Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II.
the two friends rounded the corner, and verged towards Ludgate-hill
by the Fleet Prison. Here a fresh claim, though of lesser magnitude,
obtruded itself on their benevolence. “Pity the poor debtors, having no
~96~~ allowance!” exclaimed an emaciated being, gazing with an eye
of wistful expectancy, through the thrice-grated window of a small
apartment on a level nearly with the street; “Pity the poor debtors;”
The supplicating tone of deep distress in which these words were uttered
spoke irresistibly to the heart, and the blessing of Heaven was once
more invoked on the donors.
“And this is the prison,” observed the Squire, “where a presumed scion
of the Royal branch, a few days ago surrendered to her bail, as a
prisoner for debt.”--“The same,” rejoined his Cousin, “and the Princess
is now most unroyally domiciled at a private-house within the rules of
the Fleet, on Ludgate-hill.--_Sic transit gloria mundi!_”
“Certainly,” said the Squire, “this London produces extraordinary
sights, and not less extraordinary occurrences;--but of all the
scenes of Real Life which has hitherto come within the scope of our
observation, the most singular is that of the presumed legitimate cousin
of the King of England, recently in a Spunging-house, and now confined
for a debt of a few hundred pounds to the rules of the Fleet.”{1}
1 Ci-divant Princess of Cumberland
To the Right Hon. Lord Sidmouth.
My Lord,'--When I reflect on the injuries I have received by
the refusal of your Lordship to forward my claims in a
proper way to his Majesty, I consider it as a duty that I
owe to my high descent, to enquire of your Lordship, why I
have been suffered to remain so long neglected and deprived
of the rights, which in common with other younger branches
of the Royal Family, I am entitled to? As soon as the demise
of my late Royal Uncle, his late Majesty, occurred, I
addressed your Lordship, for his present Majesty's gracious
knowledge. In my letters, repeatedly sent to your Lord-ship,
I assured you for the King's knowledge, that I had but one
anxious desire, which was to act in conformity to his
Majesty's Royal will and pleasure, after an audience had
been allowed to shew my papers. If, my Lord, I had been an
impostor, it was the duty of Ministers to have enquired into
my claims, and to have exposed them if unjust or illegal.
But, no! my Lord; every application was treated with cold
and apathetic contempt; and although all the writings of my
parent's marriage and my birth have been verified according
to law, at Judge Abbott's chambers, Sergeants' Inn,--at
Master Simeon's Office, Court of Chancery,--before Sir
Robert Baker and Barber Beaumont Esq.--and twelve affidavits
sworn and sent in to your Lordship, yet at this late moment
I find myself neglected and oppressed, and without one
guinea of support from the Government or Royal Family! My
dear late cousin, Prince Edward, Duke of Kent, supported and
protected me several years before his lamented death. His
Royal Highness saw the papers delivered to me by the Earl of
Warwick of my legitimacy, and there are at least a hundred
papers connected with my parent's affairs and my own; and
General Wetherall, Comptroller to his late Royal Highness,
looked over many such papers, at my residence in his Royal
Master's life-time. The excellent heart of the late Duke of
Kent was of a nature to decide, in all events of life
meeting his eye, with religion and moral justice. Thus has
he loved and cherished me, his cousin, and solemnly bound
himself to see me righted the moment that the death of his
late Majesty authorised my papers meeting the eye of the
nation.
My Lord,--You well know why my claims are neglected--a
mighty cause exists! But it is a duty that I owe to myself
and the English nation to give a narrative of facts as they
are, unless immediate justice is done me. I am Olive, the
only child of the late Duke of Cumberland, by Olivia, his
virtuous, injured wife; and very shortly the public shall
know the great and forbearing conduct of Dr. Wilmot. To him
at one period, the English were indebted for tranquillity;
it can be proved, my Lord. And although my health is similar
to the late injured Queen's (my first cousin,) from having
experienced every deprivation and persecution from
interested enemies, yet I religiously trust the time is not
remote, when truth will triumph over calumny and
oppression.--I have the honor to be, my Lord,
Your obedient servant,
Olive.
Ludgate-hill, Nov. 6th. 1821.
~97~~“Some Kings are not partial to female cousins; and the legitimacy
(said Dashall,) of this pretended Princess of Cumberland does not appear
sufficiently tangible to admit of recognition, otherwise, without doubt,
she would have been provided for!”
“Her case, however, wears not much the semblance of imposition,” said
the Squire. “The circumstances which she so minutely states, with
reference to living characters, strongly imply that her pretensions are
not ill-founded.”
They had now reached Ludgate-hill; a crowd was collected opposite
the residence of the Princess of Cumberland, when the captive heroine
condescended to shew herself at the window.--She is of matronly
appearance, and was well dressed.--The mobility received her with due
respect; the lady made her obeisance, and the assemblage retired, on
terms apparently of reciprocal satisfaction.--
Strolling onwards until they gained the centre of Blackfriars Bridge,
the two friends paused in admiration of the interesting scene before
them.
Amidst the spires and turrets of the metropolis, Saint Paul's, close
at hand, rose in the proud pre-eminence of stupendous grandeur, like a
mighty monarch surrounded ~98~~ by tributary kings, rendering him the
homage of vassalage.
--Emerging from the dense mass of buildings on the line from the Tower
to Westminster Abbey, appeared a continued succession of prominent
public edifices; on the river Thames the scene was diversified by
numerous wherries, gliding pleasurably on the rippling wave; some
shooting under the arches of the elegant Waterloo, and others under the
spacious span of the lofty iron bridge of Southwark,--while on either
side the river, Labour was on the alert, and the busy and ceaseless hum
of Industry resounded far and near.
'Twas low water, and the _mud-larks_ now intent on their several
vocations, engaged the eye of the Squire.--“What are those people
about?” he asked, “What are they in search of?”
“These are _mud-larks_,” answered his friend, “in search of what chance
may throw in their way; all's fish that comes to net! You have much
to learn yet of Real Life in London, and must prolong your stay
accordingly.--Willing to eat the bread of honesty, these poor people
are in the daily practice of frequenting the shores of the Thames, to
literally pick up a living. Nothing comes amiss; all that is portable,
however insignificant in value, goes into the general repository.
The mud-lark returns home, when his labours are ended, sorts the
indiscriminate heterogeneous “mass of matter,” and disposes of it as
well as he can.”{1}
1 How many hundreds and thousands, in a metropolis like that
of the British empire, obtain a subsistence, in a way of
which those of its inhabitants who are not compelled to such
an exercise of their ingenuity can have no idea! In the
midst of a crowded city, man is much more closely cut off
from all assistance on the part of his fellows, and is
obliged to trust entirely for the support of life to the
individual exertions of his strength, his talents, or his
ingenuity. Various and singular are the expedients practised
by numbers in the British capital. Among these the class of
Mud-larks is not the least extraordinary, that is people,
who, on the ebb of the tide re-pair to the river-side, in
quest of any article that the water may have left behind in
the mud. To this description of people belonged Peggy Jones,
the well known Mud-lark at Black Friars. She was a woman,
apparently about forty years of age, with red hair; the
particular object of whose researches was the coals which
accidentally fell from the sides of the lighters. Her
constant resort was the neighbourhood of Blackfriars, where
she was always to be seen, even before the tide was down,
wading into the water, nearly up to the middle, and scraping
together from the bottom, the coals which she felt with her
feet. Numbers of passengers who have passed by that quarter,
particularly over Blackfriars Bridge, have often stopped to
contemplate with astonishment, a female engaged in an
occupation apparently so painful and disagreeable. She
appeared dressed in very short ragged petticoats, without
shoes or stockings, and with a kind of apron made of some
strong substance, that folded like a bag all round her, in
which she collected whatever she was so fortunate as to
find. In these strange habiliments, and her legs encrusted
with mud, she traversed the streets of this metropolis.
Sometimes she was industrious enough to pick up three, and
at others even four loads a day; and as they consisted
entirely of what are termed round coals, she was never at a
loss for customers, whom she charged at the rate of eight-
pence a load. In the collection of her sable treasure, she
was frequently assisted by the coal-heavers, who, when she
happened to approach the lighters, would, as if
undesignedly, kick overboard a large coal, at the same time
bidding her, with apparent surliness, go about her business.
Peggy Jones was not exempt from a failing to which most
individuals of the lower orders are subject, namely,
inebriety. Her propensity to liquor was sometimes indulged
to such a degree, that she would tumble about the streets
with her load, to the no small amusement of mischievous
boys, and others, who, on such occasions, never failed to
collect around her. After concluding the labors of the day,
she retired to a wretched lodging in Chick Lane. This woman
carried on her extraordinary calling for many years, but
about the month of February, 1805, she suddenly disappeared
from her usual places of resort, and nobody can tell what is
become of her. A man who has the appearance of a coal-
heaver, has since stepped into her place, and adopted the
profession which she so long followed.
~99~~ “Thus it is that the Mud-lark earns a precarious and scanty
subsistence, and in many other instances in this metropolis, Ingenuity
and Perseverance overcome difficulties that in the country would prove
insurmountable.”
Retracing their steps to Ludgate-hill, the associates passed into the
Old Bailey, where the Squire seemed struck with surprise at the simple
bill of fare of an eating-house, not inscribed on paper and exhibited
against the window, but deeply engraven on brass, and conspicuously
fixed by the side of the door, expressed in four syllables only, “The
boil'd-beef house.”--“Compendious enough,” exclaimed his Cousin. “Multum
in parvo,” rejoined the Squire; and immediately walking in, they
were ushered into a snug room partly occupied by guests of apparent
respectability, each actively employed in the demolition of buttock or
flank with great seeming satisfaction. The two strangers intimating a