then tried to snatch it up, saying, " Oh! my green silk bonnet !" 
 on which he again put both his ugly hoofs on it, and stood with 
 it underneath, just as if it had been a mat to wipe one's feet 
 with. That bonnet, your vorship, wos von of the best 
 
 Magistrate — Really, madam, if you go on in this way, I must 
 dismiss the case at once. You are speaking only of an assault 
 on your bonnet ; pray come to the assault on yourself. 
 
 Mrs. Muggs (curtseying gracefully) — Veil, 1 vill, your vorship. 
 As I was a-going to say, I tried to get the bonnet from him, and 
 then he began to have a regular dance upon it. I stood a ghost 
 at the sight, your vor 
 
 "Aghast, she means, your honour; but she has no intellect — 
 not a morsel," growled the cobbler, who had hitherto not only 
 looked sulky, but remained silent. 
 
 Mrs. Muggs resumed — I did, indeed, your vorship ; but he 
 grinned in my face and spoke poetry. I tried to push him off 
 the bonnet, ven he struck me so wiolently on the face, that the 
 blood poured in rivers from my nose, and I fell down on the 
 floor. I cried out " Murder !" and another 'ooman as lodges in 
 the same house called a policeman, who took him into custody. 
 
 A black eye and a swollen face bore ample testimony to the 
 forcible nature of the blows which Mrs. Muggs had received 
 from her poetical husband. 
 
 The policeman said, that when he took the defendant into 
 custody, he also addressed him in poetry. When he asked him, 
 
 ' Why did you knock this woman down ?' 
 he answered, 
 
 ' Because she refused me half- a- crown,' 
 
 (Loud laughter.) He then added, 
 
 ' I '11 go to the station-house with you, 
 If you '11 only wait a minute or two, 
 Till I wash my face and comb my hair — 
 A request which you must admit is fair.' 
 
 The defendant, who was a short, thick-set, massy-headed 
 personage, with a most unpoetical expression of countenance, 
 evinced, all this while, the utmost impatience to address the 
 worthy magistrate. The latter having apostrophised the poetical 
 cobbler with a " Now, Sir," he advanced a step or two further 
 up the bar, and putting both his hands behind his back, looked 
 the presiding magistrate earnestly in the face. 
 
 Magistrate — Well, Sir, what have you got to say to this 
 charge? 
 
 ' I admit that 1 was somewhat rude, 
 But not until I had reason good :
 
 214 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 She call'd me a horrid ugly brute, 
 Which sure enough did put me out ; 
 I then hit Mrs. Muggs two or three blows, 
 As your worship already very well knows.' 
 
 {Loud laughter.) 
 Magistrate — You seem very anxious to be considered poetical. 
 Do you call it poetry to commit an assault of this kind ? 
 Mr. Muggs — Do I call it poetry to beat my wife ? 
 I do — the deed with poetry is rife. 
 
 Magistrate — You do ! Will you be so obliging as to tell us (in 
 plain prose, if you please) what kind of poetry you call it ? 
 Mr. Muggs — Most certainly : I '11 tell you in a fraction 
 Of time — I call it, Sir, the poetry of action. 
 
 At this sally, the office vyas again convulsed with laughter, in 
 which the bench heartily joined. 
 
 Magistrate (to Mrs. Muggs) — Does he always speak in this 
 way ? 
 
 Mrs. Muggs — Not always, your vorship, but he is sure to do 
 so when he has drunk too much, and also occasionally when 
 he is perfectly sober. He is now and then seized with fits of 
 speaking poetry, as he calls it, and threatens at times to knock 
 my " unpoetical soul" out of me. Mrs. Muggs, as she made the 
 latter observation, tried to look wise, as if she had said some- 
 thing of surprising cleverness. 
 
 Magistrate — (to Mr. Muggs) — I understand you mend shoes. 
 
 Mr. Muggs — (hesitatingly) — Why — yes — I believe I dooes. 
 (Loud laughter.) 
 
 Magistrate — Don't you think you would be much better occu- 
 pied in attending to your business, than in making a fool of 
 yourself by affecting to be a poet. 
 
 Mr. Muggs — It may be so, Sir, but I don't know it. 
 
 Magistrate — Well, if you persist in making an ass of yourself 
 in this way, you must be permitted to do so ; but you shall not 
 be allowed to assault your wife. 
 
 Mr. Muggs — I '11 not do it again, Sir, upon my life. (Loud 
 laughter;) 
 
 Magistrate — You are sentenced to 
 
 " Pray," interrupted Mrs. Muggs, addressing herself to the 
 worthy magistrate, her heart having relented as she beheld her 
 poetical husband looking touchingly towards her, — " pray, do, 
 your honour, let him escape this time ; I '11 be bound he von't 
 beat me again, nor destroy my bonnet." 
 
 Mrs. Muggs looked as well as spoke so imploringly on behalf 
 of Mr. Muggs, that even the magisterial nature, proof as it is 
 generally supposed to be against entreaties of the kind, could 
 not withstand the earnest supplications of the cobbler's lady.
 
 POLICE OFFICES. 215 
 
 Magistrate (to Mr. Muggs) — Sir, we shall allow you to get 
 off this once at the request of your wife, but if the offence be 
 repeated we shall deal with you in a very different way. 
 
 Mr. Muggs — I thank you, Sir, and wish you good day 
 (Laughter.) 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Muggs then cordially embraced each other as 
 if their mutual affections had been wondrously improved by 
 what had happened. 
 
 "I'm sure, Dick,"* said Mrs. Muggs, looking up touchingly 
 in her husband's face, as he clasped his arms around her, " Pm 
 sure, Dick, you von't do it no more." 
 
 To which tender appeal, Mr. Muggs, as Milton would have 
 said, answered thus : — 
 
 " No, Sally, dear, I will not do't again, 
 Never, my angel. I will refrain, 
 From this time forward, and for aye, 
 Perish my hand, should ever the day 
 Arrive, in which 'twill hit thee a blow ; 
 Oh, Sally, my love ! oh, Sally, oh ! 
 Your kindness has me quite overcome : 
 As I will prove whene'er we get home. 
 So let us hence, and leave this place ; 
 I'm thankful we quit it with such a good grace." 
 
 The parties then retired, with their arms most affectionately 
 entwined around each other's neck, amidst peals of laughter 
 from all present. 
 
 A DRUNKEN FROLIC. 
 
 A young man, who afterwards proved himself to be of good 
 oddress, though his dress was rather awkward, and contrasted 
 oddly with his appearance otherwise, was brought before the 
 sitting magistrate, charged with being found drunk in the 
 streets. 
 
 There was a general titter in the office as he advanced to the 
 dock And no wonder; for the odd appearance he presented 
 might well have affected the risible muscles of even Democritus 
 himself. He carried in his hand the bonnet, and his back was 
 graced with the coat, of a private soldier; while his small-clothes, 
 which had once been light cassimere of a fashionable make, were 
 so extensively plastered with patches of mud, that it was Avith 
 difficulty you could ascertain what the original colour was. 
 His waistcoat Mas also of a fashionable cut, and though 
 now wofully soiled with the commodity just mentioned, had 
 evidently been, the night before, one which Beau Brummel him- 
 self need not have been ashamed to wear. Neckerchief or 
 
 * Richard was Mr. Muggs' Christian name.
 
 21C SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 *tock he had none ; his neck — clearly for no other reason than 
 the accidental absence of either stock or cloth, and not from 
 choice — was quite exposed to the rude gaze of the policemen, 
 and of all in the office who chose to fix their vulgar eyes on it. 
 To add to the singularity of this part of his personal aspect, 
 the collar of his shirt had somehow or other disappeared, as if 
 ashamed of itself. His crest-fallen looks also added much to 
 the oddity of his appearance. 
 
 u Well, Sir," said the magistrate, " what is your name ?" 
 
 " Anthony Nonsuch/' was the answer. 
 
 " And pray, what are you ?" 
 
 K I am — I am — I am. — Sir, I am a gentleman by profession." 
 
 The first part of this answer was uttered with great hesitation, 
 and the latter with an energy which so oddly contrasted with it, 
 as to raise a general laugh. 
 
 " I do not know," said the magistrate, sarcastically, " what 
 you are by profession, but you certainly are not in a very gentle- 
 manly situation at present. (To the officer.) Tell us what you 
 know of the prisoner." 
 
 " Plase your honour," said the policeman, who was an Hiber- 
 nian,* " as I was on duty last night about one o'clock this 
 morning, in Great Russel Street, Covent Garden, I saw this 
 young man lying on his broad back in the mud while it was 
 pouring oceans of rain. Says I to him, i What in the name of 
 St. Patrick was after bringing your body here ?' ' Go home to 
 Paddy's Land, you spalpeen of an Irishman,' says he. c It wid 
 be bether for the likes ov ye iv ye were at home in such a night 
 as this,' says I. (Laughter.) ' Pat,' says he, e I mane to sleep 
 here for an hour or two.' ' By the powers, and you w T on't do 
 that same,' says I ; i it's not a very comfortable bed that your- 
 self Mould be after finding it,' says I. e The sheets feel a little 
 damp, but we must not stick at trifles,' says he. (Laughter.) 
 * Come, come,' says I. c Good night, Pat,' says he; i you be sure 
 and call me early in the morning, my boy.' (Laughter.) Wid that, 
 your honour, he laid hisself down again on the street, among the 
 dubs, as if he had been slapeing on a bed of down." 
 
 "And you raised him up, of course," said the magistrate. 
 
 " I tried to do that same, plase your honour, but never an 
 inch would he move. He felt as weighty, yer honour, as a ton 
 of lead ; so I was obliged to get the assistance of another police- 
 man, and Ave put him on his feet between us." 
 
 " And the}' were of no use to him, I suppose, when you did so?" 
 said the magistrate. 
 
 " Maybe yer honour's quite right there," said the Irishman, 
 
 * This occurred under the old police system, when almost all the guardians of the 
 night were Irishmen.
 
 POLICE OFFICES. 217 
 
 with a significant shake of the head ; " he could not put them 
 beneath him at all at all." 
 
 " Did he speak when you lifted him up ?" 
 
 " Did he speak, yer honour ? Faith and he did that same." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 " e Paddy/ says he, ' bring me a noggin of whiskey ;' but I 
 tould him, yer honour, there was none to be had. ' Why ?' says 
 he. ( Why !' says I, ' sure bekase all the public houses is shut 
 up/ s Is it too late/ says he, ' to get one noggin more ?' * It's 
 meself that doesn't know/ says I, ' whether it be too late or too 
 early; but I know that not a drop is to be had for love or money 
 at this blessed hour of the night." 
 
 " Did you ask him what was his name ?" 
 
 " I did, plase yer honour." 
 
 ** And what did he say it was ?" 
 
 " Och, and faith, yer honour, he did not speak the thruth." 
 
 "Are you quite sure of that?" 
 
 "As sure, yer honour, as it's meself is my mother's son." 
 (Laughter.) 
 
 " And pray how did you come to know that he did not speak 
 the truth ?" 
 
 "Bekase, yer honour, it was himself that was after giving 
 me a wrong name." 
 
 " But how did you come to know that ?" repeated the magis- 
 trate with some sharpness. 
 
 "Bekase I'm sure it was not the right one." (Bursts of 
 laughter.) 
 
 " Let us hear what it was." 
 
 " Och, I'm quite sartin, yer honour, it was not the thrue 
 one," answered the Emeralder, showing an evident reluctance to 
 answer the magistrate's question. 
 
 " Come, come, Sir; do tell us at once what name he gave you." 
 
 " Well, then, yer honour, if I must be after telling you, sure 
 enough it was Daniel O'Connell." (Roars of laughter.) 
 
 " And how do you know that is not the prisoner's name ?" 
 
 " Bekase, yer worship, I know Daniel O'Connell, and there- 
 fore by this same token could not be mistaken." 
 
 "The Agitator, you mean ?" continued the magistrate. 
 
 " I mane Mr. O'Connell, the same fat gentleman as makes 
 orashuns in Dublin." 
 
 " But you don't mean to say he is the only Daniel O'Connell 
 in the world ?" 
 
 " Faith, yer honour, and I never thought of that same before," 
 answered Pat, looking quite surprised at his own stupidity. 
 
 "Well, we'll pass over his name. Did you ask him where he 
 lived ?" 
 
 " I did, yer worship."
 
 218 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " And what answer did he give you ?" 
 
 " He said, in his own house." (Loud laughter.) 
 
 " And what did you say ?" 
 
 " Must I tell your honour the very words I said ?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Then I called him a stupid spalpeen, and tould him that it 
 was no answer at all at all that he had given rneself to the civil 
 question I asked him." 
 
 u Did he then give you his address ?" 
 
 " He then said, yer honour, says he, ( Paddy, my boy, I live 
 in Ireland/ (Renewed laughter,) and thinking that too far to 
 remove him to that night, we brought him to the watch-house, 
 yer honour." 
 
 " You did quite right," observed the magistrate ; and turning 
 to the prisoner, said, " Well, Sir, what have you got to say for 
 yourself?" 
 
 " I would much rather not say anything, your worship," an- 
 swered Mr. Nonsuch, in a subdued tone, and hanging his head; 
 "the truth is, Sir, I had been dining with some friends, and 
 took a glass too much." 
 
 " But how come you to have on this strange dress ? You are 
 not a private soldier." 
 
 u No, Sir, thank heaven, I am no soldier of any kind : I am 
 not come to that yet. The fact is, that all I remember is this ; 
 that a young friend and myself, in coming home from the place 
 where we had been dining, went into the tap-room of a public- 
 house in the Strand, to have a lark ; and two or three privates 
 being drinking there, one of them proposed, for a frolic, that I 
 should try on his red coat and bonnet, and he my black coat 
 and hat, to see how we should severally look with this change in 
 our apparel. I at once assented, thinking the thing was an 
 excellent joke, and the moment he had put on my coat and hat, 
 he bolted out of the house, crying, * Catch me if you can/ " 
 (Loud laughter.) 
 
 " And did you try to catch him ?" inquired the magistrate. 
 
 " I did, your worship ; but I lost sight of him in a few 
 moments, and have not seen or heard of him since. I suppose 
 the open air must have made me worse, for after losing sight of 
 him I have no recollection of what passed." 
 
 " Well, Sir," said the magistrate, with considerable sternness, 
 " I should think the ridiculous figure you now cut, and the situa- 
 tion you are now in, must be no slight punishment for your folly. 
 You are fined five shillings for being drunk. Officer ! the next 
 charge." 
 
 " But what am I to do ?" said the unfortunate wight, address- 
 ing himself to the magistrate in a tremulous tone ; " what am I 
 to do for my coat and hat ? I cannot go home in this state."
 
 POLICE OFFICES. 219 
 
 " That is no affair of mine," answered the magistrate hastily. 
 " The next charge, officer !" 
 
 " Coming, Sir," said the latter. And that moment another 
 servant of the establishment led into the office a man, seemingly 
 about thirty-five years of age, whose stiff gait and erect head 
 denoted that he belonged to the military profession. 
 
 " Oh, there he is, your worship \" exclaimed Mr. Nonsuch, 
 with some vehemence, turning about to the magistrate ; " that 
 is my coat on his back, and that is my hat in his hand," he 
 added, pointing to the prisoner. 
 
 " Silence, Sir ! order in the office !" said the magistrate, in 
 authoritative accents. 
 
 Mr. Anthony Nonsuch remained in the place to see the upshot 
 of the matter, his countenance irradiated with joy at the sight 
 of two such indispensable parts of his wardrobe, and especially 
 at the prospect of their being restored to him. 
 
 " What is this person charged with?" inquired the magistrate, 
 addressing himself to the police constable who stood beside the 
 prisoner. 
 
 " Please your worship," answered the guardian of the night, 
 " as I was going my round at half-past one this morning, I saw 
 this here man with a crowd around him, quite drunk, and hol- 
 lering aloud that he had been a sodger before, but that he was 
 a gentleman now. Seeing the trowsers, waistcoat, and stock of 
 a private on him, with a gentleman's hat and fashionable black 
 coat, I took him into custody, not only for being drunk and 
 disorderly, but thinking he had stolen the coat and hat." 
 
 What are you, Sir?" said the magistrate to the prisoner. 
 A private in the 69th regiment," answered the latter. 
 And what have you to say to the charge ? " 
 
 The soldier admitted he had taken a drop too much, and 
 expressed his sorrow for what had happened. 
 
 ** Do that coat and hat belong to that person there ? " said 
 the magistrate, pointing to Mr. Nonsuch. 
 
 " They do, your worship," answered the soldier, after bestow- 
 ing a transient glance on his companion in the previous night's 
 frolic. 
 
 " You are fined five shillings for being drunk." 
 
 " Give me back my coat and hat, and I will pay the five 
 shillings," said Mr. Nonsuch eagerly, addressing the son of Mars. 
 The latter promptly complied with his wish by doffing coat and 
 hat. The red coat and bonnet were returned to their proper 
 owner along with the five shillings, and both parties quitted the 
 office, Mr. Anthony Nonsuch declaring that he would take care 
 never to get himself into such a plight again. 
 
 I shall only give one more police-office case, which may be 
 1 1 caded — 
 
 « 
 
 a
 
 220 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 CASE OF ALLEGED HORSE-STEALING. 
 
 Rory O'Niel, a short, thick-set, recent importation from 
 " Ould Ireland," whose countenance was one of the most inno- 
 cent-looking that ever graced the bar of a police-office, and 
 whose black bristly head of hair had as rough an appearance as 
 if there were not a comb in Christendom, — was charged with 
 having stolen a horse. The charge excited more than ordinary 
 interest, and gave rise to a variety of observations on the part 
 of other persons in the office, touching the enormity of the 
 crime of horse-stealing. 
 
 The complainant, a surly-looking sour-tempered personage, of 
 middle size, and about forty years of age, stated the case with 
 great pomposity. " The horse, your worship, with which this 
 Irishman," pointing with an air of scorn to the prisoner, " ran 
 
 away, was " 
 
 " He 's not spaking a word o' the blessed thruth, yer honour," 
 interrupted poor Pat, with great earnestness of manner. 
 
 " Silence V said the magistrate, addressing himself to the 
 prisoner ; " you must allow the complainant to state his case 
 without interruption." 
 
 " But, yer honour, there isn't a morsel of the blessed thruth 
 in what he 's spaking." 
 
 " Well, but you must be silent now ; you '11 be heard when 
 he's done." 
 
 " Heaven bless yer jewel of a sowl, yer honour, for that same! 
 If I had known that, sure it's not meself wid have throubled yer 
 honour with a single word at present." 
 
 The complainant resumed. " The horse, Sir, with which this 
 
 person ran away, was one of the finest animals in Lon " 
 
 " Do not tell the bench anything about the qualities of your 
 horse ; that is not the matter we are called to decide," inter- 
 rupted the magistrate. 
 
 " Very well, Sir," said the complainant, in a subdued tone, 
 his vanity being clearly wounded by the observation of the ma- 
 gistrate. " Very well, Sir. Having, then, occasion to visit the 
 British Museum, I desired this person, whom I saw lounging 
 about in Great Russell Street, to hold the horse, and walk him 
 about for an hour, saying I would, on my return, give him a 
 shilling for his trouble." 
 
 " And he undertook to do as you requested ?" observed the 
 magistrate. 
 
 "He did, Sir : he put his hand to his hat, and said he would 
 take particular care of the animal. On quitting the British Mu- 
 seum, about an hour afterwards, I found both the horse and the 
 man were gone."
 
 POLICE OFFICES. 221 
 
 " And what did you do then ?" inquired the magistrate. 
 
 " I informed the police of the circumstance, and the horse was 
 brought back to my hotel, in Westminster, in about two hours 
 afterwards." 
 
 The policeman, who restored the animal to the complainant, 
 stated, that about half an hour after the time mentioned by the 
 complainant, he saw the horse coming in the direction of Tot- 
 tenham-court-road, at a furious gallop, with the prisoner on his 
 back, but having all the appearance of one who was the re- 
 verse of comfortable in his seat. On turning the corner to go 
 down Tottenham-court-road, in the direction of the Hampstead- 
 road, the prisoner fell off the animal, Avhen the latter galloped 
 away at still greater speed. He was, however, soon seized by the 
 bridle and stopped by a man in the street ; when he ran up and 
 took charge of him. 
 
 " Of the horse, you mean ?" said the magistrate. 
 
 " Of the horse, your worship." 
 
 " So that you left the rider who had fallen off to take care of 
 himself." 
 
 " I thought, your worship, that as the horse was very restive, 
 if he was not taken care of, he might escape again and do greater 
 mischief." 
 
 " Is the person here who raised the prisoner after he fell off 
 the horse's back ?" 
 
 " Yes, yer honour : it was myself that did that same act of 
 kindness to a countryman," responded a tall, clumsy, but bene- 
 volent-looking man, in a strong Irish brogue. 
 
 " Well, I shall examine you presently," said the magistrate, 
 addressing himself to the latter. 
 
 " Whenever your honour plases," observed the other, drily. 
 
 " You hear the charge against you, prisoner ; what have you 
 to say to it?" 
 
 " A great dale, yer honour." 
 
 " Well, make your statement as short as possible." 
 
 " I will, yer honour ; but would yer honour be so condesand- 
 ing as to allow me to begin first ?" observed Pat, amidst shouts 
 of laughter, caused not less by the archness with which the re- 
 mark was made, than by the wit of the remark itself. The 
 magistrate could not help joining in the general laugh. 
 
 " Well, Sir, do be so good as to let us hear your defence." 
 
 " Och ! and sure that I will, yer honour, in less than a minit." 
 
 " Well, Sir, proceed." 
 
 " My defence, yer honour, is, that the gintlemin has not 
 spoken a word of the blessed thruth, as sure as the Virgin's 
 in heaven."
 
 222 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " Do you mean to say/' inquired the magistrate, with some em- 
 phasis, " that the complainant did not leave his horse with you ?" 
 
 " Och ! sure, yer honour, and it's not meself would be after 
 sayin' any such thing." 
 
 " What do you mean to say, then ?" 
 
 " What do I mane to say, is it 'yer honour manes ?" 
 
 " Yes. Do you mean to say that you did not run away with 
 the horse ?" 
 
 " Faith, and it's myself manes to do jist that same." 
 
 " How, then, were you seen gallopping in the direction of 
 Tottenham-court road ?" 
 
 " Och, yer honour ! that's it, is it ? Then I mane to say it 
 happened in this way." 
 
 Here Pat hesitated for a moment, as if ruminating on what 
 he would say further. 
 
 " Come, Sir : you say that you did not run away with the 
 horse : how, then, were you seen gallopping the animal at so 
 furious a rate ?" 
 
 " Bekase, yer honour, the horse ran away with me." (Roars 
 of laughter, in which not only the magistrate, but even the de- 
 mure, sulky-looking complainant joined.) 
 
 " How do you mean?" inquired the magistrate, when the 
 laughter had subsided. 
 
 " How do I mane ? What I mane is this, that instead of 
 meself running away with the horse on my own blessed back, 
 the horse ran away with me on his back." (Renewed laughter.) 
 
 " You are not charged," said the magistrate, " with carrying 
 the animal on your back." 
 
 "Am I not, yer honour?" shouted Pat, his countenance sud- 
 denly lighting up with a beam of joy. " Am I not ? Then the 
 charge is dismissed, is it ?" (Laughter.) 
 
 " Not quite so fast as that," answered the magistrate, drily. 
 
 " Then what am I charged with, yer honour ?" said Pat, with 
 great shrewdness of manner. 
 
 " With stealing the complainant's horse." 
 
 " How, yer honour," said the prisoner, with the most imper- 
 turbable gravity of countenance, " could I stale the baste, when 
 it ran away with me, and not me with it ?" 
 
 (t Come, tell us how you got on the horse's back?" 
 
 w Faith, and I will, this blessed minit, yer honour!" 
 
 " Well, let us hear. How was it ?" 
 
 " Well, yer honour, as sure as I hope that my soul will be 
 saved, I'll tell you the blessed thruth. It was in this way." 
 
 Here Pat suddenly dropped his eyes on the floor, and made 
 a dead pause, which lasted for some seconds. 
 
 " Why don't you proceed?" inquired the magistrate, with 
 some tartness.
 
 POLICE OFFICES. 223 
 
 ** Wid yer honour be so good as to let me be after telling 
 you what I was thinking of?" said the prisoner, with great 
 simplicity, and slightly scratching his forehead. 
 
 " Well, what was it ?" inquired the magistrate, sternly. 
 " Well, then, yer honour, I was thinking, in case you shouldn't 
 belave what I say, though it's the truth of the gospel, it would 
 be good for meself if the horse could spake, and be produced 
 here before yer honour." 
 
 The office was again convulsed with laughter, which, indeed, 
 it would have been impossible for the most demure to resist, 
 owing to the air of simplicity and singularly ludicrous way in 
 which the poor fellow made the remark. 
 
 " Well, but as we must unfortunately dispense with the pre- 
 c ence of the horse, he being unable to give his testimony to the 
 point, will you tell us," said the magistrate, " in a few words, 
 how you came to get on his back ?" 
 
 " I will, yer honour. As I was standing walking (loud laugh- 
 ter) with the animal, a great big spalpeen who was driving 
 a cart, comes in over to me, and says, says he, ' That's a 
 handsome-looking horse you have got/ ( May be, you're right 
 there,' says I. ' Ah, Paddy !' says he, c why don't you get on 
 his back, and ride him about?' * What's that to you?' says I. 
 
 ( Oh/ says he, ' it's because you cannot ride, you Irish ,' says 
 
 he. c You ' Shall I tell yer honour the word I made 
 
 use of here ?" 
 
 " Do," said the magistrate, <e if it's not a very bad one." 
 u It's partikerly bad, yer honour. Says I, ' You lie, you 
 stupid thickskull !' On that, says he again, i You can't put a 
 leg on horseback. I'll bet you anything you like, you can't.' 
 1 A noggin of gin !' says I. ' Anything you like,' says he again.' 
 * Well, then,' says I, ' let it be a noggin of Fearon's best.' 
 ' Done !' says he. And with that, yer honour, to gain the 
 wager, as sure's my name is Rory O'Niel, I leaped into the sad- 
 dle, and was about to have a gintle trot, when he takes his whip 
 and lashes the animal with all his force, and away it flew with 
 me at full gallop, yer honour. That's the blessed thruth, as I 
 hope to be saved !" 
 
 " We shall now hear," said the magistrate, " what the person 
 who took the prisoner up, when he fell off the horse, has got to 
 say. Well, Sir?" continued the magistrate, addressing himself 
 to the witness in question. 
 " I'm here, yer honour." 
 
 " You say you were the first that came to the assistance of 
 the prisoner when thrown off the horse." 
 st I was, yer honour." 
 Tell us, then, what you know about this matter?" 
 
 a
 
 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " When I saw him fall," answered Rory's countryman, " I ran 
 in over to him, not knowing at the time that he was from Ould 
 Ireland, and said, says I, i Are you much hurt, my darlint ?' 
 But, yer honour, the never a word did he spake in answer to my 
 question. Says I, again, c Are you living or dead, honey?' And 
 sure enough, yer honour, he raised up his two big eyes, like 
 a wild duck in a thunder storm, and said, ' Don't you see I'm 
 dead, you spalpeen ? the horse has kilt me quite ?' " (Loud 
 laughter.) 
 
 " But do you know anything as to the circumstances con- 
 nected with the starting of the horse ?" inquired the magistrate. 
 " Were you near the place at the time ?" 
 
 The witness stated that he was not within sight at the time 
 the horse went off, and consequently did not know anything 
 about that part of the matter. 
 
 The policeman, who took charge of the horse after he was 
 caught, here came forward, and said that a highly respectable 
 gentleman came up immediately after the accident, and when a 
 concourse of persons were gathered around, and gave precisely 
 the same statement as that of the prisoner, as to the circum- 
 stances under which the latter had mounted the horse. 
 
 The bench being satisfied that poor Rory had told the truth, 
 and that, instead of deserving more punishment, he had been 
 too much punished already, ordered him to be discharged. 
 
 " Thank yer honour, and may yer honour never be kilt by a 
 fall from a horse, to the end of your blessed days," said Rory, 
 amidst much laughter, on hearing the decision of the magistrate. 
 Pat was then in the act of quitting the office, when he suddenly 
 turned about, and addressing the bench with a remarkable pe- 
 culiarity of manner, said, " But, plase yer honour, the gintleman 
 has not given me the shilling yet, at all at all, for houlding his 
 horse." 
 
 " You have not," observed the complainant, " entitled your- 
 self to the shilling : you did not fulfil your engagement : you 
 let the horse go." 
 
 " And sure, that was not my fault," answered Rory, with much 
 dryness of manner. " The baste ran away against my will." 
 
 A loud burst of laughter followed the observation ; and so 
 pleased were the two magistrates who were present, with the 
 readiness and wit of Rory, that they each gave him half-a- 
 crown. The complainant, surly though he seemed to be 
 to the last, could not resist following their example. Pat 
 then left the office, seven-and-sixpence richer than he entered 
 it, singing, with great seeming sincerity, " Och ! long life to all 
 yer honours !"
 
 225 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WORKHOUSES. 
 
 Inmates of Workhouses — The Republican character of the communities in Work- 
 houses — Difficulty of obtaining accurate statistics regarding them — Marylebone 
 Workhouse — Its size and statistics — Statements and calculations as to Metropoli- 
 tan Workhouses generally — Farming out paupers — The horror generally enter- 
 tained of the Workhouse — Description of a particular case, illustrative of the 
 fact — The romantic incidents in the life of many inmates — The New Poor-Law 
 Bill — Its harshness and injustice to the poor — Concluding observations. 
 
 The workhouses of the metropolis are institutions which are 
 rife w ? ith materials for a work whose principal object is to 
 sketch life and society in London. In them are to be seen 
 every variety of human character — good, bad, and indifferent. 
 In the workhouses, also, are always to be found people of every 
 clime : they are refuges for the destitute and the indolent of all 
 nations. Nor ought I to omit to mention, that though the inmates 
 of workhouses are, when once there, on precisely the same level 
 in reference to pecuniary circumstances, yet, in the previous 
 condition of those inmates there was as great a variety as there 
 is in the condition of those you will meet in the public streets. 
 Persons who once moved in the highest spheres of society are 
 there, and so are individuals who occupied every intermediate 
 station down to the lowest. As regards their past history, the 
 inmates of the metropolitan workhouses are as promiscuous an 
 assemblage as it were possible to get together. Adversity, says 
 the adage, makes us acquainted with strange bed-fellows. Well 
 may many of the inmates of workhouses say this. Those who 
 were born in the splendid mansion are there reduced to the 
 same level as those who first drew their breath in the most 
 wretched hovel. He who rolled in wealth and luxury, is there 
 on a footing of perfect equality with the poor wretch who had 
 all his life long to struggle with the demon of poverty in its most 
 repulsive aspect. I have often thought that the workhouse 
 might, in one sense, be very fitly compared to the grim mes- 
 senger whom all dread, and with whom all will sooner or 
 later have to grapple. Like death, the workhouse is a fell 
 
 R
 
 226 SKETCHES IX LONDON. 
 
 destroyer: it lays the axe at the root of all the conventional 
 differences which exist in society. It is, in this respect, the 
 prince of destructives : it levels all distinctions. The inmates 
 of the workhouse are a republican community on a small scale. 
 This is of necessity the case, from the very constitution of these 
 places. But on this topic I need not make further observations 
 at present, as many of my remarks and statements, in the course 
 of the chapter, will incidentally if not directly afford a further 
 illustration of it. 
 
 The changes consequent on the introduction of the New Poor 
 Law Bill have been so great in the metropolis, that it is not in 
 my power to present my readers with that fullness and accuracy 
 of statistical information respecting the workhouses, which I 
 could have wished to give. The workhouse system, owing to 
 the New Poor Law Bill, may, indeed, still be said to be in a 
 state of transition ; and it will be so for some years to come. 
 New unions of parishes are constantly being formed, and other 
 changes taking place ; so that the statistics of the workhouses for 
 one month would not be the statistics of those places in the 
 month following. I shall, however, be able to make some state- 
 ments of a statistical kind which may be regarded as, at least, 
 approximating to the truth. I shall be enabled to do this by 
 availing myself of the accurate and copious information which was 
 lately furnished me when on a visit to Marylebone Workhouse. 
 I have also visited other workhouses, but prefer singling out that 
 of the parish of Marylebone for my statements, because it is 
 by far the largest, and, in every respect, the most important 
 workhouse in London. It is a building of very great size : it is 
 not only the largest in the metropolis, but the largest in the 
 kingdom. It is capable of containing nearly 2000 inmates. No 
 fewer than 1G00 have been in it at one time. Of course, the 
 number of inmates varies according to circumstances. Want of 
 trade, a bad harvest, the high price of provisions, a long con- 
 tinuance of inclement weather, and other causes, compel paupers 
 to seek refuge in the workhouse, who, but for those causes, 
 would have struggled on with the ills of poverty out of doors. 
 The average number of inmates in Marylebone Workhouse, for 
 some months past, has been 1 200. The number of adults in the 
 workhouse, at the close of last year, was SOS : of whom 27? 
 were men ; the remaining 536 were women. The number of 
 children was 410 ; of whom 242 were boys, and 168 girls. Each 
 pauper costs the parish 3s. Gd. per week : this applies to those 
 who are in health. In the infirmary, each pauper costs within 
 a fraction of 6s. 6d. per week, including wine and other expen- 
 sive medicines. The entire weekly expenses of the workhouse 
 exceed 1000/.; making the yearly cost to the parish about
 
 WORKHOUSES. 
 
 227 
 
 55,000/. But it must be borne in mind, that the entire expenses 
 of the establishment are not confined to within doors. The 
 parish not being under the jurisdiction of the New Poor Law 
 Commissioners, gives a great deal of out-door relief. On an ave- 
 rage, the number of persons receiving out-door relief is about 
 2000. In times of great pressure, whether from the inclemency 
 of the season, the want of employment, or bad harvests, the 
 number greatly increases : some years ago it was as high as 
 8000. So large a number of persons are never, however, likely 
 to be again dependent on the compulsory support of the rate- 
 payers. At the period to which I refer, there was a gross mis- 
 management of parochial affairs. In pi'oof of this, 1 may 
 mention, that when an inquiry was instituted into the circum- 
 stances of the out-door pensioners on the parish bounty, a 
 very large majority of them had no claim whatever to parochial 
 relief, being all in the way of earning, or having it in their power 
 to earn, a competent subsistence for themselves. One woman 
 was found to have had four laundresses in her employ for several 
 years, during which she had been regularly receiving a weekly 
 allowance from the parish. In proof of the abuses that then ob- 
 tained in the administration of the poor laws, I may here men- 
 tion, that one of the guardians communicated to me a few weeks 
 since, the singular fact, that out of fifty persons summoned, in 
 one instance, to appear before the guardians to state on what 
 grounds their claims to parochial relief rested, only one appeared 
 in answer to the summons. The amount of out-door relief varies, 
 according the circumstances of the parties, from one shilling 
 and a loaf per week, to three shillings and sixpence. 
 
 As might be expeeted, there is a vast consumption of bread 
 in the workhouse. The average quantity is six hundred-weight 
 per day. The paupers are allowed three meat dinners a w r eek. 
 The average quantity of butchers' meat consumed per week is 
 about 240 stone, or 3840 pounds. 
 
 The establishment is divided into two departments. The 
 healthy department is called the workhouse : the department 
 for the sick is called the infirmary. The lunatic paupers are 
 not kept in the workhouse, but are farmed out. The following 
 was the classification in the half year ending in last December • 
 
 IN THE WORKHOUSE. 
 
 Men - 214 
 
 Women - - - 424 
 
 Boys 213 
 
 Girls - 136 
 
 987 
 
 IN THE INFIRMARY. 
 
 Men 58 
 
 Women - - - 112 
 
 Boys - 20 
 
 Girls 32 
 
 231 
 
 r2
 
 228 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 Total in the house - - • 1218 
 
 Casual out-door poor - - - - 1258 
 
 Permanent ditto ----- 604 
 
 Illegitimate ditto - # - - - 51 
 
 Lunatics ----- 72 
 
 * Total average number relieved weekly - 3203 
 
 The number of paupers in Marylebone, including those receiv- 
 ing permanent out-door relief, is, to the entire population of 
 the parish, as 1 to 50. Now, taking the population of London 
 at 2,000,000, which is supposed to be the actual number, 
 and assuming that the number of paupers in the metropolis bears 
 the same proportion to the aggregate population as the paupers 
 in Marylebone do to the entire inhabitants, that would give the 
 number of paupers in London at 40,000, But, Marylebone is one 
 of the wealthiest and most aristocratic parishes in the metro- 
 polis; the number of paupers there is not so great in proportion 
 to the aggregate population as in most of the other parishes, 
 with perhaps one or two exceptions. I am confident that, to the 
 above number of 40,000, we may safely add at least 15,000 more, 
 making the entire number of paupers in the metropolis, depen- 
 dent on parish support, 55,000. The total amount, therefore, 
 assuming that the average cost of paupers is the same as in the 
 Marylebone workhouse, which is annually expended in the com- 
 pulsory maintenance of the pauper population of London, would 
 be about 550,000/., or upwards of half a million. 
 
 Some of the parishes in the City, and in Southwark, ** farm 
 out" their paupers at so much per head per week. They are 
 taken into the keeping of persons in the neighbourhood, who 
 speculate in them just as some individuals do in providing black 
 cattle and horses with " keep" for whatever period may be 
 agreed on. The parties who engage to provide these paupers 
 with food, clothing, and lodging, at the small sum — generally 
 about four shillings per head a-week — agreed on, make, as a 
 matter of course, the most they can of them, by causing those of 
 them who can work, to do whatever they are most adapted for. 
 Some of them make the workhouse clothes for the men and the 
 boys ; others make and mend shoes ; others, again, prepare hair 
 for upholstery articles; while the cooking, washing, cleaning, &c. 
 of the workhouse, are all performed by paupers chosen for the 
 purpose. The same principle of making all work who can, is, I 
 believe, adopted in all the metropolitan workhouses. In Mary- 
 lebone workhouse, the principle is practically carried into effect 
 
 * Shewing an increase of 113, as compared with the corresponding period of 18.36.
 
 WORKHOUSES. <220 
 
 in a manner which is pleasing to witness. In that establishment, 
 indeed, everything appears to be conducted in a most judicious 
 manner. And here I am constrained to say, that, of all the 
 workhouses Avhich I have seen, the arrangements in that of 
 Marylebone seem to me to be better than in any other. While 
 the strictest economy is practised, the utmost attention is paid 
 to the comforts of the inmates. They appear to me, taken alto- 
 gether, to be the happiest inmates I have ever seen in a work- 
 house. Under any circumstances, the workhouse is a place of 
 misery to a sensitive and high-principled mind ; but. the horrors 
 of the place can be very materially lessened by kind and hu- 
 mane treatment. 
 
 In Marylebone workhouse, and in most other workhouses of 
 any note, there is a chapel in which divine service is performed, 
 agreeably to the forms of the Church, every sabbath-day. In 
 the former workhouse there is also an infant school, which is 
 conducted by judicious teachers. It were highly desirable that 
 a similar institution existed in every workhouse in the land. I 
 regard the idea of infant schools as one of the happiest disco- 
 veries which have been made in modern times. Of nothing am 
 I more thoroughly convinced than this, that if generally adopted, 
 they would soon exercise a most salutary influence on the con- 
 dition of mankind. 
 
 The horror with which a sensitive mind regards a workhouse, 
 is a point which I shall afterwards have occasion to illustrate by 
 a reference to particular cases. This sensibility is not confined 
 to those who have been at one time in affluent or easy circum- 
 stances ; though, as might be expected, it is most generally felt 
 by them. It is gratifying to be able to state, that it obtains to 
 a very considerable extent among the working classes ; and that 
 it causes them to submit to the greatest privations rather than 
 submit themselves to the degradation of crossing the threshold 
 of a workhouse. From circumstances which have come under 
 my own personal observation, I am convinced that there are 
 hundreds of our mechanics and working men who perish every 
 year of absolute want, from their extreme horror of the work- 
 house. The feeling is one which reflects the highest honour on 
 the artizans of the metropolis, though it is to be regretted that 
 it should be pushed to such an extent as this. 
 
 It were impossible for a man of an observant and reflective 
 mind, to visit the different departments of a workhouse, without 
 indulging in a train of serious thoughts. He could not help 
 contrasting in his own mind the present with the past circum- 
 stances of a large proportion of the inmates.' He sees numbers 
 around him who, twent- or thirty years ago, surrendered them- 
 selves to the pleasing hope that, instead of closing their lives in
 
 230 SKETCHES IN LONDCN. 
 
 a workhouse, they would live and die in the possession of every 
 earthly comfort, if not in splendour ; and that, instead of being, 
 in one sense, outcasts from society, without a single friend to 
 console and soothe their minds with the whispers of sympathy, 
 they would, in their declining years, be surrounded by near and 
 dear relations. The lineaments of grief, disappointment, and 
 self-humiliation, are visible on their faces : a solitary smile does 
 not play on their countenances from the commencement to the 
 close of the year. What revelations could some of the metro- 
 politan workhouses make, of frustrated hopes, and of sudden 
 and unlooked-for reverses ! Who can tell the number of broken 
 hearts in those places ! Those only who have experienced the 
 thing, can form any conception of the agony endured by those 
 who formerly rolled in wealth and luxury, but who are now de- 
 pendent on the compulsory contributions of a parish, when they 
 look back on their more prosperous days. So far from wonder- 
 ing that the contemplation of what such persons were gives, 
 in many cases, a shock to their minds which produces a set- 
 tled melancholy, it is only a matter for surprise that it does not 
 unhinge altogether the minds of a large proportion of them. In 
 most other cases, the pleasing delusion of hope comes to the aid 
 of persons suffering reverses of fortune ; they flatter themselves 
 with the hope that, amid life's varied vicissitudes, they will be 
 one day restored to the circumstances and to the station in 
 society, in which they formerly Avere; and this sustains and 
 cheers their minds. But few indeed, and far between, are the 
 instances in which persons of the former class enter a workhouse 
 with the hope of ever again quitting it. Nothing but the direst 
 necessity has compelled them to take refuge in these places : it 
 is only when all their friends — those, I mean, who in their better 
 days were called by the name — have deserted them, and when 
 they see absolute starvation staring them in the face, that such 
 individuals have been induced to submit to the alternative of 
 seeking an asylum in a workhouse. And once in, the idea of 
 again coming out, until they are carried out in their coffins, 
 never for a moment enters their mind. When they cross the 
 gate of the workhouse, they look on themselves as having en- 
 tered a great prison, from which death only will release them. 
 The sentient creations of Dante's fancy saw inscribed over the 
 gate of a nameless place the horrific inscription, 
 
 " All hope abandon, ye who enter here." 
 
 In like manner, the imaginations of the class of persons to whom 
 I allude, see an admonition in the very circumstance of crossing 
 the threshold of a workhouse, that they are never again to return 
 to the world. By many of the inmates, the workhouse is re- 
 
 c
 
 WORKHOUSES. 231 
 
 garded as a sort of sepulchre in which they are entombed alive. 
 It is assuredly the grave of all their earthly hopes. Tt is the 
 grave, too, if there be propriety in the expression, of their hearts. 
 Many a broken heart, as just hinted, is there. Could one but 
 explore the minds of the inmates, he would be appalled at the 
 discoveries he would make. 
 
 The difference which obtains in the constitutional tempera- 
 ments of different individuals, is strikingly displayed in the cases 
 of the inmates of workhouses. There are many of those who 
 once were Fortune's favourites, who, in being compelled to seek 
 an asylum in one of these places, resign themselves to utter 
 despair. They regard themselves as entirely out of the world, 
 and as placed beyond the pale of society, as well as beyond the 
 reach of" sympathy. They see and hear their fellows in adver- 
 sity, but they never bestow a thought on them. They are as 
 much wrapt up in their own thoughts as if they were in the 
 midst of the greatest solitude to be found on the face of the 
 earth. They brood over their own misfortunes to the exclusion 
 of everything else : their hard destiny preys incessantly on their 
 minds, and you see their thoughts visibly impressed on their 
 dark and desponding countenances. They associate with no 
 one ; they never speak, save when an unavoidable necessity is 
 imposed upon them. Others, again, act on the principle of 
 making a virtue of necessity; they labour to discipline their 
 minds into submission to a fate which they cannot avert. They 
 speak to those around them, and eagerly grasp at anything 
 which is likely to divert their minds from unavailing regrets at 
 their unhappy destiny. Of the latter description of inmates of 
 workhouses, there are two classes. Besides those whose consti- 
 tutional temperament is of that happy»nature which leads them 
 to extract sunshine from the darkest and gloomiest circumstances 
 in which they can be placed, there are others whose spirits are 
 sustained by the consolations of Christianity. They are recon- 
 ciled to their condition from the pleasing conviction that it is to 
 them a dispensation of Divine Providence, which is intended and 
 calculated to promote their everlasting happiness in another and 
 better world. The hopes of a happy state beyond the confines 
 of this earth, which their religion inspires, support their minds 
 under their accumulated adversities ; and would support them, 
 were those adversities ten times greater. I have often thought 
 that there is not, perhaps, in the earth, a place in which the 
 happy tendency of Christianity, even as relates to the present 
 world, is more l'emarkably exhibited than in a workhouse. There, 
 as before intimated, and as I shall afterwards have to show, all 
 the inmates are on the same footing, as regards the present life ; 
 so that the comparative advantages of Christianity and Deism are
 
 232 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 clearly shown. The nature of this work forbids ray entering on 
 this subject in a formal manner; but I may be permitted to say, 
 that Deism can no more be compared to Christianity, in the ten- 
 dencies of the respective systems, than darkness can be to light, 
 as regards the emotions they inspire in the mind. 
 
 The feelings are different with which different persons enter 
 the workhouse. They are so in the case of those who have, at 
 some previous period of their lives, been in easy or affluent cir- 
 cumstances. Of the lower classes — those, I mean, who have been 
 cradled in poverty, and been all their lives steeped to the very 
 ears in it — it can scarcely be necessary to say that, speaking of 
 them as a body, they are altogether callous as to the degrada- 
 tion of becoming a workhouse inhabitant. With them, their 
 entrance, or their remaining without, is never a matter of moral 
 feeling : it is altogether a question of animal comforts. But with 
 those who, as the homely phrase has it, have seen better days, 
 there is, in this respect, a marked difference. The long series of 
 previous privations and degradations they have endured, do in 
 some cases so blunt the feelings, that minds which but a few 
 years before were so excessively sensitive, that they would a thou- 
 sand times sooner have suffered martyrdom, are divested of all 
 sense of shame on their entering the workhouse. In the cases of 
 others, again, no amount of privations or hardships can deaden 
 their more refined susceptibilities ; and they enter the place with 
 a reluctance and abhorrence which nothing but the direst neces- 
 sity could overcome. They would prefer death, did it come to 
 them in the usual course of things. The mental struggles which 
 they have undergone, before they could bring themselves to sub- 
 mit to becoming inmates of these places, are matters of which 
 those who have not experienced those struggles can form no 
 conception. 
 
 It were impossible to describe the feelings of a person, whose 
 sensitiveness continued to the last, and who was once in affluent 
 circumstances, and accustomed to the luxuries of life, on his first 
 entrance into a workhouse. The observation applies in a special 
 sense to a female, feminine minds being, in most cases, pecu- 
 liarly sensitive in such matters. Not long since a woman, at the 
 age of sixty, who had, about five years previously, kept her car- 
 riage, and otherwise lived in great splendour, was so reduced in 
 circumstances as to be obliged to take refuge in a metropolitan 
 workhouse ; and gave, in a letter to a friend, a very vivid pic- 
 ture of what passed in her mind as she entered the place. The 
 first reflection that overpowered her was, that she was now en- 
 tirely dependent on the forced contributions of others for the 
 means of subsistence. So long as she lived in a room by herself, 
 miserable though the hovel was, the bounty of those who remem-

 
 WORKHOUSES. 23? 
 
 bered hei* in her altered circumstances was bestowed in that de- 
 licate manner which every generous mind would suggest as due 
 to one who had but lately been so differently situated. The 
 gifts, too, of the few friends that still stood true to her, were 
 accompanied with expressions and proofs of sympathy with the 
 unfortunate woman, which operated as a balm to her mind 
 amidst all her wretchedness. But when she crossed the threshold 
 of the workhouse-gate, she felt as if she were an outcast from the 
 world : the heart-harrowing conviction took possession of her 
 mind, that she must never again expect to hear the whisper of 
 sympathy, nor see the hand of friendship extended to administer 
 to her wants. She felt that she was now dependent on alms 
 which were extorted by the law from the pockets of those who 
 neither knew nor cared anything about her. To a sensitive mind, 
 there is an infinite difference between the spontaneous benevo- 
 lence of acquaintances, and the compulsory charity, if charity it 
 may be called, of sfrangers. This unfortunate woman now felt 
 degraded in her own estimation to an extent of which she had 
 no conception before. Still she was so situated, that refuge in a 
 workhouse was the only resource left her, if she would not lite- 
 rally perish from want of the necessaries of life. What also 
 shocked her beyond expression, and made the poor creature 
 almost literally sink under the weight of her misfortunes, was 
 the sight of those miserable, and in many instances depraved 
 beings, with whom she was destined to associate. The thought 
 of the society in which she had been accustomed to move, 
 took possession of her mind with a tenfold greater force than it 
 had ever done before, as she beheld the poor wretches crawling 
 about in all the abjectness and degradation of their situation. 
 But what proved the crowning shock to her feelings, and sunk 
 her to the lowest depths of self-degradation, w^as the circum- 
 stance of her being obliged to put on the workhouse-dress. On 
 this she dwelt with a peculiar emphasis. Had she committed 
 the most atrocious crime within the range of possibility, she 
 could not have loathed or despised herself more thoroughly. 
 From that moment she felt so utterly lost to the world, so 
 ashamed of herself and her situation, that even had Fortune, in 
 one of those caprices by which the disposal of her gifts is so 
 often characterised, restored her, in point of pecuniary circum- 
 stances, to the condition in which she had been placed in her 
 most affluent days, she would scarcely have been thankful for it. 
 She felt that she could no longer, even had she been the wealthi- 
 est lady in the land, hold up her head in society; and that so far 
 from associating with her former acquaintances, she could hardly 
 look a stranger in the face. Milton represents his fallen angel 
 as having sunk so deeply in the mire of depravity, that, apostro-
 
 234 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 phising evil, he says, " Evil, be thou my good !" It was the 
 same with this unfortunate lady. She now felt as if in compa- 
 rative love with her degraded condition. The gifts of fortune, 
 had they been again bestowed upon her, she would have regarded 
 as positive evils. In the workhouse she now wished to live ; in 
 the workhouse she now wished to die. 
 
 The workhouses of London abound with the romance of real 
 life. I have often wondered that none of our novel writers have 
 ever thought of singling out their heroes or heroines from among 
 their inmates. There are persons of both sexes there, whose 
 lives would afford incidents of the most striking nature for a 
 work of fiction, and which, if skilfully managed, could not fail 
 to make one of the most attractive works of the kind, of modern 
 times. Innumerable cases would be found which prove that 
 truth is not only strange, but stranger than fiction. 
 
 Many romantic cases of this kind have been communicated to 
 me ; but in a work of this nature there is no space for relating 
 them with any effect. All I can do is merely to relate two or 
 three of the more prominent features of a few of them. Not 
 long since, in the workhouse of the parish in which I live, one of 
 the most central parishes in London, there was a female whose 
 life had been full of romantic incidents. She was well educated, 
 was brought up as a lady, and possessed great personal attrac- 
 tions. Circumstances threw her in the way of a late Turkish 
 ambassador. He first seduced her, and afterwards took her 
 under his protection. For some years, she lived with him in 
 the greatest splendour, in the West-end, being treated in every 
 respect by him as if she had been his lawful wife. And so de- 
 votedly attached was he to the young lady, that he had formed 
 the resolution of taking her with him into Turkey. He partially 
 executed the resolution ; he took her with him, on his way home, 
 as far as Malta ; but something there occurred to cause him to 
 abandon his intention. I have heard it said, that it was an ap- 
 prehension of serious inconveniences to himself from his coun- 
 trymen seeing a European female living in his house. Be this as 
 it may, he abruptly broke off all connection with his victim at 
 Malta, and she returned to this country. For some time after- 
 wards, she took to the pave ; but circumstances soon compelled 
 her to relinquish that mode of life. The next expedient to which 
 she resorted, to obtain the means of subsistence, was betaking 
 herself to the selling of apples and other fruit in the streets. 
 For some time she was to be seen in the neighbourhood of Co- 
 vent-garden, with a fruit-basket before her, where her beauty 
 and appearance generally struck every one who passed her. 
 That resource also failed her ; and after several other ineffectual 
 efforts to procure the means of subsistence, she threw herself on
 
 WORKHOUSES. 235 
 
 the parish in which she had a right of settlement, and was taken 
 into the workhouse, where she soon afterwards died. The vicis- 
 situdes in this young woman's history were not only striking, 
 but they followed each other with a rapidity seldom heard of, 
 even in the pages of romance. 
 
 Some years ago, the workhouse in Shoreditch parish contained 
 one inmate, whose history afforded a series of striking incidents 
 in his descent from affluence to poverty. I do not now recollect 
 his name, but the story is well known to many persons in the 
 City-road and its neighbourhood. In addition to a moderate 
 fortune which he inherited from his father, he had the singular 
 luck to get two successive prizes of 30,000/. each, in the then 
 government lotteries ; which having been purchased at Bish's 
 " Lucky Corner," were duly trumpeted forth by Mr. Bish in the 
 public newspapers of the day. So long as he possessed only a 
 competency, he conducted himself with great propriety, and 
 carefully abstained from anything in the shape of speculation. 
 The sudden accession of fortune, however, at once turned his 
 head. Forthwith he started his carriage-and-four : in that, per- 
 haps, there would not have been much harm, as the interest of 
 his money would have enabled him to support the expense, if 
 not addicted to extravagance in other departments of his do- 
 mestic establishment. But contemporaneously with his deter- 
 mination to sport a splendid equipage, he was seized with the 
 spirit of speculation. He purchased a large property in the 
 City-road, and expended a vast sum in improving it. He en- 
 tered into other foolish transactions, of a commercial nature ; 
 between which, and the general habits of extravagance he had 
 contracted in his mode of living, he was in a few years reduced 
 to beggary. I do not mean beggary in a figurative, but in a 
 literal sense. And singularly enough, he chose as the scene of 
 his mendicancy the immediate vicinity of the property in the 
 City-road, on which he had expended so much money. There 
 he was to be seen, day after day, for some years after, leaning 
 against a wall, with his hat in hand, to receive the charitable 
 contributions of the passers-by. For a time, the singularity of 
 the circumstances which attended his appearance in the charac- 
 ter of a beggar, procured him as much aid from the benevolent 
 as was sufficient to support existence ; but the growing infirmi- 
 ties of age, aggravated by a depression of spirits consequent on 
 the sudden and extensive reverse which had taken place in his 
 pecuniary circumstances, eventually rendered him physically in- 
 capable of appearing in the streets ; and as the only resource 
 against starvation from actual want, he was compelled to seek 
 refuge in Shoreditch workhouse. There he brooded over the 
 vicissitudes of the latter part of his life, for a year or two, and 
 then died.
 
 236 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 The annals of the workhouses in the City abound with cases 
 of sudden descents from princely affluence to utter destitution. 
 There, such occurrences are not so much calculated to excite our 
 surprise, or even our sympathy ; because we look on it as being 
 in the nature of things, that men engaged in extensive transac- 
 tions should sometimes ruin themselves, as well as at other times 
 make splendid fortunes. In one of the workhouses, not far from 
 Guildhall, there was lately an inmate whose admission occurred 
 under circumstances of unusual interest. His mind recoiled at 
 the bare idea of being dependent on parish relief; but the neces- 
 sities of his case were so great, that there was no alternative be- 
 tween his throwing himself on the parish and his dying of want. 
 But the thing which drew attention in a particular manner to 
 his case, was his appearance before the magistrates at an adjoin- 
 ing office, on a charge which I forget, but which very likely was 
 that of being found sleeping in the streets, and his then showing 
 their worships documents which proved beyond all doubt that 
 some years before he was worth no less a sum than 500,000/. 
 He had lost his money, and been reduced to beggary, under pe- 
 culiar circumstances. He had been for many years a member ot 
 the Stock Exchange, and had, by a long series of successful spe- 
 culations in the funds, amassed the above sum. He had previ- 
 ously formed a resolution, that if he should ever be worth half a 
 million, he would purchase an estate, and retire from the City 
 and its business. To a certain extent he adhered to his resolu- 
 tion. He adhered to it thus far, that he did formally quit the 
 Stock Exchange, and entered into a negotiation for the purchase 
 of an estate some miles from London, which, had the purchase 
 been completed, would have doubtless caused him to settle down 
 as a country gentleman for the remainder of his life. I do not 
 recollect what was the sum asked for the estate, but it exceeded 
 150,000/., and he offered within 5000/. of the price put upon it. 
 The seller would not accept the offer ; probably he would have 
 compromised the matter by taking half the difference, but the 
 other refused to advance one shilling on the sum he had offered. 
 The negotiation was accordingly broken off; another purchaser 
 was soon found, who gave the price asked by the seller ; and the 
 person to whom I allude returned to the Stock Exchange with 
 the view of doing, as he thought, a moderate and safe business, 
 until some other eligible estate should be in the market. For 
 a short time he did do a moderate and safe business ; but an 
 opportunity of doubling his fortune, as he supposed, having pre- 
 sented itself, he embarked the whole of his capital in a specula- 
 tion, and before six months elapsed, he was without a shilling 
 in the world. 
 
 The cases I have just given, relate only to individuals who had
 
 WORKHOUSES. 237 
 
 to ascribe their reverses of fortune to their extravagant modes of 
 living, to unsuccessful speculations, or to circumstances over 
 which they had no control. Let me now glance at a case of a 
 truly romantic nature ; one which, had the details of it appeared 
 in a work of fiction, would be at once pronounced as an outrage 
 on all probability. 1 forbear to mention names, because the 
 principal party, so far as I am aware, is still alive. Of this I 
 am certain, that many of her nearest relations — for I refer to a 
 young lady — are not only still alive, but occupying a prominent 
 place in the public eye. The lady, indeed, to whom I refer, 
 belongs to a noble family: she is the niece of a peer of the realm. 
 She not only received a first-rate education, but was brought up 
 in every respect as became a member of the aristocracy. She 
 had, however, no fortune, but was dependent on her relations — 
 her father and mother being dead — for the station she occupied 
 in society. She was not distinguished for her personal charms, 
 but she possessed great accomplishments and agreeable manners. 
 She was always remarkable, even in her more juvenile days, for 
 a certain waywardness and caprice of disposition, which no ad- 
 monition or discipline could correct. Some years ago, just as 
 her thirtieth summer had passed over her head, accident intro- 
 duced her to a gentleman possessed of the princely fortune of 
 150,000/. He had just arrived in England from abroad, and 
 only intended to make a temporary stay in England. He was at 
 once struck with what appeared to him the young lady's charms, 
 and being obliged to quit the country soon, had no time to go 
 through the formalities of a protracted courtship. He accord- 
 ingly embraced the earliest opportunity which presented itself of 
 intimating to the relation in whose house the lady resided, and 
 who was, in point of fact, though not in law, her guardian, the 
 favourable impression she had made on him, — accompanying the 
 intimation with a hint which could not be misunderstood, that 
 if the proposition were likely to meet with her own and her rela- 
 tions' concurrence, he should lose no time in formally proposing 
 to her. His hopes of receiving her hand were encouraged by 
 her relatives, and he was invited to meet her again on an early 
 day at the house in which she resided. In the interim, what 
 had passed between them and the opulent aspirant after her 
 affections and her hand, was duly communicated to her. The 
 circumstance of being united to a gentleman of so large a for- 
 tune, and thus having it in her power to make so splendid an 
 appearance in society as the mistress of a house, was duly im- 
 pressed on her. The lady appeared as if she were fully convinced 
 of the advantages of the union, without any one pointing them 
 out to her, or expatiating on them. She, in short, left her rela- 
 tives no reason to doubt that she was as ready to accept the
 
 238 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 proposals of her lover, as he was to make them. They were 
 delighted at the thought ; not only from friendship to her, but 
 because it would be relieving themselves of a burden. The time 
 for the appointed meeting arrived, and the parties were left 
 together. The gentleman proposed ; the lady blushed, and was 
 silent. Silence in such matters is proverbially consent. The 
 gentleman viewed it in this light; but, to make assurance doubly 
 sure, pressed for a still more unequivocal affirmative answer. 
 The lady blushed yet more deeply. He repeated his request ; 
 and the lady, as a positive proof that she acceded to it, courte- 
 ously extended to him her hand. He was happy; so, to all 
 appearance, putting out of view the tremor of the moment, was 
 she. The day for the celebration of their nuptials arrived ; and 
 "the match" became the subject of conversation among all the 
 lady's acquaintances. Many an heiress of noble birth envied the 
 good fortune of the portionless Miss . They wished them- 
 selves in her place. The preparations for the maiTiage ceremony 
 were made on a scale of the utmost splendour. A handsome sum 
 was placed in the lady's hands by her lover, to provide herself 
 with the bridal robes. Everything went smoothly on : the more 
 the lover saw of the young lady, the more was he delighted with 
 her ; and the more heartily did he congratulate himself on what 
 he regarded as his good fortune. The marriage morn arrived; 
 and there was not a happier man in Christendom. His love had 
 by this time become a positive passion ; and he was literally 
 " dying," as the phrase is in fashionable life, to clasp the object 
 of his affections to his bosom in the character of his wife. Not 
 less delighted was she, to all appearance, at the prospect of so 
 soon exchanging the condition of a maid for that of a wife. The 
 hour appointed for the pei-formance of the marriage ceremony 
 arrived : several coaches-and-four appeared at the church door, 
 while the white favours which floated on the horses' and the ser- 
 vants' heads told the passer-by of what was about to take place. 
 The clergyman was in his place, and the bride and bridegroom 
 stood before the altar. The reverend gentleman commenced the 
 marriage ceremony, and everything proceeded in the usual way, 
 until he came to that part of the service which requires the bride 
 audibly to express her willingness to be the wife of the bride- 
 groom. The question was put in the usual May : the lady re- 
 turned no answer. Her silence was supposed to be the effect of 
 overpowered feelings, in some measure natural to the situation 
 in which she stood. The question was repeated: still no answer. 
 It was put a third time, when, to the utter surprise and confu- 
 sion of all present, the lady emphatically and distinctly answered, 
 " No !" and then rushed out of the church, entered her carriage, 
 and drove home, leaving the bridegroom and the friends of both
 
 WORKHOUSES. 239 
 
 to their own reflections on the extraordinary occurrence which 
 had taken place. To describe their amazement were impossible. 
 The affair so utterly confounded them, and appeared so inexpli- 
 cable, that not one of them could even venture a conjecture as to 
 the cause of so singular a proceeding. The lady's friends, when 
 somewhat recovered from the effects of so unexpected an event, 
 begged her to make the amende, by proceeding again forthwith 
 to the hymeneal altar : the bridegroom would have been satis- 
 fied with this ; but she peremptorily refused. She was then 
 implored to see the bridegroom, in order that, if she had any 
 valid reason for the extraordinary step she had taken, she might 
 state it to him, for her own and her relations' sake : she was in- 
 exorable. Last of all, she was asked to state to her relatives 
 the causes which induced her to adopt so unheard-of a course : 
 she declined to utter a Avord on the subject. In a short time 
 thereafter the bridegroom quitted the country, inexpressibly 
 mortified as well as disappointed at what had occurred. He, if 
 I mistake not, died within three years of the " untoward event ;" 
 and she, being disowned by her relatives, in consequence of the 
 improper course she had pursued, was, within the same period 
 of time, an inmate in a w r est-end workhouse. There she con- 
 tinued for upwards of twelve months, when she was, at the 
 expense of the parish, passed, at her own request, to Dublin, of 
 which place she was a native. She never, so far as I have heard, 
 has, up to this moment, assigned any reason for her singular re- 
 fusal at the altar to become the wife of him who led her to that 
 altar. The thing must have been the effect of caprice ; it is a 
 caprice for which she has suffered, and most probably is still 
 suffering, a most severe punishment. A more rapid descent from 
 the highest to the lowest station of life, or one which has hap- 
 pened under more romantic circumstances, has perhaps seldom 
 occurred. 
 
 The annals of most of the workhouses in the West-end abound 
 with the records of equally great and nearly as sudden reverses 
 of fortune, though not, perhaps, attended with such romantic 
 circumstances as the case I have just given. One of the guar- 
 dians of the workhouse of Marylebone lately mentioned, in my 
 hearing, at a vestry meeting, that some time previously there 
 were no fewer than four individuals in that workhouse, all of 
 whom, six or seven years before their entrance, kept their car- 
 riages. Of cases of this nature, in the workhouse in question, I 
 will only refer to one ; the case, namely, of a man who a few 
 years previous to his application for admission, was worth no less 
 a sum than 100,000/. There was something peculiarly interest- 
 ing in his case. He was a gentleman of the highest moral prin- 
 ciple : his strict integrity was the admiration of all who had any
 
 240 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 transactions with him. His habits were not expensive : being 
 unmarried, he had not to keep up a large establishment ; neither 
 had he any relations dependent on him for support. In what 
 way, then, it will be asked, did he lose, and so speedily, so large 
 a fortune ? By the same way as many others, equally rich at 
 one time, have eventually involved themselves in ruin. The spirit 
 of speculation was the cause of all his reverses. His propensity 
 that way was irresistible and uncontrollable. His mind was con- 
 stantly erecting castles in the air : there was scarcely a day in 
 which he did not devise some new scheme, or embark in schemes 
 devised by others, by which he made sure of realising thousands. 
 Foolish as all this may appear, it is nevertheless quite intelli- 
 gible in the case of a man who is constitutionally of a sanguine 
 mental temperament. But what appears surprising is, that after 
 finding that he was losing money by every successive project in 
 which he engaged, he did not desist, and thus avert his entire 
 ruin. No : the lessons of experience were lost upon him. His 
 failure in half a dozen speculations was no reason why he should 
 not succeed in the seventh. The event proves that his calcula- 
 tions are wrong in the seventh also : he admits the fact, for his 
 pocket told him there was no denying it : but why, nevertheless, 
 should not the eighth speculation prove sufficiently fortunate to 
 do more than counterbalance all his losses on the previous seven 
 unsuccessful ones ? He soon finds that, instead of retrieving the 
 portion of his fortune which he had lost, his last speculation 
 proved the worst of all. The ninth time he makes a still deeper 
 plunge ; he risks nearly all that remains ; and that all is lost. 
 In a word, he went on with one speculation after another, until 
 he had speculated away the last shilling he had in the world, — 
 just as gamblers at cards or the dice, become more venturesome 
 and more eager for play, in proportion to the amount of their 
 losses. Friends, for a time, felt, or affected to feel, for him ; but 
 their sympathy, if sympathy it really was, never extracted a shil- 
 ling from their pockets to assist him. He made every effort to 
 obtain such employment as he was adapted for : in that he failed. 
 For months he struggled with all the horrors of want : at last 
 he found himself unequal to the conflict : he felt that if he at- 
 tempted to stand out much longer, he must perish in the effort. 
 He capitulated : he submitted to a destiny which no resources of 
 his own could controul, and sought for an asylum from a world in 
 which he had been so unfortunate, in the Avorkhouse of Mary- 
 lebone, where he died a very short time since. 
 
 The woi*ld is full of illustrations of the remark, that as one 
 individual falls, another rises. Two persons may be next-door 
 neighbours, or be frequently brought into close contact together, 
 — the one is rolling in wealth, thf other has difficulty in pro-

 
 WORKHOUSES. 241 
 
 curing the necessaries of life : in twenty, fifteen, or even a dozen 
 years, their pecuniary circumstances and position in society are 
 completely reversed. The rich and influential individual is re- 
 duced to the very lowest depths of poverty, and of insignificance 
 in the social scale, while the poor man is raised to affluence and 
 importance among his fellow men. Not many months since, a 
 remarkable illustration of what I have stated occurred in a 
 West-end workhouse, which for particular reasons I forbear to 
 name. A gentleman, now one of the leading men — I should 
 say, indeed, the leading man — in a large and aristocratic parish, 
 had, about twenty years ago, though well educated, but slender 
 means to live on, like many other intelligent men. He was 
 acquainted with a lady residing in the same country town as 
 himself, who was immensely rich, and was the most distinguished 
 of her sex among the fashionables of the place. He quitted his 
 native town for the metropolis, where, through his talents and 
 perseverance, he eventually raised himself to an influential posi- 
 tion in society, and at the same time acquired a handsome inde- 
 pendency. He was chosen one of the guardians of the poor in 
 the parish to which I refer. He had not been in his new office 
 for any lengthened period, when, among the names of applicants 
 for admission to the workhouse, he found one which, as it was a 
 very peculiar name, attracted his attention. The only person 
 bearing that name he had ever known, was the lady to whom I 
 have alluded. His curiosity being excited, he desired to see the 
 particular applicant. She was brought to him, and was none 
 other than the lady whom, but twenty years previously, he had 
 known living in all the splendour and luxury which the world 
 could afford. She recognised him at once : the interview, as 
 may well be supposed, was one of an affecting nature to both 
 parties. The gentleman felt deeply for the reverse of fortune 
 which had befallen the lady ; while her mind was overpowered at 
 the thought of thus unexpectedly meeting with one whom she for- 
 merly knew when in circumstances so materially different. The 
 emotions of surprise and confusion caused by the unexpected 
 meeting, and under such peculiar circumstances, having in some 
 degree subsided, the unfortunate lady entered into a statement 
 of the way in which her reverses had been brought about. That 
 statement was very brief: her tale of misfortune was soon told. 
 Shortly after Mr. A. had left his native place, she came to town 
 and took a large house in the West-end. Her income had been 
 solely derived from West-India property : that property, some 
 years since, became most seriously depreciated in value. She 
 was obliged to borrow money on the security of her estate : the 
 money was only lent for a limited time : the property meanwhile 
 daily diminished in value. At length, the period for which the 
 
 s
 
 242 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 loan was granted, expired ; and she being unable to repay the 
 money, the estate was put up to the hammer, and brought 
 little more than paid the loan and the expenses of the sale. In 
 a year or two she was without a shilling in the world. Acquaint- 
 ances did something for her for a time ; but they, one after ano- 
 ther, gradually deserted her. In two years more she was 
 obliged to throw herself on the parish. She had been friendly 
 to the gentleman in her better days, and when he was in 
 indifferent circumstances. Now that he had been raised to an 
 influential position in society, while she had been reduced to the 
 lowest point in the social scale, he, equally from a sense of grati- 
 tude and a generous disposition, took advantage of the situation 
 he held as one of the board of guardians, to render her as com- 
 fortable as possible. 
 
 Parties often meet in the workhouse under peculiar circum- 
 stances, though of a very different nature from those I have 
 mentioned. There is no want of instances in which a high-bred 
 and haughty lady, living at one time in the greatest luxury, has 
 met in the workhouse, on a footing of the most perfect equality, 
 the very mendicant of her own sex whom, in the hey-dey of her 
 prosperity, she had desired her "pampered menial" to turn 
 scornfully away from her door, where the poor creature had been 
 supplicating a crust of bread for her famishing children. Little 
 do the prosperous and affluent think in the day of their pros- 
 perity, to what complexion matters may come before they quit 
 the world. 
 
 Perhaps there is no other place, speaking of assemblages of 
 persons, in which the advantages of religion are so forcibly exhi- 
 bited, as in the workhouse. 1 believe that every one acquainted 
 with workhouses, be his individual opinions what they may, will 
 bear me out when I say, that there is all the difference in the 
 world, with regard to the manner in which they meet their 
 reverses, between a person of genuine piety and one who has no 
 proper sense of religion at all. The former is not insensible to 
 the circumstances in which he is placed, and was equally reluc- 
 tant with the other to be placed in those circumstances ; but 
 you see that the one bears up under his reverses with far more 
 fortitude and tranquillity of mind than the other. How could 
 it be otherwise ? The pious inmate is sustained and cheered by 
 a firm persuasion — no matter, in so far as his present state of 
 mind is concerned, even were that persuasion groundless — of a 
 happy hereafter. The irreligious person has no hope beyond 
 the present world : possibly he does not even extend his thoughts 
 beyond the precincts of time. In that case, all must be dark 
 and gloomy enough ; but far darker — much more gloomy 
 still — must be the picture, if his views do extend to a future
 
 WOEKHOUSES. 04 ;J 
 
 state, and yet he have no hope that that state will be to him one 
 of happiness. 
 
 A singularly striking proof of the power of religion in admi- 
 nistering to the happiness of mankind even in this world, 
 was afforded in the case of a woman who died within the last 
 year in the workhouse of St. Pancras. She was one of those 
 of whom I have been speaking, who had undergone very great 
 reverses of fortune. She had lived at one time in great splen- 
 dour, keeping her carriage, taking a prominent part in the 
 gaieties of the day, and living in utter thoughtlessness of a world 
 to come. By a succession of reverses which followed each other 
 with a remarkable rapidity, she was reduced to absolute destitu- 
 tion, and applied as a last resource for admission into the work- 
 house. For some time after her admission, her countenance 
 betrayed the troubled state of her mind. It was not only that 
 she repined at the altered situation in which she was then 
 placed, but she felt appalled at the retrospect of the thoughtless 
 life she had hitherto lived. A variety of circumstances con- 
 spired to turn her mind to the consideration of religious matters. 
 The pages of inspiration were daily perused by her ; and, in a 
 very short time, she became a decidedly pious woman. From 
 that moment her countenance assumed a wonderful serenity of 
 expression; and so far it faithfully indexed the state of her 
 mind. She afterwards repeatedly declared to one of the officers 
 of the workhouse, that, possessing as she then did the peace which 
 the gospel inspires, she felt herself an incomparably happier 
 woman in the workhouse, than ever she had done when in the 
 zenith of her prosperity, and when living in all the splendour 
 and dissipation of fashionable life. 
 
 Cases of a similar kind are of quite frequent occurrence ; but 
 anything of a theological nature being foreign to the objects of 
 " Sketches in London," I will not advert to any more of those 
 cases in detail. 
 
 Among the class of inmates to be found in workhouses, who 
 once moved in the more respectable spheres of society, the num- 
 ber of members of the learned professions is proportionably small. 
 You meet with few decayed medical gentlemen ; perhaps fewer 
 still of decayed lawyers ; and certainly fewest of all of individuals 
 who were brought up for the pulpit. 1 may here also remark, 
 that improvident as the habits of literary men proverbially are, 
 remarkably few of them seek an asylum in the workhouse. I 
 know of no class of men among whom a greater number of cases 
 of hardship and privation occur, than among those who devote 
 themselves to literary pursuits. In another work,* I have ad- 
 
 * The Second Scries of " The Great Metropolis." 
 S 2
 
 244 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 verted at considerable length to the deplorable circumstances of 
 thousands in London, who make literature a profession. And 
 yet, with very few exceptions indeed, the horror with which 
 they regard the workhouse is so great, that nothing can over- 
 come it. I believe innumerable instances might be adduced in 
 which literary men have died from absolute want, rather than 
 enter a workhouse. Their extreme sensitiveness on this point 
 may be, in a great measure, accounted for from the refined and 
 soul-elevating nature of their pursuits. 
 
 The best time for seeing a workhouse to advantage, is at 
 meal-time ; and of the three meals, that of dinner is to be 
 preferred. In the larger workhouses, there is no apartment suf- 
 ficiently commodious to accommodate a fourth part of the 
 inmates, and consequently they take their meals in different 
 places. The greatest number I have seen at dinner at once, was 
 about 120. Nothing can exceed the avidity with which the 
 paupers devour their meals. You would fancy that they lived 
 for no other purpose than to eat. That certainly was the chief 
 object they had in view in entering the workhouse ; and they 
 cling till the last to the idea, that eating is their principal busi- 
 ness. The subject is one which would admit of some observa- 
 tions of a humorous nature ; but I am restrained from any 
 effort to excite a smile, by the consideration that the unfortu- 
 nate inmates of a workhouse are not legitimate subjects for hu- 
 mour. I trust that, however much I may be disposed to relish 
 anything of a humorous nature, I am not one of those who 
 would indulge that taste at the expense of suffering humanity. 
 
 The guardians of the poor in most of the workhouses, have a 
 fixed day, once a week, for the purpose of granting out-door 
 relief. The scene on such occasions is usually one of a grotesque 
 nature. Ragged mothers, with children in their arms, and chil- 
 dren at their feet, are seen congregated together in vast num- 
 bers at the place of distribution ; while old infirm men, and 
 young men who are in destitute circumstances, are interspersed 
 in very fair proportions. There is not only their ragged appear- 
 ance, but their starved looks : you see, from their faces, that 
 few and far between are their ample meals, even of the plain 
 and homely fare to which they are accustomed. The scenes, 
 however, of this kind which possess the greatest interest, are 
 exhibited at those workhouses which are under the operation of 
 the New Poor Law Act, and where, consequently, the applicants 
 are uncertain whether they are to be successful in their supplica- 
 tions for bread or not. A few weeks since, I witnessed a scene 
 of this kind, of a very touching nature. It was at the work- 
 house of a small parish, and the number of applicants who had 
 besieged the office, whence the loaves are distributed, was under
 
 WORKHOUSES. '24.) 
 
 one hundred. A more miserable group of human beings I have 
 never seen ; a more wretched assemblage, judging from their 
 outward appearance, I should suppose, are but seldom to be wit- 
 nessed in any civilised country. When one succeeded in getting a 
 loaf, every eye was directed to it in a moment, w r ith an eagerness 
 and intensity of gaze which told much more forcibly than words 
 could, the hunger which the poor creatures were enduring. The 
 eyes of the children looked with a specially expressive gaze at 
 the article of food. But what was most eloquent and affecting 
 of all, as showing the agony which the poor young creatures 
 were suffering from want of food, was the almost ferocious-like 
 manner in which they seized the loaf, the moment their mothers 
 got one, and the ravenous voracity with which they began to eat 
 it. And to add to the wretchedness of their situation, caused 
 by destitution and hunger, the parish functionaries, dressed in 
 their little brief authority, treated the poor unhappy applicants 
 as if they had been no better than so many reptiles crawling on 
 the ground. As if the poor were not made sufficiently miser- 
 able by the hard destiny of their lot, these officials must needs 
 add to their woes by their overbearing and outrageous manner 
 towards them. Why cannot those entrusted with the distribu- 
 tion of relief to paupers, treat the poor wretches who are obliged 
 to fawn on them and lick the very dust before them, with de- 
 cency at least, if not with respect ? In several instances this, 
 let me say in justice, is done ; why not in all ? Do such persons 
 forget that the poor are human beings as well as themselves ; 
 and that, though doomed to grapple with the evils of pauperism, 
 they have their feelings and susceptibilities as well as others ; 
 Are we not all, including the humblest and most dependent of 
 human creatures, descended from the same common parent ? Are 
 we not all influenced by the same motives and feelings ? Are we 
 not all members of the great community of man ? Shall we not 
 all, whatever may be the accidental distinctions which exist in our 
 relative circumstances at present, be soon placed on a footing of 
 the most perfect equality ? Where will be the difference between 
 us some years hence ? Shall we not all be on the same level in 
 the grave ? Is it not true, though a reflection so mortifying is 
 carefully excluded from the minds of many of those who have it 
 at present in their power to tyrannize over and trample on the 
 poor, that ere many years shall have passed away, no one will 
 be able to distinguish the bodies of these persons, from those 
 whose feelings they have flagrantly outraged by their harsli 
 and haughty manner, when doling out a miserable pittance to 
 them, or when refusing to grant them a morsel of bread though 
 famishing from want ? There is one other consideration which 
 may possibly have more weight than any of those to which I
 
 24G SKETCHES IN LOKBON. 
 
 have alluded. Let me remind the man who takes advantage of 
 the situation in which he is placed, to insult and wound the feel- 
 ings of the unhappy pauper whom destiny has placed in his 
 power, that he himself may before he dies stand in the same 
 situation as the wretched person whom he now treats with so 
 much contumely and heartlessness. Such things have been ; such 
 things will be to the end of time. The records of workhouses 
 contain many instances of persons, whose office it once was to 
 dole out a scanty pittance to the poor, becoming themselves the 
 recipients of parish bounty in precisely the same way. 
 
 Many paupers spend what is called " a little life" in the work- 
 house. I knew a Scottish peasant, who died at the advanced 
 age of eighty in the very cottage in which he was born, never 
 having, during all that lengthened period, been one night absent 
 from his home. The case of the man who had been upwards of 
 forty years a prisoner in the Bastile, is known to most of my 
 readers. The first was a singular length of time for an indivi- 
 dual to live in one spot, and sleep in the same bed. Scarcely 
 less wonderful is the circumstance of a person being upwards of 
 forty years in prison ; for one would suppose that it would be 
 impossible to survive so lengthened an incarceration in a gloomy 
 and unhealthy dungeon. I know of no instance of location in a 
 workhouse for so many years ; but I have heard of a pauper fe- 
 male who was an inmate of one of the most centrical of our 
 metropolitan workhouses for upwards of thirty years. One can- 
 not reflect on such a fact, without thinking of the many changes 
 which took place in the world dui'ing her location in one 
 spot. She first entered the place immediately previous to the 
 commencement of the French Revolution : it was over for seve- 
 ral years before she died. How many kings were dethroned 
 and empires overthrown, while she remained in the same place ! 
 And how vast the changes which had occurred on the face of 
 society while she remained there ! How great, even, the changes 
 which had taken place on the surface of a large portion of the 
 physical world, during that lengthened period of time ! Im- 
 mense tracts of waste land had been brought under cultivation ; 
 marshes had been converted into dry and fruitful soil ; planta- 
 tions had grown into forests ; the size of existing towns and vil- 
 lages had been vastly extended; and new villages and towns had 
 started up in places in which were no human habitations when 
 this pauper first threw herself on her parish. In London alone, 
 what extensive changes had taken place ! What vast additions 
 had been made to its dimensions and population ! How few, com- 
 paratively, of those who were inhabitants of the metropolis when 
 she entered the workhouse, were among its population immedi- 
 ately before she died ! One race had passed away and another
 
 WOUKHOUSES. 247 
 
 taken its place in the interval. The appearance also of the 
 town itself had undergone extensive changes : old streets were 
 thrown down, and new ones built in their places. But even con- 
 fining oneself to the changes which had occurred in the work- 
 house, under her own eye, how many and great must these have 
 been ! Not one of those who were the inmates of the place when 
 she entered remained in it one-half of the time she did. How 
 many entrances and exits must she have witnessed in her time ! 
 — the entrances all of one kind ; the exits of two kinds : some 
 going out in the hope of being able to earn a subsistence 
 for themselves ; others being carried out to be consigned to the 
 grave. 
 
 Such are some of the thoughts which would naturally arise in 
 a reflective mind, on hearing of the circumstance of a person 
 being an inmate of a workhouse for so long a period as thirty 
 years. The train of thought might be followed out to a great 
 length ; but this is not the proper place for moralization. 
 
 It is a fact which is worthy of mention, that the best regu- 
 lated workhouses are conducive to health rather than otherwise. 
 I ascribe this, in a great measure, to the circumstance of the 
 rules of these establishments being of such a nature as to ensure 
 greater regularity of habits than the inmates were previously 
 accustomed to. They are there regular in going to bed, regular in 
 rising, and regular in their meals ; and every one knows how 
 great an influence regularity in such matters has on the health 
 of mankind. A guardian of one of the workhouses in the 
 centre of the metropolis, lately mentioned to me some singular 
 cases of paupers having entered those establishments in a very 
 bad state of health, brought on by irregularity of living, and of 
 their complete restoration to health after being a short time 
 there. The case of the female to whom I have already alluded, 
 as having for thirty years been an inmate of a workhouse, was 
 one of those he mentioned. When she applied for admission 
 she was labouring under illness, brought on by irregularity, to 
 such an extent, that no one who saw her supposed she would 
 survive a month. The medical gentleman who had attended her 
 pronounced her case to be hopeless ; and yet the regularity of 
 habits enforced by the rules of the workhouse, restored her in a 
 few months to perfect health ; and that health continued for the 
 long period already mentioned. 
 
 In a chapter devoted to the Workhouses of London, it will oe 
 expected that, as the great majority of those workhouses are 
 under the operation of the New Poor Law Amendment Act, I 
 should express some opinion of that measure. That opinion, if 
 I must express it, is. in decided opposition to it. No man can be 
 more thoroughly impressed with the conviction than I am, that
 
 248 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 the grossest abuses prevailed under the old system ; and that a 
 reform, or amendment of that system, was most imperatively 
 called for. The great defect of that system, or of the way in 
 which it was administered, was the encouragement it held out 
 to idleness and fraud. A clever rogue of indolent disposition, 
 could always contrive to make a very comfortable living of it, 
 under the old system. A case was mentioned to me a few weeks 
 ago, in which a woman was in the habit of receiving four shil- 
 lings per week from the parish of St. Paul, Covent Garden, 
 while carrying on business on a rather extensive scale, and rent- 
 ing an excellent shop, as a bonnet maker, in the Mile-end-road. 
 In another case, a party receiving parish relief was followed to 
 his home, and on his table there was found awaiting his arrival, 
 and the arrival of some "jolly paupers" he had invited to par- 
 take of it, a piece of roast beef" which was equally pleasant to 
 the eye and grateful to the olfactory nerves. In the case of a 
 third person, that person w r as dexterous enough in the arts of 
 deception to impose on no fewer than four parishes at one time, 
 in each of which she professed to have a right of settlement, and 
 from all of which she continued for some years to receive three 
 or four shillings, besides a certain quantity of bread, per week. 
 Innumerable other instances might be adduced in which parties 
 received relief who had not the slightest claim to it ; and to sup- 
 port whom'in vice and idleness, poor industrious rate-payers were 
 ground down to the earth. But the great objection to the New 
 Poor Law Amendment Act is, that it has leaped from one ex- 
 treme to another. The errors in the administration of the law 
 to which I have referred, might easily have been remedied with- 
 out the interposition of the legislature at all. The Poor Law 
 guardians of the parish of Marylebone have afforded practical 
 proof of this. They have adopted a course equally humane and 
 judicious: one which combines the strictest justice to the rate- 
 payers, with the greatest attention to the claims of the poor. 
 They have appointed a certain number of men whom they call 
 inspectors, and in whose judgment and humanity they can repose 
 confidence, to institute a careful inquiry into the circumstances 
 of all who apply for parochial relief. The consequence is, 
 that persons having no claims on parish aid, are refused such 
 aid ; while those who really are proper objects for parochial as- 
 sistance, at once receive it. The same enlightened caution is 
 observed in the administration of the. Poor Laws in the parish 
 of St. Pancras ; and the result has been, that in both 
 these parishes the poor-rates have been reduced much more 
 than one-half — nearly, I believe, two thirds — without in the 
 slightest degree entrenching on the legitimate claims of the 
 pauper portion of the population. And why, I should like to
 
 WORKHOUSKS. 249 
 
 ask, might not a similar system have been adopted throughout 
 the country ? Nothing, surely, could be more simple in theory, 
 and nothing could be more easy in practice. 
 
 The clause in the New Poor Law Bill which refuses relief to 
 those who will not accept that relief except in the character of 
 inmates of the workhouse, is as unsound in policy as it is harsh 
 and despotic in principle. Why not give them as much out of 
 the workhouse as it requires to support them in it? Where 
 would be the loss to the parish in this ? Why say to the poor 
 applicants that they must either perish of want, or break 
 through all their strong and tender attachments to home ? Why 
 thus gratuitously tear asunder all the ties which bind one to his 
 own abode, however humble it may be ? " Home is home, how- 
 ever homely/' says the adage. Ay, and the humble hovel of 
 the poor has its attractions and charms to them, as well as the 
 splendid mansion has its attractions and charms to its wealthy 
 possessor. To wrench the unhappy pauper from the lowly abode 
 to which he clings with a tenacity of grasp which nothing but the 
 horror of absolute starvation can induce him to relinquish, is a 
 piece of cruelty at which every humane breast must revolt, and 
 is a positive disgrace to a Christian country. Who would believe 
 it, did not the fact stare us in the face, that in the second quar- 
 ter of the nineteenth century, the legislature of Great Britain 
 should say to a pauper, unable to earn a subsistence that he must 
 either submit to be torn from his home and his wife and chil- 
 dren, or die of absolute want ? There is not a breast in which 
 there is an atom of humanity, that does not rise up in revolt 
 against such legislation. 
 
 One most objectionable regulation of the workhouse system — 
 a regulation enjoined by the New Poor Law Bill — is, the denial 
 of the consolations of religion to those whose conscientious scru- 
 ples will not allow them to worship according to the forms of the 
 established church. A more flagrant and uncalled-for outrage 
 on ail the higher and more hallowed feelings of one's mind, could 
 not be committed. A regulation more at variance with the spirit 
 of Christianity, or more repugnant to that spirit of civil and reli- 
 gious liberty which is the glory of this country, could not be de- 
 vised. It is one worthy of the worst days of religious intolerance. 
 That a protestant legislature, in the thirty-eighth year of the nine- 
 teenth century, should have sanctioned such a clause, is one of 
 those facts which would be pronounced incredible, if they did not 
 unhappily stare us in the face. Why not let those who have been 
 all their lives connected with Dissenters, and have heard from 
 sabbath to sabbath the truths of the gospel preached by pastors 
 in their own communion ; why not let such persons, if able, 
 attend on the sabbath the minister of their own choice? What
 
 2jO SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 probability is there, that the preaching of one against whom 
 the pauper Dissenters are prejudiced — if prejudiced must be the 
 word — will be either pleasant or profitable ? In order to a pro- 
 fitable hearing of the Word, it is necessary that a feeling of 
 esteem, if not of affection, for the preacher, should be enter- 
 tained. And this esteem or affection must be based on the 
 circumstance of the preacher holding the same views on all im- 
 portant religious questions as the party who hears him. We all 
 know how strong are the dislikes of many Episcopalians to the 
 principles of Dissent. I know many members of the Church of 
 England who would prefer absenting themselves from public 
 worship altogether, to entering a Dissenting meeting-house. Not 
 less strong are the antipathies of many Dissenters towards the 
 established church. They could not worship with their Episco- 
 palian brethren, without doing violence to all their most che- 
 rished feelings on the subject of religion. I think that there are 
 many, both of Dissenters and Churchmen, who carry their dislike 
 of each other's mode of worship too far. But even where I 
 think them in error, I would treat them with tenderness. There 
 is nothing incompatible in disapproving of this prejudice, and 
 yet respecting it so far as to extend the utmost indulgence 
 to those who are its subjects. Let me not be here supposed to 
 be arguing the matter on sectarian grounds : not less decidedly 
 would I denounce the conduct of the Dissenter who would, if he 
 had the power, compel the Churchman either to listen to the 
 doctrines of the gospel from the lips of a Dissenting pastor, 
 or not hear those doctrines at all. In everything appertaining 
 to religion, there ought to be the most unbounded liberty — the 
 most perfect toleration. The conscience ought to be utterly un- 
 fettered. There should be an unrestrained freedom of thought — 
 the most entire liberty of action, so long as that action does not 
 interfere with the rights and privileges of any other member of 
 the community. The great truth cannot be too frequently 
 repeated — it cannot be kept too prominently before the eyes of 
 those invested with authority — that man is not responsible to his 
 fellow men for his religious opinions ; that he is responsible only 
 to his Maker. He, therefore, who seeks to interpose between a 
 man's conscience and his Maker, on the most important of all 
 questions, places himself in a position of moral peril of awful 
 magnitude. 
 
 But, for the reasons before stated, I forbear to discuss the 
 question in its theological bearings. Once for all, let me say, 
 that the refusal to allow a Dissenter in the workhouse to 
 attend, on the sabbath day, on the ministrations of a pastor of 
 his own persuasion — one, it may be, from whose lips he had heard 
 the living Word for a long series of years — is not only at mani-
 
 "WORKHOUSES. 251 
 
 fest and direct variance with the spirit of Christianity, but it is 
 an act of inhumanity, a piece of heartless cruelty — and as 
 gratuitous as it is heartless — which may well, as Cowper says, 
 cause us to 
 
 " Hang our heads to think that we are men." 
 
 Then there is the separation regulation. It is difficult to 
 speak of this regulation in measured language : it is a standing 
 outrage on human nature ; a foul stain on the national charac- 
 ter ; one of the blackest pages in England's history. Posterity 
 will ask, could there have been one particle of humanity, to say 
 nothing of Christianity, in the composition of those who were 
 parties to the framing and enforcing such a regulation ? To me 
 it has always appeared as the very quintessence of cruelty. It 
 erects a Juggernaut in every workhouse in the land within the 
 sphere of the New Poor Law Bill : and like the Juggernaut of 
 the East, it can already boast of its numerous victims. Who 
 can tell the number of hearts which it has already broken? 
 Who can compute the number of human beings who are des- 
 tined to be crushed by its moral pressure, should it unhappily 
 be permitted for any length of time to stain the pages of our 
 history ? Let not this be mistaken for mere declamation ; let 
 it not be understood as only figures of speech. When I say 
 that the separation regulation, in the administration of the New 
 Poor Law Act, has its victims, I speak of facts which consist 
 with my own personal knowledge. Ay, and strange as the 
 statement may appear, it has its victims without as well as 
 within the walls of the workhouse. Not long since, I heard 
 from the lips of one of the most worthy ministers in the metro- 
 polis, one very affecting proof of the operation of this regula- 
 tion. The anecdote, it may be proper to mention, was related 
 from the pulpit, not for the purpose of condemning the New 
 Poor Law Bill, but with the view of illustrating a religious 
 topic. As I cannot give the anecdote in the minister's words, 
 I must give it in my own. Two persons, man and wife, 
 of very advanced years, were at last, through the infirmities 
 consequent on old age, rendered incapable of providing for 
 themselves. Their friends were like themselves, poor; but 
 so long as they could, they afforded them all the assistance in 
 their power. The infirmities of the aged couple became greater 
 and greater ; so, as a necessary consequence, did their wants. 
 The guardians of the poor — their parish being under the ope- 
 ration of the new measure — refused to afford them the slightest 
 rel ef. What was to be done ? They had no alternative but star- 
 vation or the workhouse. To have gone to the workhouse, even 
 had they been permitted to live together, would have been pain-
 
 252 SKETCHES IN LONDON'. 
 
 ful enough to their feelings ; but to go there to be separated 
 from each other, was a thought at which their hearts sickened. 
 They had been married for nearly half a century ; and during 
 all that time had lived in the greatest harmony together. I am 
 speaking the language of unexaggerated truth when I say, that 
 their affection for each other increased, instead of suffering dimi- 
 nution, as they advanced in years. A purer or stronger attach- 
 ment than theirs has never, perhaps, existed in a world in which 
 there is so much of mutability as in ours. Many were the joys, 
 and many the sorrows, which they had equally shared with each 
 other. Their joys were increased, because participated in by 
 both : their sorrows were lessened because of the consolations 
 they assiduously administered to each other when the dispensa- 
 tions of Providence assumed a lowering aspect. The reverses 
 they had experienced in the course of their long and eventful 
 union, had only served to attach them the more strongly to each 
 other, just as the tempestuous blast only serves to cause the 
 oak to strike its roots more deeply in the earth. With minds 
 originally constituted alike, and that constitution being based 
 on a virtuous foundation, it was, indeed, to be expected that the 
 lapse of years would only tend to strengthen their attachment. 
 Nothing, in a word, could have exceeded the ardour of their 
 sympathy with each other. The only happiness which this world 
 could afford them was derived from the circumstance of being in 
 each other's company ; and the one looked forward to the possi- 
 bility of being left alone when the other was snatched away by 
 death, with feelings of the deepest pain and apprehension. 
 Their wish was, in subordination to the will of the Supreme 
 Being, that as they had been so long united in life, so in death 
 they might not be divided. Their wish was in one sense real- 
 ized, though not in the sense they had desired. The pressure 
 of want, aggravated by the increasing infirmities of the female, 
 imposed on her the necessity of repairing to the workhouse. 
 The husband would most willingly have followed, had they been 
 permitted to live together when there, in the hope that they 
 should, even in that miserable place, be able to assuage each 
 other's griefs, as they had so often done before. That was a 
 permission, however, which was not to be granted to them. 
 The husband therefore determined that he would live on a 
 morsel of bread and a draught of cold water, where he was, 
 rather than submit to the degradation of a workhouse in which 
 he would be separated from her who had been the partner of his 
 joys and griefs for upwards of half a century. The hour of part- 
 ing came ; and a sad and sorrowful hour it was to the ag^d 
 couple. Who shall describe their feelings on the occasion? 
 Who can even enter rnto those feelings ? No one. They could
 
 WORKHOUSES. 253 
 
 only be conceived by themselves. The process of separation was 
 as full of anguish to their mental nature, as is the severance 
 of a limb from the body to the physical constitution. And 
 that separation Avas aggravated by the circumstance, that both 
 felt a presentiment, so strong as to have all the force of a 
 thorough conviction, that their separation was to be final as 
 regarded this world. What, then, must have been the agonies 
 of the parting hour in the case of a couple whose mental powers 
 were still unimpaired, and who had lived in the most perfect 
 harmony for the protracted period of fifty years ? They were, 
 I repeat, not only such as admit of no description, but no one 
 who has not been similarly circumstanced, can even form an idea 
 of them. The downcast look — the tender glances they emitted 
 to each other — the swimming eye — the moist cheek — the deep- 
 drawn sigh — the choked utterance — the affectionate embrace ; all 
 told, in the language of resistless eloquence, of the anguish caused 
 by their separation. The scene was afflicting in the extreme, 
 even to the mere spectator. It was one which must have soft- 
 ened the hardest heart, as it drew tears from every eye which 
 witnessed it ; what, then, must the actual realization of it in all 
 its power have been to the parties themselves ? The separation 
 did take place ; the poor woman was wrenched from the almost 
 death-like grasp of her husband. She was transferred to the 
 workhouse ; and he was left alone in the miserable hovel in 
 which they had so long remained together. And what followed ? 
 — What followed ! That may be soon told : it is a short history. 
 The former pined away, and died in three weeks after the sepa- 
 ration ; and the husband only survived three weeks more. Their 
 parting was thus but for a short time, though final as respected 
 this world. Ere six weeks had elapsed they again met together ; 
 
 " Met on that happy, happy shore. 
 Where friends do meet to part no more." 
 
 Here, then, were two victims, under circumstances of a most 
 affecting nature, to the separation regulation in the administra- 
 tion of the New Poor Law Bill. Have I overcharged the pic- 
 ture ? I have fallen far short of the reality. Not even those 
 who felt the agonies and anguish to which I have referred, could 
 have portrayed it, even had they been gifted with the highest 
 intellects. The thing was to be experienced, not described. 
 
 It it said by the advocates of the regulation, that paupers 
 themselves have no objection to be separated from each other, 
 because that, generally speaking, they have become old and un- 
 able to assist each other, before they throw themselves perma- 
 nently on the parish. The man who makes such a representation 
 libels the unhappy poor, and gives utterance to a calumny on
 
 054 SKETCHES IX LONDON. 
 
 human nature itself. The feelings of attachment with which the 
 poor regard each other, are as strong and tender as those which 
 exist among the higher classes of society. What if they be even 
 more strong and tender, because less alloyed by conventional 
 considerations and circumstances ? The imputation that a pau- 
 per husband and wife care not for one another, but are glad to 
 be separated, when they are advanced in years, is a calumny of 
 the most cruel kind ; and one more destitute of even the shadow 
 of a foundation, was never, I will venture to say, invented. Here 
 I do not speak from conjecture : I have had many opportunities 
 of making myself acquainted, from personal observation, with the 
 principles, feelings, and habits of the poor ; and justice to them 
 requires that I should vindicate them in the mass, from so 
 heartless and unfounded a charge. Those who have once been 
 in affluent circumstances and wallowed among the luxuries 
 of life, are far more likely to be insensible to the pains of sepa- 
 ration than the poorer classes. The husbands and wives of the 
 rich and the noble have various enjoyments apart from those 
 arising from their attachment to each other, which naturally 
 enough enables them to submit more readily to the dispensation 
 which disunites them. No so the ill-fated poor : the only sweet 
 in their cup of life, apart from the hopes of a happy hereafter, 
 is the sympathy with which they regard each other. That sym- 
 pathy supports them amid all their toils and trials ; and hav- 
 ing weathered the storms and tempests of life together, is it not 
 monstrous to suppose, that in their declining years they should 
 lose their mutual attachment to such an extent as not only to 
 feel no pang at the prospect of separation, but even to delight in 
 the idea ? Cold-blooded,'and revolting to all the better feelings of 
 our nature, is the philosophy, if so it must be called, which pre- 
 sents us with so frightful a picture of our pauper population ; a 
 picture which, happily, is as unfaithful as it is unseemly to 
 look at. 
 
 But why thus reason on abstract principles with those who 
 seek to justify the separation of man and wife, on the assump- 
 tion that the poor have no affection for, or attachment to, each 
 other ? Has not that assumption been already proved to be 
 groundless, by the resistless logic of facts ? Has not the ca- 
 lumny been sufficiently exposed by the reference I have made 
 to a poor but virtuous and noble-minded husband and wife ? 
 Their case, be it remembered, is not the exception, but the rule. 
 They were but the faithful representatives of their unfortunate 
 class. 
 
 It is gratifying to perceive that a feeling of indignation against 
 this unnatural and anti-christian regulation is spreading through- 
 out the land with a rapidity, and is acquiring a force, which is
 
 WORKHOUSES. 255 
 
 sure ere long to sweep it away for ever. Every friend of hu- 
 manity ought to foster this feeling wherever he finds it, and to 
 inspire it in those breasts in which it has not yet had an exist- 
 ence. Surely the miseries of the poor are sufficiently great 
 already ; surely the horrors of a workhouse are already formid- 
 able enough, without gratuitously adding to that misery, and 
 deepening those horrors, by a regulation of this nature. It is 
 clearly one of the purposes of the Deity, that those who in his 
 providence have been united together in marriage, should not 
 be separated but by himself; and, in accordance with this 
 manifest design of the Creator, the minister of the gospel who 
 pronounces them man and wife, solemnly says, as directed by 
 the marriage ceremony, " Those w T hom God hath joined toge- 
 ther, let no man put asunder." The administrators of the 
 New Poor Law Bill have set this solemn injunction at defi- 
 ance ; they have acted in direct opposition to it. The moral 
 responsibility they have thus incurred, is of fearful magnitude. 
 
 Of the regulation which prohibits the visits to the workhouse 
 of the friends of the inmates, I have hitherto said nothing. It is 
 one which is of a piece with the general harshness of the admi- 
 nistration of the law. In what way must the mind of the man 
 be constituted, who first conceived the idea of refusing to the 
 wretched pauper the meagre consolation of a visit of any remain- 
 ing friend he had when he flung himself, as a last resource, into 
 a workhouse ? In his nature, there must, indeed, be little of the 
 milk of human kindness. There exists not the shadow of a pre- 
 text for this heartless severity. Are we to be told, that if 
 permission were conceded to the friends of paupers to visit them 
 in the workhouse, the regulation would be attended with incon- 
 venience ? That has been said ; but it has not, to use the mildest 
 language, the slightest foundation in fact. Alas ! by the time a 
 poor wretch has been compelled to seek a refuge in the work- 
 house, the number of his friends has been sadly reduced. For- 
 tunate, indeed, may he consider himself, if there be a single 
 individual among his former acquaintances, even where their 
 name was legion, who feels for and sympathises with him 
 to such a degree as to prompt that individual to pay him 
 an occasional visit in the workhouse. Reverses have a wonder- 
 ful effect in lessening the number of one's friends. In how many 
 instances does adversity scatter one's friends to the four winds 
 of heaven ? In how many instances do they all vanish as sud- 
 denly as if they had, by some magical influence, been spirited up 
 to some other planet? How many paupers are there in every 
 workhouse, who, were the doors open at all times to the visits of 
 friends, would never be inquired about by a single human being 
 in the world ? How miserable and groundless, then, the pretext
 
 25S SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 that inconvenience would result from admitting the few persons 
 who might feel disposed to pay an occasional visit to those in the 
 workhouse whom they had known in other and better days? 
 Surely so poor and cheap a consolation, as the sight of one who 
 commiserated them in their unhappy condition, might be allowed 
 the inmates. But no : they must needs be shut up from every 
 manifestation of the sympathy of their fellow-creatures, as if they 
 had committed some atrocious crime, by which they had for- 
 feited all claim to the kindly consideration of mankind. Not 
 even when visited with sickness, unless there be some hu- 
 mane individual among the leading officers who interposes on 
 their behalf, will a friend be permitted to see them. More hor- 
 rible still: there are numerous instances on record, in which 
 near relatives have been refused permission to see a dying pau- 
 per ! Will it be believed that cases have occurred — and, it is 
 to be feared they are not few or far between — in which a dying 
 pauper, sensible that his end was approaching, has had his last 
 request that a beloved daughter might be sent for, to see him 
 close his eyes in death, and that he might give her his parting 
 blessing, — haughtily refused him ? An instance occurred a few 
 months since in a workhouse in the suburbs of the metropolis, 
 in which intelligence was accidentally conveyed to a daughter 
 that her father was on his death-bed : she hurried that moment 
 to the workhouse, but was refused admission. With tears in her 
 eyes, and a heart that was ready to break, she pleaded the 
 urgency of the case : the functionary was deaf to her entreaties : 
 as soon might she have addressed them to the brick wall before 
 her. His answer was, " It is contrary to the regulations of the 
 place : come again at a certain hour." She applied to the me- 
 dical gentleman who attended the workhouse, and through his 
 exertions obtained admission. She flew to the ward in which 
 her father was confined : he lay cold, motionless, and uncon- 
 scious before her — his spirit was gone : he had breathed his last 
 five minutes before. 
 
 Well may we exclaim, when we hear of such things, " Do we 
 live in a christian country ? Is this a civilised land ?"
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LUNATIC ASYLUMS, 
 
 Difficulty of obtaining accurate information on the subject of Lunatic Asylums in 
 London — Private madhouses— Their number, and the number, &c, of their in- 
 mates — Public Lunatic Asylums — St. Luke's — Bethlem — Hanwell Asylum — In- 
 sanity on one particular point, while on all other points the party is quite rational 
 — Sanity on one point, while on all others the parties are insane — Diversified ways 
 in which insanity manifests itself — Partiality of particular lunatics to particular 
 employments — Instances given — Cunning of some lunatics — Their great physical 
 energies — Harsh Treatment they sometimes receive — General Remarks. 
 
 The subject of Lunatic Asylums in the metropolis, is one of 
 great though painful interest. It is one with the statistics of 
 which the public are but very imperfectly acquainted. This is 
 easily accounted for. There is no accessible work, so far as my 
 knowledge extends, to which persons desirous of obtaining in- 
 formation on the subject may refer. It is only by consulting a 
 variety of pamphlets, the reports of committees appointed to 
 manage the affairs of lunatic asylums, and parliamentary papers, 
 that any approach can be made to an accurate knowledge of the 
 statistics of insanity in London. In none of my previous chap- 
 ters have I had to encounter so many obstacles in my endea-? 
 vours to acquire that information on the subject which could 
 either satisfy my own mind, or which appeared to me likely to 
 prove satisfactory to my readers. 
 
 Before speaking of the public lunatic asylums in the metro-r 
 polis, it may be proper to devote a small portion o imy pages to 
 private madhouses. The number of these has varied, for some 
 years past, from 36 to 42. The latest authentic information on 
 the subject to which I could obtain access, gives the number at 
 38. The number of patients in these private establishments, 
 varied, before the Hanwell Lunatic Asylum Mas so generally pre- 
 ferred for pauper maniacs, from 2 to 560. As many as the 
 latter number have been inmates of Iloxton House at one time. 
 This establishment, it is proper to state, is by far the largest 
 private madhouse in the united kingdom : it is doubtful whether 
 it be not the largest in the world. Next to it, in point of size, 
 and in respect to the number of patients usually in it, is the 
 White House, Bethnal Green; and the third largest, is Bethnal 
 
 T
 
 '25S SKETCHES? IN LONDON. 
 
 House. Of several smaller ones in the same neighbourhood, I 
 say nothing. How it happens that that part of the metropolis 
 has been for many years the locality of so many private lunatic 
 asylums, especially as St. Luke's is so near to it, is a point which 
 I cannot determine. In these three establishments there have, 
 for a long series of years, been a greater number of insane per- 
 sons than in all the other private madhouses in London taken 
 together. Of pauper lunatics in these private houses, the number 
 a Tew years since,* was 1369 ; of whom 596 were males, and 773 
 females. The number of inmates, not paupers, was 942 ; of 
 whom 512 were males, and 430 were females ; making the total 
 number of inmates 2311. The number of cures performed in 
 the course of the year to which I refer, was 121 : of this num- 
 ber, 30 were male paupers, 37 female paupers, 36 males not 
 paupers, and 18 females not paupers. The expenses vary, as a 
 matter of course, with the diversity which obtains in the pre- 
 vious circumstances of the patients. In some cases the terms 
 are as high as 200/. per annum. This class of inmates, it is 
 unnecessary to say, receive a diet superior to that of the others, 
 and have more attention paid to their cleanliness, and to their 
 comfort in every other respect. Each of them has a keeper to 
 himself. The price usually paid for the maintenance of pauper 
 lunatics was formerly lis. 6d. per week; but now, at the 
 Hanwell Asylum, it is only 55. 3d. This, it will be seen, is a 
 reduction of more than one half. The consequence, as might be 
 expected, has been, that the pauper lunatics in those parishes 
 which are in Middlesex, have been all taken from the private 
 madhouses, and sent to the Hanwell institution. Of this insti- 
 tution, I shall have occasion to speak by-and-by. 
 
 The public asylums in London are only two in number. 
 They are St. Luke's and Bethlem. The first is situated in Old 
 Street, in the parish of St. Luke; and the other is over the 
 water, a little beyond the Obelisk. The first of these establish- 
 ments is, in a great measure, supported by the bequests of bene- 
 volent individuals. With the interest of this money, and the 
 amount received for the different patients, the usual expenses are 
 nearly paid : whatever deficiency there is, is made up from the 
 City funds. The average number of patients may be given at 
 250. There is one regulation in this institution which deserves 
 to be noticed : the ordinary class of patients are only taken in 
 for one year, which is called a probationary period. If not cured 
 by the end of twelve months, their friends are written to, to 
 come and take them away. It is true, that there is a fund 
 
 * I have not been able to obtain information as to these establishments, up to the 
 present day.
 
 LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 259 
 
 belonging to the institution, left by a charitable person, for the 
 permanent support of incurables ; but it is only adequate to the 
 maintenance of a limited number ; and so great is the anxiety of 
 individuals to get their insane relatives thus provided for, for 
 life, that as many as forty candidates have, on some occasions, 
 been put forward for a place in the incurable department, when 
 one vacancy has occurred. 
 
 A marked change has taken place in the management of this 
 institution, within the last quarter of a century. Previous to 
 that time the grossest abuses prevailed in it. They were made 
 the subject of a parliamentary inquiry, and excited great and 
 general attention. That one human being could treat another 
 human being in the way in which some of the inmates of this 
 asylum were treated, at the period to which I refer, is one 
 of those facts which may well make us blush for our species. 
 One young lady, possessed of great accomplishments, and who 
 had been for many years a governess in a respectable family, 
 had been chained for some years to a wall, and was so inade- 
 quately clothed as to be almost in a state of nudity. That there 
 was nothing in her conduct of so violent a nature as to justify 
 this extreme rigour — to call it by the mildest name — was proved 
 by the fact, that when liberated and clothed, she walked about 
 among the other patients, in the most peaceable and inoffensive 
 manner, and employed herself in needlework. 
 
 There was another case — not to mention any more — of an in- 
 dividual named Norris, who had been chained to his bed for nine 
 successive years, duringwhich period he had never been within the 
 sight of fire. In addition to irons on his legs, of great mas- 
 siveness, he had a collar round his neck, fastened in such a way to 
 his bed as to compel him to lie almost constantly on his back. 
 It was true, that he was very violent, and made an attempt on 
 the life of one of the servants of the establishment ; but means 
 could have been taken to prevent any future attempt of the kind 
 without resorting to such an extreme expedient as chaining him 
 down to his bed in the manner I have described. For many 
 years past, however, St. Luke's Asylum has been one of the best 
 conducted institutions of a similar kind in the country. The in- 
 mates arc treated with gentleness, and are allowed every liberty 
 consistent with their own safety, and the safety and comfort of 
 their fellow-patients. 
 
 Bethltm Asylum, which, as already mentioned, is situated on 
 the other side of the water, near the Obelisk, contains, on an 
 average, from 180 to 200 inmates. It is a well-conducted in- 
 stitution. The cures have been as numerous in it, considering 
 the general character of the cases, as in any other similar insti- 
 tution that could be named. 
 
 t2
 
 SKKTCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 Perhaps a greater number of lunatics whose names have 
 been brought prominently before the public, have been, from 
 first to last, in that asylum, than in any other similar insti- 
 tution in the country. The man who shot at George the 
 Third has been there for a long series of years ; for I believe he 
 is still alive ; and the maniac who set fire to York Minster is 
 among its present inmates. 
 
 Hanwell Asylum does not come so properly within the scope 
 of this work ; and yet, as ten or twelve of the largest parishes 
 of London send all their pauper lunatics to that institution, it 
 must not be omitted. The entire average number of patients in 
 Hanwell Asylum has been, for some time past, about 600 ; all 
 of whom are paupers, and are supported at the expense of their 
 respective parishes. This institution has been attacked, both in 
 parliament and out of parliament, on the ground of the disparity 
 in the number of cures effected in it, as compared with most 
 other public institutions for the reception and treatment of 
 insane persons. It is true, the number of cures has been, pro- 
 portionally, much less in Hanwell Asylum than in most other 
 similar institutions supported at the public expense ; but those 
 who rest their condemnation of it on this simple fact, do it a 
 very great injustice. Mr. Gaily Knight, the member for Not- 
 tingham, attacked it on this ground last session of parliament. 
 "I hold," said he, "in my hand a calculation, resulting from an 
 examination of twenty-six lunatic asylums. From this calcula- 
 tion it appears, that the proportion of recoveries in asylums 
 under the treatment now ordinarily pursued, is 40 per cent.; 
 and that the lowest proportion in any asylum, but that at Han- 
 well, has been 33 per cent.; but the recoveries at Hanwell, in 
 an equal space of time, have not amounted to 19 per cent. 
 Again, from a return which was made of the state of various 
 asylums in England, it appears that, whilst out of 100 patients 
 treated at the other fourteen asylums, 46 were discharged cured, 
 only 18 have been discharged cured out of an equal number, at 
 Hanwell. Here is a frightful disparity; and how is it to be ac- 
 counted for? That is what I am anxious to ascertain. Has 
 Hanwell laboured under any disadvantages, from which other 
 asylums are free? On the contrary, Hanwell is a compara- 
 tively new asylum ; and, therefore, should not be embarrassed 
 by that residuum of incurables, which is the difficulty with which 
 other asylums have to contend. Neither will it be found, that 
 Hanwell has had an unusual number of old cases ; by which I 
 mean, patients who have been some time insane previous to ad- 
 mission, and whose cure is thereby rendered so much the less 
 probable. I hold in my hand a report from the medical super- 
 intendent, which proves that, in the first year, only such were
 
 LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 2 (J 1 
 
 admitted as were the most likely to benefit by the institution ; 
 that is to say, only recent cases ; and I am in a condition to 
 prove, that, since that time, the same cautious selection has been 
 observed. It is not, therefore, in this manner that the paucity ot 
 cures can be accounted for.* * * * But if the cures have been 
 few, the deaths have been many. In 1831, out of 427 patients, 
 there died 99; in 1833, out of 537, there died 77; in 1834, 
 out of 580, the number who died was 7 1 ; in 1835, out of 611, 
 there died 65. In the same time, out of 1132 patients admitted 
 into Nottingham xVsylum, there died 42; out of 1183, there 
 died 326 at Hanwell." 
 
 These were certainly startling statements ; and when I heard 
 the honourable gentleman make them in the House of Commons 
 — for I chanced to be present at the time, — I was anxious to 
 hear how they w r ere to be met and answered. From the ob- 
 servations of several members who spoke on the subject, it 
 appeared that Mr. Gaily Knight must have been unacquainted 
 with several most important facts connected with the case. 
 
 With regard to the comparative number of deaths in the Han- 
 well institution, and at the Nottingham Asylum, Sir George 
 Strickland showed, conclusively, that the greater proportion 
 which existed at Hanwell coufd not be ascribed to any abuses, 
 or defective administration of affairs, in the latter place; for 
 " the same governor, the same physician, had conducted both 
 establishments. It can, then, I think," continued Sir George 
 " be hardly possible, that the man Avho has conducted the asylum 
 at Nottingham, upon an average of 1 8 per cent, of deaths, should 
 now, at Hanwell, have 32 per cent, of deaths. I must say, 
 therefore, that the information of the honourable member ap- 
 pears a little strained." 
 
 In reference to the paucity of cures, Mr. C. Barclay observed, 
 " It has been stated that the proportion of cures effected at 
 Hanwell is much smaller than at other places. Now, I am 
 bound, in justice, to say, from the information I have received, 
 that by far the greatest proportion of lunatics sent to the 
 Hanwell Asylum, are incurables, who have been in other asy- 
 lums. I am informed, that out of 600 patients now at Hanwell, 
 500 belong to the class of incurables." In an official letter to 
 the magistrates of the county, in 1836, respecting the diet of the 
 patients, Sir William Ellis, the medical superintendent*, sub- 
 stantiates this statement of Mr. Barclay. He says — " Nearly 
 
 * While this sheet i.s passing through the press, Sir William Ellis has resigned 
 his situation as medical superintendent of Hanwell Asylum ; and Lady Ellis, as 
 matron of the institution. Dr. Mullingen, the author of a late work under the title 
 of " Curiosities of Medical Experience," has hecn selected out of nearly one hundred 
 candidates, in the room of Sir William Ellis. The salary is 500A a-year.
 
 262 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 all the patients admitted into this institution are old incurable 
 cases, who have been the probationary time of twelve months, 
 either in Bethlem or St. Luke's, or have been confined in some 
 private madhouse ; and as they remain here until death, we have 
 consequently a great many who, from old age or debility, require 
 a different diet from others of the patients." This statement of 
 Sir William's at once accounts for the paucity of cures, and the 
 greater number of deaths, in the Hanwell Asylum, as compared 
 with similar institutions. 
 
 It is in contemplation to enlarge Hanwell Asylum to such an 
 extent as to provide accommodation for 900 inmates. At pre- 
 sent it is not capable of containing more than from 610 to 620. 
 Of late if has been quite full ; and many applications for admis- 
 sion have been refused on account of want of room. It is be- 
 lieved, that when the proposed additions are made to it, there 
 will not be any necessity for further enlargement ; the number of 
 pauper lunatics belonging to the county, rarely exceeding from 
 1000 to 1050. 
 
 In studying the particular forms in which insanity developes 
 itself, I have often been struck with the utter absence of reason 
 on particular points, while on other topics the parties coidd talk 
 with the most entire coherence and rationality. A curious in- 
 stance of this occurred, within the last few months, in the case 
 of a young man with whom I had some acquaintance. He had 
 received all the advantages of a university education, and had 
 come to London from Scotland in the hope of being able to turn 
 his talents and acquirements to account in this great city. His 
 hopes, unfortunately, were not realized ; and the circumstance 
 preyed much on his spirits. The first indication I had of his 
 mind being unhinged, was in the fact of his fancying that 
 all the people, with but one exception, in London, had entered 
 into a conspiracy against him. He imagined that persons whom 
 he never saw, and whose names he only knew by report, were 
 writing to the police authorities to have him taken up on charges 
 of the most serious nature. For several months he came, almost 
 daily, to me, with what he conceived some new proof of the uni- 
 versal conspiracy against him. I endeavoured for a long time to 
 reason him out of his ungrounded notions, but I found I had 
 attempted a hopeless task. On every other point but this, he 
 was as sane as any man in London ; and even when conversing 
 on that point, he displayed a singular ingenuity in his efforts to 
 convince me that his opinions were well grounded. 
 
 There are other lunatics, again, who are insane on every point 
 but one, and on that one are perfectly rational. I knew a ma- 
 niac who had been a distinguished lawyer before his intellect 
 was affected, and who, though his conversation and conduct
 
 LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 263 
 
 were most insane in reference to all other subjects, was ra- 
 tional in the highest degree whenever professional matters 
 were talked of. His opinions on all legal difficulties were as 
 good after his insanity, as they were when he enjoyed his rea- 
 son in all its perfection ; and what was more, he covdd go 
 through, with the greatest method and clearness, the most intri- 
 cate details of a most difficult case. So long as he confined him- 
 self to professional topics, he displayed the soundest judgment: 
 on all other subjects he talked the greatest nonsense. 
 
 It is curious to reflect on the infinitely diversified ways in 
 which insanity manifests itself. It is true, that with some ma- 
 niacs, the disease exhibits itself in no particular form. You see 
 their insanity in eveiy word they speak, in every action they 
 perform, nay, in almost every look they give to the persons or 
 objects around them. In their cases, instead of the imagination 
 running wild on any particular subject, they appear to have no 
 imagination at all. Their minds seem a perfect blank. With 
 a majority, however, the case is different. Their fancies are not 
 only most extravagant, but are usually exercised with the same 
 subject. One of the most common notions which lunatics enter- 
 tain is, that they are persons of distinguished rank and of great 
 consequence in the world. A very favourite delusion is, that 
 they are kings or princesses. Two remarkable instances of this 
 kind lately occurred, in the cases of persons who were not only 
 not in any asylum, but were walking at large through London. 
 The cases to Avhich I refer will at once recur to the minds of my 
 readers. One gentleman, it will be recollected, fancying himself 
 to be the rightful sovereign of the country, was in the habit of 
 using improper language towards our young Queen when she 
 appeared in the neighbourhood of Kensington Palace. Another, 
 it will be remembered, made several efforts to obtain an entrance 
 into Buckingham Palace, under the impression that he was the 
 legitimate successor of William the Fourth to the throne of 
 these realms. In the London lunatic asylums there are at pre- 
 sent a great many persons who entertain similar notions. One 
 fancies himself the king of France ; another imagines he is the 
 monarch of the world ; a third deludes himself with the idea that 
 he is Napoleon Bonaparte. The number of Dukes of Welling- 
 ton is very great ; nor is there any want of Lords Melbourne. 
 Others, again, identify themselves with the leading characters ot 
 past ages. Not long since, there was a lady of great literary 
 accomplishments in one of the private madhouses — whether she 
 be still alive or not, I am not in a condition to say — who ima- 
 gined herself to be Mary Queen of Scots. In Bethlem there 
 was lately a lunatic — and I believe he is there still — who fancied 
 himself to be the Rcedemer of the world. Several cases have
 
 264 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 occurred, in which the parties imagined that they were the Deity 
 himself. Such lunatics are, in most cases, in the habit of assum- 
 ing great things : they look down on all the other inmates, and 
 show, by the whole of their demeanour, that they deem it an act 
 of great condescension to speak to, or even look at, their fellow- 
 unfortunates. 
 
 In many cases, lunatics exhibit the same predilections and 
 partialities as they did before they were bereft of reason. Not 
 long ago, a gentleman who was exceedingly fond of stenography 
 previous to the derangement of his intellects, and who amused 
 himself in his leisure hours, by filling a scrap-book which he 
 kept with selections from English modern literature, taken in 
 shorthand, — incessantly wrote shorthand to his own dictation, 
 after he was placed in an asylum. Mothers who were passion- 
 ately fond of their children, and whose death, it may be> was the 
 cause of their insanity, still fancy they see those children, and 
 address their conversation to them. Many a widow thinks and 
 talks of her departed husband, to the exclusion of everything 
 else : and the cases are without number, in which females 
 whose lovers either proved inconstant or were snatched away 
 from them by death, have their thoughts, if thoughts they can 
 be called, occupied entirely and incessantly with the former ob- 
 jects of their affections. 
 
 Some years since, there was an inmate in one of the lunatic 
 asylums, who evinced a most extraordinary taste for writing. 
 He had been a gentleman passionately attached to literary pur- 
 suits when in possession of his reason ; and the notion that he 
 was still engaged on literary works, seemed never, for a moment, 
 to forsake him. I was struck with his appearance as well as his 
 occupations ; for notwithstanding the Unmeaning movements of 
 his eye, and the want of a definite expression in his countenance, 
 there was something in his largely developed forehead, and about 
 his face generally, which must have left an impression on every 
 one who saw him, that he must, at one time, have been one of 
 the finest and most intellectual-looking men that ever dignified 
 the human form. I could learn nothing of his history prior 
 to the visitation which deprived him of his reason, farther than 
 that he belonged to a family of great influence and respecta- 
 bility in the country, and that he was not only a gentleman by 
 birth, but a perfect gentleman in his mind, his manners, and his 
 conduct. He had been, at the time I saw him, nearly twenty 
 years in the asylum, and during all that period, except in the 
 hours allotted to sleep and meals, wrote on without intermis- 
 sion. Being of a peaceable disposition, he had full liberty to 
 rise and walk about, either in the ward in which, along with 
 nbout twenty others, he was placed, or in the ground outside the
 
 LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 265 
 
 institution ; but he constantly sat, from morning to night, in one 
 particular part of the ward. In his notions of writing, there 
 was something peculiar. If a quantity of clean paper were 
 placed before him, nothing would induce him to take up the 
 pen : the only thing on which he would write was the margin of 
 a book. "Whether or not he read any part of the print was a 
 point on which I could get no information from the party who 
 directed my attention to the unfortunate man ; but it was clear 
 that his impression was, that he was making notes or remarks on 
 the book on the margin of which he was writing. His words were 
 all correctly spelt, but his sentences were so incoherent that it 
 was impossible even to conjecture what ideas had been passing 
 through his mind. In his penmanship there was something 
 singularly neat and beautiful : it was a remarkably small hand, 
 and was not disfigured by the omission of words, or cancels or 
 blots of any kind. The writing, too, was very close, so that the 
 appearance of the page — the margin being entirely written at 
 the top and bottom, and on both sides — was worthy of preserva- 
 tion as a curiosity. The book on which the unhappy man was 
 employed, when I saw him, was one of the octavo size, with a very 
 large margin; and he had written on about three hundred pages 
 of it. It is worthy of remark, that he not only employed him- 
 self in constantly writing in the way I have mentioned, but that 
 he never raised his head from the stooping position in which he 
 wrote. This was surprising ; for one would have thought the 
 pain of perpetual stooping must have been too great for him to 
 endure ; and that, for the purpose of relieving or resting him- 
 self, he would occasionally have raised his head, and assumed 
 an erect position. He not only never spoke to any one, but took 
 no notice of any visitor who entered the place ; neither could 
 any noise, or other occurrence in the ward, ever for a moment 
 withdraw his attention from his employment. So thoroughly 
 did he appear to be absorbed with his writing, that I am con- 
 vinced he would not have raised his eyes from the book had the 
 house been falling about his ears. I never saw a man engaged 
 in any occupation who evinced so great a pleasure in it : a smile 
 of enjoyment constantly played on his countenance. He in- 
 cessantly spoke to himself, but always in so suppressed a 
 whisper that not even the words, far less the sentences, could 
 be understood. 
 
 I knew another literary lunatic, if the expression be a correct 
 one, who manifested nearly as strong a taste for reading as the 
 one to whom I have just referred did for writing. lie has been 
 repeatedly known to read for five or six consecutive hours with- 
 out pausing for a moment ; and what makes the circumstance 
 the more surprising is, that he always read aloud, and with con-
 
 266 SKETCHES IN LONDON 
 
 siderable rapidity. He had been a good English scholar, and 
 was noted for the accuracy of his pronunciation and the graces of 
 his elocution; but all traces of anything worthy the name of elo- 
 cution were now lost; and as to pronunciation, what it was may 
 be inferred from the fact that he would pronounce the word 
 "reflections" as " roultoulfoulchiness." In fact, he rarely pro- 
 nounced a word in such a way as that any one who heard him 
 could ascertain what term it was he was mutilating. That not- 
 withstanding his singular partiality for reading, he attached no 
 meaning, even of his own, to the passages he perused, was clear, 
 from the fact that though he had never known anything of any 
 other language than the English, yet a Latin, Greek, or Hebrew 
 book was as acceptable to him — so would have been a work full 
 of Egyptian hieroglyphics — as one written in his own tongue. 
 
 Since on this subject, I may mention another instance of the 
 ruling passion for literary, or rather, in this case, scientific pur- 
 suits, being strong after the dethronement of reason. The un- 
 fortunate man had been a distinguished mathematician before he 
 was visited with the dispensation which deranged his intellects; 
 and his chief occupation, after the occurrence of that calamity, 
 was, as he supposed, to solve difficult problems. On one occa- 
 sion, an acquaintance of mine seeing a pile of papers, all full of 
 figures, before him, asked him what was the problem he was 
 endeavouring to solve. His answer was one of the most 
 striking that ever escaped human lips. " I have been trying," 
 he said, in a tone and manner which would have become the 
 wisest of men ; " I have been trying to calculate the duration of 
 eternity." What an answer ! What an idea to enter the mind 
 of a maniac! I was never so forcibly struck with anything I 
 have heard in my life : the very conception was sublime in the 
 highest degree. The Avisest of us may learn an important lesson 
 from the employment, on this occasion, of this lunatic. If men 
 would but sit down, and try to calculate the duration of eter- 
 nity — in other words, overlook for the moment the impossibility 
 of the thing, and proceed as if the problem were one which could 
 be solved — it would awaken in the mind the most salutary as 
 well as solemn considerations, and probably bp the means of 
 infinite good to the person so employing himself. When 
 Simonides, in answer to an inquiry made of him as to the nature 
 of the Supreme Being, applied himself, for several consecutive 
 days, to the consideration of the awful topic, he found that the 
 more he thought on the subject^ the more he was lost in its 
 unfathomable depths. So, in like manner, the man who would 
 set himself down, like this unhappy maniac, to try to calculate 
 the duration of eternity, would find that the more he thought 
 on the matter, the farther he was from the solution of the
 
 LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 267 
 
 question; and surely such a train of thought, and such a result, 
 would have a beneficial effect on his mind. 
 
 There was something sublime, if there be not an inaccuracy in 
 the expression, in all the manifestations of this individual's mad- 
 ness. He never occupied his thoughts, if thoughts they could be 
 called, with things of an earthly nature : his mental aberrations 
 were always in the direction of the spiritual world. He fancied 
 himself to be on terms of the closest intimacy with a large com- 
 munity of immaterial beings, and that a constant correspondence 
 by letter was carrying on between him and them. He replied, 
 at great length, to written communications which he imagined 
 himself to have received from some of their number, and replied 
 to those imaginary letters in a most elaborate manner. One of 
 his answers to a supposed communication from one of his cor- 
 respondents in the air, fell into my hands, and was in my pos- 
 session for some time. It w r as closely written on three sides of a 
 folio sheet of paper, and afforded abundant proofs, that previous 
 to the deprivation of his reason, he must have been a man of 
 distinguished scholastic attainments, as well as great intellectual 
 vigour. There were various classical allusions in the letter^ 
 which indicated an intimate acquaintance with the writings ot 
 the philosophers of ancient Greece and Rome. I was not able 
 to detect a single instance of orthographical inaccuracy, or any 
 defect in the punctuation ; neither did I discover any violation 
 of the rules of grammar. But for the incoherency of some of 
 the expressions, coupled with the nature of the subject, any one 
 who had seen the letter, without being apprized of who the 
 writer was, would have supposed that it was the production of 
 some literary character. This insane man individualized all his 
 ideal correspondents : he ascribed to them various distinctive 
 peculiarities of circumstances and character, and invested them 
 with a great diversity of offices and rank. When writing to 
 those of inferior rank, his manner was easy and familiar ; when 
 corresponding with those of a higher station in his imaginary 
 community, lie wrote with the profoundest respect. The letter 
 to which I have already referred, as having been given to me, 
 was regularly folded up, and addressed thus : — 
 
 (Post Paid.) To 
 
 His Most Noble and Serene Highness, 
 
 The Grand and Imperial Possessor 
 
 0/ the Principal Palace 
 
 In the Spiritual Kingdom 
 (In gnat haste.)
 
 268 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 When I first knew this unhappy man, he Avas not in a lunatic 
 asylum ; and he was then in the constant habit of putting all 
 his letters into the post-office with his own hand, in order, 
 as he fancied, to insure their clue transmission to their several 
 destinations. Who can read such things without being affected 
 with the thought, that a man of great literary attainments and 
 of powerful intellect, should be reduced to such a state of mental 
 imbecility ! 
 
 In many cases, lunatics are exceedingly cunning, and display 
 a remarkable readiness of resources in unexpected emergencies. 
 I could mention many instances of this, but will content myself 
 with one. There was lately, and I am not sure whether there 
 be not now, in one of our asylums, a lunatic, who, on the loss of his 
 reason in the first instance — for he was repeatedly cured, though 
 he always relapsed again — lived in a neighbouring county. Be- 
 longing as he did to a family of wealth and respectability, he 
 was provided with a keeper as scon as the first symptoms of the 
 disease appeared. It was hoped that the unfortunate man's 
 lunacy would be of but temporary duration ; and that, by com- 
 mitting him to the care of a keeper, his friends would be spared 
 the pain of sending him to an asylum. His insanity, however, 
 lasted much longer than his relatives had fondly hoped it would; 
 and it was therefore eventually determined to send him to an 
 institution for the reception of persons labouring under mental 
 aberration, in the hope that, through the superior treatment he 
 would there receive, an additional chance of recovery might be 
 afforded him. On the day previous to that appointed for 
 his being sent to the asylum, he overheard his brother giving 
 instructions to his keeper on the subject. He took no notice of 
 the circumstance that night, nor next morning; but when told 
 that he, accompanied by his companion — the name by which his 
 keeper was always called — was to have a long drive in the gig 
 that clay, he expressed himself as quite delighted with the idea, 
 and displayed a willingness to take an airing which strongly 
 contrasted with the reluctance he had before shown to leave the 
 house. After breakfast, the gig was ready, and both started for 
 the county town — about twelve miles distant — in the suburbs of 
 which the asylum was situated. The lunatic was unusually cheer- 
 ful and docile all the way; and here I should remark, that his 
 manner was sometimes so collected and rational, that it would 
 have been difficult to convince a stranger that his intellects 
 were in the slightest degree affected. On reaching the principal 
 hotel, both parties came out of the gig with a view to get some 
 refreshment, and to enable the keeper to make some necessary 
 preliminary arrangements for the reception of his charge into 
 the asylum. The former, after being some time in the house,
 
 LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 269 
 
 quitted the apartment into which they were shown, for a few 
 seconds, not deeming it necessary either to take the lunatic with 
 him, or to turn the key of the door. The latter, watching the 
 opportunity, agreeably to a previous determination to that effect, 
 stole out of the house the moment the other had quitted the 
 apartment. On the keeper missing the lunatic on his return, an 
 alarm was given, and in less than five minutes, at least a dozen 
 persons were engaged in an active search for the unfortunate 
 man, the suddenness of whose disappearance was quite unac- 
 countable to his keeper. No trace of him was to be found for 
 two hours, and the impression began to become general among 
 all acquainted with the circumstance, that he had by some 
 means or other destroyed himself. Just as all hopes of ever seeing 
 him alive again were on the eve of expiration, the lunatic ap- 
 peared, to the infinite astonishment and joy of the person en- 
 trusted with his safe keeping. But where he had been during his 
 absence, was a point which, notwithstanding all the efforts that 
 were made with that view, could not be elicited from him. 
 Where does the reader suppose he was, or in what way em- 
 ployed ? That was a piece of information which his keeper learned 
 to his cost in a few hours after the lunatic's return. The latter 
 had been to the asylum for which his friends had destined 
 himself, and having procured access to the proper party, gave 
 his keeper's name as his own, and represented him as being 
 
 Mr. So-and-so, the brother of Mr. . As it was not only 
 
 well known at the asylum that the latter gentleman had a bro- 
 ther who was at that time labouring under insanity, but as, on the 
 previous day, notice had been received that the lunatic was to be 
 sent to the asylum, the remainder of his story was the more 
 readily believed. "Now," says he, addressing himself to the 
 manager of the institution, " the lunatic is remarkably clever 
 and singularly cunning ; and — " 
 
 " Oh, a great many of our patients are so," interrupted the 
 superintendent of the institution. " We see instances of cun- 
 ning and shrewdness every day, which the wisest of us could not 
 exceed." 
 
 " I have no doubt of it," observed the lunatic, with the great- 
 est apparent self-possession, and seemingly in the most rational 
 manner possible. " I have no doubt of it; none whatever. I 
 have seen many cases of it myself; but this unhappy man ex- 
 ceeds in cunning and shrewdness any one I ever heard of. Why, 
 he would almost deceive the " 
 
 " Oh, he won't deceive us," interrupted the other hastily ; " we 
 are too well accustomed to such tilings." 
 
 " I am happy to hear it," continued the lunatic. " My only 
 reason for coming out here, before taking him with me, was, 
 that I might acquaint you with the circumstance beforehand."
 
 270 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " That was unnecessary : let him try all the tricks he chooses, 
 they will be lost here/' remarked the other, with a self- 
 consequential air, as if he Avere beyond the power of ingenuity to 
 deceive. 
 
 " Very good," observed the lunatic, in a satisfied tone. " I 
 shall bring him here in an hour 01 so : I have left him at the 
 Fountain hotel, in the care of a friend." 
 
 " We shall be ready for him," said the superintendent of the 
 place, in that careless sort of tone which is so characteristic of 
 men in authority. ♦ 
 
 " Good morning, Sir," said the lunatic, turning on his heel as 
 he was about to quit the apartment. 
 
 " Good morning," echoed the other, in the same half-civil, 
 half-reserved tone as before. 
 
 "Oh, I beg your pardon !" said the lunatic, hastily turning 
 round, and advancing a few steps towards the manager of the 
 institution ; " I beg your pardon, Sir, but I entirely forgot to 
 mention the particular way in which his madness manifests 
 itself." 
 
 " Ay, true ; that is of some importance to us," observed the 
 other. " In what way is it ? " 
 
 " Why, he has the notion that every one else is mad but 
 himself." 
 
 " Oh ! that is quite a common impression among persons in 
 his state." 
 
 " Yes ; but singularly enough, his notion is, that I am the 
 insane party, and that he is my keeper. You may rely upon it, 
 that the very moment we arrive, he will affirm in the most posi- 
 tive terms, and with the utmost earnestness of manner, that such 
 is the fact ; and then he Avill desire you to take me into the 
 asylum." 
 
 " Poor fellow !" said the other, with some slight indications 
 of feeling. " Poor fellow ! — but there is nothing too extraordi- 
 nary for these unhappy beings to fancy." 
 
 " I thought it right to inform you of the fact," said the lunatic, 
 " in order that you might not be taken by surprise." 
 
 " Oh, there was not the slightest danger of that. We are too 
 well accustomed to such things, to be deceived either by their 
 affirmations or representations." 
 
 " Good morning, then, for the present," said the lunatic, as he 
 quitted the superintendent's apartment. 
 
 "Good morning," mumbled the latter. 
 
 In about two hours afterwards, a gig, with two persons in it, 
 was seen to drive up to the gate of the institution : it was opened, 
 and both proceeded to the door. As they entered the place, — 
 ** Here is an unfortunate individual," said the lunatic address-

 
 LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 271 
 
 mg himself to the superintendent, "whom you will be kind 
 enough to take every care of." 
 
 The other was so confounded by the unexpected observation, 
 that he was unable, for some seconds, to utter a word. 
 
 "Very good," said the superintendent of the institution; 
 " we'll take care of him," at the same time laying hold of the 
 astonished keeper of the lunatic, by the breast of the coat. 
 
 " Sir — sir — sir !" stammered the confounded man ; ( ' you 
 labour under a mistake : that," pointing to the lunatic, " is the 
 person to be committed to vour care. I — I — I — brought him 
 here." 
 
 " No doubt of it," said the overseer, still dragging the hapless 
 wight forward, assisted by another servant of the establishment, 
 to the part of the asylum for which he was intended. 
 
 " Gracious Heavens, Sir ? what is the meaning of this ?" ex- 
 claimed the luckless party, half suffocated with astonishment and 
 indignation, and struggling hard to disengage himself from the 
 grasp of the parties. 
 
 " Come away, my good man, quietly with us," said the super- 
 intendent, soothingly. 
 
 " By all that's sacred, Sir !" shouted the other, with the 
 utmost vehemence, " I'm not the lunatic ; that is he," again 
 pointing to the actual party. 
 
 " I knew it all : I told you how it would be," said the latter, 
 in a steady voice, and with the greatest self-possession. 
 
 " This May," said the superintendent, carelessly, still dragging 
 the unfortunate party forward. 
 
 " It's a mistake, Sir, by " 
 
 " Oh, there's no mistake, my good man; no mistake," inter- 
 rupted the guardian of the place. 
 
 " No mistake," echoed the lunatic, with the most perfect non- 
 chalance, displaying all the while the most rational demeanour. 
 
 " Sir," shouted the unfortunate party ; " Sir, are you seriotis ? 
 Are you aware of what you're about ?" 
 
 " Perfectly serious, perfectly aware of what we're doing," re- 
 plied the superintendent, drily. 
 
 " Sir, I'm not the lunatic ; that is the lunatic," pointing a 
 third time to the proper party. " Let go your hold, or you 
 retain it at your peril," vociferated the other. 
 
 " Never mind the poor fellow : I told you how he would con- 
 duct himself, and what he would sav," observed the lunatic. 
 
 A few pulls more, and the astonished and enraged party was 
 actually dragged into his destined apartment. When both the 
 superintendent and the inferior servant let go their hold, I 
 leave the reader to fancy what were the feelings of the poor 
 w ight.
 
 272 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " Quite safe now ; he's in our custody now ; and you are 
 relieved from all further responsibility," said the superintendent 
 to the insane party, the moment he had shut the door on the 
 supposed lunatic. 
 
 " All right," said the real lunatic, as if relieved of a heavy load 
 of responsibility. "The family of the unfortunate man will 
 make the necessary arrangements as to expense." 
 
 il Oh, that's all settled already ; the necessary arrangements 
 were made yesterday, when the first intimation of his coming 
 here was sent to us." 
 
 " So I understood," said the lunatic, in a matter-of-course sort 
 of style ; and with that, he quitted the place ; and springing 
 into the gig, which had remained at the gate all this time, 
 drove away home again, as if he had been the most sane man 
 in his majesty's dominions. 
 
 It is impossible to describe the mingled surprise and conster- 
 nation with which his relatives and friends were seized on his 
 return home. Their first apprehension on missing his keeper, 
 was, that he had murdered him on the way ; and their fears 
 were only partially calmed by his assuring them, in answer to 
 their inquiries as to what had become of his companion, that 
 when they both proceeded to the asylum, the parties having 
 charge of the institution insisted that he was the lunatic, and 
 took him under their care accordingly. An express was sent off 
 to the asylum, to inquire whether the parties had been there at 
 all, when the messenger found, to his unutterable surprise, that 
 the facts were as the lunatic had represented ; and as the mes-r 
 senger's statements and protestations as to the mistake which 
 had been committed, were equally discredited with those of the 
 unfortunate party himself, the latter was not liberated until the 
 following day. 
 
 The great physical exertion of which many insane persons are 
 capable, as compared with their strength when in a sound state 
 of mind, has often been the surprise of those who have had an 
 opportunity of witnessing the circumstance. I knew one lunatic 
 who was constitutionally weak and infirm while possessed of his 
 reason, but who, when deprived of it, became so vigoious or 
 strong, in a physical sense, that it required three men to hold 
 him. Not less surprising is the amount of fatigue which lunatics 
 are frequently capable of enduring. Some years ago, I knew a 
 gentleman who had been kept some weeks by his relations, after 
 he had become insane, before being sent to a madhouse, and he 
 was for nearly forty consecutive days, that he did not sleep 
 above one hour out of the twenty-four, and even then without 
 putting off his clothes ; and yet he did not appear as if the least 
 exhausted by his deprivation of sleep and rest. I should also
 
 lot of a lunate Asj
 
 LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 273 
 
 mention, that during all that time, he continued to talk to 
 those about him with scarcely the intermission of a moment. 
 The fluency of his conversation, and the cleverness and point of 
 many of his observations, I should likewise state, quite astonished 
 me. In no case did he hesitate an instant either for ideas or 
 words; nor did he, in a single instance, stutter or use an impro- 
 per term. About the same time, I chanced to see, in the house 
 of her parents, a young female lunatic, now, I am sorry to say, 
 in an asylum, who, I was assured, spoke without intermission for 
 eight successive days and nights without ceasing, on being first 
 seized with insanity. She never closed her eyes in sleep during 
 all that time ; and what made the circumstance of her being able 
 to endure so much physical fatigue the more astonishing, was, 
 that every sentence she uttered in the course of the eight days, 
 was spoken with as much distinctness, and in as loud a tone, as 
 if she had been addressing some public meeting of moderate size. 
 She, also, like the lunatic just referred to, was of a feeble consti- 
 tution, of sickly appearance, and often complained of bodily 
 weakness as well as of general bad health. 
 
 I know of no sight more affecting in a world in which there 
 are so many affecting sights, than that of the interior of a mad- 
 house. What could be more melancholy than to see an assem- 
 blage of our fellow beings, all of whom were at one time equally 
 gifted with ourselves, with the greatest and best of the Deity's 
 gifts to men — the gift of reason — divested of all traces of ration- 
 ality, and showing by their conduct that, in that respect, they 
 are much below many of the lower animals ! The spectacle is a 
 truly pitiable one. Some time ago, I was in an asylum in which 
 there were about thirty lunatics in one ward. It was a sight not 
 to be looked on without feelings of the most painful nature under 
 any circumstances ; but to myself, and to those who Avere with 
 me on the occasion, it was doubly totiching, in consequence of 
 the particulars communicated to us respecting several of the un- 
 happy individuals by one of the officers of the institution. It 
 was, therefore, not necessary in our case, that we should put 
 our imaginations in requisition, and endeavour to form some idea 
 of the circumstances in which the helpless beings before us were 
 previous to the derangement of their intellects, and then contrast 
 those circumstances with the condition in which we beheld them. 
 The contrast could not have been more striking, had we given 
 full reins to our fancy as to what they previously were, and how 
 they had been circumstanced. Some of them had distinguished 
 themselves by their scholastic attainments : of one of the par- 
 ties, indeed, it might be said, that too much learning had 
 made him mad. There were others who had earned for them- 
 selves a reputation in scientific and philosophical pursuits; while 
 
 u
 
 274 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 there were at least three who had been in excellent business as 
 professional men. Two were connected by close relationship 
 with aristocratic families ; and all of them, in one word, had 
 been accustomed to every earthly abundance. The high terms, 
 indeed, of admission and maintenance, in the particular part of 
 the institution in which they were placed, afforded presumptive 
 proof that either they themselves must have possessed some pro- 
 perty, or that their relations must have been in easy circum- 
 stances. Some of them had been the idol of their circle 
 of acquaintances ; others had been revered and beloved as hus- 
 bands, parents, brothers, sons, or near relatives. They had 
 been themselves happy in the bosom of their families ; and were 
 the source of joy and felicity to all within their domestic sphere, 
 just as the sun is the source of light and heat to the world. One 
 had been but a few months married ; another was on the eve of 
 union with an amiable and virtuous woman. How altered their 
 situation now ! What could be more striking than the contrast 
 between what they once were, and what I beheld them ? The 
 joys of friendship or affection were no longer theirs. Friend ! 
 The word Mas to them an unmeaning sound. Wife, mother, 
 father, brother, sister, children, were terms which might now be 
 uttered in their hearing without calling up one idea in their 
 minds : they were to them as unmeaning as the wildest sounds 
 which ever escaped the lips of the savage who roams the forest. 
 In the moral world, all was a perfect blank : in the mental 
 world, all was either utter darkness itself, or it was peopled with 
 the strangest and most fantastic shapes. Even the physical 
 world could only be said to have remained to them in a qualified 
 sense. To many of them the change in the seasons afforded 
 no enjoyment. They seemed incapable of perceiving any differ- 
 ence between the inclemency of a severe winter, and the geni- 
 ality of the summer season. To them it mattered not whether 
 the sun shone or shrouded himself amidst the clouds ; whether it 
 was fair or foul ; whether it was night or day. None of these 
 changes, ever-recurring though they be, and though bearing so 
 largely on the happiness of the human race generally, ever ap- 
 peared to have come within the circle of their consciousness. 
 They could be said, indeed, to exist in no other sense than 
 as mere animals ; and as animals, moreover, of the very lowest 
 class. Where, I again repeat, could one go to witness a more 
 touching scene than this ? In every situation of life, and amidst 
 the infinitelv varied circumstances of this ever-changing world, 
 the man of reflection finds something to excite his commisera- 
 tion, and to call forth his sympathies ; but in the wide range ot 
 human misfortune and human misery, there is no misfortune so 
 great, no misery so deep, no spectacle so truly pitiable, as tha*
 
 LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 27C 
 
 which the interior of a lunatic asylum presents to our con- 
 templation. 
 
 And yet there are persons — will the fact be believed ? — who 
 can treat these poor creatures with the greatest harshness and 
 cruelty. Some years ago, the most horrible disclosures were 
 made before a committee of the House of Commons, as to the 
 unredeemed inhumanity with which the inmates of a private 
 lunatic asylum were treated by those who had the charge of 
 them; and this not occasionally, but habitually. Until those 
 disclosures were made, and were verified beyond all possibility 
 of doubt, I had thought that such instances of barbarity could 
 never have occurred in a Christian or civilized land. As the 
 asylum to which I refer still exists, I will not name it. Part 
 of the cruelties exercised were of such a nature as to render a 
 detail of them unfit to meet the public eye. Other instances of 
 the barbarities systematically committed in the institution, can 
 only be described in general terms. But, in order to preclude 
 the possibility of being suspected, either unintentionally or other- 
 wise, of any, even the slightest exaggeration on this subject, I 
 will quote some portions of the evidence given. Similar cases of 
 cruelty have occurred of a much later date; but for reasons 
 which will occur to most persons, I go as far back as to evi- 
 dence published several years since by a select committee of the 
 House of Commons, appointed to inquire into the state of pri- 
 vate madhouses in the metropolis. I shall only further premise, 
 that a number of such cases of ill-usage, as those recorded in 
 what follows, were brought to light by that committee, and by 
 the committee which sat on the same subject, at a much later 
 date. 
 
 Mrs. Mary H called in, and examined. 
 
 What was the motive of your coming to this committee ? — I came to 
 answer any questions that the committee might put to me respecting 
 madhouses. 
 
 - How long have you been come to England ? — I arrived here on 
 Saturday night. 
 
 Where did you come from last ? — From M . 
 
 Did your brother write you to attend this committee ? — He did. 
 
 How long were you resident in the house of Mr. , at ? 
 
 — Three years, within six weeks. 
 
 In what capacity ? — Housekeeper. 
 
 By whose recommendation did you gain that situation ? — Mr. Rogers 
 told me of the situation, and I went to Mr. . 
 
 Your brother was then acting as surgeon to the establishment ? — He 
 
 was. . 
 
 It was through his recommendation to Mr. , that you obtained 
 
 the situation ? — It was. 
 
 U 2
 
 276 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 During the time that you were resident as housekeeper at Mr. — — 's, 
 did you observe anything in the management of that house which, 
 knowing the objects of the inquiries of this committee, you think it 
 necessary to state ? — I know that patients were very ill-treated ; a vast 
 number of them. 
 
 How long have you left ? — I left on the 6th of August, in 181 — 
 
 State to the committee what those acts of ill-treatment were, to which 
 
 you have alluded. — Samuel R 's ill-treating Mr. Driver, a farmer, 
 
 from the country. 
 
 Did you see that yourself ? — I did. 
 
 State what you saw. — It was one morning, when I was sitting behind 
 the table, at breakfast time, I heard a terrible noise on the gentlemen's 
 
 side up stairs. I went up in consequence, and found Samuel R 
 
 ill-treating Mr. Driver, by beating him with a pair of boots, in a most 
 dreadful manner. 
 
 Was he in bed ? — Yes, he was in bed : he had beat him out of bed, 
 and the young man ran down the gallery, with Samuel after him. 
 
 Was he in his shirt ? — Yes. 
 
 What steps did you take ? — I went to Mr. , and told him of it. 
 
 What was Mr. 's answer ? — He said he knew Samuel was a 
 
 cruel brute. 
 
 Was nothing further done than making that observation ? — Nothing 
 more. 
 
 You did not hear Mr. reprimand Samuel R for that 
 
 conduct ? — No, I did not. 
 
 Is there any other case that you can state, as to the harsh treatment 
 by this keeper of the patients under his charge ? — His general conduct 
 was extremely brutal. 
 
 In what way ? — In kicking the patients, and thumping them sadly. 
 
 In striking them with his fists, and kicking them ? — Yes. Captain 
 D he used extremely ill, when he was under his care. 
 
 In what way ? — In striking him, and using him extremely ill. 
 
 Was Mr. acquainted with his conduct to Captain D ? — 
 
 He was. 
 
 How do you know that ? — I heard the conversation. 
 
 What was that conversation ? — Mr. John D , Mr. , and Mr. 
 
 R , were together, in the poor women's yard ; they heard a noise, 
 
 and looked through the pales, and saw Sam striking Captain D in 
 
 a dreadful manner while confined in a waistcoat. They came up to the 
 
 house together, and I heard Mr. D say, " Sam is too great a brUte 
 
 to have the management of patients, and you ought to send him 
 
 away." Mr. said, " I will see about it," or something to that effect. 
 
 In what year did that happen ? — I believe about ten or eleven months 
 before I left the house ; but I cannot exactly say. 
 
 How long was R a keeper after that time ? — I left him a keeper 
 
 when I came away. 
 
 Will you take upon yourself distinctly to state to the committee, that, 
 
 to your knowledge, Mr. was acquainted with the cruel conduct of 
 
 R to the patients under his charge, and 3^et continued him as 
 
 keeper up to the period of your quitting the establishment ? — Yes.
 
 LUNATIC ASYLUMS 277 
 
 Have you any other statement to make, as to the conduct of R ? 
 
 — He used to treat Mr. Holmes exceedingly bad. 
 
 In what way did he treat him bad ? — By striking him. 
 
 Was it the constant practice of R to strike the patients in the 
 
 house ? — It was. 
 
 Was there anything particular in the conduct and behaviour of the 
 three patients whom you have mentioned, that seemed to render coer- 
 cion and severe treatment more necessary in their case than in that of 
 other patients ? — No. Captain D was in a very high state of disor- 
 der ; but after taking to his bed, it was myself that waited and attended 
 on him, and gave him every thing, which he took without the least force. 
 
 With respect to Mr. Driver, in what state of disease was he ? — He 
 was a little high at times, but nothing to require his being confined, or 
 anything of that kind. 
 
 Was he manacled ? — Very seldom. 
 
 With respect to Mr. Holmes ? — He was perfectly harmless. 
 
 Were you acquainted with a person of the name of Isabella Adams ? 
 — She was a patient in the house. 
 
 What species of patient ? — She belonged to St. G 's 
 
 parish. 
 
 Was she often in a state of great irritation ? — Not very frequently. 
 
 When she was in that state, where was she confined ? — She was con- 
 fined in a place in the yard. 
 
 Describe the nature of that place. — It was originally a pig-stye : it 
 was run up high on purpose for her. I have seen her confined there 
 for three weeks together. 
 
 Was she ironed ? — She had been ironed there in the crib, with wrist- 
 locks and leg-locks, and a chain two or three times across her body. 
 
 Was there an iron bar placed between her legs, in order to prevent 
 
 her joining her feet together ? — There was. Mr. had the bar 
 
 made on purpose for her. 
 
 For what purpose was that bar, as she was chained to her crib ? — It 
 was not used when she was chained to her crib, but when she was 
 allowed go go about. 
 
 For what purpose was it used ? — To confine her, that she should net 
 get away ; to prevent her from escaping. 
 
 For how long together have you ever seen her using that bar ? — In- 
 deed, I cannot say. At different times she has had it. 
 
 For a month together ? — I do not conceive she wore it so long as that. 
 
 A fortnight ? — Perhaps a week. 
 
 Describe the nature of the bar, and the way it was used. — It was 
 confined to each ankle with a chain, coming up her body, which was 
 attached to her handcuffs. 
 
 Do you know what was the weight of that chain ? — I cannot say, 
 indeed. 
 
 What was the size of it ? — It was very large. 
 
 As thick as your middle finger ? — It might possibly be as thick as that. 
 
 Could she walk with it ? — Yes. 
 
 Was she a very furious patient ? — No ; a very harmless patient ; you 
 might sit and talk to her when she was in the highest state.
 
 278 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 Was she ever employed in domestic purposes about the house ? — Yes, 
 she was. 
 
 In what situation ? — Scouring the rooms. 
 
 Was she ever employed in the kitchen ? — Not while I was there. 
 
 Have you ever heard she was before ? — I have ; but not while I was 
 there. 
 
 Was there a female keeper in that establishment, of the name of 
 B W ?— Yes. 
 
 What was her character ? — She was a very turbulent woman ; very 
 harsh and cruel to the patients. 
 
 Did you ever see her ill-treat Isabella Adams ? — Yes. 
 
 Describe what you have seen her do to her. — I have seen her lock 
 her down in her crib with wrist-locks and leg-locks, and horsewhip 
 her ; and I have seen the blood follow the strokes. 
 
 Have you seen her often horsewhip her ? — I have, sundry times : 
 three or four times. 
 
 Did she do it of her own freewill and pleasure, or did she do it by 
 the order of any one else ? — By the order of Mr. . 
 
 Did you hear Mr. give those orders ? — He gave them to me ; 
 
 and I begged him to tell B himself. 
 
 What were those orders, to the best of your recollection ? — B , I 
 
 desire you to go and take Isabella Adams, confine her to her crib, and 
 give her a good horsewhipping. 
 
 Do you recollect what she had been doing ? — She had been tiying to 
 make her escape. 
 
 Did you ever complain to Mr. of the ill-treatment that Isabella 
 
 Adams received ? — Yes. 
 
 What was his answer ? — He said that he had leave from the gentle- 
 men of the parish ; that they told him, the best thing he could do 
 was to give her a good horsewhipping. 
 
 Has she made her escape out of the house more than once ? — Several 
 times. 
 
 What was the nature of the whip that B used to horsewhip 
 
 Isabella Adams with ? — A whip with a whalebone handle, and a long 
 lash : a sort of dog -whip. 
 
 Was the situation in which Isabella Adams was confined, extremely 
 cold ? — Very cold. 
 
 What covering had she ? — A rug. 
 
 Did she appear to suffer from cold ? — She was extremely ill for some 
 time after she came out. 
 
 Ill of what ? — She used to go double, and was very much emaciated. 
 
 Was she much straitened for room ? — No ; she had the usual allow- 
 ance of room. 
 
 Had she a good allowance of food ? — She had the common allowance 
 for poor people : sometimes she did not take her food for two days 
 together 
 
 The above were not isolated cases : a great many, fully as bad, 
 and several even worse, were brought to light, not only by the
 
 LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 279 
 
 committee of 1816, but by that of 1827- I have selected the 
 above cases, simply because they are more fit for publication than 
 many others. It was proved, by the examination of witnesses of 
 undoubted integrity, that in one house a number of patients 
 were regularly chained, in the coldest days of winter, to the walls 
 of their cribs, from Saturday afternoon, at four o'clock, till Mon- 
 day morning, at eight ; and that it was no uncommon thing to 
 have them washed in a tub of water with a mop, wheal there was 
 ice on the water. It was proved, that one poor unfortunate 
 man had had his eye knocked out by the keeper, whom he had 
 offended : that another had been dreadfully cut on the head by 
 a forcible blow with a key ; and that, in a number of cases, 
 death had been the result of the cruelties which had been prac- 
 tised towards the poor creatures by those who were paid to pro- 
 tect them, and to afford them all the comfort in their power. 
 
 But this is a topic on which I will not dwell. Since then, 
 happily, a great improvement has taken place in the treatment 
 of insane persons in private madhouses. In some of these esta- 
 blishments, it is but justice to say, the unfortunate parties are as 
 well taken care of, and are in every respect as comfortable, as if 
 they were with their friends at home. I need hardly add, that 
 as there is so great a difference in the treatment of the unfortu- 
 nate insane in different private madhouses, even where the terms 
 are the same, the friends of any such unhappy persons incur a 
 fearful responsibility, when they fail to make the proper inquiries 
 as to which of the asylums afford the best protection, and prac- 
 tise the kindliest treatment. 
 
 It was the detection of the gross abuses and shocking cruel- 
 ties which obtained in many of the leading private madhouses in 
 London some years ago, which led to the erection of the Han- 
 well Lunatic Asylum. To the pauper lunatics of the county, 
 that asylum has, indeed, proved a boon of incalculable value. 
 
 In the course of my inquiries into the statistics of lunatic asy- 
 lums in the metropolis, I ascertained that many of the inmates 
 had been confined for fifteen or sixteen years, without having 
 once, all that time, crossed the threshold of the institution. 
 There were several who had been shut up in these asylums for 
 twenty years ; and, in one or two cases, there were parties who 
 had been there upwards of a quarter of a century*. What, per- 
 
 * Mr. Bakewcll, the keeper of a private madhouse at Spring Vale, near Wake- 
 field, stated, in his evidence hefore a Committee of the House of Commons, appointed 
 to inquire into the subject of insanity, that he knew a man who had been, for the sin- 
 gularly long peiiod of fifty years, a lunatic in a private asylum ; and that, during all 
 that time, he had hecn confined to a small dark dungeon of an apartment, almost in 
 a state of nudity, and never rising off Hie heap of straw which was all he had for 
 hed during all that time. I ought also to mention, that he never once saw fire, or 
 fell its genial warmth, in the course of those fifty years. Neither \\a> he visited, ox-
 
 280 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 haps, is more remarkable is, that in various instances, the maniacs 
 who were longest in the institution were amongst the most fran- 
 tic and ungovernable of the inmates, and were consequently 
 obliged to be repeatedly kept, by chains or otherwise, closely to 
 their own apartments. What struck me as very singular, was 
 the fact of the human frame being able to support so much men- 
 tal violence, or such a high state of excitement, as the technical 
 phrase is, for so long a period ; and this, too, without one mo- 
 ment's lucid interval. Yet so it was. And what is more sur- 
 prising still, these persons were, in most cases, among the most 
 healthy inmates in the various institutions. This is a physiolo- 
 gical anomaly for which I am unable to account. I can easily 
 enough conceive how a lunatic may endure more than ordinary 
 physical fatigue, and make more than the usual physical exertion 
 for the first few weeks after he is visited with the malady ; on 
 the same principle as a person, stimulated by ardent spirits, or 
 fired by some other exciting cause, often displays an amount of 
 physical strength to which he would be unequal in ordinary cir- 
 cumstances : the difficulty with me, in the case of the class 
 of lunatics to which I refer, is, how their frames can bear up 
 under this constant violence of manner, this unintermitting high 
 state of excitement, for a long succession of years. 
 
 It is a fact which will surprise those who were not before 
 aware of it, that many cases have been discovered, in the recent 
 annals of the private madhouses of London, of persons having 
 been for a long period — in some instances, for several years — 
 confined in these institutions, who, before they were sent thither, 
 and all the time they were inmates, were as sane as any man 
 in Great Britain. It will be asked, how came they, then, to be 
 sent to these places ? In a number of cases they were so from 
 their friends mistaking certain peculiarities or eccentricities in 
 their manner, for insanity. Not later than towards the close of the 
 last session of parliament, I heard Mr. Wakley, the member for 
 Finsbury, state in his place in the House of Commons, that he 
 himself knew a gentleman, then moving in a respectable sphere 
 of society, who a short time before had been consigned by his 
 friends to a lunatic asylum, under the impression that he was 
 insane. And what does the reader suppose was the ground on 
 which those friends rested their belief in his insanity ? Simply, 
 as Mr. Wakley stated to the house, that he happened to feel 
 very strongly in favour of a certain class of political principles — 
 whether Tory, Whig, Radical, or Republican, Mr. Wakley did 
 not say, — and that his zeal for the spread of his views led him 
 to be somewhat forward in endeavouring to make proselytes to 
 
 cept a very few times, by any human being. Half a century in one spot, and without the 
 sight of fire ! To what affecting considerations is the fact calculated to give rise !
 
 LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 2S1 
 
 his principles. Poor fellow ! he was a living martyr to his poli- 
 tical faith, with a vengeance. 
 
 Novelists and writers of tales often construct their stories on 
 the singularly affecting circumstances under which lovers, friends, 
 and acquaintances, sometimes meet. I know of no meeting 
 which could be more affecting to the relatives and friends of the 
 parties, than that of those who were dear to each other, in a 
 lunatic asylum. Some years since, a father and grown-up daugh- 
 ter, who were most affectionately attached to each other, were 
 both inmates of St. Luke's at the same time ; both having bv a 
 painful coincidence been visited with insanity within a short pe- 
 riod of each other, though neither, so far as I have been able to 
 learn, ever exhibited any symptoms of it before. And within 
 the last few weeks, a case has been verbally communicated to 
 me, by a gentleman who was personally cognizant of the fact, in 
 which two brothers, between twenty and thirty years of age, 
 were both visited with mental alienation within a few weeks of 
 each other; and so decided was their insanity, that it became 
 necessary to send both to an asylum. They were both sent to 
 the same institution ; and, touching thought ! sent on the same 
 day, and in each other's company. It was a remarkable fact in 
 the case of these unfortunate young men, that not only was their 
 attachment singularly strong towards each other, but their tastes, 
 views, and habits, were so alike as to amount to a species of 
 Siamese sympathy. And yet, when they became insane, nothing 
 could exceed the dislike which the one entertained to the other: 
 they seemed then to act on the principle of antipathy : what 
 the one liked, the other hated, and vice versa. 
 
 In a former part of the chapter, I adverted to the fact of some 
 lunatics talking with great rationality on all other points but 
 one ; a modification of the disease generally called monomania, 
 or hallucination of mind. In most of the cases of this kind 
 which have come under my observation, the parties have ex- 
 hibited a marked predilection for dwelling, in their conversation 
 with others, on the particular topic on which their minds were 
 insane — so veiy strong a predilection for talking on the subject, 
 that it was with difficulty you could divert their minds for a 
 short time from it. There are occasional cases, however, in 
 which the insanity of individuals not only manifests itself on a 
 particular point, but they can, if not led to that point by acci- 
 dent, abstain from introducing it into conversation with others, 
 and probably, also, from thinking of it themselves, for weeks 
 and months at a time. The most remarkable case of this kind 
 which has been brought before the public, for some years past, 
 was that of Captain Good, now an inmate in Bethlem, and to 
 which I referred, when speaking of lunatics fancying themselves
 
 282 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 to be sovereigns. It will be remembered, that about six months 
 ago, this individual — a gentleman by birth, education, and man- 
 ners — committed two or three outrages on the Queen, and was 
 afterwards ascertained to have been as decidedly mad as a human 
 being could well be imagined to be. Yet it was proved by the 
 landlady, with whom he had lived for several months in Regent- 
 street, that his conduct, so far as she saw, was perfectly rational 
 and orderly. Nothing was seen amiss in his manner, even on the 
 days on which he behaved so insanely in the presence of the 
 Queen. His brother also stated, that he had heard whispers of 
 his being insane some time before this; but that, after a lengthened 
 interview, and a great deal of conversation on every variety of 
 topic with him, he thought for some time that he was as sane as 
 himself. It seems to have been the thought of the Queen, or of 
 Kensington Palace, in which she then resided, that brought to 
 his mind the point on which he was deranged, and made him so 
 outrageous. It also appeared, that the moment the Queen was 
 out of his sight, or he had quitted the neighbourhood of Ken- 
 sington, his mind resumed its sanity : for it was proved that he 
 talked and acted quite rationally, an hour or two after he had 
 conducted himself so frantically in the pi'esence of Her Majesty. 
 It will be remembered that the unfortunate man was brought be- 
 fore Lord Chief Justice Denman, in the Court of Queen's Bench, 
 in November last, in consequence of the outrage he had offered 
 to her Majesty. As the whole of the proceedings afforded a 
 curious illustration of the particular way in which insanity works 
 on some minds, I will here quote the report without alteration 
 which appeared in the public journals, of the examination he 
 underwent before Lord Denman. 
 
 Saturday, November 18, 1837. 
 
 This morning, on the sitting of the Court, Captain John Good was 
 ur ought in, and placed upon the floor of the court ; he was very well 
 dressed, and had a star on his left breast : he kept his hat on his head. 
 
 Usher — Take off your hat, Sir. Captain Good — I will not : I am 
 the King of England. 
 
 Earl Spencer, Earl Glenelg, Sir John Nicol, Sir Herbert Jenner, and 
 Sir Frederick Pollock, then entered the court, and took the oaths of 
 allegiance. On their swearing to be true and faithful to Queen Vic- 
 toria, Captain Good said, " A usurper ; what a villanous oath that is !" 
 
 The privy councillors having retired, Captain Good was politely asked 
 by the officers of the court to come forward. 
 
 Captain Good then addressed their Lordships — I beg to observe, my 
 Lord, that this is an illegal Court ; the Court of a usurper ; the Court 
 of Princess Victoria, the usurper. The throne of England is mine ; I 
 am King John the Second. 
 
 Lord Denman, with much mildness — Should you not take off your
 
 LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 283 
 
 hat ? Captain Good — I can't take off my hat, my Lord, without giving 
 up my claim to the throne of England, which I do not intend to do, I 
 assure your Lordship. My Lord, in my mother's lifetime, you once 
 acted honourably and nobly. 
 
 The indictment was then read, which charged him as a man calling 
 himself John the Second, and also with having used seditious language 
 in the presence of Her Majesty. 
 
 Captain Good — This is a infernal . I will have you off 
 
 the throne. 
 
 Upon being asked whether he was guilty or not guilty, he said, " I 
 will not plead before this Court ; it is the Court of a usurper." 
 
 The Attorney- General — I now, my Lord, pray an inquest, under the 
 29th & 30th Geo. III., to try whether this gentleman is now of sound 
 mind, or insane. 
 
 Lord Denman — Is the Sheriff in attendance ? 
 
 This being answered in the affirmative, 
 
 The Attorney- General said — My Lords, at common law, it has 
 been determined that the second section of the act applied to misde- 
 meanours. 
 
 Captain Good — You want to get rid of a bad prosecution. You 
 want to get rid of it on the ground of my insanity. I am as sane as 
 you are. 
 
 A jury was then sworn, to try whether John Good was insane or not. 
 
 Captain Good — Why am I not tried for high treason ? 
 
 The Attorney- General — Gentlemen of the jury, in a few words, I 
 may explain the nature of these proceedings. The unfortunate gentle- 
 man who stands before you, is indicted for having spoken seditious 
 words in the presence of her Majesty, as her Majesty was return- 
 ing from Brighton to the Palace, on the 4th of November ; and 
 there is every reason to believe that he is not responsible for his acts. 
 By the humanity of the common law of England, no person, who is in 
 an unsound state of mind, shall be put upon his trial ; and it is directed, 
 that when any person shall be called upon to plead to an indictment, 
 and there is reason to believe him not to be of sound mind, an inquest 
 shall be immediately taken, to ascertain that fact ; and if he is found to 
 be insane, his trial must be postponed until he shall have recovered. A 
 most salutary act passed in the 39th & 40th years of George III., 
 wherein it is enacted, that where any person, indicted for any offence, 
 shall, upon his arraignment, be found to be insane, he is not to be dis- 
 charged until the pleasure of the sovereign shall be known ; but that 
 the finding of the jury be recorded ; and the Court shall make an order 
 that he be placed in confinement at the pleasure of the sovereign, as her 
 Majesty shall think fit. 
 
 Captain Good — That statute was made on purpose for me. 
 
 The Attorney- General — By another section of that act, it is enacted, 
 that if any insane person, without actually committing an offence, shall 
 try to commit one, that that person may have proceedings taken against 
 him ; and that that person may be put into confinement, so that he 
 may be no longer dangerous.
 
 234 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 Captain Good — That statute was made expressly for the purpose of 
 meeting my case. 
 
 The Attorney- General — I will now state the history of this unfortu- 
 nate gentleman. He served ten years in the army, and was a most 
 excellent officer, having the good opinion of all men. In the year 1834, 
 he left his regiment (10th Foot), and was promoted to half-pay. He 
 had always conducted himself in the most proper and gentlemanly man- 
 ner ; but it unfortunately happened, about the month of October last, 
 that his understanding became impaired : he was still, however, rational 
 upon every subject but one. He had taken the strange notion into his 
 head, that he was entitled to the throne of England : he said he was 
 the son of George the Fourth ; and insisted upon it, that he ought to 
 reign over this kingdom. He had remained under that delusion to the 
 present hour ; and you have been witnesses of that delusion, by his con- 
 duct in this court. When the oaths of allegiance were being adminis- 
 tered, he said her Majesty was a usurper. I shall prove to you, that in 
 the month of October last, in the presence of his own brother, he 
 declared he did not stand in any relationship to him ; and that he was 
 the sovereign, and had the right to command the services of all the 
 officers in the army. Down to the present hour, he labours under that 
 delusion. Gentlemen, I will call the surgeon who has attended him 
 lately, and he will tell you, that whenever he talks upon this subject, 
 he breaks out in the manner you have heard. He says her Majesty is 
 a usurper. Under these circumstances, he is not a fit subject for 
 punishment ; he will be humanely and properly taken care of, and will 
 not longer be dangerous, as he would, if suffered to go at large. I am 
 sure, if he were of sane mind, he would be a most loyal subject of the 
 sovereign, and would be the first to coma forward to protect her. 
 
 W. H. Good, Esq., having been called, 
 
 Captain Good said — When a villain comes before his lawful sovereign, 
 and shall conspire and compass the death of his liege lord, he shall be 
 hung, drawn, and quartered ; and (addressing his brother, who was then 
 passing him in his way to the witness-box,) that is your sentence, and 
 your death is recorded in the Court of King's Bench. 
 
 W. H. Good, Esq., was then examined by Mr. Wightman. 
 
 You are the brother of Captain Good, I believe ? — I am the brother of 
 Captain John Good. 
 
 You are in the 10th regiment of Foot ? — I am. 
 
 Was your brother also in the 10th regiment ? — He was also in the 
 10th regiment, for a period of nine or ten years. 
 
 When did he leave that regiment? — I think in the year 1834, on 
 promotion to half-pay. 
 
 Did you remain with the regiment after he quitted ? — I did, till Au . 
 gust last. 
 
 Did you then see your brother ? — I arrived in London the let of Oc- 
 tober ; I left the Mediterranean in August. 
 
 Did you call upon your brother ? — I called upon my brother on 
 the 12th. 
 
 Where did you find him ? — 118, Regent-street.
 
 LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 285 
 
 Captain Good — You know, you villain, you are not my brother : how 
 dare you claim relationship to the blood- royal of England ? 
 
 Evidence continued. — Tell us what passed between you ? — He re- 
 ceived me first in a rational manner ; and I had reason then to hope 
 that the reports I had heard, as to his state of mind, were unfounded. 
 Very shortly afterwards, he stood up, and asked me in what relationship 
 1 considered him to stand towards me ? I replied, that of brother. He 
 said, " No, Sir ; you are the son of an officer in my service, and occupy 
 your proper place in society. I am King of England. I am King John 
 the Second." From that time, his language was incoherent. He 
 said Queen Victoria was a usurper, and that he would have her off the 
 throne. 
 
 Captain Good — You are trembling on the verge of the grave, Sir, 
 remember. 
 
 Examination continued. — Did you leave him ? — I left him at that 
 time : he disclaimed me as his brother. In the afternoon of the same 
 day, I paid him another visit ; and I found he had given orders that I 
 should not be admitted. As soon as I entered the room where he was, 
 he told me that he was King of England, and took up his hat, and 
 walked awaj r , repeating again that he was lawful heir to the throne. 
 
 Have you seen him since ? — I saw him once in Waterloo-place : we 
 passed each other, but did not speak. 
 
 That was the last personal communication ? — Yes ; that was the last 
 personal communication. 
 
 By Lord Denman. — Had you been on affectionate terms with your 
 prother ? — Most particularly so. 
 
 There was no cause of quarrel ? — None whatever. 
 
 Alice Collins was then called ; but Lord Denman asked if it was re- 
 quisite to go further. His Lordship then addressed the jury. — Gentle- 
 men, I don't know whether you want any further evidence. There might 
 be a question, whether the unfortunate man should not be called upon ; 
 but that would be an improper mockery, and would only lead to length- 
 ened observations, without altering the result. If you are of opinion 
 that this unfortunate gentleman is not of sound mind, you will say so 
 by your verdict. 
 
 Jury — Perfectly unsound. 
 
 The Attorney- General — It is now my duty to move, my Lords, that 
 this finding be recorded ; and that your Lordships will be pleased to 
 order that John Good be kept in strict custody till her Majesty's plea- 
 sure be known. 
 
 Lord Denman — Be it so. 
 
 Captain Good — I declare, before this Court, that I will impale the 
 royal family; that I will drag, from the sepulchre at Windsor, the bones 
 of their ancestors, and burn them before their faces ; that I will order a 
 brig-of-war to be anchored off the Tower, in which their bones shall be 
 placed, and cast into the deepest part of the Atlantic. I will draw out 
 their bowels. I will draw out the bowels, and embowel the Russian 
 and Dutch embassies, the true foes of England, and hang them on the 
 Tower. This is my sentence, pronounced on the floor of the Court of
 
 286 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 King's Bench ; and, so help me God ! I will perform it ; for I will regard 
 as an accomplice any one who dares to intercede for them. — (This was 
 delivered with great warmth, accompanied with considerable action.) 
 
 Lord Denman — Let him now be taken back to the custody from 
 which he was brought here. 
 
 Captain Good then turned round, and quietly walked out, having 
 first said, in an authoritative tone, " Make way." He was guarded by 
 a number of officers, but treated throughout by all as a gentleman. 
 
 There is every reason to believe that insanity has not yet been 
 treated with that scientific skill of which the disease is suscepti- 
 ble. This, at all events, is the impression of most of our present 
 eminent physicians. The question then suggests itself, How are 
 the defects of the system of treatment which at present obtains, 
 to be remedied ? This is a question which it is not for me, or 
 for any one who, like myself, is unconnected with the medical 
 profession, to answer. I may, however, observe, that the general 
 opinion among the most distinguished physicians of the present 
 day — those, especially, whose attention has been particularly 
 directed to the subject — is, that there ought, as the groundwork 
 of any efficient system of treatment in cases of mental alienation, 
 to be a union of moral and medical remedies. One physician of 
 great celebrity has recorded his conviction, that "medical ad- 
 vice is likely to be useful in cases of insane persons." He adds, 
 " It is most useful in the early stages of insanity ; but it is useful 
 also in the progress of the disease, particularly when it recurs in 
 paroxysms ; and it is occasionally useful in confirmed lunacy, 
 though the good effect of it is less certain in the advanced 
 stages of the disease. This, however, is analogous only to what 
 is found to be the case in other distempers. I consider insanity 
 to be connected with bodily indisposition throughout its course, 
 though this be less apparent in some cases than in others." In 
 connection with the medical part of the treatment of lunatics, it 
 is necessary that the greatest attention should be paid to diet — 
 a fact which, it is to be feared, is too generally overlooked. Sir 
 Anthony Carlisle, in his examination before a select committee 
 of the House of Commons, in 1827, on the subject of insanity, 
 expresses himself on this point as follows : " I am quite convinced, 
 from experience, that both for the moral health — that is, the 
 remedying the derangement of the mind — and for the continu- 
 ance of bodily health, diet is one of the most essential things ; 
 and that it should be specifically directed in each case, and that 
 it requires medical direction in each case." Again : " Were I the 
 superintendent, and answerable to the governors of an insti- 
 tution of that sort (a public madhouse), and were they, from 
 a feeling of economy or saving, to coerce me in the treatment of a 
 lunatic, or set of lunatics, with regard to diet, I would say
 
 LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 2S7 
 
 * You neither do the patient justice, nor do you permit me to 
 exercise my judgment.' Their diet must be of the best kind, and 
 not of the grossness of diet in general : it must be fresh meat, 
 and not salt meat. In those institutions where economy is a 
 great matter, I have seen coarse pieces of salt beef, coarse 
 cheese, and not the best kind of bread, and unwholesome vege- 
 tables. There is no chance of restoring a man whose disordered 
 mind depends on a disordered stomach and disordered bowels, if 
 he is taking that food. If a man is kept in a state of dreaming 
 while he is awake — for, in many instances, insanity consists in a 
 man not being able to distinguish between his waking and sleep- 
 ing powers ; if a man's powers are asleep, he becomes a lunatic 
 while he is awake; for most men are lunatics when they are 
 asleep with a disturbed state of the stomach ; and if a man is 
 thrown into that state, that he is confused while he is awake, he 
 becomes a continued lunatic, and has no chance. There is an 
 operation of the mind, arising from the disturbance of that func- 
 tion, which physic can never cure, if a man is eating that 
 which disturbs his brain, and keeps it from that quiescence and 
 rest which the health of the mind requires." 
 
 The moral remedies to be resorted to, in the treatment of in- 
 sanity, are as much dependent on the peculiar condition of the 
 patient, as are the medical remedies. In the fifth report, writ- 
 ten two years ago by Sir William Ellis, of the state of matters 
 in the Hanwell Lunatic Asylum, Sir William has some judicious 
 observations on this point. He says — " By inducing the patient 
 to exercise and combine the mental faculties which remain to 
 him, these become strengthened, and others are gradually deve- 
 loped, until the mind is eventually restored to its original powers. 
 It must be evident, that to carry this plan into execution, a 
 greater diversity of employment and amusement must be care- 
 fully selected, and continued wjth unremitting attention for 
 years, according to the different tastes and various habits of the 
 patients. By keeping the attention completely engrossed, so as 
 to allow the mind no time to dwell on its prevailing delusions, 
 these almost imperceptibly fade away; and, after a pervd, 
 vanish altogether." 
 
 In conformity with these views, it is one of the leading fea- 
 tures in the system of treatment adopted at the Hanwell insti- 
 tution, to employ the patients in some way or other, but always 
 in a manner agreeable to themselves, in every case where practi- 
 cable. Sir W T illiam Ellis, in the report of 183G, and from which 
 I have already quoted, says, in reference to this — "During the 
 year, upwards of 3G0 patients* have been constantly more or 
 
 * Out of GOO ; a very large proportion, when allowances are made for advanced 
 years, physical infirmities, and other accidental causes.
 
 2&S SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 less employed, either in the house, or in the grounds when the 
 weather has been favourable ; and it is with thankfulness re- 
 corded again, without a single accident. The delight," adds Sir 
 William, " experienced in witnessing the benefit derived by this 
 system, is, in some measure, a compensation for the additional 
 duties and dangers it necessarily entails." 
 
 Religious as well as moral remedies may, in some, though in 
 comparatively few cases, be had recourse to with success, in the 
 treatment of insanity. Sir William Ellis makes some very im- 
 portant remarks on this point. "In former years," says he, 
 " from the very incorrect notions entertained of this disease, 
 religious and moral instruction of any kind was never thought oi 
 being afforded to the insane. Happily, a better knowledge, and 
 a better state of feeling, now exist. And it is at this time gene- 
 rally admitted, that though, on some points, the mind may be 
 insane, yet on others it may be perfectly rational. And it is 
 no ordinary blessing to many of the sufferers, that a just sense 
 of religion often remains when every other feeling seems oblite- 
 rated. An act of parliament now provides, that the religious 
 services, according to the established church, should be per- 
 formed in all large asylums in this country. Here the patients 
 have the instruction of the Rev. J. Stoddart, the chaplain to 
 the institution ; and a more orderly and attentive congregation 
 cannot be assembled together. Some of the committee, and 
 other gentlemen, have frequently been present, and have ex- 
 pressed their astonishment and delight at witnessing the rever- 
 ence and decorum of the patients." 
 
 These are important facts in the history of insanity, and if 
 duly improved may be of great service in the treatment of many 
 lunatics. They have only been recently discovered ; and were 
 the subject to be more fully studied by scientific men, and the 
 facts discovered and the observations made by them, were from 
 time to time to be published, in the form of periodical papers or 
 reports — there can be little question that certain principles could 
 be laid down in the treatment of the disease, which, when taken 
 in lit earliest stages, would insure the speedy recovery of the 
 patient, except in a few very peculiar cases.
 
 289 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 
 
 Prefatory remarks — Bartholomew Fair — The numbers which attend it — Descriptive 
 observations — Greenwich Fair— The numbers which frequent it — The voyage 
 downward — Throwing the stick, and other games — The park — The hill — Black- 
 heath — The appearance of the Fair — Supply of commodities — Exhibitions — Thea- 
 tres — Gamblers, and gaming — Swings — Booths — Immoral tendency of the Fair. 
 
 The Fairs in London and its vicinity are still important o/^fairs, 
 though not so much so as formerly, in the estimation of tho 
 working classes of the metropolis ; and any work, professing to 
 treat of Babylonian life and habits, which did not embrace this 
 subject, would be manifestly incomplete. 
 
 Some years ago, there were a greater number of fairs in the 
 metropolis and its suburbs, than there are at present. The two 
 of greatest note which now exist, are Bartholomew and Green- 
 wich Fairs. A few years ago, there were Bow Fair, Stepney 
 Fair, Edmonton Fair, and Brook-green Fair, besides one or 
 two others of minor interest. These fairs have all been done 
 away with by the civil authorities, in consequence of the injury 
 to public morals which resulted from them. On this last 
 point I shall make a few observations in the conclusion of the 
 chapter. 
 
 Bartholomew Fair, or Bartlemy Fair, as the cockneys call it, 
 is held once every year. It takes place in September, in Smith- 
 field market, which is in the very heart of London, and is opened 
 with great pomp and circumstance by the Lord Mayor and others 
 of the city authorities. It always lasts three days. During each 
 of these days, it is numerously attended ; but the second day is 
 usually the best, both with respect to the numbers who attend, 
 and the spirit with which matters are conducted. 
 
 Among the lower classes of London, the return of Bartholo- 
 mew Fair is looked forward to with great interest and anxiety. 
 The numbers of both sexes — I am not sure whether there be not 
 more females than of our sex — which attend this fair, must ap- 
 pear incredible to those who have not been made acquainted 
 with the fact from personal observation. I am convinced 1 am 
 
 x
 
 290 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 under the mark, when I say that 100,000 persons are present 
 eacli of the three days, from two to eight o'clock; and if to 
 these be added, those who visit the Fair for an hour or two only, 
 and then quit it, I am satisfied the number who have been at the 
 Fair, each of the three days, is above, rather than below, 150,000. 
 That I may not be suspected of exaggeration in this estimate, it 
 may be proper to mention, that Smithfield-market embraces a 
 space equal to nearly five acres. Let the reader be informed, 
 that not only is this extensive space so densely crowded with 
 human beings, that they have the appearance of a solid mass, 
 but that the Fair, or, at any rate, the crowd of persons, extends 
 itself some distance up all the streets which lead into the market- 
 place : let him only be informed of this, and he will, in all pro- 
 bability, come to the conclusion that I have considerably under- 
 rated, rather than over-estimated, the numbers who patronize 
 Bartholomew Fair. 
 
 It is here, perhaps, worthy of a passing remark, that the very 
 spot on which Bartholomew Fair, with all its fun and frolic, is 
 held, is the very spot on which blazed the fires of Smithfield 
 which consumed so many distinguished Protestant martyrs, two 
 centuries ago. Who can help being struck with the difference 
 between the purpose to which Smithfield-market then was, and 
 now is, applied ! 
 
 To enumerate the amusements provided for the holiday cock- 
 neys at Bartholomew Fair were a hopeless task : they are legion 
 itself. Everything that can please the palate, delight the eye, 
 or gratify the ear, is there to be seen or heard. The " shows," 
 or exhibitions on a larger scale, have all their bands of music ; 
 while inside, you'll see " sich vonders as no von ever saw afore." 
 In the sweetmeat and toy departments of the Fair, the variety 
 and abundance ai*e so great that you are quite confounded with 
 the scene. I have heard a young man ask his sweetheart what 
 she would like, pointing to a stall on which were displayed, in 
 rich abundance and most tempting condition, sweetmeats innu- 
 merable ; and I have seen her so completely at a loss to make 
 up her mind as to which she would prefer, that the fable of the 
 ass perishing of hunger between the two bundles of hay has come 
 across my mind with a force I have very rarely known it do on 
 any other occasion. In fact, it is no uncommon thing, in such 
 circumstances, for the lover to be obliged to decide, as well as to 
 pay for the object of his affections. 
 
 I pass over the leading features of Bartholomew Fair, because 
 the remarks and statements I shall have to make when speaking 
 of Greenwich Fair, will equally, or in a very great measure, ap- 
 ply to it. The most marked difference, perhaps, between the 
 two fairs, consists in the circumstance of Greenwich Fair being
 
 BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. L.'H 
 
 most liberally supplied with dancing booths, while Bartholomew 
 Fair has no such attraction for the youths of the metropolis. A 
 substitute, however, is found in the large rooms of some of the 
 neighbouring public-houses. 
 
 For the reason just mentioned, I now quit Bartholomew Fair, 
 and proceed to its rival at Greenwich. The latter fair is not 
 nearly so numerously attended ; a circumstance which is at once 
 accounted for from the fact of its being four or five miles distant 
 from the centre of London. As far as I can ascertain from the 
 imperfect data accessible to me, I should represent the number 
 of persons who usually attend Greenwich Fair as somewhere 
 about 50,000 ; full 40,000 of which number, I should suppose, are 
 visitors from London. Formerly, there were only two modes of 
 conveyance to Greenwich — the steamers and the turnpike-road : 
 now there are three, the railway having been opened upwards of 
 a year since. Before the opening of the railway, there were 
 always a great many pedestrians to be seen on the road to 
 Greenwich Fair : now, there are very few. Scarcely any now 
 go by the usual coaches. It was calculated that, at last Easter 
 Fair, the number who went and returned by the railway, and 
 the number that patronized the steamers, was pretty equal ; giv- 
 ing, on my estimate, about 20,000 to each. The journey down to 
 Greenwich is always an important affair in the estimation of the 
 patrons of the Fair. 
 
 No one can form any idea of the sights which are to be wit- 
 nessed, and the occurrences which take place, at our metropolitan 
 fairs, who has not been present at them. Bow Fair, Stepney 
 Fair, and several other fairs I had seen when they existed ; Bar- 
 tholomew Fair I had been at on two occasions ; but, until last 
 Easter Monday, I had never visited Greenwich Fair. Anxious 
 to describe what had come under my own eye, instead of trust- 
 ing to the representations of others, I that day started for Green- 
 wich, at four o'clock in the afternoon. On passing down Cannon 
 Street, the first thing which attracted my attention was an 
 athletic, surly, hodman-looking personage, walking backwards 
 and forwards, placarded before and behind with immensely largo 
 sheets of paper affixed to boards, and on which were the words, 
 in most gigantic letters, " Greenwich Fair." — " Greenwich Fair, 
 Sir J" "Greenwich Fair, Ma'am?' 1 growled the bearer of theso 
 prodigious placards, as he looked into the face of every person 
 whom he deemed likely to bo on his or her way thither. 
 
 " Has the vessel yet started V I inquired, as he accosted me 
 with his everlasting "Greenwich Fair, Sir 2" 
 
 " Not yet, Sir ; but the'r a-going directly," he answered ; 
 adding, " This way, Sir ; down this lane, Sir, 1 ' pointing to a 
 lane, the name of which I forget. 
 
 x 2
 
 292 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " Are there no vessels to be had at the usual place? 11 I in- 
 quired, still proceeding in the direction of London Bridge. 
 
 " This is the way to the vessels, Sir," was the reply, from 
 one, again pointing down the lane, 
 
 " But I'll get a vessel, won't I, at the usual place ? '* 
 
 " I assure you, Sir, the vessels are here," was the answer. 
 I saw at once how the matter stood, and was pleased to find, 
 nohvithstanding the placard-bearer's forbidding look and rude 
 manner, he had such a perception of the moral beauty of truth, 
 as to resist the temptation to tell a fib. 
 
 " You don't mean to say," I repeated, " that there are no 
 vessels to G reenwich to be had at the Bridge ? " 
 
 " Vy, Sir, I have already given you my vord, that the wessels 
 are down this 'ere vay." Again his hand pointed in the old 
 direction. 
 
 "Woy, yes, Zur," said a waggon-driver, with a short smockfrock, 
 a dove-tailed hat, and half-boots with immensely thick soles, who 
 was standing at the time at the door of an adjoining wine-vaults, 
 with a pot of Whitbread and Co.'s Entire in his hand ; " Woy, 
 yes, Zur, there be lots on 'em at the bridge ; but you see, Zur, 
 as how there be two companies, vich be a-cuttin' o 1 one another's 
 throats. That's how it is, Zur." 
 
 " Oh, I see, 1 ' said I ; " and that, I suppose, is " 
 
 I was interrupted by the placard-bearer observing, with great 
 earnestness, "Yes, Sir; but our wessels only charges sixpence, 
 and the other coves charges ninepence. We be the hopposition, 
 Sir. Fin sure you'll go on one of our 'uns." 
 
 The latter sentence was delivered in a tone and manner so 
 very winning, and so unlike anything which one could have ex- 
 pected from a person whose physiognomy was so unprepossessing, 
 that there was no resisting it. 
 
 One of the vessels was just on the eve of starting as I got on 
 board : in other words, "the steam was up." On various occa- 
 sions I have seen steam vessels, when on pleasure trips, suffi- 
 ciently crowded. In July, last year, I sailed round the Isle of 
 Wight in a steam-vessel much more crowded than I should 
 like to see again on a similar occasion ; but never did I see such 
 a dense mass of human beings on the deck of any vessel, as I 
 witnessed on this Greenwich steamer. It was with difficulty 
 that those who were the last to go on board could procure 
 standing-room. As for walking about on the deck, that was out 
 of the question. The sailors, if the term be not a misnomer as 
 applied to those who conduct steam-vessels down the river to 
 Greenwich and back again, had literally, when working the ves- 
 sel, to elbow their way through the crowd of passengers on deck. 
 
 And then the miscellaneous character of these passengers.
 
 BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH PAIRS. 293 
 
 There you saw a bevy of young dandies, as prim and spruce as 
 it were possible to imagine, puffing cigars, and ogling the girls 
 around them. Of dress-makers' apprentices there seemed a 
 fair sprinkling, and of male apprentices to various trades there 
 was no lack ; but the preponderance of the passengers were 
 clearly journeymen mechanics and kitchen-maids. You would 
 have fancied, to see the swarms of the latter who found then- 
 way to Greenwich on Easter Monday, that every kitchen in 
 London had emptied itself of its biped contents. Some of them 
 had their sweethearts ; others had evidently gone on spec. — that 
 is to say, trusting to meet by chance with some of their male ac- 
 quaintances, either there or on their way thither or home again. 
 You saw small colonies of Sallys in every part of the vessel. 
 The remains of kitchen smoke which were visible about some of 
 their caps or bonnets, and the patches of what is, I believe, tech- 
 nically called " black," which still graced their physiognomies, 
 told, in language not to be mistaken, what were the avocations 
 of a large proportion of the females on deck. But if any one 
 could have been so slow to learn as not to have been instructed 
 by what he saw around him, his ears must have come to his aid, 
 and performed an office in which his eyes had so unaccountably 
 failed ; for every word they exchanged with each other smacked 
 of the kitchen. There were the usual number of " La's !" 
 "Well, I never — " seemed to be perpetually on their lips ; while 
 the invariable mode of resenting, or appearing to resent, the con- 
 duct of the young men, when the latter were amusing themselves 
 at their expense, was by giving them a gentle slap on the face, 
 and shouting out, with a shrillness of pronunciation peculiar to 
 those who grace the kitchen — " A-done ! M If one Sally asked 
 another Sally what she thought of some male acquaintance 
 whose name was mentioned, the sure answer was, turning up her 
 nose as she spoke, with a view to express disdain — " Oh, shock- 
 ing ! I can't a-bear him." " How do you liko that gown which 
 that young ooman sitting opposite there has on \ " " Oh, 
 shocking ! I can't a-bear it." Then there was an endless mention 
 of the name of " Missis." " Missis was so cross ven I sought 
 leave to-day;" "Missis is such a rum 'un ;" " Missis is so diffi- 
 cult to please ;" " Missis says she von't allow no follo'rs ; but I 
 contrives to see Tom Toggs for all that." 
 
 In the voyage downwards, nothing particular took place. The 
 only occurrence worthy of mention was that of a young man's 
 hat having fallen off his head while looking over the side of the 
 vessel. The general laughter which followed must have been very 
 annoying to the poor fellow, considering at the same time the loss 
 of the hat, and the inconvenience of having his head exposed all 
 the way to a very eold north-easterly wind. Besides, who could
 
 294 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 tell whether the unlucky wight had " the wherewith,'"' as one of 
 the passengers suggested, to get another I My hypothesis, judg- 
 ing from his appearance, was, that his coffers were by no means 
 abundantly replenished with the circulating medium. Be this as 
 it may, he was doomed to experience the truth of the old adage, 
 that evils do not come alone. I have mentioned a couple of the 
 evils which on this occasion simultaneously befel this young 
 man : the evils, namely, of losing his hat, and then having his 
 ears assailed with a loud and universal laugh from his fellow- 
 voyagers to Greenwich at the occurrence of the calamity. A 
 third evil was in store for him, which was that of the disaster 
 being converted into a subject of wit at his expense by every 
 person on board who could say, or imagined he could say, a 
 clever thing on the impulse of the moment. " Why don't you 
 take off your hat I " said one, in a gruff grunting sort of voice. 
 A roar of laughter followed. " Wy doan't you put it on, old 
 'un V said another small, shrill, squeaking voice, the proprietor 
 of which was evidently a tailor. The laughter was renewed with 
 additional vigour. The dying lion felt more mortified at being 
 kioked by the donkey, than regret at the mere circumstance of 
 dying ; and surely the fact of being made the butt of a tailor's 
 jokes must have been to this poor fellow more annoying by far 
 tiian even the loss of his hat. Another passenger inquired whe- 
 ther the hat was " a vashing beaver von V while a fourth inquired 
 whether it was " a gossamer ventilator?' 1 Loud laughter fol- 
 lowed each of the witticisms which were levelled at the unfortu- 
 nate young man through means of his lost hat. It was easy to 
 perceive that he was inwardly wishing that some half-dozen or so 
 of his tormentors were in the same locality as his chapeau, namely, 
 either at the bottom of the Thames, or on their way to it. 
 
 So much for the voyage downwards. " Going down, 11 as it is 
 called, whether by the river, the railway, or the road, is consi- 
 dered by all the patrons of the fair as an essential part of the 
 day's gratifications. On debarking — to keep up the nautical 
 phraseology — we were furnished with abundant earnests of the 
 amusements which awaited those who were disposed to enjoy 
 them. The game of throwing the stick seemed to be an espe- 
 cial favourite with the holiday people : it was prosecuted with a 
 vigour which I have never seen equalled. Within one hundred 
 yards from the landing-place, there were at least forty proprietors 
 of " the holes and the sticks, 1 ' and all of them appeared to be 
 driving a most extensive business : judging from what I saw, 
 I should add, that they were doing a profitable one also ; for out 
 of about thirty throws, I only observed the player win once. 
 
 As the game of throwing the stick is unknown in many parts 
 of the country, I shall describe it in as few words as possible,
 
 BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 295 
 
 The persons who attend the fair for the purpose, dig three holes, 
 each about half a foot in diameter, in the ground ; and in each of 
 these holes place a stick, three, or three and a half feet in height. 
 The sticks are each about one yard distant from the other, and 
 on the top of each stick is placed a snuff-box, a pen-knife, or 
 some other trinket, whose nominal value is from sixpence to a 
 shilling, but which only costs the proprietor of "the stand" 
 three or four pence. Any one who chooses to try for either of 
 the articles on the tops of the sticks, is allowed to do so on the 
 payment of a penny. For this " small sum of one penny " he 
 gets three chances, or throws ; three sticks, about two and a half 
 feet in length, being put into his hand for the purpose. The 
 particular part from which he is to throw is duly marked out 
 for him, which is eighteen or twenty feet from the sticks them- 
 selves. 
 
 Those who have never seen the thing played before, eagerly 
 purchase their "pennyworth of chances, 11 fancying that they 
 have only to hit the sticks and knock down the articles on the 
 top of them, to entitle themselves to the articles so knocked 
 down. I was amused with a countryman of my own, at the last 
 Greenwich Fair, in connexion with this throwing the stick. He 
 had evidently never seen anything of the kind before, and had all 
 the appearance of being a recent importation from the other side 
 the Tweed. " Try a pennyworth, Sir," — for the poorest and 
 most homely dressed persons are all " Sirs 11 to the owners of the 
 sticks and holes ; — " Try a penny'orth, Sir, o 1 them 'ere sticks, 11 
 said one of these personages to poor Sawney, who had the 
 appearance of a gardener, as he stood by, looking with great 
 simplicity at the three articles on the tops of the sticks. 
 
 " Can I try at ony ane I like? 11 inquired the Scotchman, look- 
 ing at the sticks which were proffered him, but not withdraw- 
 ing his hands from his trousers 1 pockets, where they were most 
 probably "gripping 11 what little "siller" he possessed. 
 
 " O, certainly," answered the other, who was a little thick-set, 
 sly-looking personage. 
 
 " May I airch (throw) at the middle ane wi 1 the snuff-mull 
 on the top o't V asked the Caledonian. 
 
 "At any one you like, 11 replied the other, not very clearly 
 comprehending the import of the terms "airch 11 and "mull.' 1 
 
 "VV r eel, then, 11 said my countryman, withdrawing his hands 
 from his pockets, and holding them out to receive the three 
 sticks ; " weel, then, here's the penny, and gie's the rungs. 11 
 
 "Jist ha'd oot o 1 the way there, 11 said the Scotchman, with a 
 rich Paisley brogue, addressing himself to some boys who stood 
 rather near the sticks; "jist ha'd oot o 1 the way there for a 
 niinit, and Til soon bring the snuff-mull (loon. 11
 
 2.96 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 The Scotchman threw his "rung," as he called it, and sure 
 enough he hit the stick and down fell the snuff-box in the hole. 
 
 " Jist gie me my mull ; I was sure I would knock it doon," 
 said Sawney to the proprietor of the stand. 
 
 " It's in the hole, 
 Upon my soul," 
 
 said the other, taking up the snuff-box and replacing it on the 
 top of the stick. " You must make it fall on the ground,' 1 he 
 continued. 
 
 " Awa wi* ye' re nonsense ; nae matter whar it fa's, so as it's 
 fairly knocked doon ; fetch it to me," observed the Scotchman. 
 
 " No, no," said the other ; " that would never do." 
 
 The Caledonian grumbled and disputed for some time ; but 
 on being assured by the bystanders that such was the invariable 
 practice, he at last reluctantly relinquished what he had thought 
 his righteous claim to the snuff-box. 
 
 " Try again, Sir ; per'aps you'll be more luckier next time." 
 
 Sawney did as he was bid by the proprietor of the " mulls " 
 and the knives and the sticks, and " airched " a second time; 
 but the "rung" missed. 
 
 " Third time's always more luckier than a first or second," 
 suggested the other. 
 
 The Scotchman threw a third time, and hit the stick ; down, 
 of course, went the snuff-box. 
 
 The usual couplet, 
 
 " It's in the hole, 
 Upon my soul," 
 
 again greeted the ears of the unfortunate speculator. 
 
 " Try another penny'orth," said the proprietor, coaxingly 
 holding out the three sticks again to Sawney. The latter hesi- 
 tated for a few moments, and then dragged out another penny 
 from his pocket ; in consideration of which he received the trio 
 of "rungs" which had already proved such traitors to him. 
 Again he threw them, but with no better success than before. 
 
 " Can't always win, Sir (though the poor fellow had not won 
 at all) ; there's a lucky penny'orth this time. Sure to win tho 
 third time," said the cunning rogue, in most coaxing accents, 
 who had fleeced him, as he again presented to him the three sticks. 
 
 " Awa wi' them ! awa wi' them ! " said Sawney, indignantly 
 turning away his head from the " rungs," just as a patient does 
 from some nauseous medicine. 
 
 " There's luck in odd numbers, Sir ; the third time's sure to 
 gain, Sir," continued the other, still pressing the penny'orth of 
 sticks on the Caledonian.
 
 BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 297 
 
 " Get ye gone, ye cheating rascal ! " shouted the Scotchman, 
 now losing all temper with the loss of his twopence ; " if ye offer 
 me your rungs again, Fll break them o'er your back." 
 
 It is needless to say, that the sticks were not again offered to 
 Sawney : their proprietor addressed his solicitations to try their 
 luck, to other greenhorns, of whom there was no lack. 
 
 I was struck with the fact, that the great majority of the new- 
 comers proceeded, as if by a kind of instinct, to the Park. One 
 thing which might of itself have attracted a large number of 
 persons to this classic ground, was the loud unintelligible noise 
 which a woman was making within a few yards of the gate. 
 The cause of the noise, as well as the words she uttered — if 
 words they could be called, which nobody could understand until 
 they got quite near to her — was a profound mystery when it 
 first entered the ears of the visitors. The most natural hypo- 
 thesis, had there been a disposition to speculate as to the cause 
 of the strange sounds which this woman emitted, would have 
 been, that some one had been either murdered or dangerously 
 hurt, and that such unfortunate person was lying dead or 
 damaged at her feet ; for while speaking, or rather vociferating, 
 she held her right hand in a slanting direction upwards in the 
 air, while with her left she steadily pointed to something on the 
 ground. The singularity of her attitude was still further increased 
 by the stooping position in which she stood. The very moment 
 I saw her, she brought forcibly to my mind the late Mr. Thel- 
 wall in one of the attitudes in which he always put himself when 
 wishing, in his lectures on oratory, to convey to the minds of his 
 audience some idea of the way in which Mark Antony delivered 
 his funeral oration over the dead body of Caesar. My surprise, 
 and the surprise of others who, like myself, had been attracted 
 to the spot by the mysterious sounds, may be imagined, when, 
 on advancing towards the place where she stood, surrounded by 
 a seemingly very attentive audience, I found the subject of her 
 vehement oratory was — a sack of nuts which had been spread 
 out on a piece of canvass on the ground ! Who could refrain 
 from a hearty laugh, when finding the reality so very different 
 from what any one could have expected \ Had I guessed till the 
 crack of doom, before quitting the place in which I first heard 
 the noise, what the cause of that noise was, I am perfectly cer- 
 tain I should never have come to the conclusion that it was the 
 woman's vehement commendation of some two or threo bushels 
 of nuts. " Here they are fresh good full sweet a penny a half- 
 pint from the bag this morning best sort not a bad 'un among 
 the lot, " was the favourite eulogium which this nut-vender 
 pronounced on her commodities ! And sho sometimes delivered 
 the whole encomium without drawing her breath, and therefore
 
 298 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 all the words appeared, as they came from her lips, as if incor- 
 porated with each other. In fact, her panegyric on the superior 
 qualities of her nuts looked, in some cases, as if all the above 
 words had been but one. The next time, again, in which she 
 repeated her praises of her goods, she pronounced the words so 
 slowly and distinctly, resembling a sort of chaunt, that you 
 would have fancied no two of them had any connexion toge- 
 ther. They were uttered thus : " Here — they — are — fresh — 
 good — full — sweet — a — penny — a — half — pint — from — the — bag 
 — this — morning — best — sort — not — a — bad — \m — among — the 
 — lot." And what rendered the whole affair the more extraor- 
 dinary, was, the singular manner in which, in her more energetic 
 moments, she howled out the praises of her nuts. She reminded 
 me of the wild sounds which the Bedouin Arabs were in the 
 habit of uttering when performing their gymnastic and other 
 feats at the Colosseum, a year or two ago. She had the most 
 powerful voice I ever heard in a woman. She had all the appear- 
 ance of being a great patron of malt liquor. If one were ac- 
 quainted with her domestic history, I have no doubt it would be 
 found that she is one of the most extensive consumers to be met 
 with, of Whitbread and Co.'s Entire. She was a woman of 
 great size, and appeared to have the strength of a Hercules. 
 How she was able to vociferate so constantly, was to me a 
 matter of surprise. Had a woman of ordinary lungs, and the 
 average physical strength, bawled for one quarter of an hour, 
 instead of a whole day, at the rate she did, such woman would 
 have made herself hoarse, and become utterly exhausted by the 
 effort : but all her exertions seemed to produce no impression on 
 our heroine. Her face, which was as round and red as a full- 
 moon when she first presents herself above the horizon, afforded 
 no indications of weariness ; nor did her voice show the least 
 symptom of exhaustion. If sufficiently plied with porter, I have 
 no doubt she could have held on for twenty, instead of for ten, 
 consecutive hours. What amused me much, was the singular 
 dexterity with which she introduced, as if by way of parenthesis, 
 into her commendation of her nuts, any observation which cir- 
 cumstances rendered necessary ; but never for a moment losing 
 sight of the main object, namely, the disposing of her half-round, 
 half-oval commodities. If a boy, for example, picked up a nut 
 on the sly, either when falling from the half-pint jug while trans- 
 ferring " a penny'orth " to some customer who had been over- 
 come by the charms of her eloquence, or when one had crossed 
 the edge of the canvass on which the stock lay, she would reprove 
 him for his crime without for a moment losing sight of her main 
 object. " Here they are fresh (you little rascal, return that nut, 
 or Til break your bones) good full sweet a penny (and you too,
 
 Bartholomew axd Greenwich fairs. 299 
 
 you vagabond, just put it back into the heap) a half-pint from the 
 bag this (stand back there you girl with the red head and dirty 
 face) morning best sort not a bad 'un among the lot." The only 
 fault to be found with the matron's praises of her nuts, was a want 
 of variety in her words : the above was the only prose eulogium 
 she pronounced upon them. She had another, which was in 
 poetry. When she fixed her eye on some particular person 
 among the crowd who surrounded her commodities, she snatched 
 up a nut, and thrusting it into the hand of the intended victim 
 to the tune of a " penny'orth,"' 1 exclaimed, 
 
 "Here, take a nut, and break 'em, 
 And if you find a bad 'un, don't take 'em." 
 
 And great was the amount of business which our retailer of nuts 
 did in the course of a day. As she could not conveniently fill 
 and empty the half-pint jug, and attend to her vociferating 
 duties at the same time, she had a boy, very possibly her son, 
 who acted in the capacity of assistant : he executed the ordei's, 
 but all the money was paid to her. It was not the least amusing 
 part of the affair, to hear her lisping out the praises of her 
 articles with a sixpence or shilling in her mouth, while counting 
 the "change" of those who tendered her silver in payment of 
 their penny'orths. There were numerous other nut-venders in 
 the Park ; but little, comparatively, was the extent of the busi- 
 ness which they did. I am serious, when I say, that I do believe 
 she drew more money for her nuts than any half-dozen of per- 
 sons in the same line of business. It is due to their sagacity to 
 state, that all of them stationed themselves at a respectful dis- 
 tance from the locality which she chose as the scene of her 
 merchandise. They knew that if near her they would have had 
 no chance. 
 
 Proceeding up the hill, so great a favourite with lovers, I 
 found it crowded in every part with young people, amusing 
 themselves with the popular exercise of trying how fast they 
 could run down without losing their equilibrium. Many of 
 them — even persons of both sexes, who had got out of their 
 teens some years ago — received some awkward tumbles. I was 
 only surprised that the tragical termination which characterised 
 the ascent of " Jack and Gill," of nursery celebrity, up some 
 acclivity with whose geographical position I am unacquainted, 
 was not literally realized. To mo it was, to speak quite soberly, 
 a matter of wonder that, like poor unfortunate Jack, no one 
 " broke his neck " when he " fell down. 1 ' Had such a disaster 
 occurred, one could not have regretted it so much as one does 
 its occurrence in the case of little " Jack," the nursery hero. 
 Poor dear boy, he ascended the hill for a most praiseworthy ob- 
 ject, namely, 
 
 " To fetch a pail of water ;"
 
 300 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 and it was while so laudably employed that the awful catastrophe 
 of breaking his neck occurred ; but the parties who " went up " 
 Greenwich hill, did so for the purpose of foolishly running down 
 again. If, therefore, any fatal accident had been the result of 
 their folly, less sorrow would have been felt than in other cir- 
 cumstances. It happened, however, that no necks were broken 
 on the occasion. The disaster of greatest magnitude which oc- 
 curred under my observation, took place in the case of a genteel 
 good-looking girl, seemingly a servant, about twenty years of 
 age. She fell with tremendous force on her face, and what "the 
 fancy" call the claret, suddenly gushed from a prominent part 
 of her phiz. If anything could have made the disaster worse, it 
 would have been the inexpressibly droll observation which a 
 youth, about fourteen or fifteen years of age, made, on being 
 asked by a person who was passing, " what was the matter with 
 the young woman, that so many persons were standing around 
 her, and she was holding her pocket-handkerchief to her face 2 " 
 " Oh, nothing ! " said the young rascal, with the most perfect 
 nonchalance ; " she was only having a game at running down the 
 hill, when she lost her balance, and trode upon her nose : that's 
 all" The idea of treading on one's nose struck me as irresist- 
 ibly droll. 
 
 On the top of the hill a very animated scene was exhibited, in 
 the shape of a keenly-contested battle. The belligerents were, for 
 the most part, young men, fifty or sixty on either side ; and what 
 does the reader suppose were the weapons of their warfare ? Their 
 fists ? No.— Sticks ? No.— Stones ? No.— What then ? Why no- 
 thing else than that description of apples called pippins ! With 
 these they pelted one another most cordially, and many were 
 the severe hits which were received on both sides. The chief 
 source of regret was, that those who were no parties to the 
 fight, but were walking quite pacifically disposed along the sum- 
 mit of the hill, occasionally came in for their share of the " hits,"" 
 as they were called, which were so liberally given and received 
 by the opposing parties. I x'ecollect, when a boy, reading a pri- 
 vate letter from a relative, in which an account was given by- 
 one who took a part in it, of an important action between the 
 English and French armies ; and after detailing, in graphic 
 terms, the numbers he saw momentarily falling around him on 
 the field of battle, and the circumstances under which some of 
 his comrades were killed, he added — as well as I can remember 
 the words : — " but sad and sorrowful as I was, at seeing so many 
 men — many of them my acquaintances, in the enjoyment of per- 
 fect health, and in the prime of life — dropping down, and expir- 
 ing around me, I felt far more deeply affected at the fate of a 
 poor rifleman who, after being wounded, had managed to craw-
 
 BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 301 
 
 from the scene of action, but was shot by a Frenchman just at the 
 moment when, in all probability, ho thought he had escaped all 
 further danger.' 1 In like manner, numerous as were the mili- 
 tants whom I had seen wounded, and some of them very pain- 
 fully so, in this battle on the top of Greenwich hill, I did not 
 feel for them a fraction of the concern which I felt for a young 
 inoffensive girl who, though she kept at a reasonable distance 
 from the scene of action, had a large breach made in her Leg- 
 horn bonnet — to say nothing of a very unpleasant " whack " on 
 the head — by means of an apple. Whether this was the result 
 of design, or of accident, I cannot say : I should hope, for the 
 credit of human nature, that the thing was purely accidental. 
 I am willing to believe, that depraved and ignoble as many of 
 the frequenters of metropolitan and suburban fairs are, there 
 are few of them so utterly lost to all sense of the claims which 
 the sex have on protection at our hands, as to be capable of 
 perpetrating so daring an outrage as aiming a hard apple at a 
 female's head. 
 
 Not knowing whose cranium might receive the next apple, 
 I lost no time in quitting the scene of conflict, and advanced 
 to the Heath. And what a scene did I witness there ! There 
 were, at least, from fifty to sixty four-footed asses on the road- 
 side : how many asses of another kind there were present, is 
 ono of those difficult problems which it is beyond my power to 
 solve. In point of numbers, I shrewdly suspect the biped ani- 
 mals, with long ears, were larger than that of the four-footed 
 quadrupeds that were so tastefully put into classes along the 
 side of the road. The asses on all-fours were placed there for 
 the purpose of asses, who walk in another form, riding about the 
 Heath on their backs. Each had a saddle, such as it was, 
 covered over with a ragged piece of cloth, which, in most cases, 
 had, in its better days, answered the purposes of a smock-frock, 
 or been dignified with tho name of a shirt. I pitied the poor 
 animals, while I felt indignation and contempt towards those — 
 and sorry am I to say, the cases were not few — who could 
 severely lash and otherwise cruelly treat them. Persons of both 
 sexes, and of advanced years, largely patronised the proprietors 
 of the donkeys, by hiring the latter out to ride. Mad they con- 
 tented themselves with sitting on the backs of the poor beasts, I 
 should have been silent ; but, not satisfied with that, they must 
 needs lash and strike the unoffending creatures with great severity, 
 under the pretext of causing them to move at a more rapid pace. 
 There were, I understand, several of tho officers of the Society 
 for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals present; but there 
 was either not a sufficient number, or they were remiss in the 
 performance of their duties. Not to mention other instances of
 
 302 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 cruelty which occurred under my own eye, there was one of a 
 most flagrant nature. Two young ruffians, about fourteen or 
 fifteen years of age, followed one poor miserable donkey, on 
 whose back a clumsy grown-up fellow, of great specific gravity, 
 sate. It would, positively, have been, in the language of certain 
 philosophers, more in accordance with " the fitness of things," 
 had this lumbering athletic fellow carried the feeble worn-out 
 donkey, instead of the ass carrying him. As the poor creature 
 was unable to do more than move at a slow pace with the two- 
 legged animal on its back, each of the young barbarians already 
 alluded to applied a large stick to its sides with all their force, 
 with the view of goading it on to greater speed. 
 
 But for the cruelties practised towards the helpless jack-asses, 
 one could have heartily laughed at the odd exhibitions made by 
 many of the equestrians. Kitchen-maids, cookeys, and various 
 other riders, of both sexes, had never been on the back of any 
 four-footed beast before. The females screamed and clung to 
 the saddle as if it had been an affair of life or death, if the don- 
 keys happened to trot for a pace or two ; and not a few of them 
 fell altogether, to the manifest gratification of the long-eared 
 quadrupeds which had been burthened with them but a moment 
 before. 
 
 I was much amused with a cockney youth, seemingly about 
 twenty years of age, of very affected manners, who was ambi- 
 tious of exhibiting his person on the back of a donkey. Advanc- 
 ing towards one of the stands, on which there stood fifteen or 
 twenty of these animals, with their proprietors all anxious to be 
 employed, he accosted the latter in what is called a puppyish air 
 and manner, with " Well, old fellows, who has got the best don- 
 key for a ride I " 
 
 " Here you are, Sir," shouted a dozen voices, each donkey 
 proprietor drawing his animal towards the cockney. 
 
 " I can't ride on all of them ; which is the best ? " said the 
 dandy, resting his hands on his sides, and strutting about with 
 an air of great consequence. 
 
 " This von's the best, Sir," cried one. 
 
 " No, it ain't," vociferated another. *' This "ere hanimal is 
 betterer nor any won on the stand." 
 
 " Both on 'em's told you a gallows lie, Sir ; none of their 
 hasses can lift a leg ; but here's a beast of the right sort," said 
 a third. 
 
 " Here's a capital good 'un, Sir ; three years old next grass- 
 time, Sir," was the recommendation of his donkey, which was 
 given by a fourth. 
 
 " My von's the best as vas ever seed, Sir ; ven he's once a-set 
 a-going, he'll never stop, Sir. It's truth I say, Sir," remarked 
 a fifth.
 
 BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 303 
 
 « Then," said the cockney, " I'll take him. 11 
 
 "Yes, Sir," observed another opposition proprietor of a couple 
 of donkeys ; " but there's no setting him a-going. Nobody ever 
 saw him trot a step." 
 
 "Here's a reg'lar trump of an hanimal, Sir, 11 said another; 
 ** you've only to touch him this way, and off he gallops at once. 11 
 
 As the donkey proprietor spoke, he pretended to touch the 
 ass's side with his fingers, and, sure enough, the animal made 
 two or three abortive attempts at a leap. 
 
 " Ay, there's some spirit in that donkey, " said the cockney 
 youth, not aware that the cunning rogue of a proprietor had 
 achieved the two or three bungled leaps which the animal gave, 
 by pricking it with a pin. " What is the chai'ge V 
 
 " It depends on how far you ride, Sir. 11 
 
 " From one end of the heath to the other? " 
 
 " Only a shilling, Sir." 
 
 " Then, here goes." 
 
 And so saying, the cockney was astride the ass's back in a 
 twinkling. 
 
 " The shilling, Sir, if you please," said the proprietor of the 
 animal, with a knowing look. 
 
 " Why, isn't it time enough when I have had my ride I " said 
 the dandy, pulling a shilling out of his pocket, and transferring it 
 to the other. 
 
 " Always in advance, Sir," answered the ass-proprietor, archly, 
 pocketing the silver image of William the Fourth. 
 
 " Now then," said the cockney, applying a switch to the sides 
 of the donkey, and looking as if he supposed he was about to 
 start off at the rate of fifteen miles an hour. " Now then." 
 
 The animal either did not hear, or did not heed, the " Now- 
 then " of the cockney. " Why, he woan't go," said the latter, 
 in a tone of voice, and with a look at the proprietor of the beast, 
 indicative of surprise and disappointment. 
 
 "He will, by-and-by," said the other, coolly. 
 
 " But I want him to go now. 11 
 
 " Worry good, Sir ; as soon as you and the hanimal pleases." 
 
 The dandy-rider was confounded at the consummate non- 
 chalance of the person whose ass he was patronising. " I say, 
 old fellow, I wont stand any nonsense, and pay for it too. 
 Either make your ass go, or give me back my shilling, 11 remarked 
 the cockney youth, in half-indignant tones. 
 
 " We never gives back any shiners, Sir, arter we've got 'em," 
 answered the other, with the same dryness of manner as before. 
 
 " Then, Sir, make your beast go." 
 
 "That's more than I can always do, Sir; he's a little hobsti- 
 nate at times, as all hasses arc ; but when once he sets off, there's 
 ne'er a better runner on the Heath."
 
 304 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " Yez, Zur,' interposed a clownish-looking fellow, with a 
 smock-frock and a dirty demure-looking face ; v< but the worst of 
 it is, he never sets off at all.' 1 '' 
 
 I had a shrewd suspicion that such was the fact, before the 
 latter personage made the observation ; and after two or three 
 more equally ineffectual attempts to cause the animal to start, 
 the dandy rider became a proselyte to the same opinion. 
 
 Finding he might as soon have expected to move Greenwich 
 church, as to move the animal on whose back he sat, he dis- 
 mounted, muttering imprecations of no very pleasant kind, 
 both on the ass and its owner. His imprecations were equally 
 disregarded by both. 
 
 " Try this one, Sir ; " " Here's a prime 'un, Sir ; " " No mis- 
 take with this 'ere hanimal, Sir ; " " Here's the reg'lar racer, 
 Sir ; n were only a few of the many sounds which greeted his 
 ears as he alighted. In short, in a few seconds, he was sur- 
 rounded by a congregation, to the number of twenty or two 
 dozen, of jack-asses and their owners ; the latter of whom respec- 
 tively besieged him with their applications to try their " hani- 
 mals," with a vehemence and perseverance amounting to positive 
 persecution. At first, savage and surly at the "hobstinacy" of 
 the beast he had but a few moments ago bestrode, he refused to 
 listen to any of their solicitations ; but one of the ass-owners 
 was so very eloquent in his entreaties for a trial of his donkey, 
 that the cockney at length acceded to his request ; stipulating, 
 however, beforehand, that he would not pay his shilling until 
 satisfied of the racing capabilities and disposition of the animal. 
 He mounted the beast, and the owner, a young knowing-looking 
 fellow, immediately pricked it with a pin, when it set off at a 
 smart trot. " Ah, I told you that's your sort, Sir ; that's the 
 hanimal as can run in slap-up style," said the proprietor of the 
 beast, keeping up with it, and prompting it forward by re- 
 peated applications of the pin to its side. " Ay, this is some- 
 thing like an ass," said the cockney. " Here, take your shilling," 
 he added, pulling up the donkey for a moment, and putting that 
 amount of the coin of the realm into the hand of the cunning 
 rogue. " Now then, long-ears," said the dandy, apostrophis- 
 ing the donkey, and applying the switch to it, with the view of 
 setting out on a regular gallop along the road. 
 
 The animal moved not a step. 
 
 " Halloa, old donkey ! what's the matter that you woan't go f 
 said the spruce rider, applying his heels to the sides of the 
 animal. 
 
 The latter was appealed to in vain. There it stood as motion- 
 less as the bronze horse with the statue of George the Third on 
 his back, near the Italian Opera House.
 
 ■jaijj**»S?:«* 
 
 ■
 
 BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIKS. 305 
 
 "I say, old fellow," said the cockney, now transferring his 
 appeal from the ass to its owner; " 1 say, old fellow, why doan^t 
 the animal go V 
 
 " Can't tell, Sir; he knows the reason best himself,'''' answered 
 the other, with inimitable coolness. 
 
 " Is there no way of making him go? 11 
 
 " He won't be made, Sir ; he never does anything by force. 
 If you wait until he comes to himself, he'll start off agin." 
 
 "But when will that be?" 
 
 '•' Aye, that's more than I can tell ; but not before he pleases." 
 
 The cockney looked first at the donkey, and then at its owner, 
 as if he could have eaten both by way of revenging himself for 
 the obstinacy and laziness of the one, and the consummate cool- 
 ness of the other. He then suddenly dismounted, heaping 
 curses both loud and deep on asses of all descriptions ; not ex- 
 cepting himself, for being such an ass as to be thus taken in, 
 and laughed at into the bargain, by the donkey owners of 
 Blackheath. 
 
 A Greenwich Fair, without a greater or less number of fights, 
 would be a modern miracle. How many took place during the 
 fair in question, is a point with the statistics of which I am un- 
 acquainted. I witnessed one which threatened, at one time, to 
 be productive of no inconsiderable number of broken heads, if 
 not of personal damage of an irretrievable nature. In this fight, 
 to which there were several parties, both soldiers and sailors, 
 true to their proverbial character, took a marked part. "Drunk 
 as usual," one soldier displayed a wonderful ingenuity, both by 
 his words and actions, in inviting aggression ; and he soon got it 
 to his heart's content. " He met with his marrow, " as the 
 phrase is, in the person of an athletic Irishman newly arrived 
 from the neighbourhood of Derrynane Abbey. " By the great 
 Dan himself," said Pat, " if it's a fight he's after wanting, it's 
 meself will give him that same." "Come on, then," mumbled 
 the soldier, staggering slightly from the effects of drink. " May 
 be I won't," said Paddy, advancing as he spoke, and planting 
 some heavy blows in the face of his red-coated opponent, which 
 made him reel yet worse than the liquor. A regular fight 
 ensued, in which sailors and soldiers and other persons took 
 part with a marvellous promptitude, until it became quite a 
 general affair. The police interfered ; and when they had put a 
 stop to the combat, the soldier, who was instrumental in begin- 
 ning it, was found lying on the ground, "floored," as the Fancy 
 say, either by his Irish antagonist or by his no less formidable, be- 
 cause more frequent and insidious adversary, Barclay and Co.'s 
 porter. He was carried away on the stretcher to the station-house, 
 where he lay as straight as a pole and as silent as a bell without 
 
 v
 
 30(3 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 a tongue; though a few minutes before, he was all noise and 
 bluster and " botheration." 
 
 I refer to the fights which are so common at all our metro- 
 politan fairs, chiefly for the purpose of expressing my surprise and 
 regret that so many persons, with a good coat on their backs 
 and intelligence in their countenances, should not only stand by, 
 without endeavouring to put an end to such brutal and bar- 
 barous exhibitions, but should encourage the parties in their 
 disgraceful practices. 
 
 The fight or affray which I witnessed, occurred in the park ; 
 from which I proceeded to the heart of the fair. There were 
 congregated in the narrow limits of, perhaps, one hundred and 
 fifty yards long, by six or seven yards broad, a mass of human 
 beings, numbering, I should think, not less than 30,000. They 
 were so densely packed together, that it was quite a Herculean 
 task to force one's way through them. On either side of the 
 market-place were stalls and caravans, and other things, to 
 which I know not what name to give, of all sizes and descrip- 
 tions. I hold it impossible that any human being, be his ima- 
 gination as fertile as it may, could previously have formed any 
 idea of the vast variety of expedients which were resorted to at 
 this fair, with the view of eliciting money from the pockets of the 
 visitors. Of eatables, of all descriptions, there was a most abun- 
 dant supply : apples, oranges, and nuts, stared you in the face 
 in every direction ; while gingerbread was presented in an incon- 
 ceivable diversity of forms. Nor was there any lack of liquids : 
 there was an ample supply of chalk- and- water, which, for the pur- 
 poses of sale, was baptised milk ; there were little cans of table- 
 beer, and ginger-beer, and soda-water ; but the speculators in 
 these liquids found, before the fair was over, that they had reck- 
 oned without their host. The weather, as before stated, was 
 intensely cold, which is always fatal to the sale of beer of all 
 kinds, especially in the open air ; and which is still more fatal to 
 the sale of ginger-beer and soda-water. Loud were the luckless 
 proprietors of these liquids in their praises of the quality of the 
 article they were anxious to vend ; but all the eloquence and 
 ingenuity in the world would not have insured a demand in this 
 case. In fact, the shivering persons who stood in the market- 
 place, would not have drunk either soda-water or ginger-beer 
 on this occasion, had they been paid for doing it. Ardent 
 spirits were the order of the day, and the order of the hour and 
 minute also, during the three days the fair lasted. " Summut 
 to warm us, v was the universal motto of the parties ; and the 
 effects of the quantity of these spirits quaffed on the occasion 
 were visible in the scenes of drunkenness and disturbance which 
 presented themselves wherever you turned your eye.
 
 BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 307 
 
 Of showy articles, or things which were merely intended to 
 please the eye, there was also a most liberal supply. The assort- 
 ment of dolls was varied and abundant. It struck me, indeed, as 
 a sort of libel on the frequenters of the fair, that so many dolls 
 should be exposed for sale ; for if there be meaning in facts, as 
 there is in language, the circumstance plainly implied that the 
 dealers in them assumed that the young men and women who 
 attended the fair were but so many children, though children of 
 a larger growth. My only surprise was, that they did not resent 
 the thing as a personal insult, when accosted, as they were at 
 every step they took, with — " Buy a doll, Sir," " Buy a doll, 
 Ma'am, " the article which they were invited to purchase being 
 at the same time thrust in their faces. Crackers, scratchers, 
 little drums, sixpenny looking-glasses, watches which never went 
 and never were meant to go, being, like the razors which Peter 
 Pindar has immortalized as made not to shave but to sell ; 
 and innumerable other articles which, to use a favourite expres- 
 sion of George Robins, were too tedious to mention, — were all 
 exposed to the eye, under the most attractive possible circum- 
 stances. " There was," as an Irish girl emphatically exclaimed 
 in describing the scene to an acquaintance she met outside the 
 market-place, "such a power of fine things ! " 
 
 In the article of " sights, " again, Greenwich Fair was, if that 
 were possible, still more amply supplied. You would have fan- 
 cied, from the number of caravans, booths, and other places for 
 the exhibition of wonders of all kinds, artificial and natural, that 
 the marvels of the whole world had been congregated within the 
 limited space appropriated to Greenwich Fair. The seven won- 
 ders of the world, is a phrase which became familiar to us in our 
 younger years : perhaps it is one of the first phrases we remem- 
 ber to have been current in the days of our childhood. Here 
 we had, instead of seven, at least a hundred wonders of the 
 world. And what was worthy of observation was, that every 
 individual wonder was more wonderful — that is to say, if you 
 took the proprietor's word for it — than any other wonder. The 
 great difficulty with those who had. but little copper in their 
 pockets, though, peradventure, abundantly supplied with another 
 well-known metal in their faces ; the great difficulty with them 
 was to make a selection. The figures which were daubed on the 
 canvas which was displayed at the front of' the caravans and 
 other wooden erections, were most inviting; indeed, as is usually 
 the case, the representations far surpassed the things represented. 
 But in addition to the attack they made on your curiosity and 
 your pockets, through the medium of your eyes, there were dead 
 seta made at you through the medium of your ears. Nothing 
 could exceed the earnestness or the eloquence with which the 
 
 y 2
 
 308 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 various proprietors of the exhibitions praised the articles exhi- 
 bited. There was " the Lincolnshire Ox, the most biggest hani- 
 mal of the kind as was ever seen, and whose tail alone was not 
 quite so thick as the mast of a man-of-war. " My astonishment 
 was, how such a " prodigiously-sized " beast could have been got 
 into a sort of caravan of such limited dimensions, that I should 
 have fancied a cow of the ordinary stature would not have had 
 turning room in it. Whether the proprietor of this gigantic 
 Lincolnshire ox was a disciple of Procrustes, and made the ox 
 to fit the place, if the place did not fit him, is a problem which I 
 was prevented from solving, as circumstances interposed to deny 
 me the gratification of seeing the " wonderful hanimal. 1 ' The 
 next-door neighbour of the " most biggest ox as was ever seen,"' 
 but belonging to a different owner, was " the most extraordinai 
 sheep with four legs and the half of a fifth "un. 1 ' The patronf- 
 of the fair were pressingly invited to " walk up, and see witl 
 their own eyes this truly vonderful production of the vorks Oj 
 natur." I was sorry to see that the proprietor's emphatic anc 
 repeated appeals were, in a great measure, lost on the dense 
 crowd to whom they were addressed. They proved that they 
 had no relish for " sheep with four legs and the half of a fifth 
 "un." Adjoining the last "vonderful production," there was a 
 " vonderful pig ;" not the old pig of literary reputation, nor the 
 Learned Pig, as the swinish scholar and philosopher was usually 
 called. No : this was a pig, whose wonderful qualities were of a 
 physical, instead of an intellectual nature. " It was a pig as was 
 so fat as never to rise off the place vere she lay, and as could not 
 stand upon her legs ven she was fairly put on 'em. 11 Judging 
 from the portrait, if there be propriety in the expression, of this 
 " wery extrahordinary hanimal, " which appeared as large as 
 life on the canvas that graced the front of the place of exhibi- 
 tion, I should certainly say that her pigship must have been 
 among the " swinish multitude, " what the celebrated Daniel 
 Lambert was among animals of the biped class. Her belly not 
 only trailed on the ground, but, if the representation was a cor- 
 rect one, her excessive corpulence had given her a globular ap- 
 pearance. I thought with myself, what a treat must her pigship 
 be to the lovers of fat pork, when she falls into the hands of the 
 butcher. A few yards from the spot in which the fat pig starred 
 it, there was a collection of animals forming a sort of miniature 
 menagerie. The figures on the eanvas outside were newly 
 painted, and were unusually inviting to go inside. But lest the 
 representations outside were not of themselves sufficiently power- 
 ful motives to induce the spectators to go in, to these were 
 superadded the motive, which could not fail to arise from the 
 singularly winning way in which the owner of the animals im-
 
 BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 809 
 
 plored them to inspect the beasts. " Ladies and gen'lemen, if the 
 hanimals within here be not a treat to any one as sees 'em, then 
 1 pledge myself to eat up every beast in the caravan alive, the 
 tiger and all. But, ladies and gen'lemen, I'm quite certain of 
 it, that you will all be vonderfully pleased. Those who are not 
 satisfied with this cxtrahordinary sight — the like of which was 
 never seen before, and never will be agin — may have their ' tin ' 
 back again ; and so they will have the splendidest sight as 
 is in London for nothing. And, ladies and geiVlemcn, I am sure 
 you all knows that it cannot be less. Do walk up this way, if 
 you please ; walk up this way. All the hanimals to be seen for 
 the small charge of threepence." Of the giant Rockman, and 
 the dwarf Jarmain, each of whom had his place to himself, and 
 to whom the payment of a penny always proved a passport ; of 
 them I say nothing. They were confessedly extraordinary enough 
 in their respective lines ; but I pass them by, for the purpose of 
 saying, that the most wonderful live exhibition in the fair was, 
 if- the owner might be credited, that of some extraordinary un- 
 heard-of animal which walked partly on his legs and partly in an 
 all-four's form, and which moved like an extraordinary quadruped 
 mentioned in Captain Marryat's " Peter Simple, " as having 
 been exhibited at Bartholomew Fair, which measured fifteen 
 feet from the tail to the head, and thirteen feet and a half from 
 the head to the tail ! But there would be no end to particular- 
 izing the live stock exhibited on this occasion. Every showman 
 had, if you were good-natured enough to take his own word for 
 it, something "far more better" than any of his neighbours; 
 and he was greatly surprised, as well as indignant, at the perver- 
 sion of public taste, when he saw other exhibitions patronised while 
 his was deserted. With menageries, on a small scale, Greenwich 
 Fair was most liberally supplied ; and if the assertions of the 
 parties who invited the curious in such matters to come and in- 
 spect them, might be believed, there were in all those menageries 
 " lots of hanimals of a most cxtrahordinary kind." 
 
 In the theatrical way there was a good deal of business done. 
 
 I should think the number of portable theatres, of one kind or 
 other, could not have been much under a dozen ; and so great 
 was the taste for the drama, that theatrical speculations answer- 
 ed much better than any other kind of speculations. " The suc- 
 cessor on the boards" of the late eccentric Richardson, appeared 
 to be l)y far the most extensively patronised. The Clown was, as 
 usual, the great attraction. Tho spectators stared and laughed, 
 and laughed and stared again, at his ludicrous evolutions. Some 
 of the audience, including chimney-sweeps, tap-room boys, and 
 others, to whom the Clown's movements were perfect novelties 
 in their way, turned up the white of their eyes in the plenitude
 
 310 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 of their amazement at the wonders he performed ; and most un- 
 equivocal were the marks, in so far as a vehement clapping of 
 hands and loud laughter were concerned, of the approbation 
 with which they greeted his exploits. If any one wished to see 
 the legitimate drama burlesqued with the greatest possible effect, 
 he ought by all means to make part of the audience in one of the 
 portable theatres at Greenwich Fair. The price of admission is 
 reasonable enough : a fourteenth part of what it costs at Drury 
 Lane or Covent Garden will procure him a place either in the 
 pit or gallery. In other words, one's dramatic taste may be 
 indulged in the theatrical establishments at Greenwich Fair, on 
 the payment of sixpence for the pit, or threepence for the gal- 
 lery. And who will say that the charge is extravagant ? Boxes, 
 there are none ; and even the order of things, as regards the pit 
 and gallery, are reversed : for the gallery — at least, in those 
 establishments I have been in — is on the ground -floor, while the 
 pit is six or seven feet above the gallery. However, such things 
 will happen ; or, as the proprietors themselves say, there is no 
 use in being too particular. The character of the pieces per- 
 formed, and the quality of acting, are precisely such as I so fully 
 described in my chapter on " Penny Theatres ; " and therefore 
 it is not necessary to repeat the description here. Any actor 
 is at liberty, in an emergency, to say what he pleases, or to act 
 as he thinks fit. All that is stipulated for on the part of the 
 proprietors, is, that something be said, and that something be 
 done. 
 
 If Drury Lane and Covent Garden have their rivals in Green- 
 wich Fair, so has Astley's. Not only are there equestrian per- 
 formances "which has never been ekvalled in this 'ere vorld 
 before, * but there " is the truly vonderful feats on the tight 
 rope, and various hother exhibishuns too tedious to mention, all 
 performed in the best style. " I went into one of these rivals of 
 Astley's Amphitheatre, to witness some of these " unekvalled " 
 and "truly vonderful" "various hother exhibishuns;" but must 
 candidly confess, that such was the worthless quality of my taste 
 in such matters, that I was much more gratified with the ludi- 
 crous conduct and humorous remarks of some of the audience. 
 Some of my readers may remember to have heard of a cunning 
 rogue of a traveller who, on going to an inn, in a small town, on 
 an intensely cold evening, found that there was only one fire, 
 namely, the kitchen fire, burning at the time ; and it was com- 
 pletely concealed from his view by a number of the neighbours, 
 who were earnestly engaged in conversation together. Not one 
 of them moved a stool or chair to allow the stranger to partake 
 of the genial warmth, and he had no hope of succeeding by an 
 appeal either to their politeness or humanity. At last, he resolved
 
 BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH KAIR3. 311 
 
 on trying the effect of an ingenious expedient in his endeavours 
 to procure a place beside the grateful hearth. " Ostler, 11 he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Coming. Sir." 
 
 " Are there any oysters to be had here V 
 
 " As many as you please, Sir; great place this for oysters, Sir, 11 
 
 " Very good. Well, then, you go and give half a peck of the 
 very best you've got to my horse in the stable. 1 ' 
 
 " Your *Ws, Sir V said the ostler, looking unutterably amazed. 
 
 " Yes, my horse, 1 ' said the stranger, quite coolly. 
 
 " Bless your soul, Sir, 'osses don't eat oysters ! I never heard 
 of such a thing. You must be mistaken, Sir, 11 suggested the 
 ostler, with an air of respect. 
 
 " Oh no ; no mistake — no mistake ; you bring the oysters 
 directly to the horse.' 1 
 
 The other scratched his head, and mumbled out, " Yes, Sir, 
 presently. 11 
 
 " As quick as you can, 11 said the traveller. 
 
 " This moment, Sir, 11 said the ostler, darting out of the 
 kitchen, to provide the horse with his supper of oysters. A 
 general rush of those who were at the fire followed, every one 
 being more anxious than another to see how the horse would eat 
 shell-fish ; so that the stranger had the entire kitchen, fire and 
 all, to himself. He took the best chair he could find, and seating 
 himself at the fire, determined on making himself quite at home. 
 In a minute or so, the ostler, accompanied by all his followers, 
 returned to the kitchen, saying — " It's jost as I said : the "oss 
 von't eat ne'er a one on 'em, Sir." 
 
 " Then bring them to me, 11 said the stranger, " and I'll eat 
 them myself. 11 
 
 I was reminded of this ingenious expedient to secure a com- 
 fortable seat at the fire, when nothing but some such expedient 
 could have succeeded, by the device to which a person resorted, 
 to get a good place at the rival Astley's at Greenwich Fair. He 
 had been among the latest to enter, and all the good places were 
 pre-occupied. Incomparably the best place, at the threepenny 
 rate of admission, was on a sort of wooden stair, by means of 
 which the descent to, and the ascent from, the gallery was to be 
 achieved. The top of this stair was on a level with the pit ; but 
 it was densely peopled, or, as the play-bills say, " crowded in 
 every part." " Is there no room here V inquired a cunning- 
 looking countryman, as he entered the place. 
 
 No one made him any answer. 
 
 " Do, frien's, try to make room for a poor fellow," said the 
 elodpole-looking personage, whose accent proved to demonstra- 
 tion that Yorkshire claimed him as her own.
 
 312 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 The appeal was ineffectual : the portion of the threepenny 
 audience, who had planted themselves in that particular locality, 
 only stood more closely together. 
 
 " Well, coom, I'm cu'st, if ye bean't an uncivil set of people," 
 said the Yorkshireman, after a momentary pause. 
 
 Censure seemed to have as little effect on them as an appeal 
 to their politeness ; for no one moved an inch to accommodate 
 the new-comer. He paused a few seconds again, when an idea 
 flashed across his mind. He quietly went out of the place, and 
 let fall a green cloth curtain, which answered the purposes of 
 a door, behind him. In a few seconds afterwards, he put the 
 curtain partially aside, and thrusting in his head, bawled out in 
 stentorian tones — Halloa ! clear the stair there ; mind your 
 eyes ; here comes a horse. ,1 Not recognising the Yorkshireman 
 in the abrupt and unexpected apostrophe, and supposing that one 
 of the horses about to ride in the ring was really coming down 
 the stair, there was an instantaneous and unusual rush into the 
 gallery. In two or three seconds, the stair was completely 
 cleared, and the Yorkshireman promptly took possession of the 
 best part of it. 
 
 The humorous remarks made by the audience, while the per- 
 formances were proceeding, often caused bursts of laughter. In 
 this respect, indeed, the " Merriman" found that he had a num- 
 ber of formidable rivals. A young woman, of a copper com- 
 plexion, who monopolized the performances on the tight-rope, 
 said, in a very affected "fine lady" sort of air, addressing her- 
 self to the Clown— "Chalk my feet, Sir." " Vouldn't your 
 face, too, be all the better of a little 011% Ma'am 1 " observed a 
 rustic-looking young man among the audience, with a dryness of 
 manner which told with much effect. " I say, Miss," exclaimed 
 another voice, " Vy do you always dance the same thing I Vy 
 don't you give us 'Jack in the Green?'" Or "Vy don't you 
 jump ' Jim Crow,' young voman \ " said a third. " You hold 
 your tongue, Sir," rejoined the Clown, authoritatively, looking 
 in the direction of the place whence the last voice proceeded. 
 Ho had scarcely uttered the words, when a small apple 
 abruptly alighted on the crown of his head, which was graced 
 with a nightcap of many colours. Putting his hand to the part 
 of his head which was hit, he looked half-piteously and half-in- 
 dignantly around the audience. " Who did that V he inquired. 
 " Nobody, " answered a voice, after a momentary pause. " It 
 was an anonymous blow," said another, amidst bursts of laughter 
 from ail parts of the house, which so disconcerted and annoyed 
 poor "Mr. Merriman," that he was not able either to make a 
 passable new joke the whole evening afterwards, or to retail his 
 old ones with the slightest spirit.

 
 BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 313 
 
 It appeared to me, that the scene on the sort of hustings 
 outside the theatres at Greenwich Fair, was better worth 
 seeing than the performances within. There the female actresses, 
 if they should be dignified with the name, strutted about in a 
 mock majesty which, in their circumstances, was truly ridiculous. 
 They were decked out in all manner of tawdry trumpery : they 
 had feathers in their heads ; but they were such feathers as I 
 had never seen before. Their dresses, which, I regret to say, I 
 am incompetent to describe, were thickly studded with small 
 fragments of some sort of metal, which, though seemingly opaque 
 enough in ordinary circumstances, did " cast reflections'' 1 when 
 in contiguity to the blazing lights at the front of the theatre. 
 Nothing could be more amusing than the would-be dignified step 
 and consequential air with which these female supporters of the 
 drama walked about before the assembled thousands ; many of 
 whom were, no doubt, both wondering and admiring spectators. 
 Had these actresses been so many princesses, they could not 
 have assumed greater importance, or appeared more stiff and 
 stately in their carriage. I thought, as I saw them, of the 
 females who grace the train of Jack-in-the-Green, on May-day, 
 I thought of poor Black Moll, who is doomed to dangle, dressed 
 in white, above the doors of marine-store dealers, from one end 
 of the year to the other. And yet, if these histrionic personages 
 were happy in the thought of their fancied superiority to 
 all other females, why should any one seek to undeceive them ? 
 It was edifying to witness the different objects which the parties 
 in the front of the theatre had in view. The girls in question 
 thought of nothing but themselves : they sought to show them- 
 selves off. The proprietor, on the other hand, had nothing in 
 his head but how he could best induce persons to patronize his 
 performances. His wife was wholly intent on taking money, and 
 giving checks in return ; while a poor fellow most assiduously 
 played the Clown outside, in the character of " Spring-heeled 
 Jack, 11 because he saw that his own interests were bound up 
 with those of his master. 
 
 Gambling was carried on in Greenwich Fair to a very great 
 extent, and in every variety of form. There were roulette, 
 hazard, and other games, at which persons might play for stakes 
 of from one shilling upwards to a sovereign ; and many were the 
 simpletons these notable hell-keepers victimised on the occasion. 
 This class of gamblers took care to carry on their business in 
 places not exposed to the general gaze. There was, however, no 
 lack of gamblers on a smaller scale, whoso operations were per 
 formed in the light of day, and in the most densely crowded 
 parts of the market. There were wheel-of-fortuno men ; and 
 most promptly did these machines ami their proprietors fleece
 
 314 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 the simple, soft-looking lads who ventured their pence on parti- 
 cular articles. In order to decoy and deceive the unsuspecting 
 cockneys, or gullible youths belonging to Greenwich or its neigh- 
 bourhood, they took care to keep the wheel in constant motion. 
 For this purpose, they had severally one or two cunning young 
 rascals in their employ, who, while they saw others losing their 
 money, contented themselves with merely looking on and en- 
 couraging greenhorns to " try again," on an assurance that they 
 were certain of gaining next time. They appeared all the while 
 not only to have no connection with the professed gamblers, but 
 not even to know them. The moment others ceased to turn 
 round the wheel, they put down their halfpence ; and when try- 
 ing for two or three articles unsuccessfully several times, the sly 
 rogues would, in a careless sort of tone, as if the result of the 
 purest accident, make the observation — " Oh, never mind ; can 
 afford to lose a few browns this time; gained half-a-crown 1 s 
 worth of things with three hap'nies, a short time ago." This 
 most probably has the effect of inducing some simpleton to try 
 his luck, thinking in his own mind that there can be no good 
 reason why he should not gain a half-crown's worth of things for 
 his three hap'nies as well as others. He begins, and that mo- 
 ment the other ceases to turn round the wheel ; the three hap'nies 
 are gone, but bring no half-crown ; no, not even one penny's 
 worth of the trinkets so invitingly spread out before him. He 
 tries other three ; they follow their predecessors : three more ; 
 they are not a whit more lucky. His losses reach a shilling ; he 
 goes on, provided he has the money, until, possibly, he loses 
 half-a-crown. Even if he does happen to gain some article which 
 he fancied was worth eighteen-pence, he finds, on inspection, that 
 it is not worth twopence ; so that he is cheated under any cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 The thimble-riggers mustered strong, and appeared to drive a 
 profitable business. They were to be found in all the leading 
 openings to the Fair. Much as every man of healthy moral 
 feeling must disapprove of thimble-rigging, there was no resist- 
 ing an occasional hearty laugh at the awkward circumstances 
 under which some of the victims betrayed their simplicity. 
 " Who lifts the thimble that kivers the pea next time I " was 
 the everlasting question of the proprietor of the pea, the three 
 thimbles, and the half-crown table, on which the gambling took 
 place, — whenever there was a pause in the play ; and as he spoke, 
 he shifted about the thimbles with an almost sleight-of-hand cele- 
 rity. " I knows the one it's under," whispers a greenhorn to 
 some acquaintance. 
 
 "Are you quite sure?" 
 
 " Quite sure ; could swear I knows it, and no mistake.
 
 BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIKS. 315 
 
 " Then what a tool you are, not to put down your shiners ! " 
 
 Thus appealed to, down goes the crown, half-crown, or shil- 
 ling, as the case may be, and the simpleton lifts the thimble. 
 Imagine his surprise, his confusion, and mortification, when he 
 raises it, and finds that neither pea nor anything else is 
 there. He can scarcely credit the evidence of his eyes. He 
 would, indeed, live and die in the belief that it had miracu- 
 lously vanished, did not the proprietor lift another thimble, and 
 exhibit the pea to the gaze of all present. 
 
 '* It's all the fortune of war," says the thimble-rigger, moving 
 about his thimbles. " Who tries his luck next I Can't always 
 gain." 
 
 A person who is supposed, by those unacquainted with the 
 roguery of these fellows, to have no connexion with or know- 
 ledge of them, but is one of themselves, now advances, and learn- 
 ing from some secret signs made by the mover of the thimbles, the 
 one under which the pea lies, says, " I lay five shillings I know 
 the thimble which kivers the pea. 11 
 
 " Here you are, Sir," says the other, putting down his five 
 shillings. 
 
 The supposed stranger puts down his crown : he raises the 
 thimble, and the pea is there. He is inwardly congratulated on 
 his good luck by the spectators around, they still imagining that 
 he is as much a stranger to the thimble-man as themselves. 
 
 " Never grumbles when I loses, though better pleased when I 
 wins. Who tries their luck next time ? " says the thimble-rigger, 
 shifting the thimbles on the table so slowly that no one can 
 fail to perceive under which one the pea is. " I see the one, 1 ' 
 says some greenhorn, in audible tones. 
 
 " Which one is it 1 " inquires the party, in a whisper, who 
 had tried it last time, and who, though one of the rogues 
 who are robbing simpletons, is still imagined to be a perfect 
 stranger. 
 
 " That one," pointing to the thimble under which the pea ac- 
 tually is. 
 
 " Five shillings again, that I unkiver the pea," says he, with 
 6ome eagerness throwing down his crown. 
 
 " Done, Sir," says the thimble-rigger, throwing his fivo shil- 
 lings on the table also. 
 
 The supposed adventurer raises the thimble, and, behold, the 
 pea is again there. 
 
 " You were quite right, Sir, 11 says he, in agreeable accents, to 
 the simpleton, at whose pockets a dead set is made. 
 
 "Oh, I knew it," says the latter, giving a consequential nod 
 of his head, by way of showing that he was perfectly awaro of his 
 own superior imaginary discernment.
 
 316 SKETCHES IN I.OXDOX. 
 
 " Just speak a moment," whispers the coadjutor of the thhuble- 
 rigger to the intended victim. 
 
 " Certainly," says the latter ; and both retire a few steps to- 
 gether. " Why don't you try for yourself, and fleece these 
 fellows I " says the supposed stranger. 
 
 " Woy, I doan't know," says the poor simpleton. 
 
 " Suppose we run halves, when we see a good chance ? " ob- 
 serves the other. 
 
 " Well, I doan't care, though I do," answers the greenhorn. 
 
 They return to the table : the thimble-rigger again shifts the 
 thimbles, and invites " any one" to try his luck. 
 
 " I doan't know vich is the right 'un this time," remarks the 
 unsuspecting simpleton. 
 
 " Ah, but I do," says the other, with a knowing nod of the 
 head. " That's it," pointing to a particular thimble. 
 
 " Then let us put down one half-crown each." 
 
 " By all means," says the other, throwing down his half-crown. 
 
 The thimble-rigger puts down his crown, and the partner of 
 the poor greenhorn raises the thimble ; but, lo ! there is no pea 
 there. He affects to be marvellously surprised ; the thing is be- 
 yond his comprehension ; however, he swears that he won't be 
 mistaken next time. Another venture is made, but with no 
 better success. There is no limit to his amazement ; the thing 
 is altogether so unaccountable, that there must be some legerde- 
 main in it. He gives a still greater oath that he won't be wrong 
 next time : the victim ventures once more, on the solemn assur- 
 ance that his partner in the speculation knows the right thimble 
 this time. The latter lifts it, but still no pea is there. He stamps 
 with his feet, strikes his forehead with his hand, makes extraor- 
 dinary faces, swears so liberally both at the pea and himself, and 
 altogether acts his part so well, that, though the victim will not 
 trust his discernment any more, and consequently abstains from 
 any more gambling, yet he never once questions his honesty ; to 
 say nothing of his not even suspecting that he is a partner in the 
 robberies of the thimble-rigger. In this and various other ways 
 simple persons, whether from London or the surrounding coun- 
 try, are sure to be fleeced, if they are foolish enough to play at 
 the game of thimble-rigging. 
 
 The proprietors of swings, at the last Greenwich Fair, must 
 have made a little fortune ; for most liberally were their " ma- 
 chines," as they themselves call them, patronized. Not one, so 
 long as I was there, was idle for a moment. The poor fellows 
 who had to keep them in motion had no sinecure of it. Every- 
 body else seemed half-perishing of cold ; they were perspiring with 
 the warmth caused by their unremitting labours. It was curious to 
 see how differently the different persons who committed them-
 
 BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAILS. .']] 7 
 
 selves to the swing felt, when they were driven about in the air. 
 Many of the females — and I have always observed, though I can- 
 not account for the circumstance, that the women are the greatest 
 patrons of swings — many of the females got up a few screams in 
 the plenitude of their affected alarm at being moved to and fro 
 at so rapid a rate in the air ; some shrieked because they did 
 actually feel frightened, when suspended between earth and 
 heaven, though they apprehended no such fears before entering 
 the car ; while others laughed, joked, and seemed to be as com- 
 fortable as if they had been swinging in the air all their lives. 
 Many were made dizzy and others sick, by the motion ; but 
 there was no help for them ; the swing must go for the usual 
 time for the sake of those who were neither dizzy nor sick, but 
 expected, and had anything to the contrary been proposed would 
 have insisted, that, as they had paid for their pleasure, so they 
 must have it. 
 
 The last, but assuredly not the least, of the attractions of 
 Greenwich Fair are the dancing booths. By nine o 1 clock, they 
 began to be tolerably attended : by ten they were full ; that is 
 to say, as full as was consistent with the requisite space for 
 dancing. And yet, though thus as full as they could conveni- 
 ently hold, one of the parties interested stood at the door inviting, 
 or rather imploring, " ladies and gemmen," to go in, expressly 
 assuring them that there was room for two or three hundred 
 more. Most liberally was the light fantastic toe tripped : the 
 girls seemed in perfect ecstacies : they would have danced them- 
 selves to death, if necessary ; but it fortunately was not, there 
 being at least two of them to every one of the masculine gender. 
 Dancing, as they say in the provincial newspaper,?, when speaking 
 of bails in the county town, " was kept up to a late, or rather 
 early hour." The floor, or rather in this case the ground, was 
 not cleared until three in the morning ; and even then, the girls 
 were loth to relinquish their occupation of it. On one side of 
 the booths, immediately adjoining the dancing-ground, were four 
 or five boxes constructed on the coffee-house principle, where the 
 " partners" swigged porter or sipped brandy- and- water, as the 
 case might be, by way of refreshing themselves after their dance. 
 In some cases, the arms of the bean were to be seen affectionately 
 entwined around the neck of the belle, while in others, all the 
 indications and demonstrations of love were given by the young 
 ladies. 
 
 Though Greenwich Fair, properly so called, is confined to the 
 very narrow space before mentioned, it virtually extends for one 
 or two miles along the leading roads which communicate with 
 the town. In saying this, I do not so much mean the various 
 stalls for the sale of sweetmeats and trinkets which are scattered
 
 318 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 so liberally about the suburbs, as to the number of idlers and 
 holiday people who are seen lounging about in all directions, 
 but especially at the doors of public-houses. I will venture to 
 say, that there is scarcely a public-house within two miles of 
 Greenwich that cannot boast, provided the weather be at all 
 endurable, of its ten or twelve loungers about the door ; some of 
 them drinking gin, others swilling porter, a third class smoking 
 away at a most furious rate, while many are doing all three 
 together. Inside these public-houses, again, there is hardly 
 standing, far less sitting room. They are crowded in every part 
 with thirsty customers. You are quite at a loss whether most to 
 admire the talking or quaffing capabilities of the inmates. There 
 is nothing but noise and porter : all talk and all drink at once. 
 To be sure, an attempt is now and then made to introduce a little 
 harmony, in the way of a song ; but the audience are anything 
 but harmonious in hearing it. A vocalist might just as soon 
 hope to hush into silence the roar of the ocean by the eloquence 
 of his dulcet strains, as one might expect to restore silence in a 
 public-house audience, on Greenwich Fair day, by the melody of 
 his voice. Orpheus may have achieved the wonders ascribed to 
 him by the power of his melody, though I have always doubted 
 it : he may have tamed savage animals through means of his 
 musical talents ; but I am quite certain that all the modern Or- 
 pheuses in the world — if there be any Orpbeuses extant — 
 would not silence or secure the attention of the biped savages 
 who, at Easter and Midsummer, patronize the public-houses in 
 Greenwich and the neighbourhood. They are a set of invete- 
 rately noisy beings : the unrestrained exercise of their lungs 
 seems indispensable to their enjoyment of the jovialities of the 
 occasion. 
 
 If what I have said, as to the distance to which Greenwich 
 Fair extends itself, in the shape of crowded public-houses, be 
 true as regards the Woolwich and other roads, it is far more 
 so as respects the road leading to London. The whole of that 
 road, indeed, from Southwark to Greenwich, may be said to be 
 only an arm of Greenwich Fair, in so far as the public-houses are 
 concerned. Though the distance be five miles, they are all 
 crowded with customers, and each has as much business, in the 
 porter and gin way, as it is able to go through. I have, indeed, 
 a strong suspicion, that many hundreds who start from town 
 with the full intention of visiting the Fair, and sharing its fun 
 and frolics, put a period to their journey — in other words, make 
 a full stop — before they have gone half the way. One is cold ; 
 he goes into a public-house on the road to get a glass of spirits 
 to warm him : a second is hot. and he must have ditto to cool 
 him : a third is thirsty, and he must have a pint of porter to we*
 
 BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 319 
 
 his throat ; while a fourth, more candid than either of the others, 
 says, according to the old story, that he must have the spirits or 
 the porter because he likes them. Hut whatever be the motive or 
 the pretext which induces the persons to whom I refer, to go 
 into the public-house, if once they have crossed its threshold, 
 there is no getting them out again until it is time to return 
 home : there they enjoy, if enjoyment it may be called, their 
 Greenwich Fair. All the public-houses on the road from London 
 to Greenwich were, at the last Easter Fair, so much crammed 
 with customers who had been on their way to the fair, or were 
 on their return from it, that the windows were literally blocked 
 up with them. 
 
 But not to attempt any further description of Greenwich Fair, 
 let me advert for a moment, in conclusion, to the moral tenden- 
 cies of that fair. I am sure the facts I have stated, and the 
 efforts I have made to describe the scenes winch are to be wit- 
 nessed during the three days at Easter, and the three at Mid- 
 summer, on which the fair is held, must have satisfied ever) 
 reflecting mind that nothing could be more injurious to the 
 morals of the parties who take part in those scenes. They 
 engender and foster habits of idleness, frivolity, intemperance, 
 and dissipation of every kind. They deaden every delicate and 
 amiable feeling, and inspire notions and lead to practices which 
 are altogether unworthy of rational beings. Thousands of youths 
 of both sexes have had to date their physical as well as moral ruin 
 from attendance at the fairs in the metropolis and its vicinity.. 
 Every one knows how difficult it is to eradicate a taste for such 
 scenes when once formed : it must be gratified at all hazards. 
 It never can be satiated : the more the craving after such things 
 is fed, the more urgent and large in its demands does it become. 
 A love of drink and debauchery, in all their varied forms, when 
 once inspired, is very rarely to be abated, much less annihilated, 
 until both the mind and the constitution are irretrievably ruined 
 by its indulgence. 
 
 I am convinced there are thousands of both sexes who are now 
 living in the greatest destitution and wretchedness, who have to 
 date their misery from their attendance in early life on metro- 
 politan and suburban fairs. Some such instances have como 
 under my own personal observation ; nor could it be otherwise. 
 It is impossible for young persons, whose judgment is immature 
 and whose moral principles want vigour, to witness the scenes 
 which are exhibited on such occasions, and to take part in the 
 transactions which take place, without doing the morals of the 
 individuals great injury. And while there is so much to con- 
 demn in these fairs, there is not a single thing to commend. I 
 do not know of one rational amusement among all the oxhi-
 
 320 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 bitions which are to be witnessed. I would be the last man to 
 prohibit the youth of either sex from enjoying their amusements 
 and recreations ; but surely there could be no difficulty in point- 
 ing out the means of their rationally and innocently enjoying 
 themselves at particular seasons of the year, instead of their 
 patronizing the " shows'* 1 and " sights" which are to be witnessed 
 at metropolitan and suburban fairs. 
 
 The inference from all this is plain. The civil authorities 
 ought to put an end to such fairs. They are only the relics 
 of a barbarous age, and were established for the sake of an igno- 
 rant and brutalized people. They are altogether unworthy the 
 nineteenth century : they are especially unworthy a civilized and 
 Christian land. They are a positive reflection on the intelligence 
 and moral feeling of those in authority over us. To abolish 
 them would be to wipe out a foul blot which now stains the 
 character of the country, and would confer a lasting benefit 
 on the lower classes of the metropolitan community. And 
 that benefit would soon be visible in the improved morals and 
 ameliorated condition of thousands of those classes. I am no 
 advocate for the interposition of the magistrate in the amuse- 
 ments of the people, as a general principle ; but where the 
 obvious and admitted tendency of public amusements is of a 
 most immoral nature, then, indeed, a case is made out for 
 magisterial interference. 
 
 In the mean time, and until the civil authorities shall see it to 
 be their duty to interfere, and put down the remaining fairs in 
 the metropolis and suburbs, let me impress on parents, masters, 
 and mistresses, that a great moral responsibility is incurred by 
 them when they do not, in cases where they could do it with effect, 
 interpose the shield of their authority to prevent their children 
 or their servants from visiting such places. How parents, who 
 have any regard for the morals or well-being of their offspring, 
 can allow them to visit fairs, is to me altogether unaccountable. 
 Even in the case of servants, masters and mistresses, who have 
 any regard for the welfare of their domestics, ought to discoun- 
 tenance, in the most marked manner, their visits to such places.
 
 1
 
 321 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 COURTS OF REQUESTS. 
 
 Their origin and objects — Their number, and for what districts — The Westminster 
 Court of Requests— The Court of Requests for the Borough — The Court of Re- 
 quests for the City— The Court of Requests for the Tower Hamlets— The County- 
 Court of Requests — Mode of proceeding in the Courts of Requests — Number of 
 suits instituted for various sums — Curious cases decided at these courts — Instances 
 given — The Useless Cradle — Board, Lodging, and Love — The Ultra-Radical Pa- 
 triot — The Cambric Pocket-Handkerchief — An Affecting Case — Utility of Courts 
 of Requests. 
 
 Courts of Conscience, or Requests, as they are now generally 
 termed, are very important institutions in the estimation of the 
 lower classes, though known only by name to those in affluent or 
 easy circumstances. They were first established about 300 years 
 ago. They are Courts for the recovery of small debts by an easier, 
 more summary, and cheaper process than exists in the ordinary 
 courts ofrlaw. I shall, in an after part of the chapter, describe 
 the course of proceeding adopted by the plaintiff when prose- 
 cuting his claims in one of these Courts, which are, in the hands 
 of persons who can properly administer their affairs, exceed- 
 ingly excellent institutions ; and it is matter of wonder that 
 they are not much more general throughout the country. The 
 entire number in England and Wales does not exceed sixty-three 
 or sixty-four. The number in London is five. They are, begin- 
 ning at the west-end of the metropolis, the Court of Requests 
 for Westminster — the Court of Requests for the borough of 
 South wark — the Court of Requests for the city of London — the 
 Court of Requests for the Tower Hamlets — and the Court of 
 Requests for the county of Middlesex. In the constitution and 
 powers of these courts there is a very considerable dissimilarity, 
 which I shall afterwards point out. 
 
 The Westminster Court of Requests is situated in Castle- 
 street, Leicester-square. The administration of its affairs is 
 intrusted to 242 individuals, called commissioners. These must 
 be all respectable rate-payers, residing within the jurisdiction of 
 the Court. That jurisdiction extends over the parishes of St. 
 Margaret, St. John the Evangelist, St. Paul, Covent Garden, 
 St. Clement Danes, St. Mary-le-Strand, St. George, Hanover- 
 squaro ; St. James, and St. Anne ; and over that part of the
 
 322 
 
 SKETCHES TJM LONDON. 
 
 Duchy of Lancaster which adjoins the liberty of Westminster. 
 It will thus be seen that the jurisdiction of this Court is very 
 extensive. Formerly it was deemed advisable to have two Courts 
 of Requests for Westminster ; but two or three years since, one 
 of them was abolished, and its business transferred to the court 
 in Castle-street. The commissioners are chosen by the vestries 
 of the various parishes in the district. The period for which 
 they are elected is only one year ; but they can be set aside at 
 any time by the vestries. As the duties of the office are per- 
 formed gratuitously, many of the commissioners very rarely 
 attend. Others take great pleasure in presiding over the Court, 
 and are very seldom absent. The average number to be seen on 
 the bench is from five to eight. The Court has no power to 
 adjudicate in cases above forty shillings. It is armed with the 
 power of enforcing its decisions, by imprisoning the debtor for 
 any period not exceeding seven days. 
 
 The Westminster Court of Requests can boast of a very fair 
 antiquity. It was first constituted nearly a century since. There 
 are two principal clerks, chosen by the commissioners, for assist- 
 ing in conducting the affairs of the court. Their remuneration 
 is not by fixed salary, but by certain fees on the various cases 
 which are tried. In a parliamentary return moved for in the 
 year 1835, the following statement on this point is given : " The 
 emoluments of the Westminster Court of Requests consist of 
 what remains therein, after paying the rent, taxes, and repairs 
 of two court-houses ; the salaries of the under clerks and officers, 
 and for the printing, stationery, and other expenses incidental 
 thereto ; and are divided amongst the High Bailiff of Westmin- 
 ster and the two principal clerks of the said court ; and were, 
 for the five preceding years, as follows : 
 
 1 
 
 YEARS. 
 
 TOTAL amount of 
 EMOLUMENTS. 
 
 HIGH BAILIFF'S 
 PROPORTION. 
 
 EACH CLERK'S 
 PROPORTION. 
 
 
 £. s. d. 
 
 £. s. d. 
 
 ■*■ . S , (I , 
 
 1830 
 
 1642 19 11 
 
 446 Si 
 
 598 9 9£ 
 
 1831 
 
 1221 3 9 
 
 333 13 11 
 
 443 14 11 
 
 1832 
 
 1095 18 2 
 
 315 8 1 
 
 390 5 0i 
 
 1833 
 
 1078 17 5 
 
 313 12 81- 
 
 383 2 4| 
 
 1834 
 
 996 6 7 
 
 280 10 7| 
 
 357 17 11; 
 
 This would give an annual average amount of emoluments to 
 each of the two principal clerks of about 400/. ; but as one of 
 the Courts — the one, namely, which used to sit in Vine-street, 
 Piccadilly — has been since abolished, the reduction in the 
 expenses must, I should suppose, be sufficiently great to make
 
 COURTS OF REQUESTS. 323 
 
 the emoluments of each of the principal clerks of the Westmin - 
 ster Court of Requests worth at least 450'. a-year. 
 
 The number of cases tried in this court in the course of a year, 
 are, on an average, about 13,000. In 1830, the number tried 
 was 15,439 ; in 1831, 13,766 ; in 1832, 14,429 ; in 1833, 13,567 ; 
 and in 1834, it was 12,790. I have not access to official inform- 
 ation respecting the number of cases tried in either of the 
 intervening years. The average yearly expenses consequent on 
 the hearing of the cases is, as near as may be, 2000/. ; making the 
 average expense of each case to be about three shillings and six- 
 pence. An attempt has been made by the clerks to ascertain 
 the average amount of money sued for in the course of a year ; 
 but as a great many cases are settled out of court, after the 
 summonses have been issued, and the various amounts in such 
 cases not being entered on the books, the clerks are afraid to 
 hazard even a conjecture on the subject. 
 
 The Southwark Court of Requests has a more extensive 
 jurisdiction than that of Westminster. It embraces the town 
 and borough of South wark, Lambeth, and the eastern half of the 
 hundred of Brixton. It possesses the power of imprisoning the 
 person in execution, but not for a longer period than one hundred 
 days. It is competent to hear and decide all cases under five 
 pounds. Five commissioners are necessary to constitute a Court 
 when the debt is above forty shillings ; and three, when the debt 
 is under that sum. The number of commissioners is 152. They 
 are chosen in the same way as the commissioners for the West- 
 minster Court of Requests. When the Court was established, 
 I have not been able to ascertain. The average number of suits 
 instituted in this court every year, is rather above 16,000. Per- 
 haps there is no other Court of Requests in the kingdom in 
 which there is so slight a variation in the number of cases tried, 
 as in the Court of Requests for Southwark. This fact will 
 appear from the following statement of the respective numbers 
 for the five consecutive years preceding the year 1835. In 1830, 
 the number was 16,441 ; in 1831, 16,751 ; in 1832, 16,192 ; in 
 1833, it was 16,250; and in 1834, it was 16,450. The total 
 average amount of debts sued for each year is about 22,000/. ; 
 and the annual average expenses of prosecuting this amount of 
 debts is close on 4000/., giving, as in the case of the Westmin- 
 ster Court of Requests, the expenses of each case at somewhere 
 about three shillings and sixpence. The Southwark Court 
 usually sits two days each week. It begins its sittings at ten 
 o'clock, and rises at half-past three. It is divided into two 
 branches ; an arrangement indispensable for getting through tho 
 great quantity of business, the transaction of which devolves on 
 tho commissioners. Instead of the chief bailiff for Southwark, 
 
 z 2
 
 324 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 and the two principal clerks, as in the case of the Westminster 
 Court of Requests, deriving their emoluments from fees on the 
 cases which are tried before the Court, they have severally a fixed 
 yearly salary. That of the chief bailiff is 500/., while one of the 
 two principal clerks, namely, Mr. Meymott, has 750/. The other 
 chief clerk, viz., Mr. George Drew, receives the same amount of 
 yearly salary as the chief bailiff, which I have stated to be 500/. 
 The Court sits in Swan-street. 
 
 The Court of Requests for the City of London, as re-consti- 
 tuted under an act passed a few years since, has not the power 
 of imprisoning for debt until after an execution has been issued 
 against the goods, and the officer has made a return in writing 
 under his hand that the party has no goods, or not sufficient 
 goods. The jurisdiction of the Court is confined to the city of 
 London. Formerly it was only competent to adjudicate on sums 
 under five pounds ; but two years since an act was passed 
 extending its authority to all sums under ten pounds. This was 
 understood to be only an experiment on the part of the legisla- 
 ture, with the view of seeing whether or not satisfactory decisions 
 were likely to be given by courts constituted like Courts of 
 Requests ; and whether there could, if I may use the expression, 
 be a union of " good" with cheap and expeditious justice. The 
 experiment has been completely successful. It is doubtful, indeed, 
 whether, on the whole, more equitable decisions could have been 
 given in the disputed cases, had they, as formerly, been tried 
 before the superior courts. The consequence in all probability 
 will be, that the power of Courts of Requests generally will be 
 extended to all sums under ten pounds ; a circumstance which 
 will be conferring a great benefit on the community. It is ques- 
 tionable, indeed, whether it might not be advisable to extend the 
 authority of these courts to all sums under twenty pounds. It is 
 certain, that originally they were competent to the adjustment of 
 all disputed sums under the above amount ; for it is to be recol- 
 lected, that three hundred years ago, when Courts of Requests 
 were instituted, two pounds were equal to at least twenty pounds 
 of our present money. This, however, is a point which it would 
 be inconvenient to discuss in this place. 
 
 The number of commissioners in the City Court of Requests, 
 varies from time to time. The City being divided into twenty- 
 five wards, commissioners from each ward sit for one calendar 
 month in every two years ; the -month of October in every other 
 year having two wards. The number of commissioners appointed 
 by each ward varies, according to the size of the respective 
 wards, from 25 to 50. Three commissioners constitute a court 
 in the case of all claims under two poundg; seven are requisite 
 when the amount in dispute exceeds that sum.
 
 COURTS OF REQUESTS. 325 
 
 The clerks of this Court receive no fees whatever : they have 
 fixed permanent salaries. The principal clerk has a salary of 
 400/. per annum ; the first assistant clerk receives 300/. a-y<ar 
 for his services ; and the second clerk has 200/. 
 
 The Court sits twice a-week : on Wednesdays and Saturdays. 
 It is divided into two branches, as in the case of the Southwark 
 Court of Requests. If the amount of business transacted in this 
 court goes on diminishing as rapidly as it has done for several 
 years past, it will soon become very trifling indeed. For the 
 five years previous to 1835, the extent of the decrease in the 
 business of the court will be ascertained from the subjoined state- 
 ment : — In 1830, the number of cases decided was 9502 ; in 1831, 
 it was 8825 ; in 1832, it fell down to 8161 ; in 1833, to 6951 ; 
 and in 1834, it was reduced to 6560 ; being a diminution to the 
 extent of nearly one-third in the short space of five years. What 
 the cause of this rapid and regular decrease in the business of 
 this court is, I have not the means of knowing ; neither have I 
 yet been able to ascertain whether the extension of the powers 
 of the court to all cases under 10/. has as materially contributed 
 to its regaining its former amount of business, as was expected. 
 The total amount of debts sued for in those years is thus given : 
 In 1830, 15,546/. 14s. 6d. ; in 1831, 14,769/. 10.5. 2d. ; in 1832, 
 13,429/. 6s. I0d.; in 1833, 11,901/. 7s.; and in 1S34, 10,702/. 
 3s. 4c?. The total amount of costs incurred during the same 
 years was 2437/. Is. Hd. in 1830 ; 2254/. 17s. 4d. in 1831 ; 20S2/. 
 4s. 8d. in 1832 ; 1777/. 10s. 6d. in 1833 ; and 1645/. 15s. Sd. in 
 1834. The Court sits in a street leading from Basinghall-street 
 to the courts of Guildhall. 
 
 The Court of Requests for the Tower Hamlets is of the same 
 antiquity as the Westminster and Southwark courts. It was at 
 first restricted to adjudication on sums under forty shillings ; but 
 five or six years since, an act was passed extending its powers to 
 any sum not exceeding five pounds. It still does a great deal 
 more business than any of the other courts. Some years ago, 
 it did half as much as all the others put together. The fact of 
 so immense a number of cases being brought before this Court 
 is easily accounted for. Its jurisdiction not only embraces a 
 great extent of space, and a vast amount of population, but that 
 jurisdiction happens to include by far the poorer neighbourhoods 
 of the metropolis. When I mention that among the districts 
 within its jurisdiction are Whitechapel, Shoreditch, Norton Fol- 
 gate, Bethnal Green, Mile-end, Bow, Shad well, Wapping, Rat- 
 cliff, Poplar, and Stepney, I am sure the reader, who knows any- 
 thing of London, can be at no loss to account for the immense 
 number of small debt cases which are brought before the Tower 
 Hamlets'' Court of Requests. Ten years ago, the average num-
 
 326 SKETCHES IX LONDON. 
 
 ber of cases decided at this court was nearly 30,000 every year. 
 Since then, the number has been decreasing at a very rapid rate. 
 In 1831 I find the number of cases disposed of was 25,890 ; in 
 1832, it was 24,194 ; in 1833, the latter number had undergone 
 a reduction of nearly 7000, the returns for that year only giving 
 17,318 cases. In the following year, namely, 1834, the diminu- 
 tion seems to have been to about half the extent of the preced- 
 ing year; for the number given is 13,818; while in the year 
 1835, the latest period to which the returns have been made to 
 government, the number is still further reduced to 11,760. It 
 will thus be seen that, in the short space of five years, a decrease 
 from 25,890 cases to 11,764, has taken place in the number 
 tried in the Court of Requests for the Tower Hamlets, which is 
 more than one-half. To account for this very singular diminution 
 is more than I can undertake to do. Whether the circumstance, 
 that for some years past the commissioners have not, in point of 
 fact, had the power of imprisoning those who cannot or will not 
 pay, though they possess that power nominally * ; whether, I say, 
 this fact has anything to do with the decease, I cannot tell. It 
 may be, that the knowledge that the commissioners are not in a 
 condition to imprison debtors, and that consequently the chances 
 of recovering the sums sued for are diminished, has had the effect 
 of making the smaller class of tradesmen more cautious in giving 
 credit ; and the same consideration may also have indisposed 
 the creditors to prosecute. 
 
 The commissioners of this court are 240 in number. They are 
 annually chosen by the parishes embraced in the jurisdiction of 
 the Court. It is supposed that the average number that attends 
 is twenty. The Court days are Tuesday and Friday. Its locality 
 is Osborne-street, Whitechapel. 
 
 The Tower Hamlets 1 Court of Requests affords an apt illus- 
 tration of the well-known adage : " Most work, least pay." The 
 principal clerks, though they are much harder worked than the 
 clerks of any of the other Courts of Requests in London, have 
 the smallest pay of any. They have only 300/. each, without one 
 sixpence in the shape of fees. 
 
 I come now to the Middlesex County Court of Requests, which 
 is situated in Kingsgate-street, Holborn. Its constitution is 
 altogether different from that of any of the other courts to which 
 I have referred. Mr. Sergeant Heath, or his deputy, Mr. Du- 
 bois, with the assistance of three individuals called jurymen, are 
 
 * This, perhaps, recpjires a word of explanation. The statute establishing the 
 court, invests the commissioners with the power of imprisoning for forty days ; 
 but the magistrates for the city of London and the County of Middlesex having 
 refused to permit debtors from the court to be received into the prisons under then 
 control, the power is nominal only.
 
 COURTS OF REQUESTS. 327 
 
 the sole dispensers of justice in it. The trio of jurymen are 
 usually men of the humblest class of tradesmen ; a fact which may 
 be at once discovered not only by their wardrobe, but by their 
 general demeanour. With few exceptions, they look as if they 
 were quite unacquainted with the forms and attributes of the trial 
 by jury. It is due, however, both to Mr. Sergeant Heath and 
 Mr. Dubois to say, that they are generally exceedingly clear 
 and always strictly impartial, in submitting the various cases to 
 their consideration ; so that their own innate notions of what is 
 right must necessarily, in the majority of cases, conduct them to 
 such a conclusion as the claims of justice require. These jury- 
 men are chosen by the sheriff of the county. There is a new set, 
 or, as an author would say, a new series, every court-day. It 
 is sometimes highly amusing to see them deliberating — if delibe- 
 ration it can be called, where the verdict is almost invariably 
 returned within half a minute of the conclusion of the judge's 
 address ; it is, I say, sometimes highly amusing to see them 
 deliberating as to the conclusion to which they ought to come. 
 How it happens I know not ; but I have always observed that 
 the juryman who is in the middle, sits up in the miserable box 
 allotted to them as erectly, as if it were one of his special duties 
 to do so ; and that his co-jurors on either side, just before agree- 
 ing on their verdict, stretch out their necks sufficiently far to 
 enable them to look each other in the face, after their heads have 
 been brought within eight or ten inches of each other. The 
 appearance of their craniums on such occasions always reminds 
 me of three stars — thus %*. But let that pass. Unaccustomed 
 as men in their lowly sphere of life must necessarily be to the 
 appellation of gentlemen, it is not to be wondered at if they should 
 manifest extreme gratification when Mr. Sergeant Heath or Mr. 
 Dubois, arrayed in their barrister's gown and bands, while their 
 heads are ornamented or disfigured — whichever the reader 
 pleases — with a wig of ample dimensions — addresses them with 
 the most entire gravity, as " Gentlemen of the jury." It has 
 sometimes afforded me a positive pleasure to see the happiness of 
 the jurymen who assist in dispensing justice at the Middlesex 
 Court of Requests, while their ears were being greeted with the 
 appellation of "gentlemen of the jury." Whether it is merely 
 imagination on my part, or not, I cannot tell ; but I have always 
 supposed that Mr. Sergeant Heath lays particular emphasis on 
 the word " gentlemen."" 
 
 Mr. Sergeant Heath was appointed to the presidency, or 
 judgeship — call it which you please — of the CountyCourt of Re- 
 quests in 181.') ; so that he has been nearly twenty years engaged 
 in the dispensation of justice in Kingsgate-street. He has no 
 fixed salary; lull he has what is much better than any ordinary
 
 328 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 salary ; for he has all the fees consequent on the administration 
 of the affairs of the court to himself. To be sure, he has, as he 
 himself says, to pay out of these fees the expenses of the pre- 
 mises in Kingsgate-street, the salaries of deputy, clerks, criers, 
 and other officers, if other officers there be ; but after he has 
 done all this, there is a very handsome residuum behind. I can- 
 not say — I am told nobody but himself can — what the exact 
 amount of his annual emoluments from the court are; but I am 
 assured they cannot be under 1500/. ; while the probability is, 
 they are nearer 2000/. One day, when I was in the court, about 
 a month since, no fewer than four hundred summonses were 
 issued, which, at one shilling and fourpence each, would give 
 thirty pounds for that day alone. And as the court sits about 
 one hundred days every year, or twice every week ; and as fur- 
 ther expenses are incurred on a large proportion of the sum- 
 monses, it may easily be conceived that the learned sergeant has 
 a very lucrative berth of it. As I have not been able to obtain 
 access to any official accounts relative to the average number of 
 cases now tried annually at this court, I will not hazard any con- 
 jecture on the subject : some years since, the average number was 
 about 12,000. 
 
 The Kingsgate Court of Requests exhibits quite a scene on 
 the morning of every Monday and Thursday. The very place, 
 indeed, may be said to constitute a scene of itself. It is a most 
 miserable-looking place, whether viewed from the outside or 
 inside. It has a very dilapidated appearance outside : it is an old 
 desolate-looking building. Mr. Heath pronounced it to be in a 
 state of entire disrepair, on his becoming officially connected 
 with it nineteen years ago, and he then intimated to the House 
 of Commons the necessity of erecting a new court altogether. 
 His views on the subject must, however, have soon after 
 undergone a change ; for the court still continues in pre- 
 cisely the same state as it was then. It is a very commodious 
 place inside ; capable, I should think, of easily accommodating, 
 in a standing position, five hundred persons. I have seen as 
 many as three hundred in it at a time, and yet there was ample 
 unoccupied space. A more gloomy, ruinous, miserable-looking 
 place inside is scarcely to be seen. It is in striking keeping with 
 the condition of the great majority of those who have business to 
 transact in it. A more ragged assemblage, or one on whose coun- 
 tenances, as well as exterior generally, the genius of destitution 
 and wretchedness is more visibly impressed, it has never been my 
 lot to witness. The spectacle is painful to behold : the appear- 
 ance of most of the parties is that of squalor personified. Their 
 counetnances are blanched, except, indeed, in those cases in 
 which the application of water to them is of so rare occurrence
 
 COURTS OF BEQUESTS. 329 
 
 that the actual complexion is concealed from the view. See what 
 numbers of wretched mothers are there, with children in their 
 arms, and children at their feet ! The miseries of the parents are 
 inherited by the young innocents : the latter are a mass of rags. 
 Poor things ! they know not what warmth or comfort is : the 
 cravings of their appetites are but seldom gratified. To have a 
 full meal — I speak, of course, of those of them that are weaned — 
 would, indeed, be an era in their youthful existence. The smile 
 and the laugh, which are so characteristic of their period of life 
 when the stern hand of adversity does not press upon them, are 
 looked for in vain in the countenances of the children who hang 
 about their mothers in the Kingsgate-street Court of Requests. 
 Sickliness, and want, and suffering, are so distinctly marked in 
 their innocent faces, that no one with the slightest pretensions 
 to humanity could look on them without feeling the deepest 
 compassion for them. There they have sometimes to stand, as 
 have also their mothers, for two or three hours ; and this, too, 
 in cases without number, without having tasted food that morn- 
 ing. If charitable individual* on whom Providence has con- 
 ferred the riches of this world, are anxious to find out, in a 
 metropolis in which there is so much imposition and deception, 
 real objects for their benevolence, let such persons attend the 
 County Court of Requests on a Monday or Thursday morning, 
 and before they are an hour there, they will meet with many 
 miserable creatures, who are as legitimate objects of charity as any 
 wretches on whom the sun ever shone. But this is a point to which 
 I shall have occasion to advert again, before closing the chapter. 
 And yet, amidst the scenes of destitution and wretchedness 
 which are to be witnessed in this court, you see no proofs of com- 
 miseration on the part of any one present. The miserable crea- 
 tures who are summoned are too much occupied with their own 
 wretchedness to admit of their passing a thought on the woes of 
 others around them ; while the hearts of the parties at whose 
 instance they are summoned, are thoroughly steeled against all 
 sympathy or pity for their victims. As regards the officers of 
 the court, again ; they are so habituated to spectacles of the 
 deepest wretchedness, that they are scarcely conscious of seeing 
 them at all. You hear them call out the names of the parties 
 who are to appear before the Court, with the most entire care- 
 lessness. All is bustle and confusion as well as wretchedness ,in 
 the place. The one -half, in moving from place to place, tread 
 upon the toes of the other half. Some are constantly advancing 
 to the inner part of the court — which I shall have to describe 
 presently, — while others are as constantly retiring from it. In 
 short, there is a perpetual movement in court : to this move- 
 ment, the bustling officiousness of the servants often contributes
 
 380 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 in no small degree. In the middle of the place there is a wooden 
 erection, having a good deal of the appearance of a pulpit, which 
 one of the officers of the court ascends, and then proclaims aloud 
 the names of the parties whose cases have reached a certain stage 
 in their progress towards adjudication. At the farthest part of 
 the court, and directly fronting the door, is a small apartment — 
 not, I should think, exceeding fifteen feet square — which is 
 specially set apart for the administration of justice. Like the 
 body of the court, it is a miserable dingy-looking place : the 
 windows never — not even byaccident — look clean. At the farthest 
 end, after you enter at a side-door, you see an easy antiquated 
 chair, the covering of which is considerably the worse for the 
 wear. Before this chair is placed a small wooden erection, which 
 reminds one of the desks which the parish-schoolmasters in 
 Scotland, have in one of the corners of their school-rooms. 
 Mr. Sergeant Heath, I understand, dignifies this humble wooden 
 affair with the name of " the bench of justice." In that arm-chair, 
 and with his desk before him, sits the learned sergeant, his ruddy 
 countenance beaming with goocr nature, yet indicating all the 
 fancied dignity of a monarch on his throne. His wig and his bands 
 rather awkwardly contrast with his self-complacent manner. 
 The first article is but sparingly powdered, and the second badge 
 of judgeship partakes of the smoky appearance of the place gene- 
 rally. On the learned gentleman's right hand sits an intelligent 
 pleasant-looking clerk ; while three forms, of the most homely 
 description, seven or eight feet long, are tenanted by plaintiffs, 
 defendants, and others, mingling together in perfect confusion. 
 They are all impatient spectators of what is going forward, 
 because they are anxious to know what their own fate is 
 to be. On the left of Mr. Sergeant Heath are the jury; con- 
 sisting in most cases, as before remarked, of three plain simple- 
 like men, who, regarding the learned gentleman as oracular on 
 all matters pertaining to the court, rarely dissent from his view 
 of the case, as indicated in his summing-up and charge. In a 
 range of seats, or rather forms, adjoining the jury-box, are 
 always to be seen fifteen or twenty persons, who appear in the 
 various capacities of witnesses, friends, or uninterested spec- 
 tators. At the end of an antiquated table, directly opposite the 
 learned sergeant or his deputy, Mr. Dubois, stand the plaintiff 
 and defendant, and their witnesses, when the last are giving 
 their testimony. Here the opposing parties wrangle with one 
 another, and very often interchange, notwithstanding tho repeated 
 interpositions of the Court, some remarkably choice specimens of 
 abuse. Innumerable are the amusing scenes which have been 
 witnessed in this spot. Two or three specimens of these, I will 
 give in an after part of the chapter. On the table lies a large-
 
 COURTS OF REQUESTS. 3M1 
 
 sized New Testament, bound in calf-skin ; but the appearance of 
 the binding is all the worse for the wear. In some places, you 
 see the manifest effects of too much kissing. Everybody has 
 heard the story of the Pope's toe being nearly kissed away by 
 the frequency and energy with which it is kissed by his devotees : 
 what wonder, then — if the story about the pontiffs toe be true — 
 that the binding of the New Testament which belongs to the 
 establishment in Kingsgate-street, should be considerably im- 
 paired by the extensive system of kissing which prevails in that 
 court on the Monday and Thursday of every week I How many 
 lips have been impressed on that particular copy of the New 
 Testament ! How many false oaths, alas ! have been given on it ! 
 This is no uncharitable judgment. No man who has ever been 
 in Kingsgate-street court could help being shocked, while he has 
 witnessed the swearing to opposite facts, which is of such frequent 
 occurrence on the part of plaintiff and defendant. 
 
 For the information of those who may be unacquainted with 
 the subject, it may be right to describe now, in as few words as 
 possible, the process by which a suit in the County Court of 
 Requests may be prosecuted towards a conclusion. First of all, 
 you go and take out your summons, which will cost you one shil- 
 ling and fourpence. This is served by one of the officers of the 
 court on the party against whom you have brought the action. 
 Three clear days must be allowed the defendant before he is to 
 appear in the presence of Mr. Sergeant Heath or Mr. Commissioner 
 Dubois. If he appear in answer to the summons, the expenses 
 of the action, which, as in other law courts, always fall on the 
 losing party, are as moderate as the most inveterate Benthamite, 
 or lover of cheap justice, could desire. They will only be three 
 shillings and sixpence ; two-and-twopence being charged for the 
 hearing of the case. If the party summoned do not appear, then 
 you get your order against him, which will cost you two shillings. 
 If the order does not insure his appearance that day eight days, 
 then you get it made absolute on the payment of two shillings 
 more, when the case is decided against the party without being 
 heard ; and after some other little but necessary forms are gone 
 through, you can attach his person. The expenses in prosecuting 
 a case up to the last stage in this court, cannot exceed eight 
 shillings and tenpence. 
 
 The proceedings and expenses in the other Courts of Requests 
 are so very similar, that it is unnecessary to refer to them in 
 detail. 
 
 The number of suits instituted for amounts under forty shil- 
 lings, where the jurisdiction of the courts extends to all sums 
 under five pounds, compared with the number above forty shil- 
 lings, must have struck every one who has turned his attention
 
 332 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 to the subject. I have not access to very recent official informa- 
 tion on this point ; but in the Southwark Court of Requests, 
 some time ago, the number of summonses issued out of the court, 
 in one year, for debts under forty shillings, was 10,051; while 
 for debts above that sum, the number was only 3331 . The 
 number of attachments on debts under forty shillings was 1623 ; 
 and for sums above forty shillings, 683. The number of execu- 
 tions on debts not exceeding forty shillings was, in the same 
 year, 2872; for sums above forty shillings, it was 1375. The 
 number of persons sent to prison at the instance of this Court of 
 Requests, in the year in question was 830. So that if we take this 
 as a fair specimen of the proportion of the imprisonments to the 
 number of summonses issued, or the suits instituted, that propor- 
 tion would be as one to sixteen. In other words, out of every 
 sixteen persons summoned to the Courts of Requests one goes 
 to prison, either because he cannot or will not pay the debt. Of 
 the 13,381 suits instituted in the Southwark Court of Requests, 
 in the year referred to, only 10,389 were heard and determined 
 by the Court ; the remaining 2992 were settled by the parties 
 out of doors. There are always a great many debtors who resist 
 payment to the last moment ; that is to say, until the executions 
 are on the eve of being enforced. In the year alluded to, the 
 number who did not pay until " executed," as the technical 
 phrase is, was 1553.* 
 
 I have referred, in a former part of the chapter, to the odd 
 and amusing illustrations of human character which are so often 
 afforded at the London Courts of Requests. In attempting to 
 convey some idea of a few of those cases, it is proper to remark, 
 that no description can do justice to them, as so much depends 
 on the looks, tones, gesture, and manner altogether, of the 
 parties. The first case may be entitled 
 
 THE USELESS CRADLE. 
 
 A little, massy-headed, bushy-haired man, with a bluff face 
 answered to the name of Adam Crofts, the moment the crier of 
 
 * Since the above was written, I have got access to the following interesting inform 
 ation respecting the imprisonment of parties sued in the Southwark Court of 
 Requests. It appears that from August 1823 to 1831, a period of eight years, the 
 number of debtors committed to the County Gaol was 6104 ; and the number to the 
 Borough Compter was 1992 ; making a total of 8096. Of the 6104 committed to the 
 County Gaol, there were 2047 whose debts did not exceed twenty shillings ; 1798 
 whose debts did not exceed forty shillings ; 996 whose debts did not exceed sixty 
 shillings ; and 1263 whose debts did not exceed one hundred shillings. Of the same 
 number, 4482 were imprisoned for a period not exceeding twenty days ; 828 for a 
 period not exceeding forty days ; 380 for a period not exceeding sixty days ; and 414 
 for a period not exceeding one hundred days. In the case of those committed to 
 the Borough Compter, the results are similar.
 
 COURTS OF REQUESTS. 333 
 
 the court pronounced it. He appeared before the commissioners 
 with the view of soliciting their aid to enable him to accomplish 
 what he had failed to effect by any means within his own reach, 
 namely, to compel or induce — he did not care which — a Mrs. 
 Mortimer, a plain-looking woman, seemingly about two-score 
 years of age, to pay him the sum of seven shillings and sixpence, 
 which he alleged she owed him ; but which position she totally 
 denied. 
 
 Commissioner — What are you, Mr. Crofts 2 
 
 Mr. Crofts — I am Mr. Crofts, Sir, please your honour. 
 
 Commissioner — I did not ask your name. 
 
 Mr. Crofts — I beg your vorship's pardon; I thought you did. 
 
 Commissioner — What I wish to know is, what are you 2 
 
 Mr. Crofts (with great surprise) — What am I 2 
 
 Commissioner — Yes ; what are you 2 The question is a very 
 plain one. 
 
 Mr. Crofts — Well, Sir ; and didn't I give you a plain answer 2 
 
 Commissioner — You hav'n't given me any answer at all. 
 
 Mr. Crofts (increasingly surprised) — Your vorship's surely 
 mistaken. Didn't I say I was Mr Crofts 2 
 
 Commissioner — But how do you live 2 
 
 Mr. Crofts (looking quite enlightened) — Oh ! that's what you 
 mean, Sir, is it 2 
 
 Commissioner — That's what I mean. Pray, then, answer the 
 question. 
 
 Mr. Crofts — Oh, certainly, please your honour. Why, then, 
 I live by my profession. 
 
 Commissioner (looking very much surprised) — You don't mean 
 to say you're a professional man 2 
 
 Mr. Crofts (with a self-complacent smile) — I certainly do, your 
 vorship. 
 
 Commissioner — 'And to which of the professions may you 
 belong 2 
 
 Mr. Crofts — To the profession of a cradle dealer. (Roars of 
 laughter.) 
 
 Commissioner (greatly surprised) — To the what profession 2 
 
 Mr. Crofts — To the profession of a dealer in cradles. (Renewed 
 laughter.) 
 
 The several commissioners on the bench looked at each other, 
 and heartily joined in the general laugh. 
 
 Commissioner — Well, this is the first time that I have heard 
 dealing in cradles dignified with the name of a profession. But 
 let that pass ; pray what is your claim against this woman 2 
 
 Mr. Crofts (smoothing his hair with his hand) — 111 tell you in 
 as few wards as I can, Sir. 
 
 Commissioner — Well, be as brief as possible.
 
 334? SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 Mr. Crofts — You must know, your vorships, as I makes and 
 sells the best cradles as vas ever made or sold ; and this 'ere 
 voman, who had only been married six months, comes past my 
 shop, where I always keeps a large assortment of cradles of every 
 variety and at all prices, and all warranted town-made, and the 
 best quality as — 
 
 Commissioner (interrupting him) — Mr. Crofts, have the good- 
 ness to confine yourself to the case before the Court, and don't 
 wander into an eulogium on the merits of your cradles. 
 
 Mr. Crofts — I beg your honour's pardon for transgressing 
 (digressing) ; Til not forget your polite hint, Sir. (Loud laugh- 
 ter.) Well, as I vas a-sayin", she comes one day past my shop 
 door — and I should tell your honours that her husband was with 
 her — and says she to me, says she, " What is the price of your 
 cradles !" Says I to her, " Do you want a cradle, Ma'am V 
 Says she to me, " Of course I do, or I would not ask you the 
 price of the articles." " Well, dear, I don't think you do at 
 present" suggested Mr. Mortimer, mildly. " I must be the best 
 judge of that myself, I should fancy,'' 1 answered Mrs. Mortimer, 
 with a contemptuous toss of the head. " No doubt, you must, 
 Ma'am,' 1 'said I, anxious, as your vorships will readily believe, to 
 do business. " Very well, love,' 1 said Mr. Mortimer, soothingly 
 " if you think you want a cradle, have one by all means. 11 " \ 
 may require it by-and-by, and it's just as well to have it in the. 
 house beforehand," 11 remarked Mrs. Mortimer, in a subdued tone. 
 And says, I, " You're quite right, Ma'am ; by all means, you — " 
 
 Commissioner — Pray, Mr. Crofts, be so kind as to come to the 
 debt at once, and don't waste the time of the Court with extra- 
 neous matter of this kind. 
 
 Mr. Crofts — Veil, your worship, Til tell you the remainder of 
 it in half a minit. Mrs. Mortimer steps into my shop, and point- 
 ing to a particular cradle, said, " Vat's the price of that "ere V 
 " Nine shillings, and not a farden more nor less,' 1 says I. " It's 
 not worth it, 1 ' says she. " I tell you vat it is, Ma'am ; if you get 
 as good a cradle as that von in this 'ere town at the money I'll 
 make a present of it to you gratis for nothing." (Loud laugh- 
 ter.) " I'll only give you — " 
 
 The Court — Really this is insufferable trifling with the Court. 
 Don't tell us anything about what you asked, or what she offered, 
 but, say at once, did the defendant buy the cradle, and what did 
 she give you for it ? 
 
 Mr. Crofts — Bless your honours 1 hearts, she didn't give me 
 nothin' at all for it, and that's the reason vy I have brought her 
 here to-day. (Renewed laughter.) 
 
 Commissioner — Tell us, then, what she engaged to give 
 
 Mr. Crofts — She engaged to give mo seven-and-sixpence, and 
 to
 
 COURTS OF REQUESTS. 335 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer — It's all false, your honours ; and so it is; I 
 never bought the cradle at all. 
 
 Mr. Mortimer — It's all false, your vorships ; she never bought 
 the cradle at all. 
 
 Mr. Crofts (surprised, and with much energy) — There, now ; 
 there's a couple for your vorships ! She did buy the cradle, 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer (with great vehemence) — I did not, you lying 
 rascal. You sent it to us without being ordered. 
 
 Here the Court suggested to the defendant that she must not 
 allow herself to be carried away by any temporary heat, and 
 Mrs. Mortimer nodded to the Court in token of her intention 
 to act on the suggestion. 
 
 A Commissioner — Did you, Mr. Crofts, send the cradle to 
 the defendant without her having concluded a bargain with 
 you first ? 
 
 Mr. Crofts — I'll tell you how it is, Sir. I said the harticle 
 was as veil worth nine shillings as it was worth twopence-half- 
 penny. " Seven-and-sixpence is the outside value of it," says 
 she. " Let me send it to you, and you can pay it at any other 
 time," says I. " Seven- and-sixpence," again said she; " I 
 vouldn't give a fai'thin 1 more for it." And so saying, her hus- 
 band, who spoke very little, and herself quitted my premises. I 
 sent her the cradle next day, saying I would accept her offer. 
 
 Commissioner — When was this"? 
 
 Mr. Crofts — Eighteen months ago. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer — Don't believe him, gentlemen; it was only 
 seventeen months and some odd days. (A laugh.) 
 
 Commissioner — Well, Mrs. Mortimer, you appear to have got 
 the cradle at your own price ; what are the grounds on which 
 you refuse to pay the money { 
 
 Defendant — I never made the bargain ; he did not accept the 
 offer when T made it ; and therefore I was not bound to take the 
 article next day. 
 
 Commissioner — But why then did you let the cradle into the 
 house ? Why did you not return it at once \ 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer — I did not like to be uncivil, your honours ; 
 but I sent a message to him next day to come and fetch the 
 cradle away, as I did not vant it. He may have it now. 
 
 Mr. Crofts — But I vorit at this "'ere distance of time. She 
 would now return it, because as how she has no prospect of ever 
 having a little inhabitant to it. (Peals of laughter, during which 
 Mrs. Mortimer looked quite savage at the distinguished vender 
 of cradle-.' 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer — You're nothing but an impertinent — 
 
 The Court — Mrs. Mortimer, we cannot allow any such expres- 
 sions ; you must restrain yourself while here.
 
 336 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer, putting her handkerchief to her eyes, sobbed 
 out — " It's werry, werry difficult to do, Sir. 1 ' 
 
 It was eventually decided that as Mr. Crofts had not accepted 
 Mrs. Mortimer's first offer, but sent the cradle next day when 
 she had changed her mind as to the probability of requiring a 
 cradle at all as a piece of household furniture, and as the cradle 
 had never been used, Mr. Crofts must take back the article, and 
 try to dispose of it to some other customer. 
 
 " To some one who will have use for it," sighed Mrs. Mortimer, 
 
 " Vich is more than you ever vill," growled Mr. Crofts, as he 
 turned about to waddle out of the court, manifestly chop-fallen 
 at the result of his case. As Mrs. Mortimer left the court, she 
 was overheard to say to a female acquaintance, that she would 
 never again bargain for any article merely because she might 
 possibly at some future day want it ; and to express her regret 
 that she should have priced the cradle, or bought, as she had 
 done, a quantity of baby's clothes, before she was justified in 
 believing they should be required. 
 
 BOARD, LODGING, AND LOVE. 
 
 The next case called on for decision was, perhaps, still more 
 ludicrous. A thin-faced vixen-looking woman, evidently approach- 
 ing her fiftieth anniversary — if, indeed, she had not already 
 celebrated it — with a visage as dark in the complexion, and as 
 shrivelled in the appearance, as an Egyptian mummy, — sum- 
 moned a rather smart-like persoiuige, of more than the usual 
 altitude, for the sum of 17. 16s. 6d. The plaintiff gloried in the 
 name of Sarah Cleek, while the defendant assumed, or really 
 was baptised in, the fashionable cognomen of Augustus Standish. 
 
 Mr. Dubois (to the plaintiff) — Pray, madam, what are you? 
 
 Plaintiff — I'm Missis Cleek, my lord ; as honest and wirtuous 
 a hooman as ever lived, though I should not say it myself. 
 
 Mr. Dubois — I did not ask your name, nor question your 
 honesty or virtue. What I want to know is, how you get your 
 living \ 
 
 Mrs. Cleek — I takes in men, your honour. 
 
 Mr. Dubois — Do what I 
 
 Mrs. Cleek — Takes in men, your wurtship. 
 
 Mr. Augustus Standish (sarcastically, and twitching a sharp 
 prominent nasal protuberance which ornamented his face) — She's 
 spoken the truth, Sir. She does take in men. 
 
 Mr. Dubois — Takes in men ! For what purpose, pray ? 
 
 Mrs. Cleek — For the purpose of keeping them, Sir. 
 
 Mr. Dubois looked quite amazed, as if the whole affair had 
 been thoroughly unintelligible to him ; but a juryman speedily
 
 
 w<*% 
 

 
 COURTS OF REQUESTS. 337 
 
 enlightened his ignorance, by suggesting that the woman simply 
 meant that she kept lodgers. 
 
 " Oh ! I see," said the commissioner, with some emphasis, as 
 the light broke in on his mind. " Oh ! I see the thing quite 
 clearly. You're a lodging-house keeper V 
 
 Mrs. Cleek — I keeps lodgings, Sir. 
 
 Mr. Dubois — And the defendant, I presume, was one of your 
 lodgers I 
 
 Mrs. Cleek — That's just it, my lord ; and he was the most 
 worthless one I ever had. 
 
 " You were not always of that opinion, Mrs. Cleek," inter- 
 posed Mr. Augustus Standish, casting an expressive glance at 
 the plaintiff. 
 
 Mr. Dubois (addressing the defendant) — You be silent now, 
 Sir ; you shall be heard in your defence presently. 
 
 " Very good," said Mr. Augustus Standish, drily. 
 
 " He was so very bad, I presume, that you could not keep 
 him?" suggested Mr. Dubois, addressing himself to the plaintiff. 
 
 " You've just spoken the truth, my lord," answered Mrs. 
 Cleek, with manifest gratification. 
 
 Mr. Augustus Standish delivered himself of a tremendous groan. 
 
 Mr. Dubois — And you have summoned him for arrears of 
 board and lodging \ 
 
 Mrs. Cleek — Your lordship's right again. 
 
 Mr. Dubois — And pray what is the amount ! 
 
 " Here it is, my lord," said Mrs. Cleek, handing Mr. Dubois 
 a slip of paper, which looked as dirty as if it had just made the 
 descent of the chimney. 
 
 Mr. Dubois (looking at the account) — One pound sixteen 
 shillings and sixpence. 
 
 Mrs. Cleek — That's the sum. 
 
 Mr. Dubois (to the defendant) — Well, Mr. Augustus Stan- 
 dish, how do you propose paying this sum ? 
 
 Defendant — Paying it, Sir ? 
 
 Mr. Dubois — Yes, paying it ! 
 
 Defendant — Don't owe the woman a farthing, Sir. 
 
 "Oh, you good-for-nothing wagabond !" vociferated Mrs. Cleek. 
 " How can you say so V 
 
 Mr. Dubois — Do you mean to say, then, that you have paid 
 the amount ? 
 
 Defendant — I never owed her a fraction in my life, Sir. 
 
 Mr. Dubois — What ! do you mean to say that you never slept 
 and boarded in her house ? 
 
 Defendant — T did certainly stay in her house for fifteen or six- 
 teen days ; but that was in the capacity of a friend, not as a 
 lodger. It was on her own invitation. 
 
 A A
 
 338 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 Mr. Dubois (to the plaintiff') — Is this the fact, Mrs. Cleek ? 
 
 Mrs. Cleek — He's the mouth of a 
 
 " Stop, stop, madam, if you please, 11 interrupted Mr. Dubois, 
 anticipating what was coming ; " there must be no improper lan- 
 guage here. You mean," he continued, " to say it's not true I " 
 
 Mrs. Cleek — There^ not a morsel of truth in it, my lord. I 
 got acquainted with him some months ago, greatly to my sorrow 
 (here Mrs. Cleek sighed, and attempted to cry) ; and having 
 told me, about three weeks since, that he was going to quit the 
 house in which he lodged and boarded, because, as he said, the 
 landlady wished him to marry her, which he would not agree to, 
 as he liked another landlady better, I said to him, " Come, and 
 stay in my house." 
 
 Mr. Dubois — I suppose you fancied that you were yourself the 
 other landlady he liked better ! 
 
 Mrs. Cleek held down her head, and sighed out — " Well, if 
 I did, he gave me abundant reason to think so." 
 
 Mr. Augustus Standish seemed all this time as miserable as 
 if he had been on the rack. 
 
 Mr. Dubois — But though he accepted your invitation to reside 
 in your house, he was not so affectionate to you as you had been 
 led to expect \ 
 
 " He's a brute, my lord I 11 replied Mrs. Cleek, with frightful 
 emphasis ; and after a momentary pause she added, bursting 
 into a violent fit of crying, " He is married; he has a wife in 
 the country, my lord. It was fortunate I made the discovery, 
 my lord. We were one day sitting at breakfast together, and 
 he said, says he, ' Mrs. Cleek, may I trouble you for another 
 slice of toast ? 1 Here I should state,' 1 continued Mrs. Cleek, by 
 way of parenthesis, " that he has an awful stomach, my lord 
 (loud laughter) : he devoured the toast much faster than I oould 
 make it, and swallowed up everything as vas ever put before him. 
 (Renewed laughter, mingled with sundry groans and inward curses 
 from Mr. Augustus Standish.) Veil, as I vas a saying, says he, 
 ' Mrs. Cleek, will you oblige me with another slice of that very 
 
 excellent toast V ' Certainly, my ' Before I had finished the 
 
 sentence, the postman knocked at the door ; and on my opening 
 it ' Mr. Augustus Standish — sixpence-halfpenny,' says he, hold- 
 ing out a letter to me. I took the letter, and carried it to the 
 brute, and " 
 
 " Mrs. Cleek, you must be more guarded in your language, 1 ' 
 said Mr. Dubois, interrupting the voluble and violent plaintiff. 
 
 " I vill, my lord ; and yet I'm so aggrawated that it's not 
 wery easy to be calm. Veil, I carried the letter to " 
 
 " But pray, madam, what has all this to do with the debt for 
 which you have summoned the defendant V interposed Mr. 
 Dubois, again interrupting Mrs. Cleek.
 
 COURTS OP REQUESTS. 339 
 
 " A great deal, my lord, as you shall presently see. I carried 
 the letter to him, and immediately, on looking at its direc- 
 tion, the fellow exclaimed, wiolently striking his forehead with 
 
 the palm of his hand — ' A letter from my vife, by ! — From 
 
 my sister, I means, 1 he immediately hadded, correcting himself, 
 for the purpose of deceiving me ; but it vould not do. ' Oh ! 
 you wagabond ! you're married, are you V says I. ' Veil, 1 says 
 he, with a terrible groan, ' I am married, Mrs. Cleek ; there's 
 
 no good in denying it. 1 ' You're vorse than a to 
 
 deeeive and injure a helpless female voman like me, 1 says I, 
 werry hindignant ; and we had a quarrel, my lord, and I turned 
 him out of the house ; and that's the vay in vich he howes me 
 the money.' 1 
 
 Mr. Dubois — I don't yet see very clearly the connexion of all 
 this with the debt of one pound sixteen shillings and sixpence. 
 However (to Mr. Augustus Standish), you hear the woman's 
 statement ? 
 
 Defendant — I do, Sir ; but I owe her nothing. We had been 
 acquainted for some time, and she implored me to reside in her 
 house as her friend. She thought, Sir*, that if I were once there, 
 she would take me in, in the matrimonial way ; but I am too old 
 a bird to be caught with chaff. "When she found that I had a 
 wife, she kicked up such a rumpus, and behaved so very like a 
 fury, that I would not have staid an hour longer in the house, 
 though she had given me the world to do so. 
 Mr. Dubois — Pray, Sir, how do you live ? 
 Defendant — In the best way I can. 
 Mr. Dubois — What is your profession ? 
 Defendant — No profession at all, Sir. 
 Mr. Dubois — What .' have you no means of living at all ? 
 Defendant— Why, Sir, I think I must have the means of living 
 some way or other, otherwise I could not live; but what the 
 means are, is really more than I can tell. (Laughter.) 
 Mr. Dubois — I suppose you live by your wits ? 
 Defendant (with much archness of manner) — Yes, Sir, when 
 they will keep me. 
 
 Mr. Dubois — I presume you delude foolish women like the 
 plaintiff, with the notion that you are attached to them, and 
 then partake of their mistaken hospitality I 
 
 Defendant — Always happy, Sir, to quarter on the enemy. 
 (Laughter.) 
 
 Mr. Dubois (looking again at the account) — I see that eight- 
 and-sixpenco of the sum is for borrowed money : that, Mr. 
 Augustus Standish, you must pay to the plaintiff. I think the one 
 as bad as the other. Mrs. Cleek evidently had a matrimonial 
 design on you, when inviting you to reside in her house ; whilo 
 
 a a 2
 
 340 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 you pretended kindness to her for the purpose of living comfort- 
 ably at her expense. You are both tarred with the same stick. 
 
 AN ULTRA-RADICAL PATRIOT. 
 
 The next case forcibly illustrates the folly of neglecting one's 
 trade or calling, however humble it may be, for the promotion 
 of political objects. The plaintiff, Mr. Robert Smith, was a 
 most industrious journeyman brass-founder ; and the defendant, 
 Mr. John Snaggs, pursued the same calling, but was noted for 
 the preference he gave to politics over his business. His employer, 
 like himself, was a Radical of the first water, so that he did not 
 lose his place in consequence of his devotion to the cause, as he 
 always called it, of pure patriotism. The defendant had a 
 wife and five children; but he was ready, like Hannibal of old, 
 to " sacrifice them on the altar of his country." In so far as 
 they were concerned, he was a patriot of the most disinterested 
 class. If there was to be a meeting at the Crown-and-Anchor, 
 at White Conduit House, or at Mr. Savage's in Circus-street, 
 there Mr. John Snaggs was sure to be without fail. His wife 
 might be sick at home, or his five children might be within a few 
 removes of death from starvation : no matter ; these were things 
 that never moved him. He was in the habit of speaking at those 
 meetings ; and come what might at home he must needs parade 
 his patriotism on such occasions. His wife and children were as 
 dust in the balance compared with universal suffrage, annual par- 
 liaments, and the vote by ballot. But the character and notions 
 of the man will best appear from what took place in court. 
 
 The plaintiff, Mr. Robert Smith, on his name being called, 
 immediately stepped forward to state the case. He had all the 
 appearance of a hard-working, but honest man. He was respect- 
 ably attired ; and while his countenance afforded every indication 
 of a serene and happy mind, it formed quite a contrast with that 
 presented by the defendant, Mr. John Snaggs. His apparel was 
 a mass of rags ; it was the surprise of everybody how his clothes 
 hung together. His toes were unmannerly enough to intrude 
 through his shoes ; which last exhibited a most marked aversion 
 to Warren's jet blacking, Hunt's matchless blacking, or any 
 other blacking, no matter by what name it is called. His hat 
 had once gloried in a crown ; but at what period was a problem 
 which none but himself could solve ; if, indeed, even he could 
 do it. His elbows imbibing the spirit of liberty which glowed 
 so intensely in his own bosom, disdained to be confined within 
 the limits of his coat-sleeves; but boldly making their way 
 through the cloth, displayed to all around their warm attachment 
 to freedom. In the article of apparel, indeed, he proved himself 
 to be perfectly independent from top to toe. His face looked
 
 COURTS OF REQUEST!?. 341 
 
 as if it had not been washed for a week ; while any one might 
 have sworn that his beard had not been visited by a razor for at 
 least a fortnight. His cheeks were lank and pale, and his hands 
 bony. He had all the appearance of a man to whom the advent 
 of a good dinner must have proved an exceedingly rare occur- 
 rence. His wife, with a child in her arms, was equally famished- 
 like in appearance ; a circumstance which will not appear surpris- 
 ing when the reader is made acquainted with what follows. 
 
 The plaintiff, having been called on to state his case, proceeded 
 to say, that the debt for which he bad summoned the defendant 
 had been contracted — if that was the proper word — under very 
 unusual circumstances. He lived in the same house, and on the 
 same floor as the defendant. One day, in the previous week, 
 having expected two of his wife's friends to take pot-luck with 
 them, his wife had determined on treating them to a little boiled 
 beef, cooked in her own incomparable style. With this view 
 she had purchased ten pounds of the best beef to be had in the 
 neighbourhood, which was duly put into a pot in boiling water. 
 The hour appointed for dinner was two o'clock. At half-past 
 one, Mrs. Smith had occasion to go out for a quarter of an hour, 
 to get some necessary articles for dinner. She left the key in 
 the door, and desired the defendant or any of his family, to 
 answer her bell if any one rung while she was absent. This was 
 at once agreed to, and Mrs. Smith accordingly proceeded to 
 market. " Fancy,' 1 said the plaintiff, " my wife's surprise, when 
 she found on her return, that her friends had arrived, but that 
 the sirloin of beef was taken out of the pot.' 1 Her first im- 
 pression was, that they must have ate it themselves by way of 
 revenge for her being out of the way when they arrived ; but she 
 soon discovered that this was an untenable hypothesis. On dis- 
 covering the felony which had taken place, she held up her hands 
 in amazement and uttered various exclamations, which the plain- 
 tiff did not think proper to repeat to the Court, and which I think 
 it were improper to repeat here. She rushed into the room of 
 the defendant, for the purpose of inquiring whether his wife or 
 children had seen any one in her apartment while she was out. 
 The Court would imagine her surprise, when she found that de- 
 fendant and children were making a hearty repast, or rather had 
 made a hearty repast, for it was nearly all gone, on her identical 
 piece of meat. As soon as her astonishment and indignation 
 would allow her to articulate, she charged the defendant with the 
 theft, but he stoutly and unblushingly denied it. " Where, then," 
 said she, " did you get that piece of beef on which you have been 
 dining? It is very unusual to see you with a sirloin of beef/ 
 " That may be, Mrs. Smith ; but usual or unusual, you see we 
 have had as prime a piece of beef as ever " He was inter-
 
 o42 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 rupted by one of his own children, a boy about six years of age, 
 who, in the simplicity of his innocent soul, exclaimed, " Oh, yes, 
 father ; now you know you did take it, for I saw you." At this 
 critical juncture, Mrs. Snaggs, who had been out of the house for 
 the last half hour in the hope of obtaining some provender 
 for her famishing children, made her appearance ; when the 
 matter being stated to her, she soon extorted a reluctant admis- 
 sion from the defendant that he had stolen plaintiff's wife's din- 
 ner ; for which offence he made a thousand apologies, and pleaded 
 poverty, urgent necessity, and so forth. But though in the first 
 instance he exhibited so much apparent contrition for his trans- 
 gression of the laws both of good neighbourhood and moral 
 rectitude, he afterwards chose to be insolent, and pretty plainly 
 applied, in this particular case, his Radical notion of a universal 
 equality of the good things of this life. It was under these cir- 
 cumstances that the plaintiff had summoned him to pay the price 
 of the sirloin of beef, amounting to seven shillings and fourpence. 
 He had preferred making the thing a matter of debt, though he 
 had no doubt he could have proceeded criminally against the 
 defendant. 
 
 Commissioner (to the defendant^ — Well, Mr. Snaggs, you 
 hear the plaintiff's statement ; what do you say to it ? 
 
 Defendant (putting himself into an oratorical attitude, as if 
 he had meant to speak for an hour) — I have a few words to say, 
 Sir, if you'll allow me. 
 
 Commissioner — Well, let them be as few as possible, and see 
 that they be to the point. 
 
 Defendant — I'll take care they shall, Sir. The facts of this 
 here case, then, are these. (Here Mr. Snaggs assumed a very 
 consequential aspect, stretching his neck, and placing his arms 
 a-kimbo.) The facts of this here case are these : Feeling as 
 every man vot is born an Englishman ought to feel, that we live 
 in wery ewentful times ; and that it is every man's duty to hop- 
 pose despotism, and to stand up for liberty, I vent to Savage's 
 Great Hall in Circus-street, to make a little bit of a speech, the 
 night afore this here haccident 'appened, in support of Dr. Wade's 
 motion for uniwersal sufferage ; and I had 
 
 " Really, my man," interrupted the Commissioner, " I don't 
 see what earthly connexion universal suffrage or Dr. Wade's 
 motion, or any other body's motion, has with your appropriating 
 to yourself the dinner of the plaintiff. You must confine your- 
 self to that." 
 
 Defendant — I was a-going your honour, to show that I had 
 patriotism enough in my composition — for you must know, Sir, 
 that I am an Englishman born — to sacrifice all indiwidwal con- 
 siderations for the sake of the people of this 'ere country, by
 
 COURTS OF REQUESTS. 343 
 
 leaving my employment on that occasion to perform a public 
 duty. And, Sir, I do think, that ven these wagabonds of 
 Tories- 
 Commissioner (harshly) — There must be no politics here. If 
 you do not, Sir, come to the case before the Court at once, I 
 shall not hear a word from you. 
 
 Defendant — I'm sorry, your vorship, that I should say any- 
 think as vould offend you. I never vishes to offend any one, but 
 the enemies of England. I vas jist about to say, that feeling as 
 I do, that until we have uniwersal sufferage, this country can 
 never be prosperous or happy ; and Dr. Wade and Mr. Feargus 
 
 O'Connor having 
 
 Commissioner — Really, I cannot allow this to proceed any 
 
 longer. I must at once order 
 
 Here Mrs. Snaggs, with tears in her eyes, starvation in her 
 face, and a ragged, half-famished child in her arms, stepped for- 
 ward, and begged leave to say a few words. Permission having 
 been granted her to speak, she stated that her husband had, for 
 more than twelve months, formed an intimate acquaintance with 
 five or six persons calling themselves patriots (a term of which 
 she did not know the meaning), that they talked about nothing 
 but what they called politics ; and that ever since he had formed 
 this acquaintance, he had neglected his business to attend public 
 meetings, leaving her and his five children whole days without a 
 particle of food. Her own tears and entreaties, and the cries of 
 his children, had not produced the slightest effect upon him. On 
 the day in question, as she understood from her eldest daughter, 
 he had been so besieged by the cries of his children while she was 
 out, for something to eat, that, in a fit of desperation, he had 
 gone into their neighbour's apartment, and abstracted from the 
 pot the beef intended for their dinner. The poor woman added, 
 that unless he gave up his patriot acquaintances and public meet- 
 ings, and attended to his business, there would be no other 
 resource for her and the children but throwing themselves on 
 the parish. 
 
 The plaintiff here stepped forward, and said he believed that 
 the facts of the case were such as Mrs. Snaggs had represented. 
 Commissioner (to the defendant) — You ought, Sir, to be 
 ashamed of yourself. You have not only brought your wife and 
 family to the brink of starvation, but if you persist in your 
 " patriotism, " as you call it, you will speedily ruin yourself for 
 ever. See the difference between the circumstances of the plain- 
 tiff and your circumstances ; he has every comfort which a person 
 in his station can wish, while you and your family arc in the 
 greatest destitution ; and all this because ho attends to his busi- 
 ness, while you neglect yours. You must pay the plaintiff the
 
 344 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 value of his piece of beef; and I hope you will take a lesson 
 from what has passed. If you give another such practical illus- 
 tration of your theory respecting the equality of the good things 
 of life, you may have to answer for it in a different place. 
 
 The defendant, who up to this time took the matter quite 
 coolly, now seemed, all of a sudden, quite impressed with a sense 
 of the folly of his conduct, and solemnly pledged himself to 
 abjure " patriotism 11 and politics in future, and to attend to his 
 business. His poor wife heard his declaration with unspeakable 
 joy, while the plaintiff said the circumstance afforded him so 
 much pleasure, that he would not only not exact payment for 
 the beef, but would cheerfully be at the loss of the expenses of 
 the summons. 
 
 THE CAMBRIC POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF. 
 
 The next case afforded infinite amusement to all present. 
 A slovenly-dressed but rather good-looking, portly female, seem- 
 ingly about her twentieth year, and calling herself Jane Jukes, 
 summoned Peter Straps, a stalwart, half-starved young man 
 with carroty hair, a marked squint in his right eye, and a beard 
 which had evidently been suffered to vegetate without interrup- 
 tion for at least six or seven days, — for the sum of three shil- 
 lings and sixpence. 
 
 Commissioner — What is this for, Miss Jukes ? 
 
 Plaintiff — Please, Sir, I'm not Miss ; I'm Missis Jukes. 
 
 Commissioner — Well, no matter, Mrs. Jukes. Pray tell us 
 what the three-and-sixpence is for ? 
 
 Mrs. Jukes — It's for a cambric hankercher (a handkerchief), 
 please your vorship. 
 
 Commissioner — What ! are you a handkerchief merchant, 
 then ? 
 
 Mrs. Jukes — Oh ! nothin' of the sort, your vorship. The 
 money is for a hankercher lent, not sold. . 
 
 " Sir, ' she lies like truth, 1 as Shakspeare says, 11 interrupted 
 the defendant, folding his arms on his breast, and assuming a 
 very theatrical attitude. 
 
 Commissioner — Sir, you hold your tongue at present; you 
 shall be heard by-and-by. 
 
 '* She gave it me, Sir. Did I not, Mrs. Jukes (turning to the 
 plaintiff), on receiving it from your hand, say, m one of the 
 poems of the immortal Bard of Avon, 
 
 ' Gifts then seem 
 Most precious, when the giver we esteem ?' 
 
 And did I not "
 
 COURTS OF REQUESTS. 345 
 
 Mr. Straps was evidently about to launch into some long expo- 
 sition of the circumstances under which the handkerchief had 
 come into his possession, when he was again interrupted by the 
 Court, and admonished, in pretty plain terms, that if he did not 
 wait until his turn came, the case would be decided against him. 
 
 Commissioner (to the plaintiff) — Proceed with your case. 
 
 Mrs. Jukes — If I must tell all, Sir, this 'ere man is a hactor 
 at a small twopenny theatre in Newton-street ; and he said to 
 me, one afternoon, says he, " Jane, my love, we are a-goin 1 to 
 have a werry affectin' piece of tragedy to hact to night ; and as 
 I am to have the principal character, and will have a good deal 
 of cryin' to go through, peraps you would oblige me by the use 
 of your slap-up hankercher for the occasion? 1 ' "My cambric 
 hankercher t" says I. " The best hankercher you've got, 11 says 
 he. And so I gave him my cambric hankercher, my lord. — 
 (Laughter.) 
 
 Commissioner (to the defendant) — Well, Sir. what have you 
 got to say this I 
 
 Mr. Straps (heaving a sigh, and looking very sentimental) — 
 The truth is, your worship, there was a sprinkling of the tender 
 passion in the matter. As Shakspeare says in his " Love's Labour 
 Lost," 
 
 * As love is full of unbefitting strains ; 
 All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain ; 
 Form'd by the eye, and therefore like the eye, 
 Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms : 
 Varying in subjects, as the eye doth roll 
 To every varied object in his glance, 
 So '" 
 
 " Pray, Sir, if you please, 11 interposed the Commissioner, 
 before the hero of the sock and buskin had time to finish his 
 sentence ; " pray, Sir, if you please, tell us what you have got to 
 say yourself, and not what Shakspeare says? 11 
 
 Mr. Straps — Ah, Sir ! as Shakspeare says, in his beautiful 
 drama of " Troilus and Cressida, 1 " 
 
 " Didst tnou but know the inly touch of love, 
 Thou wouid'st as soon go kindle fire with snow, 
 As seen to " 
 
 " Really, Sir, 11 said the Commissioner, again interrupting Mr. 
 Straps, " this is trifling with the Court. It must not be per- 
 mitted. 11 
 
 Mr. Straps — Well, Sir, I should be sorry to act improperly, 
 or to say anything disrespectful to this Court ; but as I was 
 about to state, I was at the time devotedly attached to Mrs. Jukes, 
 and believed her to be equally so to mo in return. Wo were, Sir,
 
 34-6 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 in short, pledged to each other ; and under those circumstances, 
 I thought the handkerchief was given me as a gift. But, Sir, as 
 Shakspeare says, in his " Julius Caesar," 
 
 " Ah, me ! how weak a thing 
 The heart of woman is J" 
 
 I soon had reason to believe that her affections were placed upon 
 another. I remonstrated with her on the subject, which drew 
 from her such a demonstration, as at once brought to my mind 
 the expressive lines of the Bard of Avon, when he says, in his 
 comedy of " Taming the Shrew," 
 
 " A woman mov'd, is like a fountain troubled, 
 Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty ; 
 And while it is so, none, so dry or thirsty, 
 Will deign to dip or touch one drop of it." 
 
 The tragedian or comedian — for I do not know whether Mr. 
 Straps considered tragedy or comedy his legitimate walk — deliver- 
 ed this latter quotation with so much rapidity, that he had got to 
 the end of it before the Court could interrupt him. " Yes, Sir," he 
 resumed, " she resembled a perfect fury. As Shakspeare has it, 
 
 ' She was the very 
 
 The Court — Don't give us any more of Shakspeare, but come 
 to the point at once. 
 
 Mr. Straps — I will, your worship. I assure 
 
 " There's not a word of truth in what he says, your honour," 
 shouted Mrs. Jukes, interrupting Mr. Straps. " It's all false ; 
 I cut the akvantance, because he said to me, one day, that if I 
 did not behave myself to his satisfaction after we was married, 
 he would give me the bag, and summons my father for my board 
 and lodging." (Roars of laughter, in which the Court joined.) 
 
 The laughter having subsided, Mr. Straps adjusted the collar 
 of a dirty shirt, and looking the Court significantly in the face, 
 observed with much emphasis, " As the immortal poet says, in 
 his ' Two Gentlemen of Verona,' 
 
 ' A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.' " 
 
 The Court (with considerable sharpness) — There must be no 
 more of this nonsense. Did you, or did you not, receive a hand- 
 kerchief from the prosecutrix ? 
 
 Mr. Straps — I did, Sir ; I don't deny it. 
 
 The Court — Then why did you not return it I 
 
 Mr. Straps — I understood it to be a gift. 
 
 Mrs. Jukes — (with great energy)— It wasne'er a no such thing, 
 you good-for-nothin 1 feller ' I only lent it you.
 
 COURTS OF BEQUESTS. 347 
 
 Commissioner — AVill you swear to that, madam ? 
 
 Mrs. Jukes — Will I swear to it, your vorship ? That I will : 
 I'll give as many oaths to it as your vorship pleases. He only 
 says I made him a present of it, because I married Jem Jukes in 
 preference to him. 
 
 Mr. Straps (to the Commissioner) — There, Sir ; there she 
 goes with another thundering falsehood. But, Sir, if you will 
 allow me, I'd rather express my sentiments in the words of the 
 great dramatist, than in any humble phraseology of my own. 
 
 Commissioner — We've had too much of " the great dramatist" 
 already. Madam (addressing Mrs. Jukes), you swear distinctly 
 that the handkerchief was no gift ? 
 
 Mrs. Jukes — I do, your vorship. 
 
 Commissioner (to the officer) — Hand her the book there, and 
 administer the oath. 
 
 Officer (to Mrs. Jukes, holding out a New Testament to her) — 
 You swear by 
 
 " It's perjury, Sir !" shouted Mr. Straps, addressing himself 
 to the Commissioner. 
 
 Commissioner — You hold your tongue, Sir, or the officers must 
 turn you out. 
 
 The oath was then administered to Mrs. Jukes, Mr. Straps all 
 the while making the most wry faces, and assuming every variety 
 of attitude which could most forcibly express his horror of what 
 he either conceived, or pretended to conceive, to be a false oath. 
 
 Commissioner (to Mr. Straps) — Now, Sir, she has sworn to 
 the fact of only having lent the handkerchief to you ; what has 
 become of it ? 
 
 Mr. Straps — Well, Sir, I'll tell you candidly. On the parti- 
 cular evening on which I got it from her, I had a very arduous 
 part of a new piece to perform, in which, 
 
 "Albeit, unused to the melting mood," 
 
 I had a great deal to do in the way of crying. As I was the 
 hero of the piece, I thought it right to use the best handkerchief 
 I could procure to dry up my imaginary tears. So far, so well, 
 Sir ; but, in the words of the mighty Shakspeare, 
 
 " A change came o'er the spirit " 
 
 Commissioner — Never mind what came o'er your spirit ; but 
 what came o'er, or rather of, the handkerchief? (Laughter.) 
 
 Mr. Straps — I was just on the eve of telling you that, Sir. 
 There was one scene in the piece of a peculiarly trying nature, 
 in which no fewer than six of us were required to cry all at once. 
 (Hursts of laughter). And as wo had only this one handkerchief 
 amongst us, wo were obliged to make it serve us all. As soon as
 
 348 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 one of the weeping — that is, the persons supposed to be weep- 
 ing — parties had made a pretence of drying up his tears with it, 
 he placed it in his hands at his back, while his face was to the 
 audience, when another actor, unperceived by the spectators, 
 took the handkerchief, and then openly applied it to his eyes on 
 the front of the stage. His turn done, that of another came, 
 who also placed his hands at his back in the same way as the 
 other, and the next in rotation laid hold of it, unknown to the 
 audience ; and so on, till the handkerchief went over the whole 
 six, two or three times, though the spectators fancied that each 
 of the six actors had a handkerchief to himself. (Renewed 
 laughter.) But, Sir, I now come to the gist of my story. While 
 thus making the tour, which it had repeatedly to do, of the half- 
 dozen sorrowing histrionic personages, it unaccountably disap- 
 peared ; in other words, some one in the crisis of the touching 
 tragic scene, transferred the handkerchief from his eyes to his 
 pocket ; and it has not since been heard of. (Loud laughter.) 
 This, Sir, if you will allow me, in conclusion, to quote the prince 
 of dramatists in one of his happiest plays, 
 
 " Is the head and front of my offending," 
 
 in regard to the handkerchief which plaintiff still calls her own ; 
 though my impression was, that being given to me, it became 
 mine. If, however, it were in my possession, I would indignantly 
 throw it up to her. 
 
 Mrs. Jukes (to the Court) — It's not the value of the hankercher 
 that I cares for, or makes me summons him ; it's only because 
 he insulted me, your honour, both before and after my marriage. 
 You (turning to Mr. Straps, and shaking her hand in his face) ; 
 you know you did, you good-for-nothing, worthless baggage that 
 you are. I have no doubt you've got the hankercher yourself. 
 
 At the latter sentence, Mr. Straps waxed mighty indignant, 
 looked savagely at the quondam object of his affections, stamped 
 energetically with his foot on the floor, and raising both his 
 hands above his head, exclaimed, in stentorian tones, " Woman, 
 the charge is false ! Yes, your worship," he continued in a sub- 
 dued tone, " it is, as the mighty genius I adore says in his unri- 
 valled tragedy of ' Hamlet,' 
 
 As false as dicers' oaths ; 
 
 or, as the same great authority has it in his comedy of '' As You 
 Like It,' it is 
 
 4 Falser than vows made in wine.' 
 
 Excuse my indignation, Sir ; but I cannot repress my feelings 
 when my character is attacked. I am sure, Sir, you would your-
 
 COURTS OF REQUESTS. 349 
 
 self, if placed in my unfortunate situation, feel the full force of 
 the inimitable lines which Shakspeare puts into the mouth of 
 Othello— 
 
 ' Good name in man or woman 
 
 Is the immediate jewel of their souls ; 
 
 Who steals my purse steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing : 
 
 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; 
 
 But he that filches from me my good name, 
 
 Robs me of that which not enriches him, 
 
 But makes me poor indeed.' " 
 
 The Commissioner (smiling) — Really, Mr. Straps, I have 
 already allowed too much of this nonsence to go on. You admit 
 you've lost the handkerchief, and the prosecutrix has sworn she 
 only lent it to you. There is, therefore, no alternative, but to 
 pay the amount claimed. 
 
 " Ah, Sir !" exclaimed Mr. Straps, on hearing the decision of 
 the Court, " this is a hard case. As the Bard of Avon says" — 
 
 " No more of the Bard of Avon, or any other bard," inter- 
 rupted the Commissioner ; " the case is now decided, and the 
 money must be paid." 
 
 At this moment, a young man, having the broken-down dandy 
 appearance of an unfortunate actor, rushed into the court, almost 
 exhausted. He stated that he and Mr. Straps lived in the same 
 room together, and that some time after Mr. Straps had quitted 
 home to attend the Court, a small package containing the hand- 
 kerchief had been addressed to him, with a request that it might 
 be opened in the event of his absence. Inside, in a disguised 
 hand, was a note to the effect that the writer had only taken a 
 temporary loan of the handkerchief, and that hearing by accident 
 it was to be made the subject of legal proceedings, it had been 
 deemed right to send a special messenger with it to Mr. Straps, 
 in order that no unpleasant results might ensue. 
 
 " Give it me," said Mr. Straps, in exulting tones, stretching 
 out his hand to receive it. " Here, madam," turning to Mrs. 
 Jukes, " is your handkerchief;" and gently striking his hand on 
 his breast, exclaimed — "My character stands forth pure and 
 unsullied as the unsunned snow." 
 
 Mrs. Jukes took her handkerchief, evidently disappointed that 
 it had been recovered ; and Mr. Straps having paid the expenses 
 of the summons, retired from the court, ejaculating something to 
 himself in an under-tone ; most probably a quotation from 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 The above cases are all of a laughable character, though in 
 print they appear far less ludicrous than they are when actually 
 before the Court. Numerous, however, as are the cases at all 
 our Courts of Requests, but especially in the court in Kingsgate-
 
 350 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 street of a laughter-provoking nature, those of a directly opposite 
 kind are in the proportion of six to one. Disclosures of destitu- 
 tion and distress are there made, at every sitting of the Court, 
 of the most shocking nature. I myself witnessed one such case, 
 so lately as three weeks ago, which one would have thought would 
 have softened the hardest heart that ever formed part of hu- 
 manity. A poor, emaciated, sickly-looking woman, with nothing 
 but rags on her back, and deep-rooted care and grief in her 
 countenance, was summoned for twenty-one shillings, being seven 
 weeks'* rent of a wretched hovel, in one of the lowest places in 
 St. Giles's. A little, starved, pale-looking girl, seemingly ten or 
 eleven years of age, stood by the poor woman's side. " Do you 
 owe the debt V inquired the Commissioner. 
 
 " I do, your worship," sighed the broken-hearted woman. 
 
 " Then why don't you pay it V 
 
 " Because I have no means, my lord." 
 
 " Then the plaintiff (the landlord) will seize your furniture.' 1 
 
 " Ah, Sir !" groaned the poor creature, " that's impossible ; for 
 he has taken everything that was in the house already." 
 
 " Is that true?' inquired the Commissioner, turning to the pro- 
 secutor. 
 
 " It is, Sir," answered the latter with the greatest indifference. 
 
 " And what's the meaning of bringing this action against the 
 poor woman V 
 
 " It's with the view of getting her out of the house, Sir; she 
 won't leave it." 
 
 Here the poor wretched creature asked permission of the 
 Court to say a word or two, which being granted, she stated, as 
 articulately as the fullness of her heart and her physical exhaus- 
 tion would permit her, that for a considerable time past her 
 husband, who was a day-labourer, had been out of employment, 
 and that one of her children had for months been confined to a 
 sick bed ; and that under these circumstances, they had no 
 means of procuring the most necessary articles of food, or of 
 paying their rent. When pressed for their rent she implored 
 a little indulgence until her husband could find some employ- 
 ment ; but the landlord (the plaintiff) had lent a deaf ear to all 
 her entreaties, and carried away every article of furniture in 
 the house. The poor creature added, amidst tears and sobs, 
 that herself, her husband, and six young children, including the 
 sick one, had not a bed left them to lie on, nor a blanket to cover 
 them, but were obliged to lie as they best could, all huddled to- 
 gether on two shutters which had been got from some neighbour- 
 ing windows ; and that these shutters were all that was between 
 them and a damp stone floor, during the severe weather 
 a few months ago. They were quite willing to leave the house,
 
 COURTS OF REQUESTS. 351 
 
 but they had nowhere to go to ; and no chair or stool to sit on, 
 or bed to lie in, even if they could get some humble apartment. 
 The unhappy woman then implored of the plaintiff to give her 
 back one or two of the most necessary articles of her furniture, 
 engaging if he did so, not only to quit the house — whatever should 
 come of herself and family, — but to pay the rent she owed as soon 
 as her husband could find work. But the man — if he should bo 
 called a man — was inexorable ; he betrayed no more feeling on 
 the occasion than the table at which he stood. How hardened 
 can the human heart become! How unfathomable are the depths 
 of human misery in the very midst of this wealthy and luxurious 
 metropolis ! 
 
 I will not harrow up the feelings of my readers, by a reference to 
 any of the other cases of distress and destitution so often brought 
 to light in our Courts of Requests. It would answer no useful 
 purpose ; it would not lessen the load of misery which the poor 
 creatures groan under from day to day, and from year to year. 
 
 I might have largely added to the list of laughable cases 
 which are so common in our London Courts of Requests ; but 
 the little that remains of the space devoted to each chapter, 
 admonishes me that that cannot be done. Before concluding, I 
 am anxious to bear my decided testimony to the great utility of 
 these courts. Indirectly, or by implication, I have done so 
 already. They are useful to the customer in a limited way ; in- 
 asmuch as the fear of being summoned to one of them, operates 
 in innumerable cases in which a sense of right would have no 
 effect, and deters him from contracting debts which he does not 
 see any probability of being able to pay. They are useful to the 
 party of whom goods have been purchased ; inasmuch as, by a 
 short and simple process, he is enabled to compel payment when, 
 otherwise, the party, even though possessing the means, has not 
 the disposition to discharge his lawful obligations. Then there 
 is the cheapness of the process of suing for the amount due or in 
 dispute. As before remarked, it never exceeds a few shillings ; 
 so that neither party, be the result what it may, can be out of 
 pocket to any serious extent. The extensive and populous borough 
 of Marylebone is now applying to the legislature for the estab- 
 lishment of one of these local courts within its boundaries : so, 
 also, is the borough of Finsbury. I should like to see them 
 established in all parts of the country; they would be found 
 exceedingly serviceable to all tradesmen and small shopkeepers. 
 Wherever new Courts of Requests shall be instituted, they ought, 
 as before remarked, to have jurisdiction on all sums not exceeding 
 10/., which, as before remarked, is not above half as great as forty 
 shillings were three hundred years ago, when these courts were 
 established. Besides, where the powers of the existing Courts
 
 352 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 of Requests have been extended so far as to hear and decide on 
 all sums under ten pounds — as in the case of the City Court, — 
 the thing has been found to answer exceedingly well. Mr. 
 Sergeant Heath has a bill now before Parliament, for the purpose 
 of extending the jurisdiction of the County Court to all sums not 
 exceeding ten pounds. Whether he ought to succeed in his 
 application, constituted as his court is, is a point on which I 
 express no opinion ; but whether he ought to succeed or not, all 
 the other Courts of Requests in London ought certainly to have 
 jurisdiction in all cases where the amount does not exceed the sum 
 just mentioned. My conviction is, that the powers of these courts 
 might be even farther extended than this. I can, I repeat, see 
 no reason why their decisions on all amounts under twenty 
 pounds, should not be held binding on the parties. My only 
 objection to the Courts of Requests is, that they have the power 
 of imprisoning the debtor for certain periods. Opposed as I am 
 to the principle of imprisonment for debt in all cases where fraud 
 is not clearly proved, I am doubly opposed to it in the case of 
 Courts of Requests ; inasmuch as the sums over which they have 
 jurisdiction, are so trifling. It is surely a monstrous thing, that 
 an honest, industrious man, who may chance to owe twenty or 
 thirty shillings to a small grocer, which, owing to sickness or the 
 want of employment he is unable to pay at the time, should be 
 liable to be torn from his wife and family and sent to White- 
 cross-street, or any other prison, for seven, forty, or sixty days, 
 according to the peculiar powers of the particular court before 
 which his case is tried ! And yet such cases not only may, but 
 do occur under the existing order of things. However, there is 
 now, happily, a feeling in the public mind, which is daily acquir- 
 ing additional strength, so hostile to imprisonment for debt, that 
 it must of necessity, before a long time has elapsed, compel the 
 legislature to abolish such imprisonment, except in cases of gross 
 and glaring fraud.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 
 
 Supposed origin of gambling — Little known of its history — Increase in the number 
 of gaming-houses in London — Many of them kept open all day — How managed — 
 Morals of the upper classes, in connexion with gambling — Visit to a gambling- 
 house — Anxiety consequent upon gambling — Its pernicious effects on the mind — 
 Suicides caused by play — The injuries it entails on relatives and families — Insidi- 
 ous character of gambling — Gambling in the last century — Female gamblers — 
 Cheating at the gambling-table — Instances of the debasing tendencies of gambling 
 — Universality of the vice — The propriety of doing something "to put an end to 
 gambUng. 
 
 In my First Series of " The Great Metropolis/* I devoted a 
 chapter to the Gaming-houses of London. Since the first edition 
 of that work was published, I have acquired a good deal of new 
 information on the subject, which I at one time intended to have 
 made use of in the third edition, which appeared a few months 
 since. On second thoughts, however, I have deemed it best to 
 resume the subject in this work; only premising that I shall not 
 here repeat any of the facts I have stated in u The Great Metro- 
 polis," but that the matter of this chapter will be a continuation 
 of, or supplement to, what appeared in the work in question. 
 
 The vice of gambling is of very great antiquity. It is generally 
 believed that it was first resorted to by the Lydians, upwards of 
 2500 years ago, when suffering under the effects of famine. It is 
 said that they had recourse to gambling with the view of diverting 
 their thoughts from the privations they were enduring; and that, 
 in the state of intense excitement into which they worked their 
 minds, they did forget, for whole days at a time, that they had 
 not tasted food for the previous twenty-four hours. There may 
 be some fiction mingled with fact in this account of the origin of 
 gambling. It is not, however, to be denied, that if the Lydians 
 were desirous of forgetting their privations by an artificial ex- 
 citement, there was no expedient to which they could have had 
 recourse, better adapted to promote their object than the expe- 
 dient of gambling. This vice prevailed to a great extent among 
 the Greeks and Romans, as is evident from the frequent reference 
 to it in the works of their greatest authors. 
 
 Of the history of gambling in London, little definite is known. 
 It was very general so far back as the reign of Richard the First. 
 
 B n
 
 354 SKETCHES 7* LONDON. 
 
 and was practised to a considerable extent in the time of Queen 
 Elizabeth. It was still more prevalent in the reign of Charles 
 the Second ; but I am not aware that any houses were then 
 opened for the exclusive purposes of play. When they first 
 were so, I have not been able to ascertain, the history of gambling 
 in the metropolis being so imperfectly known. There can be no 
 doubt that houses for the express purpose of affording knaves 
 and fools an opportunity of indulging their propensity to play to 
 any extent, were opened long before the public generally were 
 aware of the circumstance. The thing was then managed -with 
 more secrecy than it is now. Then the hells were in secluded 
 streets and lanes : now they court distinction, not only by being 
 in the most crowded thoroughfares, but by the blaze of light 
 which is to be seen above their doors. 
 
 About twenty years since, the number of the larger class of 
 hells in the metropolis was supposed to be about ten or twelve. 
 In my first series of the work already mentioned, I estimated the 
 number, in 1836, at fifteen. Since then, there has been a con- 
 siderable increase in the number. The law which came into 
 operation in January last for closing all gambling establish- 
 ments in Paris at twelve o' clock at night, has had the effect, as 
 was to be expected, of causing a number of the Parisian specu- 
 lators in hells to come over, and commence business in London. 
 What the number of the additions which have been thus made 
 to our gambling establishments is, I am not able to state with 
 certainty ; that being a kind of statistical information which is 
 not very easily to be acquired, owing to the circumstance of there 
 being certain hells which are still conducted with comparative 
 secrecy. I should say, however, the number of gambling esta- 
 blishments now in London, doing business to a very considerable 
 amount, cannot be under twenty-four or twenty-five. Indeed, 
 I could almost myself name two dozen particular houses which 
 are solely used for the purposes of gambling. When I wrote the 
 work before referred to, two years since, there were only five 
 gambling-houses in the Regent's Quadrant: now there are eight, 
 if not nine. In Leicester-square and the neighbourhood, there 
 have also been several recent additions to the previous number 
 of hells. 
 
 Formerly, the gaming-houses were only open after dark : of 
 late years, the practice of keeping them open all day has been 
 systematically adhered to in the case of at least eight or ten of 
 their number. In these houses, the dice are scarcely ever idle, 
 day or night. From Sunday to Sunday, all the year round, 
 persons are to be found in these places, losing their money, and 
 wasting away their very bodies by the consuming anxiety con- 
 sequent on their position at the hazard or roulette table.
 
 GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 355 
 
 It may be asked, how can the proprietor of one of these esta- 
 blishments continue to look after his own interests, if gambling 
 goes on by clay as well as night, — nature requiring, in gamblers 
 as well as in other men, a certain amount of repose at stated 
 intervals? In the first place, it is to be remarked, that the 
 cases are extremely rare indeed, in which a gaming-house be- 
 longs to one proprietor. In almost every case there are three or 
 four individuals who engage jointly in the speculation of opening 
 such establishments, and putting down, as the phrase is, a bank 
 against which any person who chooses may play. But even were 
 such an establishment the property of one individual, the house, 
 if deemed advisable, could be kept open all day as well as night, 
 by the proprietor employing some person to act for him when 
 not present himself. In all the gaming-houses of any note, there 
 are unprincipled reckless persons in the pay of the hellites. They 
 are employed in various capacities, and for various purposes. 
 Sometimes they play for the pi-oprietors against any person who 
 chooses to put down his money ; at other times, when there are 
 no other individuals playing at all, they pretend to be strangers 
 themselves, and get up sham games with the proprietors, with the 
 view of practising a deception on any strangers who may be in 
 the room, and by that means inducing them to put down their 
 money. There are other occasions, again, in which they go to 
 coffee-houses, hotels, and other places of a public nature, where 
 they look out for simple persons possessed of property, whom 
 they may decoy into the particular hells with which they are 
 connected, — always, of course, taking care to appear as if they 
 knew nothing of an}^ of the parties belonging to these establish- 
 ments. In many instances, these persons are allowed a certain 
 per-centage on the amount of plunder got from the persons 
 whom they trepan into these dens of iniquity. In the larger 
 gaming establishments, there are certain individuals kept at a 
 regular salary for the express purpose of looking out for opulent 
 young men. To this employment they confine themselves en- 
 tirely. They are dressed in the most fashionable manner, always 
 exhibiting a profusion of jewellery and living in great splendour 
 when they have any particular person in their eye, in the various 
 hotels throughout town. If report speaks truth, there are men 
 of very high rank and standing in society, who are retained for 
 such purposes by one or two of the largest gaming establishments 
 in the metropolis. They are called Greeks ; and the parties who 
 are their victims, are, as I explained at some length in the work 
 more than once referred to, very appropriately called pigeons, 
 being, as they generally are, thoroughly plucked before they are 
 suffered to escape out of the hands of the hellites. In some 
 cases, in the higher class of gaming establishments, the Greeks, 
 
 1! it 2
 
 356 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 or decoys, being men of title or considerable standing in society, 
 do not receive a fixed salary for seducing young men of fortune 
 into these places for the purpose of plundering them of their 
 property ; but being in every case needy men, they nominally 
 borrow, from time to time, large sums of money from the hell- 
 keepers ; but it is perfectly understood on both sides that the 
 amount so borrowed is never to be repaid. 
 
 Here let me pause, to ask what must be the state of morals 
 among a certain portion of the upper classes, when persons who 
 are quite well known to be constantly on the watch for simple 
 unsuspecting noblemen or gentlemen of property, in order that 
 they may decoy them into places in which their ruin is inevitable 
 as well as designed, are received into society with as much seem- 
 ing respect and cordiality as if they were the most illustrious 
 persons for moral worth that the world ever produced ? It is 
 a melancholy state of things ; but still more melancholy is the 
 fact, that when unsuspecting young men of property are thus 
 seduced into gambling-houses, there are noblemen and gen- 
 tlemen — by courtesy so called — who, not content with the 
 slower process of plundering their unhappy victims by means of 
 their superior skill at the dice or the cards, acquired from long 
 experience, resort to habitual cheating ; or at least cheating as 
 frequently as they think they can do it without being detected. 
 Had I written this eighteen months ago, many persons would 
 have doubted the truth of what I say. They would have come 
 at once to the conclusion that I was speaking from erroneous 
 information. That will not be said now. The disclosures which 
 took place in the Court of Queen's Bench, upwards of twelve 
 months since, on the occasion of the trial of Lord de Roos for 
 cheating at cards, furnished the strongest demonstration that he 
 was not the only titled person who was in the habit of cheating 
 in certain clubs ; while there are others who, if they could not 
 be charged with directly cheating, or cheating in their own per- 
 sons, did cheat indirectly and by proxy, inasmuch as they, by 
 their own admission, were on frequent occasions partners with 
 Lord de Roos long after they knew that he habitually or syste- 
 matically cheated. The noble lord, by the confession of the titled 
 parties to whom I allude, thus cheated for himself and them 
 at the same time. Are such parties, then, now excluded from 
 fashionable society ? By no means : they have not forfeited the 
 friendship, or lost the countenance — not, at least, so far as has 
 yet transpired — of a single aristocratic acquaintance. They are 
 as great favourites in the circles of high life as if nothing had 
 happened. Could any fact more strongly prove the low standard 
 of morals which prevails among the upper classes of society ? 
 
 But this is a topic which I have no wish to pursue at any
 
 GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLKRS. 357 
 
 length. It is deeply to be regretted that there should be so 
 much room for animadversion, in regard to the loose notions 
 which obtain among a large number of the aristocracy on the 
 question of morals. 
 
 The proprietors ol the gaming-houses take every precaution to 
 guard against the admission of parties who might lodge informa- 
 tions against them. In most of these establishments, the prac- 
 tice is to have the outer or street-door half shut. This, with a 
 large brilliant display of gas-light above the door, is well known 
 among those who gamble, to be an indication of the fact that play 
 is going on in the house at the time. Within a yard or two of 
 the street-door, is another door with an eye-hole in it, which is 
 always covered by a sliding piece of wood in the inside. The 
 party knocks at this inner door : the knock is not responded to 
 by the door being opened, but one of the proprietors, or some 
 one in their confidence, draws the piece of wood aside, and 
 looks at the party seeking admission. If it is anyone unknown 
 to him, he asks who he is inquiring for, or what is the object of 
 his visit : if satisfied that he is some simpleton coming for the 
 purposes of play, the door is thrown open at once, and he is 
 shown up stairs to the place where the wheel is revolving or the 
 dice being thrown. If the party watching the door have his sus- 
 picions that all is not right, then the person seeking admission 
 is refused it ; and it is wonderful how quick the keepers of hells, 
 and those in their employ, are in ascertaining who may or may 
 not be admitted with safety. The very appearance of the party 
 soliciting admission, the tones of his voice, or his general man- 
 ner, often suffice for their purpose. Anxious to witness the pro- 
 ceedings in these gambling establishments, in order to describe 
 and expose them, and fearing there might be some difficulty in 
 getting access to them, I got one night the card of a gentleman 
 who had been in the habit of visiting such places, but who, I have 
 reason to believe, has by this time seen both his guilt and his folly. 
 
 He desired me to give his card to a Mr. B , the proprietor, 
 
 or one of the proprietors, of a largely-frequented establishment in 
 the centre of the Regent's Quadrant. Accompanied by a friend, 
 whose curiosity to see the interior of a gaming establishment 
 was most intense, I went to the place in question. The fact of 
 my having the card of the gentleman to whom 1 have referred, 
 insured our admission without a moment's delay, or a single 
 question being asked. We were shown up three pairs of stairs 
 to a commodious room, and were there politely accommodated 
 with seats. The only articles of furniture we saw in the place — 
 unless the roulette-table, the table for throwing the dice, and 
 other requisites for play, ought to be called by the name of 
 furniture — were eighteen or twenty handsome chairs. It will at
 
 358 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 once suggest itself to the mind of the reader, that in a large 
 gambling establishment as this was, this number of chairs would 
 not be sufficient to accommodate all the persons who are some- 
 times in it at one time. Very true ; but it must be remembered 
 that several kinds of play (roulette, for example) require the 
 parties playing to stand, or at least a standing posture is the 
 most convenient one. Besides, the excitement which invariably 
 accompanies gambling is so great, that in very few cases only are 
 the parties composed enough to remain in their seats. When 
 my friend and I were ushered into the room on the occasion in 
 question, there were only seven or eight persons engaged at play. 
 One of the proprietors of the place stood at one of the sides of 
 the table at which the play was going on at the time. He was a 
 tall, stout, dark-looking man, with a most surly, forbidding ex- 
 pression of countenance. Immediately opposite to him lay a 
 small box, in which were displayed, in the most conspicuous 
 manner in which it was possible to place them, a number of five- 
 pound notes. This was what is called the bank. At the edge of 
 the table, in the immediate vicinity of the bank, was a large heap 
 of half-crowns, probably amounting to sixty or seventy. The 
 fact of there being so many half-crowns on the table, while 
 neither shillings nor sixpences were to be seen, is to be ac- 
 counted for from the fact that no less sums than half-crowns are 
 ever played for at the house in question. The parties playing 
 had also each a greater or less number of half-crowns before 
 them. The game going on at the time was roulette ; and 
 rapidly, indeed, did the half-crowns change hands. The house, 
 as the technical phrase is, had a run of good luck while I was 
 there. I observed that one gentleman lost three pounds, at 
 half-crown stakes, in less than fifteen minutes. I may here ob- 
 serve, that there was something very peculiar in the conduct of 
 this gentleman : whether it arose from anything constitutional, 
 or whether from a secret conviction that he ought not to be so 
 employed or in such a place, I cannot tell ; but the fact was, 
 that he came into the room, and remained in it for about a 
 quarter of an hour, and then quitted it, not only without utter- 
 ing a single word, but without giving even a nod to any person 
 in the place. One of the proprietors, according to the custom in 
 the gambling establishments, was excessively attentive to every 
 person who entered the room, in the way of pressing him to have 
 something to drink. Brandy-and-water, as being the most sti - 
 ululating, was the first thing he invariably asked the intende.! 
 victims to take. If they declined, then they were asked, in tlu 
 aiost insinuating manner, whether they would take anything 
 else. The hell-keeper was manifestly much disappointed when 
 they refused to drink ; and it was to be expected he would, for
 
 GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 359 
 
 his "whole experience had taught him that men play most reck- 
 lessly when under the excitement caused by drink. 1 need 
 hardly say that the drink in such places is always given gra- 
 tuitously. I observed, too, that no one is ever asked to play by 
 the hellites. They rightly judge, that were they to solicit 
 strangers who had not before been in the practice of frequenting 
 gaming establishments, to put down their money, and take part 
 in the play, they would be adopting the very course which would 
 be most likely to defeat their designs on the pockets of such 
 persons, as the latter would, in that case, suppose that if they 
 played, they would run a risk of being cheated. The hell- 
 keepers always trust to the beAvitching effect of seeing others at 
 play; for experience has taught them that few men, with money 
 in their pockets, can resist the temptation to play which is 
 always held out by seeing others engaged in it. And here I 
 must take the opportunity of warning those whose eye may meet 
 these lines, from entering a gaming-house under the impression 
 that they will come out again without playing. I do not say the 
 thing is impossible ; but it consists with my knowledge that 
 many men have entered those places with the firm determination 
 that they would not gamble to the extent of a farthing, and yet 
 have come out fleeced of the last shilling they had in their pos- 
 session. Nay, I have known cases in which, after they had lost 
 all their money, and not being acquainted with any one there of 
 whom they could borrow more, have actually pawned their watches 
 to enable them to continue the game. The paw ning of watches, 
 waistcoats, and other articles of apparel, to enable persons to 
 play at the gaming-table, is quite an every-day occurrence in the 
 case of persons Avho have become habituated to gaming ; but in 
 the above case, I am speaking of persons who have entered a 
 gaming-house for the first time in their lives ; and entered it, 
 too, let it be remembered, with the firm determination that 
 under no circumstances would they risk a shilling. 
 
 The intense anxiety with which gamblers watch the result of 
 the game is proverbial. I had ocular demonstration of this, of 
 the most striking kind, on the evening in question. The coun- 
 tenances of all engaged in play, with the single exception of that 
 of the hell-keeper entrusted with the bank, indicated a degree of 
 anxiety as to the result, when the stakes were large, of which 
 none but he who has experienced it can form any idea. Has 
 tin- reader ever seen a wretched culprit, charged with some seri- 
 ous offence, standing at the bar of the Old Bailey, or in any 
 other criminal court, while the jury were deliberating on their 
 verdict? If so, he must, notwithstanding all the assumed indif- 
 ference which sometimes characterizes the miserable being, have 
 seen unequivocal symptoms of the consuming anxiety as to the
 
 300 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 result which was burning in his breast. Precisely similar is the 
 case of the gambler when he has much at stake. On the night 
 in question, the play was deep; and so wrapt up were the parties 
 in their work, and so absorbing was their anxiety as to the issue, 
 that they not only did not, for several minutes at a time, ex- 
 change a word with each other, but they did not even withdraw 
 their eyes from the dice and the table; and w r hen the game 
 w r as finished, you saw the countenance of the winner brighten 
 up as if he had made a princely fortune, while that of the loser 
 suddenly became as pale as if he had been told, through some 
 supernatural agency, that he was to die the next hour. 
 
 The deep and consuming anxiety of gamblers, when at table, 
 is natural enough in any case ; but there are certain cases in 
 which it is peculiarly so. Only imagine the case — a very com- 
 mon case, I regret to say — not only of a man's whole property, 
 but even his character in the estimation of mankind, being en- 
 tirely dependent on the numbers which the dice may chance to 
 turn up ; and to heighten the interest which he attaches to the 
 result, only suppose that he has a Avife and family, or it may be 
 a mother, or sister, or other near relative, dependent on him for 
 support : their fate is bound up in his, and that fate is to be 
 decided by the numbers which turn up. Who but himself can 
 form any conception of the tumultuous emotions which agitate 
 his bosom at such a moment ? What these must be, may be 
 best inferred from the alternative so often resorted to in such 
 cases, when the numbers turned up by the dice are adverse. In 
 how many instances is ruin at play followed by immediate 
 suicide? We hear of only a comparatively small number of the 
 cases of self-destruction which occur from losses at play. How 
 often is it stated at coroners' inquests, by the relatives of the 
 deceased, that they could assign no reason why he committed 
 suicide. I am convinced, that in almost every instance, espe- 
 cially where the party moved in a respectable sphere of life, in 
 which no reason can be assigned by friends or relatives for the 
 "rash act," that reason was losses at play. Acquaintances often 
 bear testimony to the fact that the deceased was in good circum- 
 stances ; and that, therefore, the fact of his committing suicide 
 was unintelligible to them. Ay, it is true, he ivas in easy cir- 
 cumstances a few months, or even a few weeks, before he destroyed 
 himself; but then, in the interim, though they knew nothing of 
 the fact, he had gambled away the last farthing he had in the 
 world. An instance of this occurred about ten weeks ago. A 
 gentlemanly-looking man came up from the country, and taking 
 lodgings in the vicinity of Leicester-square, entered some of the 
 gaming-houses with which that neighbourhood is infested. He 
 at once fell a prey to the keepers of these Pandemoniums. In

 
 GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 36i 
 
 the short space of a fortnight he Mas plundered of from 2000/. to 
 3000/., including a valuable gold watch, which he had risked when 
 all his money was gone. He then went and blew out his brains. 
 Of course, if any of those who knew him a month previously, and 
 who were unacquainted with the fact of his gambling, had been 
 asked if they knew any cause why he destroyed himself, they 
 would have answered in the negative ; adding, that he was in 
 excellent circumstances. It is no uncommon thing for persons, 
 who have entered one of these hells with the determination 
 of hazarding their last shilling before they come out again, to 
 make previous preparations for the commission of suicide, in 
 the event of their being unfortunate. Their motto in such a case 
 is — " Something or nothing." If the latter be the result, then 
 out they go, and straightway carry the purpose on which they 
 had previously resolved, into effect. In fifteen or twenty minutes 
 afterwards their bodies are weltering in their gore*, and their 
 spirits are before the throne of the Eternal. 
 
 The feelings of one who enters a gambling-house for the first 
 time, are of a very peculiar and painful kind. He has a secret 
 conviction, though too infatuated to profit by it, that in the very 
 act of crossing the threshold of such a place for the purposes of 
 play, he is not only sinning against Heaven, but periling his own 
 reputation and prospects in life. He is so powerfully impressed 
 with a sense of doing wrong, that his very head becomes 
 dizzy, his eyes become dim, and his heart palpitates with a 
 violence which, perhaps, he never before experienced. I have 
 even known instances in which young men, on their first enter- 
 ing a gaming-house to engage in play, have almost been divested 
 of consciousness itself. They have walked up stairs in a state of 
 trance ; reminding one, in some measure, of the mechanical mo- 
 tions of a somnambulist. I knew one who was so ovei'powered 
 with a sense of the impropriety and perils of entering one of these 
 hells, that he could not collect his scattered senses sufficiently to 
 play when he had got into the room, and actually quitted it again 
 without being able to say how many stairs he went up, or to de- 
 scribe the appearance of the place. 
 
 No idea can be formed by those who have not experienced it, 
 of the intense excitement consequent on gambling. And what 
 is worthy of mention is, that the mere circumstance of being 
 habituated to play, does not materially abate the excitement. 
 It is well known to those who are personally acquainted with 
 gamblers, that they never throw the dice, deal the cards, or put 
 down their money at roulette, when the stakes played for are 
 
 * It is worthy of remark, that very few gamblers commit suicide by hanging or 
 drowning: they almost invariably, when they do destroy themselves, cither cut their 
 throats, or blow out their brains
 
 362 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 large, without feeling themselves wrought up to the highest pitch 
 of excitement. A friend of my own who went a few months 
 since into one of these hells, says, that, among others, he saw the 
 son of a nobleman engaged in deep play ; and that though, by a 
 run of good luck, as the phrase is, he continued to win while my 
 acquaintance was there, his excitement was so great as to agi- 
 tate his whole frame. His tongue even faltered while he at- 
 tempted to speak ; and he seemed so absorbed in the game, that 
 he appeared as if insensible to everything and every one around 
 him. Others have been known to sit for sixteen or eighteen 
 hours at a time at the gaming-table, without feeling the slightest 
 hunger, and without imagining that they had been so employed 
 more than two or three hours. 
 
 I have dwelt at such length in the work to which I have 
 already made several references, on the debasing and destructive 
 effcts of gaming on the minds of those who give way to it, that 
 little more is left me to say on that point. Not only does indul- 
 gence in play extinguish all the finer feelings of our nature, but it 
 generally does it in a very short time. In the short space of two 
 or three months, the most amiable and virtuous of men have, in 
 innumerable cases, been transformed into a species of incarnate 
 demons by their nightly visits to the gaming-table. Husbands 
 that were before most devotedly attached to their wives, soon 
 treat them with the most perfect brutality; and fathers 
 who regarded their children with so ardent an affection, 
 that they would have parted with everything they possessed in 
 the world rather than that those children should be injured, 
 Avould now prefer seeing them die of cold or hunger, to being 
 themselves excluded from the gaming-house. The cases are in- 
 numerable, in which a man continues to frequent these Pande- 
 moniums — pawning, it may be, the very clothes off his back, — 
 while he sees his wife and children literally dying of want in 
 some wretched hovel. In fact, the confirmed gambler is utterly 
 lost to all virtuous feeling : he has not a trace of humanity left. 
 An affecting instance of the suddenness with which the passion 
 of gambling transforms a virtuous man into one of the most vici- 
 ous kind, occurred within the last two or three years, under my 
 own observation. A young man, the son of most worthy parents, 
 who had a small competency to support them in their old age, 
 after having spent a little fortune on his education, had, on 
 coming from the country to London, been very successful in the 
 profession to which he belonged. He was a handsome young man, 
 of engaging manners, and possessed an intimate knowledge of his 
 profession. Circumstances brought him into contact with a 
 young lady, the daughter of a gentleman of great wealth and 
 high standing in society. Having every reason to believe that
 
 GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 353 
 
 he had only to make matrimonial advances to the young lady to 
 insure both her own and her parents' consent to their marriage, 
 he, after a little hesitation, did solicit the hand of the former. 
 His proposals were accepted by her, with the most cordial 
 concurrence of every member of the family ; and in due time the 
 marriage took place. With his bride he received a handsome 
 sum dowrij and the assurance that, on the father's death, he 
 would receive a great deal more. The first thing he did was to 
 send 1500/. to his parents, in return for the expenses which his 
 education had cost them ; feeling, that but for that education, 
 he could never have attained that position in society which he 
 now occupied. The marriage jaunt having been performed, both 
 parties returned to town, and he commenced business on his own 
 account, backed by the great influence and connexions of his 
 father-in-law. Everything went on smoothly for a time : he took 
 a large house, at a rental of 300/. a-year, and furnished it in a 
 style of great splendour : his wife and he lived on the most affec- 
 tionate terms ; and her friends always appeared to me to be ex- 
 ceedingly attached to him. In an evil hour, he met with one or 
 more Greeks, and by them he was decoyed into a fashionable 
 hell in the neighbourhood of St. James's-street. In a few weeks 
 he lost every farthing of ready money he could command. His 
 father-in-law was applied to, and advanced another sum, not 
 aware of the purposes for which it was intended. That followed 
 the first, in a week or two more. Another application was made 
 to his father-in-law ; but having, by this time, ascertained how the 
 former sums had gone, he refused to advance a farthing more. 
 This led to a quarrel, and to the young man ordering his father- 
 in-law to quit the house, and never again to enter it. His 
 wife took his part, and by that means forfeited the friendship of 
 all her family. They one and all refused to have any intercourse 
 with him or her. What was now to be done ? He wrote to his 
 father, asking him for the loan, for a few months, of the 1500/. 
 h,e had sent him, under the pretext that he was going to appro- 
 priate it to business purposes, with a moral certainty of its pro- 
 ducing a most handsome return. The poor unsuspecting man 
 sent him a draft for the whole sum by next day's post. In a 
 fortnight or three weeks, every shilling of the amount was lost in 
 one of the dens of iniquity to which I have referred. Inventing 
 the most plausible story his genius could suggest, he again applied 
 to his father for the loan, for two or three months, of whatever 
 remaining money he had, assuring him that the whole would be 
 returned at the end of that time, with an ample consideration for 
 the use of it. The still unsuspecting parent immediately sent 
 him the last farthing he had, amounting to nearly 2000/. 
 In a month, or rather less, that had all gone the same way as the
 
 364 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 former sum. The splendid establishment was broken up ; the fur- 
 niture was all sold by the creditors to whom he was indebted in 
 his professional capacity ; and he and his wife were turned into 
 the streets without a friend or farthing in the world. He now 
 lost all regard for his wife, as he had done already for all 
 his friends ; and in a short time afterwards, heard, with the 
 most entire indifference, of the death of his father and the des- 
 titution of his mother. He parted from his wife without the 
 slightest feeling of regret ; and, to my certain knowledge, though 
 brought up in the first circles of society, she was, in little more 
 than fourteen months after her marriage, dependent for subsist- 
 ence, and for a place to sleep in, on the charity of a humble 
 tradesman ; for her parents had been so offended at her conduct, 
 in taking her husband's part when he insulted them, that it was 
 not until they had learned that he had quitted the country alto- 
 gether, that they would consent again to acknowledge her. 
 
 I give this case in illustration of the rapidity with which gam- 
 bling transforms the most virtuous into the most vicious of men, 
 because I was myself intimately acquainted with the unfortunate 
 young man. I have modified rather than overstated the cir- 
 cumstances of the case, while I have purposely suppressed several 
 facts which would have made it still more touching, lest it should 
 be recognized by any of the friends of either the husband or the 
 wife ; and possibly, in such a case, give them a moment's uneasi- 
 ness. Were I to repeat all the other instances which I have 
 heard of a similar nature, the space that remains of this chapter 
 Mould be insufficient for the purpose. 
 
 I could relate cases without number of the sudden transitions 
 from affluence and respectability to the lowest depths of destitu- 
 tion and degradation, which have been brought about by a pas- 
 sion for the gambling-table. Not long since, a very affecting 
 instance of this nature was brought under the personal cognizance 
 of a number of individuals. A gentleman belonging to a good 
 family, and who possessed a handsome freehold house and a for- 
 tune of 20,000/., was somehow or other trepanned into a gambling- 
 house. He was not long there, when he thought he would play 
 to the extent of five sovereigns. He alternately lost and gained, 
 but quitted that evening with the same sum as he entered. He 
 next night repeated his visit to the place, and then lost a consi- 
 derable sum. A third time he crossed the portals of the Pande- 
 monium, in the hope of regaining what he had lost on the previous 
 occasion ; but he found that he only doubled his losses. Still he 
 clung to the hope, that by trying again he would make up for all 
 he had lost : and with that view, and in that expectation, re- 
 peated his visits night after night. The result was, that he became 
 a confirmed gambler. He was spell-bound to the gaming-table,
 
 GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS 365 
 
 and every successive loss only seemed to whet his appetite for 
 further play. With the recklessness of a desperate man, he 
 played still deeper and deeper with every new game, until he 
 had gambled away the last sixpence he had in the world, — which 
 he did in the short space of two or three months. He was a 
 married man, with four children. The house, and the things in 
 it, were sold. One article of wearing apparel after another, 
 whether belonging to his wife, or himself, or his children, found 
 its way to the pawnbrokers, as being the only means they had of 
 procuring as much food as would sustain existence. At last the 
 wretched family was discovered, through the merest accident, by 
 a former friend, living in a miserable hovel in one of the lowest 
 parts of the town ; the poor wife on the eve of her confinement ; 
 the four children not only half-naked, but evidently sick and ex- 
 hausted from utter want ; while he himself had all the appear- 
 ance of a living skeleton. I should add, that there was neither 
 bed, table, nor chairs in the room ; nothing, indeed, in the shape 
 of furniture. The unhappy man confessed to his friend when he 
 entered, that he had brought all the misery he then beheld, on 
 his wife, his children, and himself, by his addiction to the gam- 
 ing-table. 
 
 I have said that in many cases the last resource of the 
 ruined gambler is suicide. Before having recourse to this expe- 
 dient for ending their earthly miseries, ruined gamesters have, 
 in numerous instances, been so utterly lost to all attachment to 
 life, that the commission of the fatal act seems not to have cost 
 them one moment's uneasiness. Gamblers have been known to 
 set as coolly and deliberately about blowing out their brains as 
 if they had only been going to light their cigars. Lord Orford, 
 in his Correspondence with Horace Walpole, mentions two curi- 
 ous instances of this. Not having the work just named at hand, 
 and not being able to refer to the particular letter in which the 
 first of the cases is related, I cannot give it in his lordship's 
 words. I must, therefore, give it as well as I can from memory : — 
 One of the fashionable young men of Lord Orford's day, had 
 been unhappily decoyed into a gambling-house, where his passion 
 for play became so great that he spent nearly the whole of his 
 time in throwing the dice — excepting, of course, that portion of 
 time which was necessary for physical repose. He continued to 
 gamble until he had not only lost a princely fortune, but had in- 
 curred a large amount of debt among his tradesmen. With the 
 loss of his money, and the utter beggary which stared him in the 
 face, the unfortunate victim of play lost all relish for life. He 
 saw, or rather fancied he saw, in death the only refuge from the 
 infamy and wretchedness which he had entailed on himself; and 
 therefore, with the coolness and deliberation of a man in his pe-
 
 366 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 culiar circumstances, he determined on the commission of suicide. 
 But though thus past all feeling for himself, he had still some 
 lingering concern for the poor hard-working and honest trades- 
 men in whose debt he was so deeply; and as he was fully resolv- 
 ed on self-destruction, he thought he might, before carrying his 
 fatal purpose into execution, as well do them an act of justice ; 
 though in so doing, he should do injustice to others. I suppose — 
 though this can only be conjecture, he not having expressed any 
 sentiment on the subject — that he thought in his own mind 
 there could be no great harm in taking a small sum out of the 
 pockets of a great many individuals, to make up an amount, the 
 loss of which would be ruinous to many of his tradesmen. Be 
 this as it may, the ruined gambler insured his life to the extent 
 of the sum — amounting to several thousand pounds — which he 
 owed his tradesmen, taking their claims in the aggregate. Being 
 personally acquainted with several of the directors of the com- 
 pany (he called them his life-and-death brokers) in which he 
 insured, he invited them to dinner the following day, with the 
 ostensible view of celebrating the completion of the assurance. 
 He also requested all his tradesmen to be present at a particular 
 hour in the evening; an hour which would allow the party to dis- 
 patch a splendid dinner, and do ample justice to the wine. The 
 tradesmen received strict orders to be personally present ; and 
 as the non-payment of their accounts for a long period to come 
 was to be the penalty of not acceding to his wishes in this respect, 
 it can scarcely be necessary to say that they were all " punctual 
 as lovers to the moment sworn." The dinner over, and a liberal 
 allowance of wine having been quaffed, the ruined gambler de- 
 sired the servant to call up all who were in the hall below. In a 
 few seconds the dining-room was filled with tradesmen, all eager 
 to receive payment of their accounts. " Now, gentlemen," said 
 the gambler, addressing his guests, and pointing to the little 
 crowd of tradesmen, — " now, gentlemen, these are all my trades- 
 men ; they are honest industrious men, to whom I am indebted, 
 and as I see no other earthly means of being ever able to meet 
 their just claims, you will be so kind as to pay them out of the 
 sum for which I insured my life yesterday. Allow me, gentle- 
 men, to bid you all farewell." And so saying, he pulled a pistol 
 from his pocket, and placing it to his head, that instant blew 
 out his brains. 
 
 The other case to which I have referred, as related by Lord 
 Orford, I can give in his lordship's own words, having access to 
 it in an extract in one of the periodicals of the day. Lord Or- 
 ford, writing at a time when the friends of the party to whom he 
 alludes were alive, very properly suppresses his name, contenting 
 himself with substituting a few stars for it. " He himself," says
 
 GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 367 
 
 Lord Orford, "with all his judgment in bets, would have betted 
 any man in England against himself for self-murder. Yet after 
 having been supposed the sharpest genius of his time, he, by all 
 that appears, shot himself in the distress of his circumstances. 
 * * * The same day, he asked immediately for the government 
 of Virginia, or the fox-hounds ; and pressed for an answer with 
 
 an eagerness that surprised the Duke of N , who never had 
 
 a notion of pinning down the relief of his own, or any other man's 
 wants, to a day. Yet that seems to have been the case of * * *, 
 who determined to throw the die of life or death. Tuesday 
 se'nnight he received the answer from court, which did not 
 prove favourable. He consulted indirectly, and at last di- 
 rectly, several people on the easiest mode of finishing life ; and 
 seems to have thought that he had been too explicit; for he 
 invited company to dinner for the day of his death, and ordered 
 a supper at White's*, where he supped, too, the night before. 
 He played at whist till it was one in the morning : it was New- 
 year's morning. Lord Bertie drank to him a happy new year. 
 He clapped his hands strangely to his eyes. In the morning, he 
 had a lawyer and three witnesses, and executed his will, which 
 he made them read twice over, paragraph by paragraph ; and 
 then asking the lawyer if that would stand good, though a man 
 were to shoot himself, and being assured that it would, he said, 
 ' Pray stay while I step into the next room,' and shot himself. 
 He clapped the pistol so close to his head, that they heard no 
 report." 
 
 The above are curious illustrations of the utter indifference to 
 life, which is so common in the case of ruined gamblers. But, 
 perhaps, the most singular one on record occurred about four- 
 teen or fifteen years since. A young man, having gambled away 
 the last shilling he possessed in the world, solicited the loan of 
 a few pounds from one of the proprietors of the hell in which he 
 had been plundered of his money. " What security do you pro- 
 pose for repaying the sum ?" inquired the hellite. 
 
 " My word of honour," was the answer. 
 
 "That won't do; that's poor security, indeed," rejoined the 
 keeper of the hell, in haughty and almost insulting tones. 
 
 " Then you won't lend me a few pounds?" 
 
 " Not without security." 
 
 " Why, you surely won't refuse me a couple of sovereigns 
 after having lost so much?" 
 
 " 1 won't advance you a couple of shillings without security." 
 
 The young man was, if possible, as deeply stung by this refusal 
 as he was mortified at the loss of his money. A thought struck 
 
 * White's Club, St. James's- street.
 
 368 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 him. K I '11 give you," he said, addressing himself to the hellite, 
 " the security of the suit of clothes on my back, which is quite 
 new, and cost eight guineas. Will you advance me a couple of 
 sovereigns on that security?" 
 
 " But supposing you lose, I cannot strip them off your back." 
 " Don't trouble yourself about that. If I lose, I shall commit 
 suicide, which I have been meditating for some time, and you 
 shall then have the clothes. I shall return to my lodgings 
 before day-light, in the most worn-out and worthless dressing- 
 gown or great cloak you can procure for me, leaving my clothes 
 with you." The money was advanced, and in ten or twelve 
 minutes was lost. The hellite demanded his clothes. The un- 
 fortunate youth, with the utmost coolness, stripped forthwith, 
 and enveloping his body in a great-coat, for which no Jew old- 
 clothesman would have given half-a-crown, quitted the Pande- 
 monium in which he had lost his money, with the firm determi- 
 nation of destroying himself. Instead, however, of going home 
 to execute his purpose, he was about to carry it into effect by 
 suspending himself from a lamp-post, in a dark lane, near the 
 hell in which he had lost his money ; but before he had com- 
 pleted his preparations, he was observed by a policeman, who at 
 once took him into custody. He was brought before the police 
 magistrate next morning, where the whole circumstances con- 
 nected with the affair transpired. It is worthy of observation, 
 that the ruined gambler exhibited the most perfect coolness 
 when discovered in the act of attempting to destroy himself; 
 and that he resented the interference of the policeman, by which 
 he was prevented from carrying his purpose into effect, as a 
 most unwarrantable piece of impertinence. He had squandered 
 away all his money, and now he conceived he had an undoubted 
 right to take away his life. 
 
 In the work* to which I have two or three times alluded, 
 I have adverted to some remarkable cases of suicide which have 
 been committed in consequence of losses at the gaming-table. 
 I gave those cases in detail, because, having occurred a good 
 many years ago, they are not now likely to cause that uneasi- 
 ness to the relations of the parties which they must have done 
 at the time. I could relate many more of recent occurrence 
 which have been made public to a certain extent; but it is 
 better to pass them over. There are, again, many cases of sui- 
 cide arising from losses at play, which are quite well known to 
 the immediate relations of the parties, but which are carefully 
 kept by those relations from the knowledge of the public. I 
 myself could point to various individual cases of this kind ; b 
 
 * The Great Metropolis. First Series.
 
 GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 369 
 
 that would answer no useful purpose, while it would inflict a 
 wound in the breast of surviving relatives. 
 
 From what I have already remarked, the reader will at once 
 infer, that an indulgence in the passion of gambling must be pro- 
 ductive of an awful amount of individual misery to the parties 
 themselves. Would that the misery which is the inevitable 
 result of gambling were confined to those parties! Unhappily 
 it is not : it extends to families, relatives, and friends ; and thus 
 indirectly spreads itself throughout the whole framework of 
 society. Fathers are reduced to poverty by the losses at the 
 gaming-table of their sons ; wives, by the losses of their hus- 
 bands; children, by the losses of their ^fathers ; sisters, by the 
 losses of their brothers ; and so on throughout all the variety ot 
 family relationship wherever one individual is dependent on the 
 pecuniary prosperity of another. But this is not the only way in 
 which the baneful effects of the pernicious practice of gambling 
 are felt by the relations of the parties. The suicides and forge- 
 ries, and other discreditable actions, which result from an indul- 
 gence in the practice of gambling, are matters which not only 
 throw them into the deepest misery at the time of their occur- 
 rence, but which they can never look back on, at any after period 
 of life, without the most painful feelings. There is yet another 
 though not so manifest way in which gambling is productive of 
 a vast amount of misery and wretchedness. I allude to the mar- 
 riages which gamblers on the verge of ruin enter into with the 
 view of retrieving their fortunes, or rather postponing their ruin 
 for a longer or shorter period, as the case may be. In such 
 cases, the affections are never for a moment consulted : there is 
 no sympathy of opinion, feeling, or habit : no union of hearts. 
 With the gambler, the transaction is one of a thoroughly sordid 
 kind : he does not even respect the lady he is about to make his 
 wife. It may be, he utterly detests her ; but she has a fortune, 
 and he knows of no other means of obtaining money. Of course 
 the marriage ends in the greatest unhappiness, if not in entire 
 separation. This, I need hardly say, chiefly applies to aristo- 
 cratic marriages ; and to them it applies to an extent of which I 
 am convinced the public have no conception. Every one is aware 
 that George the Fourth, when Prince of Wales, was, as the 
 common phrase is, over head and ears in debt ; and that it was 
 because he would thereby be enabled to meet the claims of his 
 creditors, that he consented to marry the Princess Caroline of 
 Brunswick. But though this is known to every one, compa- 
 ratively few people are acquainted with the circumstances under 
 which his debts were contracted. Those debts, then, were the 
 result of losses at the gaming-table. He was an inveterate gam- 
 bler ; a habit which he most probably contracted through his 
 
 c c
 
 370 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 intimacy with Fox. It is a well-ascertained fact, that in two 
 short years, soon after he attained his majority, he lost nearly 
 500,000/. at play. It was with the view and in the hope that 
 marriage would cure his propensity for the gaming-table, that his 
 father was so anxious to see him united to Caroline. And it was 
 solely, as just remarked, on account of his marriage with that prin- 
 cess constituting the only condition of his debts being paid by the 
 country, that he agreed to lead her to the hymeneal altar. The 
 unfortunate results of their union are but too w r ell known, not 
 only as regarded the parties themselves, but as regarded society 
 generally. To the gambling habits, then, of the Prince of Wales 
 is to be ascribed all that unhappiness which he entailed on the 
 unfortunate Caroline ; and the vast amount of injury which her 
 separation from him, and subsequent trial, produced on the 
 morals of the nation generally. 
 
 Perhaps there is not, in the whole catalogue of vices, a single 
 one which is more insidious than that of gambling. If a man 
 once gives way to it — if he once yields to the temptation to play, 
 it is a thousand to one if he ever relinquishes it until he is ruined 
 in character and fortune. I have given, in the previous parts of 
 this chapter, instances of a very remarkable kind, illustrative of 
 the almost moral impossiblity of the person who has once fairly 
 entered on play, absenting himself from the gambling-table while 
 he has a shilling in the world. The inference from this is surely 
 so plain, that he who runneth may read. Not only ought men 
 to shun the gaming-houses as they Avould the path that leads to 
 their own destruction, but they ought to abstain from all betting 
 and gambling among private friends, even when only for the mere 
 purposes of amusement. What is begun for amusement soon 
 ends in a disposition to gamble for gain ; and though the party 
 may, in the first instance, confine his risks to trifling amounts, 
 he will gradually venture on deeper and deeper play, until he 
 plays sufficiently large stakes to work his own ruin. Parents 
 ought to check and eradicate the disposition to all sorts of play- 
 ing for gain among their children. The spirit of the gambler is 
 often, I am convinced, imbibed in our boyish years, though it 
 may not develop itself in any striking manner until we have 
 reached the years of maturity. 
 
 The disclosures which were made on the trial of Lord de Roos, 
 proved that not only does the practice of gaming prevail to a 
 great extent among the upper classes of society, but that many 
 of our nobility and gentry are in the habit of playing what is 
 called deep game. In this respect, however, our present aristo- 
 cracy have the advantage over the higher classes of the last cen- 
 tury. With the single exception of a noble marquis, two noble 
 earls, and three or four members of the peerage of inferior rank,
 
 GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 371 
 
 I am not aware of any of our present aristocracy whose gambling 
 achievements can at all be compared with those of scores of the 
 nobility and gentry of the middle and latter part of the by-gone 
 century, whom it were easy to name. And, perhaps, among all 
 the aristocratic gamblers of the last century, the Duke of Bedford, 
 and Charles James Fox, the illustrious orator and statesman, 
 were the greatest. The Duke of Bedford felt the excitement 
 consequent on gambling to be, in one sense, necessary to exist- 
 ence : life was to him a positive burden when not indulging his 
 favourite propensity. Even sickness itself, when that sickness 
 did not prostrate his mental powers, failed to extinguish his dis- 
 position to gamble. But as I have referred to the singularly 
 strong propensity which the late Duke of Bedford felt for play, 
 in the work to which I made allusion in the outset, I will say 
 nothing more relative to his Grace in this volume. I am not 
 sure, after all, whether his friend, Mr. Fox, was not a still 
 greater gambler. At all events, Fox was one of the most invete- 
 rate players that ever put a knee under the table. It is a well- 
 attested fact, that one evening he lost the immense sum of 25,000/. 
 No less undoubted is the circumstance of his having, on another 
 occasion, continued at play for twenty-two consecutive hours ! It 
 is also, perhaps, worthy of mention, that, singularly enough, he 
 lost 500/. every hour, without a single instance of what is tech- 
 nically called te a turn" in his favour ; making a total loss for the 
 twenty-two hours' sederunt, of 11,000/. The fact of Fox having 
 been able, in a physical point of view, to continue twenty-two 
 consecutive hours in one position, and at one employment, proves, 
 in the most conclusive manner, the stimulating nature of gam- 
 bling. At any other employment, nature would have been un- 
 equal to the effort ; she must have sunk in the attempt. It is 
 due to the memory of Fox to say, that he was one of the few 
 inveterate players of his day who were never known to resort to 
 unfair practices. There was something, indeed, of a very pecu- 
 liar nature in the constitution of his mind. Unlike all other 
 gamblers of whom I have ever heard, his losses, even when ruin- 
 ous, never seemed to cause him a moment's regret or uneasiness. 
 A contemporary and friend of his has mentioned, in his memoirs 
 of the eminent men of that period, that at six o'clock one morn- 
 ing, after having the previous night lost the last farthing he had 
 in the world at the gaming-table, he was found reading, in the 
 original, the works of one of the most distinguished philosophers 
 of ancient Greece. His own favourite observation, in reference 
 to his gambling propensities, was, that next to the pleasure of 
 gaining was the pleasure of losing at play. , 
 
 In the time of Fox, and indeed during the entire latter half of 
 the last century, gambling obtained to a very great extent among 
 
 c c 2
 
 372 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 the female as well as among the male aristocracy of the country. 
 Those unacquainted with the fact will be startled to hear, that 
 to such an alarming height did the spirit of gambling among the 
 female portion of the nobility and gentry rise, in the middle of 
 the eighteenth century, that it was deemed necessary, by way of 
 example to others, to prosecute publicly some of the most distin- 
 guished ladies in the land for allowing gambling in their houses. 
 The Countess of Buckinghamshire was convicted of this offence, 
 and fined 200/. ; Lady E. Luttrel Mas fined 50/. for the same 
 offence ; and so were several other distinguished females. 
 
 How far the spirit of gambling is still cherished by the female 
 aristocracy of England, is a point on which a diversity of opinion 
 prevails. My own impression is — and that impression is founded 
 on facts which have been privately communicated to me — my own 
 impression is, that gambling is practised to a far greater extent 
 among the female branches of the aristocracy than is generally 
 supposed. The truth is, that people have little suspicion of a 
 disposition to gamble on the part of the aristocratic ladies of the 
 land, because the latter are prudent enough to take every possi- 
 ble precaution to conceal the fact from the public gaze. Not only 
 are there no houses kept by their own sex solely for gambling pur- 
 poses, but they do not even go to one particular house belonging 
 to any one of themselves for many nights in succession. The 
 understanding among them is, that, unless under peculiar circum- 
 stances, they shall not indulge their propensity for play for more 
 than six consecutive nights in the same house. The aristocratic 
 female gamblers are divided into various small coteries ; and they 
 take each other's houses in rotation, except when particular cir- 
 cumstances occur to interfere with such arrangement. They 
 meet together on such occasions ostensibly as tea parties ; and 
 so skilfully and adroitly is the thing managed, that there are 
 often gambling lady-parties in a husband's house without his 
 ever dreaming of such a thing. It is due, however, to these 
 ladies to say, that so far as I am aware, they not only refuse to 
 have anything to do with the dice, but that they never even play 
 deeply. The cards only are patronised by them ; and the stakes 
 are usually a sovereign each. Not long since, a countess died at 
 an advanced age, who was one of the most inveterate gamblers 
 of her sex in modern times. This lady did nothing else 
 but gamble. Living apart from her husband, and having no 
 family or any one else to interfere with her, she gave full rein to 
 her propensities in this respect. It is a fact which is worthy of 
 mention, that notwithstanding her passionate fondness for gam- 
 bling, she almost invariably lost. It was calculated that her 
 average losses exceeded fifty pounds per week during the eight 
 months in the year which she regularly played. The passion for
 
 GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS 373 
 
 the card-table clung to her to the very last ; it was only when phy- 
 sically unfit for play that she relinquished her gambling pursuits. 
 I know of another lady, living by herself, but intimately related 
 to several of the first families in the country, who never, un- 
 less confined to her bed, suffers a single night to pass without 
 taking part at the card-table. The lady sees no company, solely 
 because that would interfere with the indulgence of her disposi- 
 tion to play. She is now upwards of seventy, and yet she displays a 
 flow of spirits and liveliness of manner, when at the card-table, 
 which would be worthy a girl just emerging from her teens. She 
 does nothing else but gamble ; unless, indeed, I ought to except 
 a glance at the morning newspaper, and a half-hour's "dip" into 
 some circulating-library book. The infirmities incident to ad- 
 vanced age require that she should not over-exert herself at 
 home ; but the moment she sits down at the card-table she ap- 
 pears as if she were another person. All her ailments seem to take 
 unto themselves wings and fly away the instant the cards are 
 produced. I could make some curious disclosures respecting the 
 practice of gaming among the aristocratic ladies of the land ; but 
 anything which would point in a particular direction in such a 
 case would be in bad taste, and might be unpleasant to the rela- 
 tions of the parties, whose feelings ought to be consulted in the 
 matter. 
 
 We have often heard of the long time it has taken to decide a 
 game at chess, when the parties were both first-rate players, or 
 were very equally matched. Instances of this kind have occurred 
 in playing at cards, where the opposing parties were both honest. 
 It also repeatedly occurs when it so happens that both parties 
 are dextrous at cheating. A rather singular instance of this 
 kind took place in London a short time since. A Frenchman 
 had become proverbial among those with whom he was in the 
 habit of playing, for the unerring certainty with which he gained 
 from all who ventured to play with him. At last, as might be 
 expected, seeing no chance of winning, every one refused to en- 
 gage in the unequal trial ot skill. An Englishman who had 
 heard of the triumphs of Monsieur, expressed his readiness to 
 enter the lists with him. The parties played for three hours with- 
 out intermission, and at the end of that time were, in respect to 
 winning or losing, much about the same as when they com- 
 menced. They then stopped to have a little refreshment. " Sare," 
 said the Frenchmen, in a sort of whisper, to a party who accom- 
 panied the Englishman, " your friend is a very clever man at de 
 cards ;-^leuced clever, Sare." " He is a very clever fellow," ob- 
 served the Englishman. " I shall try him again," said Monsieur. 
 As he made the observation, he proceeded to the room in which 
 they had been playing, and which was fixed on as the scene of
 
 374 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 their future contest. He had scarcely quitted the place, when 
 the other made his appearance, and observed that the French- 
 man was the most skilful player he had ever met with. The 
 parties again met, and the cards were again produced. The 
 game was renewed at eleven o'clock, and continued without inter- 
 mission till six next morning. At the end of that time, to the 
 surprise of each other, they found that they had left off just as 
 they had begun. They were respectively the more astonished at 
 this, as neither had ever before met with his equal. " Sare," 
 said the Frenchman, " you are de best player I ever met with." 
 
 " And you, Monsieur," returned the other, a are the only gen- 
 tleman from whom I could gain nothing." 
 
 " Indeed, Sare," said Monsieur, hesitatingly. 
 
 " It's a fact, I assure you." 
 
 " Sare, I'm quite surprised at your skill." 
 
 " I'm no less so at yours, Monsieur." 
 
 " You're the most skilfullest man at de cards in England." 
 
 " Not while you are in it, Monsieur," replied the Englishman, 
 with a smile. 
 
 " Sare, I cheated, and yet could not gain from you," remarked 
 the Frenchman, hurriedly and with great emphasis, feeling it im- 
 possible any longer to restrain his surprise at the circumstance of 
 being unable to play a winning game with the Englishman. 
 
 " And, Monsieur, I did the same with you, and yet you are no 
 loser," remarked the other, with a corresponding energy of tone. 
 
 The enigma was now solved : both had been cheating the whole 
 night, though each was unconscious of the dishonest practices of 
 the other. And so equally matched were they in their dexterity 
 at cheating, that each rose from the table with the same amount 
 of money as that with which he sat down. The cheats cordially 
 shook hands, seemingly much gratified that they had at last ascer- 
 tained how it was that neither could gain from the other. 
 
 Persons who have never been in a gambling-house, have very 
 erroneous notions of how matters are conducted in those sinks of 
 iniquity. They suppose that there is the conversation, the witty 
 remark, the repartee, the laughter and good-humoured uproar, 
 if I may use the expression, which are the usual characteristic? 
 of social parties. There could not be a greater misapprehension 
 as to the real state of things. Gamblers know no friendship ex- 
 cept in those cases in which two or more of the hellites, or pro- 
 fessed gamblers, conspire together for the purpose of fleecing 
 some unfortunate person who, in an evil hour, has been induced 
 to enter one of these Pandemoniums. Not a word of conversa- 
 tion is to be heard : no smile is ever seen to light up the counte- 
 nances of those at play. What I witnessed in this respect, in 
 the gaming-house in the Regent Quadrant, is nightly to be seen
 
 GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 375 
 
 in every hell in the metropolis. In every face you see the deepest 
 anxiety and the most grasping avarice clearly depicted ; while in 
 the countenances of those who have been plundered of their 
 money, and have their last farthing at stake, you see a positively 
 horrible expression. Despair in its most frightful aspects is visi- 
 bly impressed in their looks. In many instances, you witness an 
 unearthly, I had almost said a demoniacal expression of coun- 
 tenance. It requires no effort to infer from their looks what 
 awful emotions are agitating their bosoms. Every eye is fixed 
 on the table, and on the dice, or cards, or ball, according to the 
 nature of the play that is going on at the time. The stillness of 
 the place is only broken by the rattling of the dice, the motions 
 of the wheel and ball, or by the person who presides over the 
 game announcing the result, or requesting the players to make their 
 game anew. In the very silence of the place there is often some- 
 thing awful ; made, of course, infinitely more so by the intense 
 interest which the parties feel in the result of the game. The 
 only occasions on which the voices of the parties are to be heard, 
 is when some unhappy man, who has been robbed of his money 
 by foul play, accuses the hellites, or the persons in their employ, 
 of having cheated him. The charge of cheating is one at which 
 these fellows invariably affect to be mightily indignant ; and 
 the more guilty of the crime, the louder they usually are in their 
 blustering, and in their pretended regard for their characters. 
 The victim who has the temerity to charge them with false play, 
 is sure to be a sufferer in person as well as in purse. Not con- 
 tent with heaping every abuse on his head, and uttering the most 
 dreadful imprecations, they usually resort, with the view of 
 silencing the party preferring the charge, to arguments of a phy- 
 sical kind ; that is to say, they have recourse to personal violence ; 
 and as the one invariably takes the part of the other, it is unne- 
 cessary to say that the unfortunate victim has no chance with 
 them. In the leading gaming establishments, they have a bully, 
 of superior pugilistic capabilities, regularly retained for the pur- 
 pose of inflicting fistic punishment on any party who may become 
 troublesome because he has been plundered of his money. The 
 cases are innumerable — they are of nightly occurrence, though 
 the parties are restrained from a desire not to expose them- 
 selves, from prosecuting the hellites for assault — in which poor 
 simpletons, who have been fleeced of their last farthing, have 
 received the most flagrant personal maltreatment* because they 
 have ventured to charge the parties who have plundered them of 
 their money, with unfair play. I could refer to various instances 
 
 * It may he right to say, that this applies chiefly to the transactions which take 
 place in the minor hfilll ,
 
 376 SKETCHED IN LONDON. 
 
 of this kind which have been communicated to me by the parties 
 who were the victims : that, however, is unnecessary. I will 
 only add, that a variety of cases have occurred, in which the 
 remonstrating party has not only been grossly assaulted, but 
 has actually been murdered, or has afterwards died of the 
 injuries he had received. Nor is this anything but what 
 might be expected; for the hellites are the most thoroughly 
 abandoned class of men under heaven. Their moral sense has 
 been utterly deadened by the series of crimes which they had 
 committed before they became the proprietors of gaming-houses : 
 of humanity, there exists not the slightest vestige in their bo- 
 soms. In short, they will never hesitate at the commission ot 
 any crime, no matter what its enormity, provided they think 
 there is a probability of their escaping the retribution which, the 
 laws of their country in all such cases inflict. 
 
 And the practice of gambling, it is right to remark, has the 
 same effect on almost every one who gives himself up to it, 
 whether a gaming-house proprietor or not. The instances are 
 exceedingly rare, in which the habitual gambler is not one of the 
 most vicious members of society. To this point 1 have alluded 
 in a previous part of the chapter. An utter disregard of all 
 virtue and friendship is a necessary consequence of gaming. The 
 man who, when he enters a gambling den for the first time, 
 would not be induced to do an unjust or unworthy action for 
 the world, will, by the time he has been a few months a gam- 
 bler, perpetrate the most atrocious actions without a compunc- 
 tious visiting at the time, or a pang of regret at an after period. 
 Nor is there anything too mean or ignoble for them to 
 do, provided it will administer to their propensity for the 
 gaming-table. A few months' attendance in one of these fearful 
 places robs a man of ail self-respect. I could give innumerable 
 illustrations of this, by a reference to individual cases. I shall 
 only allude to one ; it came under my own observation a year or 
 two ago, and possesses some singular features : — A young man of 
 most respectable connexions, and who possessed great talents in 
 the profession to which he belonged, had, in the course of two or 
 three years, got into a business which was producing from 
 1000/. to 1200/. per annum. He had every prospect of his busi- 
 ness considerably increasing. I am convinced, from what I my- 
 self knew of the circumstances, that in three or four years more 
 he would have annually made by his professional exertions from 
 1500/. to 2000/. Unfortunately, however, he had not the good 
 sense to let well alone. To make a fortune gradually, and by 
 means of his professional talents, appeared to him a too common- 
 place sort of affair. His fortune must not be made by the drud- 
 gery of business: it was far more aristocratic, and much more
 
 
 it .'-.it 
 
 
 
 R.OW
 
 GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 377 
 
 like a man of spirit, to become rich all at once. He had been 
 told — by those of course whose interest it was to deceive him — 
 that he might make a fortune in a few weeks, by a succession of 
 what are called "hits" at the gaming-table. He listened to the 
 voice which sought his ruin : he entered a Pandemonium ; and 
 in a few weeks not only was all his available money in the coffers, 
 or, to speak with technical precision, " the bank" of the hellites, 
 but also all the borrowed money he had been able by any effort to 
 raise. Instead of learning wisdom from sad and painful experi- 
 ence, and abjuring gambling for ever, he only became the more 
 desperately wedded to the dice-box and the cards. What might 
 have been expected, speedily took place : he lost his business en- 
 tirely, was disowned by his friends, and became a positive outcast 
 from society. As he could not under any pretext or by any inge- 
 nuity he possessed get his acquaintances to advance him a 
 sixpence more, he put his wits to the rack to devise methods by 
 which he could obtain money, or that which would produce 
 money, with the least amount of legal risk. He was in the habit 
 of going to the houses of former friends wherever he would still 
 be admitted, and stealing whatever portable articles of value 
 came within his reach. He managed his felonies very adroitly. 
 His favourite practice was to call at those early hours when the 
 mistress of the house was not likely to be seen, owing to her being 
 in dishabille, and when the probability consequently was, that 
 he would be shown into the drawing-room until such time as 
 she could put herself into a condition to see him. In such 
 cases, his custom was to snatch up whatever he deemed most 
 suitable for his purpose; and when walking out, to tell the servant 
 that he would not wait for Mrs. So-and-So, but would call again 
 in a day or two. As the lady of the house would not under 
 these circumstances be, in many cases, in the particular room 
 until some other person called, the article stolen would not be 
 missed, and thus an innocent party might be blamed. In one 
 such case, not seeing any other article sufficiently portable for 
 theft, he actually stole a pocket bible. On another occasion, 
 finding nothing of any value which was not too bulky for the 
 purposes of transfer to another locality, he actually stole a 
 Macintosh cloak which hung in the passage leading from the 
 street-door. But of all the thefts — many of them dexterously 
 committed — of which this young man was guilty, the most re- 
 markable and the most ungrateful one was the following. He 
 had gone to an old acquaintance, and laying before him the 
 deplorable circumstances to which he had been reduced, pointed 
 out to him a certain situation which was vacant, and besought 
 him to use his exertions to procure it for him. His friend, 
 though perfectly aware that the altered positioning Inch the young
 
 378 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 man stood, was to be ascribed wholly to his own foolishness, was 
 so convinced of his being incapable of doing a dishonest action, 
 that he became positively indignant when any charge of dis- 
 honesty was preferred against him in his hearing. Anxious to 
 do him a service, he took the young man with him to the office 
 of the gentleman in whose establishment a situation was vacant. 
 The parties were shown into a particular room by themselves ; 
 and on the other being called to speak to the gentleman who 
 had the situation to dispose of, he said to the young man, " Now 
 you wait here until I return, and I will let you know the result 
 of the application. I wish to Heaven it may be successful ; at all 
 events, I will do everything in my power to get the place for you. 
 I will be back in a few minutes." The friend of the young man 
 then quitted the apartment, leaving his cloak in the care of the 
 youthful ruined gambler. He had no sooner quitted the apart- 
 ment, than the young man snatched up the cloak, which was 
 quite new, and had cost six guineas, and proceeded forthwith to 
 a pawnbroker's with it. It is unnecessary to say that he never 
 afterwards inquired whether his friend was unsuccessful in his 
 application in his behalf or not. 
 
 But stealing was not the only means to which this youthful 
 victim of the gambling-table resorted in order to procure money 
 wherewith to indulge his propensity for play. He was in the 
 habit of making up false parcels, and delivering them at certain 
 offices and houses, pretending they had come a distance, and de- 
 manding several shillings for their carriage. In order to prac- 
 tise the imposition more effectually, he dressed himself in the 
 clothes of a porter, and so well imitated the manner and mode of 
 speaking of that class of men, that no one ever suspected he was an 
 impostor. In this way he contrived to raise, in small sums of 
 two and three shillings at a time, a considerable amount of 
 money. By-and-by, however, he overdid the thing. He went a 
 second time to a place in which he had in this way before swindled 
 a gentleman out of several shillings, when he was taken into cus- 
 tody, tried at the Old Bailey, convicted, and sentenced to twelve 
 months' imprisonment; which sentence he is now undergoing. 
 Thus, in the short space of three years, this young man, whose 
 circumstances were so excellent and his prospects so bright, has 
 been reduced not only to absolute penury, and to the loss of 
 friends and of society, but to the degradation attaching to a 
 convicted and imprisoned swindler. 
 
 I have before referred to the various games which are most 
 general in the hells of the metropolis : that at which the greatest 
 amount is lost or won in the shortest space of time, is French 
 Hazard. This is the game Avhich is almost invariably played in 
 Crockford's, and all the Pandemon : ums in which the nobility and
 
 OAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 379 
 
 gentry play. The loss of 10,000/., 15,000/, and even 20,000/., 
 at this game, by one person in one night, is an event which is 
 by no means of rare occurrence. It is well known, that a distin- 
 guished gambler ventured, a few years since, no less than 5000/. 
 on the result of a single game at French hazard ; which game 
 only occupied a few minutes in playing. 
 
 Gambling is an almost universal vice. Though more prevalent 
 in some countries than in others, it obtains to some extent in 
 every country. The mode of gambling is infinitely diversified ; 
 but each country has its favourite game. Lewis and Clarke, in 
 their " Travels to the Source of the Missouri," give an account 
 of the mode in which the Indians in that part of America gam- 
 ble. These travellers say — " The games are of two kinds. In 
 the first, one of the company assumes the office of banker, and 
 plays against the rest. He takes a small stone, about the size of 
 a bean, which he shifts from one hand to the other with great 
 dexterity, repeating at the same time a song adapted to the 
 game, and which serves to divert the attention of the company, 
 till, having agreed on the stake, he holds out his hands, and the 
 antagonist wins or loses as he succeeds or fails at guessing in 
 which hand the stone is. After the banker has lost his money, 
 or whenever he is tired, the stone is transferred to another, who 
 in turn challenges the rest of the company. The other game is 
 something like the play of nine-pins : two pins are placed on the 
 floor, about the distance of a foot from each other, and a small 
 hole made behind them. The players then go about ten feet 
 from the hole, into which they try to roll a small piece resem- 
 bling the men used at draughts. If they succeed in putting it 
 into the hole, they win the stake : if the piece rolls between the 
 pins, but does not go into the hole, nothing is won or lost ; but 
 the wager is wholly lost if the chequer rolls outside of the pins. 
 Entire days are Masted at these games, which are often continued 
 through the night, round the blaze of their fires, till the last 
 article of clothing, or even the last blue bead, is won from the 
 desperate adventurer." 
 
 D'Israeli, in his "Curiosities of Literature," gives some curi- 
 ous particulars respecting the vice of gambling, as practised in 
 the East. He says : — " Dice, and that little pugnacious animal 
 the cock, are the chief instruments employed by the numerous 
 nations of the East, to agitate their minds and ruin their for- 
 tunes : to which the Chinese, who are desperate gamblers, add 
 the use of cards. When all other property is played away, the 
 Asiatic gambler scruples not to stake his wife, or his child, on 
 the cast of a die, or courage and strength of a martial bird. It 
 still unsuccessful, the last venture he stakes is — himself! 
 
 " In the island of Ceylon, cock-fighting is carried to a great
 
 380 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 height. The Sumatrans are addicted to the use of dice. A 
 strong spirit of play characterises a Malayan. After having 
 resigned everything to the good fortune of the winner, he is 
 reduced to a horrid state of desperation : he then loosens a cer- 
 tain lock of hair, which indicates war and destruction to all the 
 raving gamester meets. He intoxicates himself with opium ; 
 and working himself up into a fit of phrenzy, he bites and kills 
 every one who comes in his way. But as soon as ever this lock 
 is seen flowing, it is lawful to fire at the person, and to destroy 
 him as fast as possible. I think it is this which our sailors call, 
 ' To run a muck/ Thus Dryden writes : 
 
 ' Frontless, and satire-proof, he scorn's the streets, 
 And runs an Indian muck at all he meets.' 
 
 Thus also Pope — 
 
 Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet 
 To run a muck, and tilt at all I meet.' 
 
 " Johnson could not discover the derivation of the word muck. 
 I think I have heard that it refers to their employing, on these 
 fatal occasions, a muck, or lance ; but my recollection is proba- 
 bly imperfect. 
 
 " To discharge their gambling debts, the Siamese sell their 
 possessions, their families, and, at length, themselves. The Chi- 
 nese play night and day, till they have lost all they are worth ; 
 and then they usually go and hang themselves. Such is the pro- 
 pensity of the Japanese for high play, that they were compelled 
 to make a law, that e Whoever ventures his money at play, shall 
 be put to death/ In the newly-discovered islands of the Pacific 
 Ocean, they venture even their hatchets, which they hold as 
 invaluable acquisitions, on running matches. ' We saw a man,' 
 as Cook writes in his last voyage, ' beating his breast and tear- 
 ing his haii', in the violence of rage, for having lost three hatchets 
 at one of these races, and which he had purchased with nearly 
 half his property.' 
 
 " The ancient nations were not less addicted to gaming. In 
 the same volume are collected numerous instances amongst the 
 ancient Persians, Grecians, and Romans ! the Goths, the Ger- 
 mans, &c. To notice the modern ones were a melancholy task : 
 there is hardly a family in Europe who cannot record, from their 
 own domestic annals, the dreadful prevalence of this unfortunate 
 passion. Affection has felt the keenest lacerations, and genius 
 been irrecoverably lost, by a wanton sport, which doomed to de- 
 struction the hopes of families, and consumed the heart of the 
 gamester with corrosive agony." 
 
 I could have given various passages from the works of travel-
 
 GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 381 
 
 lers in every part of the world, to prove my position, that the 
 vice of gambling is almost universal ; thus proving equally the 
 curse of civilized and barbarous society. That, however, is unne- 
 cessary. How it has thus come to be universally prevalent, is a 
 question which I am incompetent to solve. 
 
 I believe there is one feature in the gambling of London pecu- 
 liar to the English metropolis. I refer to the fact of the metro- 
 politan gamblers making stated visits to particular towns in the 
 provinces, for the purpose of prosecuting their " professional" 
 pursuits. All the places at which horse-racing, or sporting 
 amusements of any kind, take place, are regularly frequented by 
 the hell-keepers of London. Epsom, Ascot, Southampton, and 
 other favourite resorts of the patrons of the turf, are honoured 
 during the racing days with a number of portable hells. The 
 proprietors of the London Pandemoniums establish these movable 
 branch hells in the course of a few hours. A marquee or tent 
 suffices for the external part of the erection; and the bank, 
 the dice, the wheel, the balls, and sundry packs of cards — not 
 forgetting an ample supply of intoxicating liquors — are found all 
 that is necessary, in the shape of furniture, for the interior. I 
 went into one of these portable hells at the Southampton races 
 of last year; and during the time I remained there, I saw a 
 number of gentlemen plundered of very considerable sums. The 
 hellites reaped a rich harvest on that occasion. After living for 
 some days in Southampton in the greatest splendour, it is under- 
 stood, they returned to town laden with the spoils of simple un- 
 suspecting victims. At the Epsom races, too, of the present 
 year, a friend of mine, who was foolish enough to play — which is 
 almost synonymous with losing one's money, — states that gam- 
 bling was carried on by London hellites to an extent of which 
 none but those who were present, and witnessed the transactions 
 Avith their own eyes, could have any idea. And yet, though 
 thus notoriously carried on under the immediate observation of 
 the magistrates and the police, no one interfered to prevent her 
 Majesty's subjects from being robbed of their money. 
 
 With regard to the gaming-houses in London, I must say, in 
 conclusion, that the existence of so great a number of them, and 
 so openly, is a positive disgrace to a civilized, not to say a chris- 
 tian land. The legislature could easily put them down if it 
 pleased; but, unfortunately for society, it does not choose to inter- 
 fere. The reason is pretty obvious. A large proportion of our 
 legislators in both Houses are themselves confirmed gamblers : 
 nothing, therefore, is to be expected from parliament in the way 
 of suppressing the hells which infest the metropolis. 
 
 What, then, is to be done ? Must the evil, in all its awful 
 magnitude and crying enormity, be suffered to exist unmolested
 
 382 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 and ungrappled with ? Must the demon of the gambling-table 
 in the metropolis be permitted to have his thousands of victims 
 every year, without one effort being made to rescue a greater or 
 less number of them from his grasp? I know of no way in which 
 anything effective can be done to stay the wheels of this de- 
 structive Juggernaut — destructive at once of the fortunes and 
 morals of its worshippers — unless it be by the wise and good 
 doing all they can to expose the vice, so as that it may be seen 
 in all its native and horrible hideousness. For this purpose, it 
 were extremely desirable that some- sort of society, consisting of 
 virtuous and intelligent individuals, were formed, with the view 
 of bringing to light the odious deeds practised in the hells of 
 London; and the awful results, in the shape of suicides, trials at 
 the Old Bailey, want, and wretchedness, which follow. I am 
 sure that if young men were sufficiently aware of die nature of 
 these infamous dens before entering them, they would as soon 
 think of walking into the fire as of crossing their threshold. It 
 appears to me, that a small cheap periodical, detailing individual 
 cases of ruin effected in the hells of the metropolis, and exhibit- 
 ing the characters of the desperate and unprincipled fellows who 
 keep them, — would be productive of great good. Such a publi- 
 cation would be sure to have a large sale ; for nothing could be 
 more interesting — indeed, I may say, romantic — than the inci- 
 dents with which the annals of metropolitan gambling abound. 
 
 I am sure there would be no want of materials for conducting 
 such a periodical for at least some years to come. Many a victim 
 of play would feel a melancholy pleasure in recording in it his 
 own misfortunes. It would be to him some alleviation of his 
 own regrets and mortification, to think that he had turned his 
 crimes, or follies, if we must use the mildest term, into the 
 means of teaching virtue or wisdom to others. There are cer- 
 tain weekly journals which now devote a certain portion of their 
 space in every successive number to what they call an exposure 
 of the Hells of the metropolis ; and if, with all the drawbacks 
 which attach to the character of the publications in question, 
 men are found to relate, through them, the consequences of 
 their having frequented the gambling-houses, how much more 
 certainly might the conductors of any respectable periodical, 
 whose object really was to expose and suppress gambling, rely 
 on receiving an ample supply of authentic materials wherewith 
 to work on ? 
 
 Why such a society as that I have recommended should not 
 be formed, I can see no reason whatever. We have not only 
 societies of every form and class for the promotion of morality 
 and religion, but we have societies for the express purpose of 
 grappling with and putting down a variety of specific vices. We
 
 GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 383 
 
 have a most excellent society for putting an end to cruelty 
 to animals : we have sundry societies for the cure of intemper- 
 ance, including societies which only have for their object to do 
 away with the consumption of ardent spirits, and societies of a 
 yet more radical character, namely, to prohibit the use of wine, 
 or ale, or beer, or any other liquor whatever having in it intoxi- 
 cating qualities. We have a Universal Peace Society ; a society 
 whose object is to grapple with and put down the vice of war, 
 and to promote peace and harmony among all mankind. We 
 have, in short, societies for the promotion of almost everything 
 that is holy, just, and good, and the correction and extinction of 
 everything that is evil. And why not a Society for the Suppres- 
 sion of Gambling ? If the evils which result from this vice be as 
 numerous and great as we have stated — and they are far more 
 numerous, and of much greater magnitude — then surely a more 
 wise or commendable course could not be adopted by the friends 
 of humanity and virtue, than to form such a society at once. 
 I am convinced it would be most liberally and most generally 
 supported. Many an unhappy victim of the soul-and-body- 
 destroying vice of gambling, would be glad to co-operate in 
 rescuing others from the gulf into which he had flung his cha- 
 racter and fortune. Many a parent would rejoice in counte- 
 nancing, by every means in his power, the enorts which would 
 be made by such a society to prevent young men and others 
 from falling headlong into the pit prepared for them by the 
 hellites. I do believe that the effects of such a society would 
 speedily be to create in the country so strong an impression 
 against the pernicious vice of gambling, that men would not 
 only themselves feel ashamed that it should be known that they 
 had ever crossed the portals of a gaming-house, but that people 
 in general — I mean in England — would be ashamed to receive 
 those persons into society who were notorious gamblers. I have 
 a strong impression, that it is not until gambling be regarded 
 as a vice which disqualifies a man for admission into society, 
 that it will be compelled to hide its diminished head. At pre- 
 sent, among the higher classes — among a certain portion of 
 them, at least — instead of being ashamed of the practice of 
 gambling, many persons are forward to make a boast of their 
 having been at play, even when they have lost their money. 
 
 In the mean time, and until some great effort be made by a 
 body of individuals to bring public opinion to bear against the 
 destructive vice of gambling, I would warn all those into whose 
 hands this work may fall, to guard against indulging to too 
 great an extent in what is called "a hand at cards" among 
 private friends. The vice is one of a most insidious kind: it 
 imperceptibly grows on those who once give way, in however
 
 384 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 slight a degree, to it. Its rise and progress to a confirmed 
 incurable passion can, in thousands of instances, be traced to 
 playing at cards for purposes of pure amusement in parties of 
 friends. They begin, as before remarked, by playing for the 
 most trifling stakes, and not having the slightest wish to gain 
 a sixpence ; but it -will invariably be found, that the longer per- 
 sons play even at these games for amusement, and where the 
 stakes are consequently trifling, the more does the disposition 
 to proceed with the game grow upon them ; and that, from an 
 utter disregard, or rather entire thoughtlessness about gain, they 
 become mortified and depressed when they lose, and elated when 
 they win. It is ten to one but such parties, provided they re- 
 peat time after time playing for amusement, very soon become 
 anxious to play solely for money, without the slightest reference 
 lo amusement. For a time they may confine their play to 
 parties of private friends ; but sooner or later, if the disposition 
 to gamble for gain be not checked, they will undergo the natural 
 transition from the private party to the public Pandemonium. 
 And scarcely less certain is the relinquishment of the cards for 
 the more speedy decision of the game by means of the dice-box. 
 Gamblers are always impatient for the result. They cannot 
 brook delay or protraction. So much depends on the throw, 
 that it is no wonder they wish the point of who is to be the 
 gainer or loser to be decided with the greatest practicable expe- 
 dition. It is to the circumstance of a passion for expeditious 
 as well as deep play having become general, I might almost say 
 universal, among gamblers, that we are to ascribe the fact of 
 most persons running their course, or, in other words, squan- 
 dering away their fortunes, whether great or small, in so very 
 short a period
 
 885 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 
 
 Introduction of the new system — The old police — Number, salaries, &c., of the new 
 police — Their organization — Pensions for the aged and infirm of their number 
 recommended — Character of the new police — Difference between them and the old 
 police, in regard to their trustworthiness and efficiency — The city police — Its com- 
 position, and the expense of its maintenance — Number of the City police — Con- 
 templated amalgamation of the Metropolitan and City police — Diminution of crime 
 since the introduction of the new police — Their ingenuity in tracing out guilty 
 parties — Reference to the French svstem of police. 
 
 The sixth chapter of this work was devoted to the Police- 
 offices. The present will be exclusively occupied with the Con- 
 stabulary Force, including both the Metropolitan and City 
 Police. 
 
 The constabulary system which now exists is only, as most of 
 my readers are aware, of recent origin. It was introduced by 
 Sir Robert Peel in 1829. Previous to that time, the police of 
 the metropolis was in a most defective and inefficient state. It 
 was the subject of loud and general complaint. For upwards of 
 a quarter of a century the principles on which the old police force 
 were established, had been unqualifiedly condemned by every 
 one who had ever turned his attention to the subject. And no 
 wonder : for the number of felonies, and other offences of every 
 kind against property, which were weekly committed without 
 the parties being detected, or, at all events, without being brought 
 to justice, was almost incredible. Nor could it have been other- 
 wise ; for, in the first place, no attention was paid to the charac- 
 ter of the persons chosen to the office of constables. They were 
 almost, without exception, Irishmen of the very worst class in 
 point of moral character ; and, in addition to this, the smallness 
 of their wages — from \Ss.6d. to 17*. per week — necessarily ren- 
 dered them more liable to be bribed, than if they had been better 
 paid. They were not only notoriously in the pay of the keepers 
 of flash-houses, and other places for the concoction of schemes 
 for the commission of crime, but they might, in the majority of 
 cases, be bribed at the instance of any private gentleman who, 
 to use their own phraseology, " did the handsome," by "tipping" 
 them half a sovereign, however serious might be the charge on 
 
 n n
 
 386 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 which he had been taken into custody. They were not, in 
 fact, inspired with the spirit of their office. They had no plea- 
 sure in taking offenders into custody. They did not, as the new 
 police do, engage in the duties of thief-catching with gusto. 
 They preferred being suffered to crawl about as if there had 
 been no such animal as a thief in the metropolis, or to doze 
 away their time in a comfortable sleep, with their heads resting on 
 their arms, in their little portable boxes. Their cowardice, too, 
 as a body, was proverbial. Who does not remember the ever- 
 lasting " rows" which the young men of the metropolis used to 
 have with them on their return home from their convivial meet- 
 ings." The "Charlies, as the old watch were usually called, 
 were always considered legitimate subjects for a " sound drub- 
 bing." The fact was, that between the timidity of some, and 
 the helplessness of others — for many of them were very feeble 
 and advanced in life — they often were assaulted by half-drunken 
 youths with impunity. With the present policemen, "young 
 blades," as the phrase is, take special care not to interfere. One 
 very rarely hears of any one attacking them. The reason is 
 obvious. They are a body of men of great physical vigour and 
 activity ; and in the great majority of cases, are men of spirit 
 and courage. A more feeble and inefficient set of men than the 
 old police could scarcely have been got together. But, in addi- 
 tion to the mental and physical incompetency of the old consta- 
 bulary force for the performance of the duties which were 
 entrusted to them, the want of intercourse with each other 
 greatly impaired their efficiency. They were chosen by the 
 various parishes, and all the police in a particular parish were 
 entirely under the control of the authorities of that parish. The 
 consequence was, that there was nothing like concert among 
 them. Responsibility did not rest anywhere. The authorities 
 in one parish had their constant quarrels and bickerings with 
 the authorities of other parishes, which was the direct way to 
 prevent any general understanding among them in regard to the 
 best means of repressing crime. 
 
 The amount of crime committed in the metropolis under this 
 defective system of police was, as might have been expected, very 
 great. No man's property was safe ; and the difficulty which 
 was then experienced in bringing the offender to justice, had the 
 effect of preventing many of the parties robbed from engaging in 
 the pursuit. Thus the inefficiency of the police establishment 
 encouraged men, on the one hand, to commit crime, while, on the 
 other, it deterred the parties against whom crimes were commit- 
 ted, from incurring the trouble and expense of bringing the of- 
 fenders to justice. Crimes were committed under this system in 
 open day, and under circumstances which would otherwise have
 
 THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 387 
 
 been deemed of a most daring nature. Every one not only com- 
 plained of the defective state of the police while in this condition ; 
 but various were the suggestions thrown out from time to time 
 in the public journals, with the view of remedying the evils. 
 But no sufficiently comprehensive scheme* was thought of until, 
 in 1829, Sir Robert Peel brought forward his plan for a more 
 efficient system. The difference in the amount of crime now, and 
 what it Mas previous to the introduction of the new police force, 
 is a point to which I shall return in an after part of the chapter. 
 
 When the new police were formed in 1829, the total number 
 was 3314. These consisted of 17 superintendents, 68 inspectors, 
 323 sergeants, and 2906 constables. Since then, the number 
 has been gradually increasing. What it is at present, I have 
 not been able to learn ; but six months since it was, in round 
 numbers, 3500. These 3500 are entrusted with the protection 
 of the persons and property of about a million and a half of her 
 Majesty's subjects ; that being supposed to be the amount of the 
 metropolitan population, exclusive of the City. If this estimate 
 of the population ot London outside the walls of the City be cor- 
 rect, it would give us one police constable to every 425 persons. 
 
 The new police are under the control ol two commissioners, 
 each having a salary of 800/. per year. The present commis- 
 sioners are Colonel Rowan and Mr. Richard Mayne. The 17 
 superintendents have each an annual salary of 200/. The 68 in- 
 spectors severally receive a yearly salary of 100/. ; the 323 ser- 
 geants individually receive 58/. per annum for their services; 
 while the pay of the common constables is 195. per week. 
 Where the party is single, a deduction of one shilling is made 
 in the event of lodgings being found for him. If married, 
 and lodgings are found for the party, a special agreement must 
 be made in each case. In addition to his weekly pay of 1 9s., the 
 private constable is entitled to as much clothing as is equal to 
 two suits in the course of a year. The entire yearly expense ot 
 the metropolitan police is 240,000/. Of this sum, 60,000/. is 
 paid out of the consolidated fund, and the rest is made up by a 
 rate on the parishioners. 
 
 The district embraced by the metropolitan police is formed 
 into seventeen divisions. The number of men and officers, and 
 the constitution of the force, is the same in each division ; but 
 "in laying out the division, attention has been paid to local and 
 other circumstances determining the number of nun required, 
 the superficial extent varying in the several divisions, and conse- 
 quently that portion of each which is committed to the can: of 
 each man/' Each division is subdivided into eighl sections, and 
 each section into eight beats. " The limits of each of these/' 
 says the form of instruction issued, "are clearly defined: each is 
 
 I) o 2
 
 G8S SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 numbered, and the number entered in a book kept for the pur- 
 pose. Each division has an appropriate local name, and is also 
 designated by a letter of the alphabet. There is in every divi- 
 sion a station, or watch-house, placed as conveniently for the 
 whole as may be, according to circumstances. From this point 
 all the duty of the division is carried on." It is also stipulated 
 in the " Instructions" given, that the men belonging to each 
 section shall, as far as may be found practicable, lodge together 
 near to the place of their duty, in order to render them speedily 
 available in case the services of such as are off duty should be 
 required for any special emergency. There is a distinct company 
 for each division ; and each company is divided into sixteen 
 parties, each party consisting of one sergeant and nine men. 
 Four sergeant's parties, being a fourth part of the company, 
 form one inspector's party. The whole company is under the 
 command of a superintendent. Every police constable is con- 
 spicuously marked with the letter of a division, and also with a 
 number corresponding with his name in the books belonging to 
 the body. The object of this is, to enable the public at once to 
 identify the party in the event of there being any ground of com- 
 plaint against the constables, whether by overdoing their duty, 
 or not doing it all. The letter of the alphabet marked on the 
 collar of each policeman's coat, denotes the particular district in 
 which he serves. A represents Whitehall; B, Westminster; 
 C, St. James's ; D, Marylebone ; E, Holborn ; F, Covent Gar- 
 den ; G, Finsbury; H, Whitechapel ; K, Stepney; L, Lambeth; 
 M, Southwark; N, Islington; P, Camberwell ; R, Greenwich; 
 S, Hampstead ; T, Kensington ; and V, Wandsworth. 
 
 The course to be adopted when a person wishes to become a 
 member of the metropolitan police force, is sufficiently easy and 
 simple. He has only to present a petition to the commissioners, 
 accompanied with a certificate as to good character from two 
 respectable householders in the parish in which he resides. In- 
 quiry is then made relative to the parties signing the certificate; 
 and it being found that they are respectable men, Avhose testi- 
 mony as to the applicant's character may be relied on, his name 
 is put on the list of eligible candidates for the situation whenever 
 a vacancy shall occur. I need scarcely say that, before appoint- 
 ment, the party is examined by a surgeon, to see that he suffers 
 under no physical defect which would prevent the efficient dis- 
 charge of his duties. It is also requisite that he should be under 
 thirty-five years of age, and that he be five feet eight inches in 
 height. The average time which an applicant has to wait, after 
 his name has been inserted in the list of persons eligible to the 
 office, is about eight weeks. Should, however, a party deem it 
 an object to get appointed with the utmost practicable expedi-
 
 THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 389 
 
 tion, he may succeed in the short space of ten or twelve days, by 
 getting some personal friend of either of the commissioners to 
 use his influence on the applicant's behalf. The usual form of a 
 petition and certificates from rate-payers, and so forth, are dis- 
 pensed with in such cases. All that is necessary on the part of 
 the applicant is, that he be able-bodied, the proper height, and 
 not beyond his thirty-fifth year. 
 
 Nothing could be more complete than the organization of the 
 metropolitan police. Each party or company is divided into 
 fours ; the first four being on duty for a given time, and the 
 other four coming to their relief, just as in the case of soldiers, 
 whenever their allotted period has expired. It is the duty of 
 the sergeant to see that this arrangement is strictly attended 
 to, and also that the parties take the night and day watches 
 alternately. Two of the inspectors are always on duty at once. 
 One of them examines into the state of matters throughout the 
 division ; for which purpose he is constantly going about among 
 the men : the other inspector is stationed at the watch-house to 
 receive charges, complaints, and all applications for assistance. 
 The various sergeants throughout the division regularly report to 
 the inspectors the existing state of affairs within their respective 
 districts. When the men are relieved, they must all assemble at 
 a particular spot, just as when about to go on duty, in order that 
 the sergeant may see that they are all sober, and as correctly 
 dressed as when he marched them to the scene of their duties. 
 It is thus impossible that any dereliction of duty or improper 
 conduct can take place in the case of any of the men, without 
 its being immediately brought under the notice of the superin- 
 tendent ; and, through him, where the case may be such as to 
 require it, under the notice of the commissioners. The latter 
 gentlemen may dismiss any of their men at a moment's notice, 
 and without assigning any reason for such dismissal. It is from 
 time to time impressed on the mind of each police constable, that 
 he must make himself perfectly acquainted with all the parts of 
 the streets, courts, thoroughfares, outhouses, &c, of the section 
 of the metropolis constituting his beat. He is also expected — a 
 thing which may at first sight appear impossible — " to possess 
 such a knowledge of the inhabitants of each house as will enable 
 him to recognize their persons." He is further expected to see 
 every part of his beat once in ten, or at least fifteen minutes, 
 unless in such cases as it may be deemed necessary to remain in 
 a particular place for a longer period, to watch the conduct of 
 some suspected person. A printed copy of instructions as to 
 how he shall act in almost every conceivable case, is given to the 
 police constable on his appointment to the office ; so that if he 
 either neglect or exceed his duty, the fault — with a very few
 
 390 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 exceptions, in which there may exist doubts as to the course he 
 should adopt — is sure to rest with himself. 
 
 The new police are a remarkably fine body of men. As only 
 nine years have elapsed since their formation, and as no one was 
 admitted who was not under thirty-five years of age, they are all 
 in the prime of life. Then their constant exercise has a natural 
 tendency to render them healthy : nor must it be forgotten, that 
 the circumstance of being five feet eight inches in height insures 
 their being at least the ordinary size. And their natural 
 advantages in these respects are improved by their manner of 
 dressing. They are not only always clean, but the form of their 
 clothes is well adapted to exhibit their persons to the best 
 advantage. 
 
 It is to be regretted, for their own sakes, and indirectly for the 
 sake of the public, that no provision in the shape of pension is 
 made for those of the new police who may be disabled from the 
 performance of their duties while engaged in the public service, 
 or when old age overtakes them. Many instances have occurred 
 in which the most meritorious of their number have been so 
 severely assaulted — sometimes by drunken " gentlemen," at 
 others by sturdy beggars — when in the performance of their 
 duty, as to be unable afterwards either to perform the duties 01 
 policemen, or to provide for themselves or family by engaging in 
 any other occupation. Now it is surely manifest injustice to 
 allow men to be incapacitated for all future work through per- 
 sonal injuries received in consequence of a zealous and faithful 
 discharge of their duties, and yet deny them any provision for 
 their support. But apart from their liability to receive personal 
 injuries of the serious nature alluded to, there is the certainty, if 
 their life is to be spared, of old age, with all its concomitant in- 
 firmities. What a miserable prospect for these men do advanced 
 years present ! By the time they attain a certain age, they will, 
 in the nature of things, be unfit for the continued discharge of 
 the duties of their office ; and just at that moment they will 
 be turned adrift without a farthing in the world, and with- 
 out the physical ability to earn as much as would procure 
 them the most scanty means of subsistence. How galling must 
 be the reflection to them, that they have spent their best days in 
 the public service, and are now, like the aged greyhound in the 
 fable, unable any longer to catch the hare, — to have all their 
 former meritorious conduct forgotten, and themselves dismissed ! 
 Were their pay such as that with prudence and economy they 
 might contrive to make some provision for old age, the matter 
 would be different; but it is barely sufficient, in such a place as 
 London, to afford them the means of a homely subsistence. No 
 man, not prepared to deny himself the most common necessaries
 
 THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 3J)1 
 
 of life, could save a sixpence out of nineteen shillings per week. 
 The consequence of this insufficient pay, and no pension in the 
 case of accident or being overcome by old age, must necessarily 
 be to diminish their zeal and enterprise in the public service, and 
 to cause them to avail themselves of any opportunity which pre- 
 sents itself of getting a livelihood in some other way. It is well 
 known that many of the most meritorious of their number have 
 quitted the service and engaged in other avocations. This 
 would not be the case, were some provision for the future made 
 for them by means of a pension. It would not be necessary that 
 that pension should be lai*ge. Just as much — say six or seven 
 shillings a-week — as would be sufficient to protect them against 
 actual starvation, or the other horrible alternative, the work- 
 house, would, I am sure, be satisfactory to them. Some time ago, 
 there was a report in the newspapers that something was in 
 contemplation by the Home Secretary, with the view of making- 
 some permanent certain pension for the police, in case of acci- 
 dents, or the approach of old age ; but I am not aware that 
 the report was founded in truth. If, however, some such 
 provision be not made for them, not only will they be most 
 ungenerously and ungratefully treated by the country, but the 
 circumstance will speedily impair the efficiency and lessen the 
 respectability of the body ; and the public will consequently be 
 the sufferers, in the diminished security of person and property. 
 The new police were for some time very unpopular. There 
 was a natural tendency in the minds of the people to look with 
 suspicion on a body with very enlarged powers, and which had 
 been constituted in a manner different from any previous con- 
 stabulary force which had been known in this country. These 
 suspicions were converted into positive apprehensions by the 
 clamorous opposition got up to the new police by one or two 
 journals circulating largely among the lower orders of the com- 
 munity. Every movement they made was narrowly watched ; 
 and every action they performed was made the subject of severe 
 criticism, — often of downright misrepresentation. The result 
 \\as, that the public prejudice, especially as regarded the work- 
 ing classes in the metropolis, became so strong against the new 
 constabulary force, that the impression began to gain ground 
 that the experiment — for it was admitted by Sir Robert Peel 
 and others to be in some respects nothing more than an experi- 
 ment — would not succeed, but that the body must be broken up, 
 and a recurrence to something like the old system take place. 
 The vast diminution, however, in the amount of crime committed 
 in town, and the great addition to the number of cases in which 
 the offenders were detected, taken into custody, and prosecuted 
 to conviction, soon became sufficiently apparent to remove
 
 ,*J92 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 gradually the prejudices so strongly and generally entertained 
 against the new force, and to make it popular with the public. 
 The experience of nine years has confirmed the predictions of 
 good from it, made by the authors of the measure. Person and 
 property are now incomparably safer than they were under the 
 old system. The new police are now the objects of universal ap- 
 probation, and most deservedly so. But this is a point to which 
 I shall afterwards have occasion to make incidental allusions 
 before I come to the end of the chapter. 
 
 I have not access to an official account of the number of per- 
 sons taken into custody by the metropolitan police for any of the 
 last four or five years. In 1831, the number of persons they 
 took into custody was 72,824 ; of whom 45,907 were males, and 
 26,917 were females. This, on an average, would give the 
 number of persons taken into custody every year by each police- 
 man, as eighteen or twenty ; 3300 being about the number of 
 constables in the metropolitan police establishment at the period 
 in question. And how, it will be asked, were all the charges 
 brought against those 72,824 persons disposed of ? In this way: 
 — 2955 of them were committed for trial; 21,843 were sum- 
 marily convicted: 24,585 were discharged ; and 23,787, being 
 cases of drunkenness unaccompanied with any other crime, the 
 parties were dismissed by the superintendents when they became 
 sober. 
 
 The integrity and trustworthiness of the new police, considered 
 as a body, are above all praise. It is surprising in how few 
 instances charges of corruption have been preferred, far less 
 proved, against any of their number. One scarcely ever hears of 
 such a charge. There seems to be a spirit of rivalry as to who 
 shall be the most honest — if the expression be a proper one — as 
 well as to who shall be the most active and enterprising among 
 the body. This is a feeling which ought to be cultivated by the 
 commissioners and the government. Somebody, on one occasion, 
 made the remark to me, in conversing on this point, that so great 
 is their delight and such their honesty in the discharge of their 
 duties, that if they found their own fathers or brothers commit- 
 ting a cognizable offence, they would not hesitate an instant in 
 conveying them to the station-house. This is, no doubt, over- 
 colouring the thing ; still I am convinced that their faithfulness 
 to the trust reposed in them is so great, that the motive must be 
 exceedingly powerful indeed which could prevail on them to betray 
 that trust. One such instance, and only one, consists with nry 
 own knowledge. A policeman, having undoubted evidence of a 
 lady uttering forged five-pound notes, knowing them to be forged, 
 determined on taking her into custody as soon as he should have 
 Buch evidence as Mould prove conclusive in the eye of the law.
 
 THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 393 
 
 That evidence he eventually obtained; and accordingly proceed- 
 ed, dressed in plain clothes*, to her house for the purpose of 
 taking her into custody in the quietest and most delicate manner 
 possible. On calling at her residence, which was in the West-end, 
 and had a handsome exterior, he was shown up to the drawing- 
 room, where he stood for a few seconds confounded with the 
 dazzling brilliancy of everything around him. The lady promptly 
 made her appearance, and he was about to intimate to her, in 
 the politest way possible, the purport of his visit. He was, how- 
 ever, so overpowered by her sin-passing beauty and dignified 
 appearance, that he was unable to utter a word ; and actually, 
 solely from the impression the lady's beauty and manner made 
 upon him, quitted the place without performing his duty, or 
 even hinting to the lady what the object of his visit had been ; 
 but contented himself with getting up the most ingenious pre- 
 text he could, for having called on her. She did not even know, 
 for some years afterwards, that he belonged to the constabulary 
 force. Fortunately for him, he had acted in this instance with- 
 out consulting any of his colleagues or superiors ; and conse- 
 quently he could decline performing his duty without exposing 
 himself to any serious personal consequences. This, in my opi- 
 nion — and the fact may be relied on, — is one of the most striking 
 conquests which ever female beauty achieved. What a proof of 
 its power ! Disarming a policeman and deterring him from the 
 discharge of his duty in the way I have described, reminds me 
 of the resistless fascinations of poor Sheridan's manner. I for- 
 get whether it be Byron or Moore, but one of them has related 
 an anecdote of his having, by his exceedingly winning manner 
 and address, staved off the legal proceedings which an attorney 
 had instituted against him to recover an amount of money which 
 he owed to a third party. This single fact spoke more for the 
 singularly fascinating manner of Sheridan, than a huge quarto 
 volume could have done. 
 
 Before the establishment of the new force, charges of corrup- 
 tion were not only frequently preferred, but proved against the 
 police. The Parliamentary Committee of L828, after referring 
 to the great number of compromises which parties robbed f had 
 
 * I should also state that he was an inspector, and had a very gentlemanly 
 appearance. 
 
 " f These parties chiefly refer to hankers. To give some idea of the extent to which 
 hank robberies were then carried, it may he interesting to quote some extracts from 
 the evidence of the Parliamentary Committee just mentioned. They say — " Two 
 banks that had been severally robbed of notes to the amount of 1000/., recovered 
 them on payment of 1000/. each. In another case, 2200/. was restored out of 3200/. 
 stolen, for 230/. or 240/. This hank having called in their old circulation, ami issued 
 fresli notes immediatelj after the robbery, the difficulty thus occasioned was the cause 
 of not much above L0/, per cent, being demanded. In another ease, Spanish bonds,
 
 .394 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 made with the thieves, goes on to express its conviction at some 
 length — a conviction founded on the evidence, on oath, of various 
 "witnesses — that some of the leading individuals connected with 
 the police establishments of that period had been guilty of very 
 serious corruption. In one case, eight hundred pounds more was 
 received by the police officer who negotiated for the recovery of 
 stolen property than the thieves asked or received. It is, no 
 doubt, true, that in many instances the police, on becoming the 
 instruments through whom compromises between the thieves and 
 the parties whose property was stolen should be effected, Mere 
 actuated by no dishonest motive; or rather did not see anything 
 morally wrong in getting forty or fifty pounds to themselves for 
 the part they took in the negotiation, in cases where, otherwise, 
 no part of the property would have been recovered. Still the 
 thing was decidedly improper, and was attended with the worst 
 results. The committee in question, in reference to this, very 
 justly remark, " That the frequency of these seemingly blameless 
 transactions has led to the organization of a system which under- 
 mines 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 wealthy enough, if large rewards are offered for 
 the detection, to double them for their impunity; and who would, 
 in one case, have given a thousand pounds to get rid of a single 
 witness. Some of these persons ostensibly carry on a trade : one 
 
 nominally worth 2000/., were given back on payment of 100/. A sum, not quite 
 amounting to 20,000/., was, in one case, restored for 1000/. In another, where bills 
 had been stolen of 16,000/. or 17,000/. value, but which were not easily negotiable by 
 the thieves, restitution of 6000/. was offered 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 1000/., 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 7000/., and the supposed robbers had 
 been apprehended, and remanded by the magistrates for examination, the prosecution 
 was suddenly desisted from, and the property subsequently restored for a sum not 
 ascertained by the Committee. In the case of another bank, the sum stolen not being 
 less than 20,000/., is stated to have been bought of the thieves by a receiver for 200/ ; 
 and 2800/. taken of the legal owners as the price of restitution. The Committee does 
 not think it necessary to detail all the cases which have been disclosed to them ; but 
 though it is evident they have not been informed of anything like all the transactions 
 that must have occurred under so general a system, they have proof of more than six- 
 teen banks having sought by these means to indemnify themselves for their losses: and 
 that property of various sorts, to the value of above 200,000/., has, within the last few 
 years, been the subject of negotiation or compromise. They have found it difficult, 
 for many reasons, to ascertain, in several of the cases they have examined, the actual 
 payments made to the thieves or receivers; but they have proof of nearly 12,000/. 
 having been paid to them by bankers only, accompanied with a clearance from every 
 risk and perfect impunity to their crimes." What a state of things is here disclosed! 
 It is no wonder though the integrity of the police of that period was suspected.
 
 THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 395 
 
 who had been tried formerly for robbing a coach, afterwards car- 
 ried on business as a Smithfield 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 prin- 
 cipal have been pointed out. One was lately the farmer of one 
 of the greatest turnpike trusts in the metropolis. He was for- 
 merly tried for receiving the contents of a stolen letter ; and as 
 a receiver of tolls, 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 army. Two others 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//' Such a state of 
 things no longer exists. There are still receivers of stolen pro- 
 perty, but none in this wholesale and open way. The vigilance 
 of the police has put an end to this system. Not only have the 
 present police largely contributed to the suppression of crime in 
 the metropolis by their own watchfulness, activity, and enter- 
 prise, but they have indirectly contributed to the improved state 
 of things by the spirit of emulation which they have excited in 
 the leading men belonging to the City Police, and the officers 
 attached to the various police office establishments in London. 
 
 The city of London has a police establishment of its own, over 
 which the Court of Aldermen and other functionaries have an 
 entire a^d exclusive control. The constabulary force of the City 
 is divided into two classes — a day and a night police. The day 
 police consists of one superintendent, at a salary of 143/. per an- 
 num, exclusive of 9/. 18s. for clothes; two inspectors, with a 
 yearly salary each of 87/. 2s., and '/I. Ss. 9f<tf. for clothing; one 
 inspector, at an annual salary of 83/. 4s., and jl. 8s. 9|</. for 
 clothing ; one sergeant (Smithfield), whose yearly salary is 
 (')(>/. 6s., with 41. 16s. 3%d. for apparel ; nine sergeants, at an 
 annual salary each of 58/. 105., and 41. 16s. 3%d. for clothing; 
 seventeen constables (Smithfield), severally at yearly salaries of 
 57" 4.§., and 41. 16s. 3§d. for clothing; three constables at 
 12/. 6s. each, with 41. 16s. 3%d. for wearing apparel; and sixty 
 constables, each at 49/. 8*. yearly salary, with 41. 16s. 3%d. for 
 clothing. In addition to these, there are sixteen or eighteen con- 
 stables, of different grades; but all in some way or other are con- 
 nected with the ordinary police establishment at the Mansion- 
 house and Guildhall. The entire yearly expense of maintaining 
 the day constabulary force of the City, including the salaries of 
 a clerk and a surgeon, and the pensions allowed to eleven old 
 and infirm police servants of a former day, was, in 1835, 7,2f>2/. 
 J _'... [) x d. It is much about the same now.
 
 396 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 The nightly police o f the City, exclusive of 65 superintending 
 watchmen, 91 patrolling watchmen, and 47 beadles, numbers 
 453. Each of these is paid by the hour. Threepence per hour 
 is the sum allowed ; which, for twelve hours per day, would give 
 one guinea per week each. The yearly salaries of the superin- 
 tendants vary in different wards from 85/. down to 52/. The 
 wages of the patrolling watchmen fluctuate between nine* shil- 
 lings and twenty-five shillings per week each ; while the annual 
 pay of the beadles varies from 50/. to 100/. The entire expense 
 of the nightly watch of the City is 34,924/. 18s. 6d. per annum. 
 
 The whole yearly expense of the police of the City is divided 
 into three branches, thus : — 
 
 Marshal and Marshalmen . . . £1,675 6 
 
 Day Police 7,262 12 9} 
 
 Nightly Watch 34,924 18 6 
 
 Making a total of .... £43,862 17 3J 
 
 It will thus be seen that, considering the proportion in regard 
 to numbers which the City bears to the metropolitan police, the 
 latter are considerably less expensive than the former; while 
 any one who knows anything of the comparative efficiency of the 
 two forces, must give the palm of superiority at once to the 
 metropolitan body. This superiority is easily accounted for. In 
 the choice of men for the metropolitan police, private influence, 
 except in very rare cases, is not exercised; and were it so, would 
 not be attended to : in the choice of men for the City police, a 
 good deal of this influence is exercised with effect. Again, all 
 the metropolitan policemen are young and active : in the case ot 
 the City constabulary body, many of them are considerably ad- 
 vanced in life, and consequently are not so full of enterprise and 
 spirit. But that, perhaps, which chiefly gives the superiority to 
 the metropolitan police is, the admirable manner in which they 
 are organized. It were difficult to conceive of anything more 
 perfect than is the organization of that body. 
 
 It is understood that the Home Secretary is anxious for a 
 junction or amalgamation of the metropolitan and City police 
 forces, but that the civic authorities are opposed to it. Their 
 opposition to any such proposal was to be expected. They have 
 always shown themselves to be exceedingly jealous of their own 
 pecvdiar privileges, and determined to preserve them even in cases 
 where the public interest would have been manifestly and more 
 materially promoted by their relinquishment. But if they will 
 
 * Of course, it will be understood, that where the salary is as low as this, there 
 is hardly any duty to be performed.
 
 THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 397 
 
 not listen to any proposal for placing their constabulary body 
 under the control of the Home Secretary, as- the metropolitan 
 police are, why do they not assimilate their own force as much 
 as possible, in regard to their organization, to the metropolitan 
 body? 
 
 It must be admitted, that an improvement has taken place of 
 late in the City constabulary force. They are far more effective 
 than they were before the metropolitan body was established ; 
 but it is not to be denied, that a great deal more might yet be 
 done, even without the City authorities relinquishing their exclu- 
 sive control over their constables. 
 
 I have said that there has been a great diminution in the 
 amount of crime committed in London, since the institution of 
 the new police. Almost all the extensive confederations which 
 then existed for the purpose of carrying on a regularly organized 
 system of robbery, and other crimes against property and 
 person, have been broken up, and scattered in all directions. 
 We no longer hear of acts of wholesale plunder, or of thieves 
 being leagued together, and carrying on an organized system o 
 war against property, in bands of twenties or thirties. What is 
 now done, in the way of housebreaking or felony, is usually done 
 by some adventurer on his own account, or by small partnerships 
 of two or three. Nor do Ave now hear of the ingenuity of former 
 thieves, in defeating the ends of justice; an ingenuity which often 
 gave an air of rich romance to the adventures of the parties. 
 The thieves of the present day, owing to the vigilance of the 
 new police, have but few and slender opportunities of displaying 
 any ingenuity they possess; in other words, their "affairs" are not 
 now attempted on that large and daring scale on which they 
 were formerly done. Ingenuity itself finds it impossible to get 
 even skilful plans of robbery laid, far less executed. The achieve- 
 ments of our present thieves are poor and spiritless, compared 
 with the triumphs of their predecessors ten or twelve years 
 since. What the state of crime in the metropolis then* was, 
 
 * A history of the state of crime in the metropolis, from the beginning of the last 
 century up to the present period, would form a very curious chapter. About a hun- 
 dred years ago, the number of robbers in London was so great, and such was their 
 daring and desperate character, that persons were afraid, even in the middle of the 
 day, to cross Moorfields, then an open sort of common, or of going alone to any of 
 the unfrequented parts of the suburbs. The number of robberies then committed in 
 daylight, in the Buburbsof London, was very great. At night they were, as might be 
 expected, still greater. Some curious accounts, relative to the stale of crime in the 
 metropolis, in the early part of the last century, will be found in several of the works 
 respecting London, which appeared during the first half of thai century. In the early 
 pari of the second ball' of last century, there Beeraa to have been do improvement, as 
 regards the number of robberies committed ; though they appear to have been, in most 
 cases, attended with less personal \ iolence, and to have been committed under circum- 
 stances of greater secrecy. Henry Fielding, the celebrated novelist, and who was one
 
 398 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 may be inferred from the statements made by authorities of un- 
 doubted veracity, and who had ample opportunities of forming 
 an accurate opinion on the subject. The Parliamentary Com- 
 mittee which sat in 1828, to inquire into the state of the police 
 in the metropolis, brought a great many facts to light, illustra- 
 tive of the extent to which crime then prevailed in London. An 
 author, who had the very best opportunities of acquiring correct 
 information on the subject, says that the number of persons who 
 then lived by thieving in the metropolis, could not be under 
 30,000 ; and that the amount of property annually stolen must 
 have been close on 2,000,000/. Now, I will venture to say — and 
 
 if the magistrates of Middlesex at the time, wrote a small work, ahout the year 1755 
 jn the subject of the prevalence of the crime of robbery in London at that time. It 
 was dedicated to Lord Hardwicke, then Lord Chancellor of Great Britain, and was 
 intitled " An Inquiry into the Causes of the Increase of Robberies, &c." Mr. Field- 
 ing commences his work in these words : — " The great increase of robberies within 
 these few years, is an evil which, to me, appears to deserve some attention ; and the 
 rather, as it seems, though already become so flagrant, not yet to have arrived to that 
 height of which it is capable, and which it is likely to attain ; for diseases in the political 
 as in the natural body seldom fail going on to their crisis, especially when nourished and 
 encouraged by faults in the constitution. In fact, I make no doubt, but that the streets 
 of this town, and the roads leading to it, will shortly be impassable, without the utmost 
 hazard ; nor are we threatened with seeing less dangerous gangs of rogues among us than 
 those which the Italians call the banditti." Again : — " For my own part, I cannot help 
 regarding these depredations in a most serious light ; nor can I help wondering that a 
 nation so jealous of her liberties, that from the slightest cause, and often from no cause 
 at all, we are always murmuring at our superiors, should tamely and quietly support the 
 invasion of her property by a few of the lowest and vilest among us. Doth not this situ- 
 ation in reality level us with the most enslaved countries ? If I am to be assaulted, and 
 pillaged, and plundered; if I can neither sleep in my own house, nor walk the streets, 
 nor travel in safety, is not my condition almost equally bad, whether a licensed or unli- 
 censed rogue, a dragoon or a robber, be the person who assaults and plunders me ? 
 The only difference which I can perceive is, that the latter evil appears to be more easy 
 to remove. If this be, as I clearly think it is, the case, surely there are few matters of 
 more general concern than to put an immediate end to these outrages, which are already 
 become so notorious, and which, as I have observed, seem to threaten us with such a 
 dangerous iucrease. What, indeed, may not the public apprehend, when they are 
 informed, as an unquestionable fact, that there is at this time a great gang of rogues 
 whose number falls little short of a hundred, who are incorporated in one body, have offi- 
 cers and a treasury, and have reduced theft and robbery into a regular system. There 
 are of this society, men, who appear in all disguises, and mix in most companies. 
 Nor are they better versed in every art of cheating, thieving, and robbing, than they 
 are armed with every method of evading the law, if they should ever be discovered, 
 and an attempt made to bring them to justice. Then, if they fail in rescuing the pri- 
 soner, or (which seldom happens) in bribing or deterring the prosecutor, they have, 
 for their last resource, some rotten members of the law to forge a defence for them, 
 and a great number of false witnesses ready to support it." 
 
 " And when Colquhoun wrote his " Treatise on the Police of the Metropolis," which 
 was in the year 1800, the state of crime in London appears to have been of the most 
 i rightful kind. He states that persons could not " travel on the highways, or approach 
 the capital in any direction after dark, without risk of being assaulted and robbed, 
 and, perhaps, wounded or murdered." The same author further observes, that " we 
 cannot lie down to rest in our habitations without the dread of a burglary being com- 
 mitted, our property invaded, and our lives exposed to imminent danger, before the 
 approach of morning."
 
 TI1K METROPOLITAN AND CITY rOLICE. 399 
 
 1 speak from several years' personal observation of what has been 
 going on at the Old Bailey — that the amount of property yearly 
 stolen in London does not amount to 100,000/. ; and that the 
 number of regular thieves, or those who live by theft, is under 
 5000. With respect to crimes against the person, they are now 
 comparatively rare. Every one, in fact, who lives in London, 
 feels a consciousness of security, both in regard to his person and 
 property, which was not felt before the establishment of the new 
 police. I am aware that the great diminution in the amount of 
 crimes in the metropolis, which has taken place within the last 
 eight or ten years, is not to be entirely ascribed to the establish- 
 ment of the new police. The progress of education, and other 
 accidental causes, have doubtless contributed in some degree to 
 the happy result ; but the principal instrument in the accomplish- 
 ment of this salutary change, must be admitted by all who have 
 paid any attention to the subject, to be the metropolitan con- 
 stabulary force. 
 
 Many of the police are singularly ingenious in tracing out guilt, 
 and in discovering the guilty, when they have reason to suspect 
 the one, or have the smallest clue given them to the other. 
 Some years since, a curious instance of the dexterity with which 
 a suspicion, resting on very slender grounds, was converted into 
 positive proof, was given by a policeman who is either now dead, 
 or has quitted the service. The policeman in question, having 
 occasion one day to be in New Bond-street, was much struck 
 with the splendid appearance of a carriage he saw standing at a 
 jeweller's door. Several other persons having been equally struck 
 with it, had assembled at the door of the tradesman to see the 
 person to whom it belonged. The policemen saw that that per- 
 son was a dashingly-dressed, most lady-like woman, seemingly 
 about forty years of age. He inquired of the by-standers who 
 the lady was,but no one present could furnish him with the desired 
 information. While he was making his inquiries, he chanced to 
 overhear the proprietor of the shop say to her, that the twenty- 
 pound-note he held in his hand, and had received from her, was 
 forged ; adding, while returning it to her, that she could pay the 
 ten shillings'-worth of articles she had purchased at any other 
 time. This circumstance, in conjunction with something peculiar 
 he observed in the manner of the lady, awakened his suspicions, 
 and he determined to follow her to the next place to which she 
 should direct the coachman to proceed. In prosecuting his re- 
 solve, he engaged a hackney-coach, and followed her to a house 
 in Park-lane. Having remained there for some time, he ascer- 
 tained that she was not likely to go out again a-shopping that 
 day. Next day, about the time at which ladies usually set out 
 on their shopping excursions, he took care to be in the neigh-
 
 400 SKETCHES IN LONDON 
 
 bourhood of the lady's house. The carriage presently came to 
 the door; and the lady having made her appearance, and de- 
 sired the coachman to drive to a particular shop in Ludgate-hill, 
 sprang into the vehicle and drove off. As on the previous day, 
 the policeman hired a coach, and having leaped into it, desired 
 Jehu to drive with the greatest possible expedition to the same 
 place. He reached it before the lady, but did not enter the shop 
 until he saw her in the act of descending from her carriage. He 
 asked a sight of the lowest priced ai'ticles in the shop, satisfied 
 that when a lady so splendidly dressed entered in the capacity of 
 a customer, the attentions of the shopmen would be withdrawn 
 from him to be lavished on the lady. The event turned out 
 exactly as he expected. He was forgotten, while there seemed to 
 be the greatest rivalry among the shopmen as to who should 
 show the lady the most marked attention. She made purchases 
 to the amount of one pound ten shillings, and again tendered a 
 twenty-pound note in payment of them. The proprietor of the 
 premises, after narrowly scrutinizing the note, observed that there 
 were a great many forged notes in circulation at that time, and 
 that the note in question had a very equivocal appearance. She 
 affirmed it was good with much energy, and with an air that 
 seemed to indicate, that she was indignant at the bare thought of 
 having a forged note in her possession. Afraid of offending one 
 who he thought might become a good customer, the shopkeeper, 
 though not without some misgivings, took the note, and returned 
 the eighteen pounds ten shillings. The lady then bade him good 
 morning, and re-entering her carriage, desired her coachman to 
 drive to a particular shop in Cheapside. There she was followed 
 by the policeman; and there he saAV her purchase fifteen shillings'- 
 worth of trinkets, again tendering a twenty-pound note for pay- 
 ment, and receiving the nineteen pounds five shillings of change. 
 The policeman was now satisfied beyond all doubt, that as she 
 tendered a twenty-pound note by way of payment of the arti- 
 cles she had purchased, while he knew her to have eighteen 
 pounds odd of loose money in her possession, she must not only 
 be guilty of uttering forged notes, but that she was aware that 
 they were forged. He followed her in the same way to a third 
 shop, where he saw the same thing repeated, which, of course, 
 made him yet more confident in the soundness of his opinions. 
 Still he wanted conclusive evidence to prove the charge. 
 He watched her movements for some time, and got access to the 
 most conclusive evidence. He then took her into custody. It 
 was discovered that she lived with a gang of male rogues 
 who forged the notes, and caused her to utter them, thinking 
 there was, in that way, less risk of being detected. Seeing the case 
 so clear against her, she committed suicide by taking laudanum.
 
 THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 401 
 
 Another successful instance of the ingenuity displayed by the 
 police in detecting crime, and securing the conviction of the 
 offenders, occurred in the spring of last year. Information had 
 been communicated to the police magistrates in London, that 
 the town and neighbourhood of Salisbury had been inundated 
 with counterfeit silver of eveiy denomination, from crown pieces 
 down to sixpences ; but that all the efforts of the magisterial 
 authorities in that place had failed to obtain a clue to the 
 offenders. One of the cleverest of the inspectors of the London 
 police was consulted on the subject, and he at once undertook 
 to discover and bring the parties to justice. Having, from the 
 success of former exploits in the same way, every confidence in the 
 ingenuity and ability of the inspector, the magistrates signified 
 their willingness to leave the matter wholly in the officer's hands. 
 The plan which the latter adopted in the execution of his enter- 
 prise was one which would not have suggested itself to ordinary 
 minds. He desired a person, in whom he could confide, to go 
 down immediately to Salisbury, and in the disguise and charac- 
 ter of a pedlar, to visit all the lower class of public-houses in the 
 town and neighbourhood. He further instructed him, in the 
 event of seeing in those houses suspicious characters, to treat 
 them with gin, or ale, or whatever else in the way of drink they 
 preferred, and to make himself as familiar as possible with them. 
 He was to cultivate their acquaintance with the greatest assi- 
 duity ; to give them hints that he himself was prepared for any 
 desperate enterprise, in the May of robbery or otherwise, pro- 
 vided he got any other parties to assist him ; and, in short, have 
 recourse to every possible expedient to get them to make such 
 disclosures to him as would not only satisfy himself, or might 
 satisfy any other reasonable mind that they were the guilty par- 
 ties, but as would constitute, or lead to, such evidence as the law 
 would admit. The pioneer of the police officer had been only two 
 days in Salisbury, when he came in contact with two or three 
 persons whom he at once suspected to belong to the gang of 
 coiners of false money. At first they fought shy of him ; they 
 appeared decidedly averse to his acquaintanceship ; but in the 
 course of two or three days more, their prepossessions against 
 him wore off, and they entered into familiar conversation with 
 him. The result was the confirmation of his suspicions as to 
 what they were. The next point to which he directed his atten- 
 tion was the ascertaining what their number was ; for he knew 
 that in such cases they took care not to assemble all together in 
 any particular place in public, as that might lead to suspicion. 
 This secret he also soon wormed out of his newly-formed ac- 
 quaintances. Having succeeded so far, he wrote, agreeably to 
 instructions, to the officer in London by whom he was employed. 
 
 E E
 
 402 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 His employer immediately proceeded to Salisbury ; but " lay by," 
 as the phrase is, for ten or twelve days, until his beard should 
 grow to such a length as, with other ingenious expedients, should 
 enable him to disguise himself sufficiently for the execution of his 
 plans. He at once conjectured — and in his conjecture he was 
 right — that the gang of coiners were from London, and that, if 
 not disguised, he would be recognized before he should be able 
 to carry his schemes into effect. His beard having grown to a 
 great length, and having for some days omitted to wash his face 
 or hands, and having also put on a ragged suit of clothes, he ven- 
 tured into the public-houses which they frequented, got acquaint- 
 ed with them through the " workman" he had sent to prepare 
 the way before him, and in a few days was, with one and all of 
 them, a regular iC Hail fellow ! well met." He soon ascertained 
 that they were all to meet at a particular house, in a low 
 secluded part of the town, on a particular night ; and to make 
 assurance doubly sure that this meeting was to take place for the 
 purpose of a new coinage_, he proposed treating them on the 
 night and hour they had fixed for their meeting, in a public- 
 house which he mentioned. They one and all said the business 
 on which they were to meet that night was so urgent, that 
 it must be attended to; but they should be most happy to 
 have their glass with him any other evening he might appoint. 
 Thus assured beyond all doubt that ie an affair" was to come 
 off on the evening in question, he got assistance from the 
 magistrates of the place, and proceeded to the house in which 
 they were met. His anticipations were all realized : there was 
 the whole gang of them — nine or ten in number — busily employed 
 in the very act of coining various descriptions of money. Every 
 one of them was taken into custody, and all of them were con- 
 victed at the next assizes, and visited with due punishment. 
 
 With the view of illustrating how quick the police are in dis- 
 covering an offender when a crime has been committed, I may 
 mention an anecdote which has been verbally communicated to 
 me. The anecdote will at the same time show the regular busi- 
 ness-way in which they perform the duties of their office. Some 
 years ago, a robbery of property to a considerable amount had 
 taken place in the City. Circumstances caused suspicions to fall 
 on a particular person well known for having been engaged in 
 similar enterprises before. He was taken into custody, and 
 brought before the magistrates on the following day. A young 
 woman, servant in the house in which the robbery had been com- 
 mitted, and who had seen the thief go out of the door after com- 
 mitting the robbery, was called before the magistrate to speak 
 to the question of identity. The prisoner being put to the bar, 
 she, without a moment's hesitation, and in the most positive

 
 THE METROPOLITAN*R.ND CITY I'OLICE. 403 
 
 manner, swore to his being the person. The prisoner vehemently 
 declared his innocence, and begged the magistrate to remand him 
 for a single day, saying he would be able in that case to prove an 
 alibi. His request was complied with, and he was remanded till 
 the following day. In the interim, Forrester, the enterprising 
 officer of the Mansion-House, was served with a notice to appear 
 on behalf of the prisoner. On being placed next morning in the 
 dock, he asked Forrester whether he did not see him at least 
 four miles distant from the place where the crime was committed, 
 at the very time it was perpetrated. " I cannot tell," remarked 
 Forrester, in that cool and easy manner so characteristic of the 
 higher class of police officers; "I cannot tell you in a moment; 
 but I will let you know in a few seconds," putting his hand into 
 his coat-pocket, and pulling therefrom a small memorandum- 
 book*. He turned over a few leaves, and began reading, in an 
 under tone, as follows : — " Met Tom Swagg, and spoke to him 
 this evening, at half past seven precisely, at the west end of 
 Oxford-street. Monday, February 20, 1828." Then closing his 
 memorandum-book, and raising his head, he turned to the pri- 
 soner, and remarked that he had seen him at the particular hour 
 on the particular evening in question, at least four miles distant 
 from the place in which the robbery was committed. et Then, my 
 girl," said the magistrate, turning to the young woman who had 
 deposed to the identity of the prisoner ; " then, my girl, you 
 must have been mistaken in your man." 
 
 " No, your worship ; I'm sure that's the one I seed," said 
 the girl, manifestly with the greatest confidence. 
 
 "Just look him closely in the face again," requested the 
 
 magistrate 
 
 The girl renewed her inspection of the prisoner, but at a 
 distance of several yards, while the light in the office was not 
 particularly good. 
 
 u Just step a little nearer ; go up close to him," said the other 
 magistrate, who was on the bench. 
 
 The witness advanced to the place where he stood, and 
 looked up eagerly, and with an air of sharpness, in his face. " Oh, 
 
 my G !" she suddenly exclaimed, raising both her hands, and 
 
 evincing very great excitement of manner, "that's not him: 
 I've perjured myself ! lie was not pock-pitted ; this man is; 
 but I never saw two men so like each other in my life." 
 
 " I'll bring the right person here in an hour," observed For- 
 rester, addressing himself to the bench ; and he quitted the room 
 
 * In their memorandum-books the police note every meeting they have with, or sight 
 they get of, the most noted thieves, provided the place lie sonic distance from where 
 they reside. This is found of great service in directing them to the proper quar- 
 ter! whenever any robbery is committed, and the guilty parlies arc not taken into 
 custodv.
 
 404 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 with the rapidity of lightning. In less than an hour, he returned 
 with another person, who was afterwards proved, on the clearest 
 and most conclusive evidence, to be the real delinquent, and 
 who eventually, indeed, confessed his guilt. It was the latter 
 observation of the girl, namely, that she never saw two men so 
 like each other in her life as the prisoner and the thief, that fur- 
 nished in this case the clue to the real culprit. The idea flashed 
 across Forrester's mind that a particular person must be the 
 criminal, as he bore a remarkable resemblance to the prisoner. 
 
 But ingenious as are many of our policemen in the expedients 
 to which they resort in discovering and capturing criminals, none 
 of them have, in this respect, approached to Vidocq, the cele- 
 brated French policeman. Perhaps, the most ingenious and best 
 managed of his innumerable expedients, when bent on thief- 
 catching, was that which he adopted when he visited Madame 
 Noel. This lady, though moving in a respectable sphere in 
 Paris, not only had a son a notorious thief, but acted as a sort 
 of protectress to all the thieves who came in her way. Her 
 house was at all times open to them ; and to it they flew in 
 crowds, in the hour of peril, as to a place of refuge. Vidocq 
 having ascertained this, and feigned the name of Germain, a 
 noted thief, of whom he was sure she must have often heard, 
 though he chanced to know she had never seen him, disguised 
 himself in tattered clothes, and having purposely blistered his feet 
 by a chemical preparation that he might the more engage her 
 attention, proceeded to her house one evening. The remainder 
 of the adventure must be given in Vidocq's own words : — 
 
 " ' Ah ! my poor boy,' cried Mother Noel, ' one has no occasion to 
 ask where you come from ; I am sure you are famished ?' ' Oh ! yes ; 
 very hungry,' said I ; ' I have not taken any thing for four-and-twenty 
 hours.' Immediately, and without waiting for any explanation, she left 
 the room, and returned with a plate of meat and a bottle of wine, which 
 she set down before me. I did not eat— I devoured — I choked myself 
 to get on faster ; all disappeared, and between one mouthful and ano- 
 ther I had not uttered a word. Madame Noel was enchanted with my 
 appetite ; when the table was cleared, she brought me a goutte. ' Ah, 
 mother !' said I ; throwing myself on her neck, ' you restore me to life. 
 Noel did well to say you are good !' and I went on to tell her that I 
 left her son twenty-eight days ago, and to give her intelligence respect- 
 ing all the convicts in whom she was interested. The details into which 
 I entered were so true and well known, that it was impossible for her 
 to have the least idea that I was an impostor. 
 
 " ' You have heard of me before now,' I continued. ' I have had 
 many hard rubs. My name is Germain, or Captain — you must have 
 heard my name.' 
 
 " ' O yes, yes, my friend,' she said ; 'I used to hear of nothing bit 
 you. O my God ! my son and his friends have talked enough of your
 
 THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY TOLICE. 405 
 
 misfortunes : welcome, welcome, my dear Captain. But, good heavens ! 
 what a condition you are in ; you must not remain in this state. It 
 seems too that you are troubled with a villanous cattle that torments 
 you. I must get you a change of linen, and manage to clothe you more 
 decently.' 
 
 " ' 1 expressed my gratitude to Mother Noel ; and when I thought I 
 might, without impropriety, I inquired what had become of Victor Des- 
 bois and his comrade Mongenet. ' Desbois and the drummer /' an- 
 swerered she. ' Ah, my dear ! don't speak of them ; that rascal Vidocq 
 has caused them so much trouble, since an officer called Joseph (Joseph 
 Longueville, formerly inspector of police,) met them twice in this 
 street, and gave information of their frequenting this quarter, that they 
 have been obliged to leave, not to fall into his clutches.' 
 
 " ' What !' said I, in a tone of disappointment, ' are they not in 
 Paris ?' 
 
 *' ' Oh, they are not far off,' replied Mrs. Noel ; ' they have not lost 
 sight of the Mainmast. I see them now and then, and I hope it will 
 not be long before they pay me a visit. I think they will be delighted 
 to find you here.' 
 
 " 'I am sure they will not be more happy than I shall be ; and if you 
 would only write a line to them, I am certain they would send for me 
 directly.' 
 
 " ' If I knew where they were, I would go myself to find them for 
 you ; but I am not acquainted with their retreat, and the best thing we 
 can do is to wait patiently till they come.' 
 
 " In my character of new-comer, I excited all the solicitude of Mo- 
 ther Noel. ' Does Vidocq know you : and his two bull-dogs, Levesque 
 and Compere ?' 
 
 " ' Alas ! yes ; they have already arrested me twice.' 
 " ' Then you must be on your guard. Vidocq assumes all kinds of 
 disguises to entrap unfortunates like you.' 
 
 " It required all my knowledge to maintain my position ; for Madame 
 Noel had every custom and peculiarity of the bagnes at her fingers'- 
 ends. She not only retained the names of all the robbers she had seen, 
 but was also acquainted with the most trifling circumstances of the lives 
 of most of the others ; and she recounted with enthusiasm the history of 
 the most famous, especially of her son, for whom her veneration was as 
 {Treat as her affection. 
 
 " * This dear son,' said I ; ' you would be very glad to see him ?' 
 " ' Oh. glad ! yes, indeed !' she ejaculated. 
 " 'Well, then,' I said, 'you will enjoy that pleasure very soon. 
 Noel has arranged everything for an escape : he only waits a favourable 
 moment.' 
 
 " Madame Noel was delighted at the idea of embracing her son : she 
 actually shed tears of joy. I confess that I was much moved ; and at 
 one time I deliberated within myself, whether for the time I should not 
 pass over my duties of secret agent : but on reflecting on the crimes of 
 these people — bearing in mind, above all, the interests of society — I 
 remained firm and immovable in my resolution to pursue my enterprise 
 to the end. 
 
 c
 
 406 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 " In the course of conversation, Mother Noel asked me if I had any 
 affair in view (any project of robbery) ; and after having offered to pro- 
 cure me one, if I had not, she put some questions, in order to learn 
 whether I was skilful in forging keys. I answered that I was as dex- 
 trous as Fossard. ' If this be so,' said she, ' I am easy ; you will soon 
 be set up again ; and as you are so adroit, I will go to a hardware- shop 
 and buy a key, which you can fit to my safety-lock and keep, so that 
 you may go out and come in whenever ycu please.' 
 
 " I expressed my gratitude for her goodness ; and as it was getting 
 late, I went to bed, ruminating on the means of extricating myself from 
 this hornet's-nest, without running the risk of assassination, if by chance 
 the rogues whom I was looking after should arrive before I had taken 
 my measures. 
 
 " I did not sleep at all, and got up the moment I heard Madame 
 Noel lighting the fire. She saw that I was an early riser, and told me 
 she would go and get me what I wanted. Soon after, she'brought me 
 a key without web, some files, and a little vice, which I fixed at the foot 
 of the bed, and instantly set to work in presence of my hostess, who see- 
 ing that I understood the business, complimented me on my dexterity. 
 That which she most admired was the expedition I used. In fact, in 
 less than four hours, I had finished a very workmanlike key. On try- 
 ing it, it opened the door almost perfectly ; a touch or two of the file 
 made it a capital jaiece of work ; and, like the others, I could introduce 
 myself into the house at pleasure. 
 
 " I boarded with Madame Noel. After dinner I told her that I was 
 anxious to take a turn in the dusk, in order to see if an affair I had had 
 in view was still feasible. She approved my idea, but recommended me 
 to take particular care. ' This scoundrel Vidocq,' observed she, ' is much 
 to be feared ; and if I were in your place, before trying anything, I would 
 prefer waiting till my feet were cured.' The assurance that I would 
 soon return quieted her fears. ' Well then, go,' said she ; and I went 
 out limping." 
 
 The expedient, after all, notwithstanding the ingenuity of its 
 conception, and the remarkable skill displayed in its execution, 
 it is right to say, was unsuccessful. Vidocq did not, on that 
 occasion, capture the " customers" of whom he was in pursuit. 
 
 Before concluding, it is but right to mention, that notwith- 
 standing the efficiency of the metropolitan police, it is far inferior 
 in this respect to the police of France. For many years the sub- 
 ject of police has been reduced in Paris into what may be called a 
 system, based on philosophic principles. Colquhoun, in his 
 " Treatise on the Police of London/' mentions an anecdote 
 Avhich was verbally communicated to him by one of the then 
 English ambassadors at the court of France, relative to the sin- 
 gular state of efficiency to which the police force of Paris had 
 then ' been brought. As the anecdote is short, and affords 
 an interesting specimen of the romance of real life, I shall 
 here transcribe it. It is thus related by Colquhoun : — " A
 
 TIIE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 407 
 
 merchant, of high respectability, in Bordeaux, had occasion to 
 visit Paris upon commercial business, carrying with him bills 
 and money to a very large amount. 
 
 " On his arrival at the gates of Paris, a genteel-looking man 
 opened the door of his carriage, and addressed him to this effect: 
 ' Sir, I have been waiting for you some time ; according to my 
 notes, you were to arrive at this hour ; and your person, your 
 carriage, and portmanteau, exactly answering the description I 
 hold in my hand, you will permit me to have the honour of con- 
 ducting you to Monsieur de Sartine.' 
 
 " The gentleman, astonished and alarmed at this interruption, 
 and still more so at hearing the name of the lieutenant of the 
 police mentioned, demanded to know what Monsieur de Sartine 
 wanted with him ; adding, at the same time, that he never had 
 committed any offence against the laws, and that he could have 
 no right to interrupt or detain him. 
 
 " The messenger declared himself perfectly ignorant of the 
 cause of the detention ; stating, at the same time, that when he 
 had conducted him to Monsieur de Sartine, he should have exe- 
 cuted his orders, which were merely ministerial. 
 
 " After some further explanations, the gentleman permitted 
 the officer to conduct him accordingly. Monsieur de Sartine 
 received him with great politeness ; and after requesting him to 
 be seated, to his great astonishment, he described his portman- 
 teau, and told him the exact sum in bills and specie which he 
 had brought with him to Paris, and where he was to lodge, his 
 usual time of going to bed, and a number of other circumstances 
 which the gentleman had conceived could be known only to 
 himself. Monsieur de Sartine having thus excited attention, 
 put this extraordinary question to him : — { Sir, are you a man 
 of courage ?' The gentleman, still more astonished at the sin- 
 gularity of such an interrogatory, demanded the reason why he 
 put such a strange question ; adding, at the same time, that no 
 one had ever doubted his courage. Monsieur de Sartine replied, 
 ' Sir, you are to be robbed and murdered this night ! If you 
 are a man of courage, you must go to your hotel, and retire to 
 rest at the usual hour; but be careful that you do not fall asleep: 
 neither will it be proper for you to look under the bed or into 
 any of the closets which are in your bed-chamber (which he 
 accurately described) : you must place your portmanteau in its 
 usual situation, near your bed, and discover no suspicion. Leave 
 what remains to me. If, however, you do not feel your courage 
 sufficient to bear you out, I will procure a person who shall 
 personate you, and go to bed in your stead.' 
 
 "The gentleman being convinced, in the course of the conver- 
 sation, that Monsieur de Sartine's intelligence was accurate in
 
 408 SKETCHES IN LONDON. 
 
 every particular, refused to be personated, and formed an 
 immediate resolution literally to follow the directions he had 
 received. He accordingly went to bed at his usual hour, which 
 was eleven o'clock. At half-past twelve (the time mentioned by 
 Monsieur de Sartine), the door of the bed-chamber burst open, 
 and three men entered, with a dark-lantern, daggers, and pistols. 
 The gentleman, who, of course, was awake, perceived one of them 
 to be his own servant. They rifled his portmanteau undisturbed, 
 and settled the plan of putting him to death. The gentleman 
 hearing all this, and not knowing by what means he was to be 
 rescued, it may naturally be supposed he was under great per- 
 turbation of mind during such an awful interval of suspense ; 
 when, at the moment the villains were prepared to commit the 
 horrid deed, four police officers, acting under Monsieur de 
 Sartine's orders, who were concealed under the bed and in the 
 closet, rushed out, and seized the offenders with the property in 
 their possession, and in the act of preparing to commit murder. 
 
 " The consequence was, that the perpetration of the atrocious 
 deed was prevented, and sufficient evidence obtained to convict 
 the offenders. Monsieur de Sartine's intelligence enabled him to 
 prevent this horrid offence of robbery and murder ; which, but 
 for the accuracy of the system, would probably have been car- 
 ried into execution." 
 
 This is a curious anecdote. The fact was, as stated by 
 Colquhoun, that the French system of police was then in its 
 best days. It had arrived at the greatest degree of perfection 
 ever reached by any constabulary system in the world. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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