Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II.
prosperity both here and hereafter!”{1}
1 The many impoverished and deserted beings who daily wander
the streets, trusting for the vegetative existence of the
moment to eleemosynary occurrences, are incalculable.
Amongst these sons and daughters of misery, happy is the one
who, after partially satisfying the cravings of hunger,
possesses two-pence, the price of a shake down for the
night, in Rainbridge or Buckeridge-street, St. Giles's!--The
upright is a wretched semblance of a bed, at the rate of
three-pence or four-pence; but the lofty aspirant to genteel
accommodation, must put down a tester. In this way there are
frequently beds to the number of seventy in one house, made
up for nocturnal visitants!
Palestine in London, or the Holy Land, includes that portion of the
parish of St. Giles, Bloomsbury, inhabited by the lower Irish, with whom
it seems a favorite place of residence. The Squire having expressed to
his friend a desire of perambulating these boundaries, they proceeded,
by the way of George street, to explore the sanctified labyrinths, the
scenes of diurnal clamour, and hebdomadary conflict.
“Arrah now,” exclaimed a voice of maternity, in the person of a
legitimate daughter of Erin,--“Arrah now, you brat of the devil's own
begetting, be after bowling along to your fader: bad luck to him, and be
sure that you bring him home wid you, by the token that the murphies are
cracking, the salt-herrings scalding, and the apple-dumplings tumbling
about the pot,--d'ye mind me, you tief of the world, tell him that his
dinner waits upon him.”--“I'll be after doing that same, moder;”
and forth from the ground floor of a mean looking house in
Buckeridge-street, sprang an urchin without hat, shoe or stocking, and
the scanty tattered habiliment he wore, fluttering in ~105~~various
hues, like pennants in the wind, with such heedless velocity, urged no
doubt by the anticipated delicacies of the dinner-pot, that he came in
furious, unexpected, and irresistible contact with Squire Tallyho, who
borne forward by the shock, was precipitated into a stagnant collection
of mud and water, to the total disfigurement of his Boots, which had
that morning received the “matchlessly brilliant polish of Warren's
inestimable Jet blacking.” Not like many others in London, who will
run you down and leave you to your fate, the heir of his fader's
whimsicalities stopped short in the inauspicious set-out of his rapid
career; and “dirty end,” he exclaimed, “to the scavenger that didn't
think of the gentleman's boots!” And at the same time the mother of this
hopeful representative of the Mac Dermott family, made her appearance
with the genuine warmth of Irish hospitality; and inviting the two
strangers to walk in, consoled the bespattered Squire with the prospect
of speedy and effectual reparation, for “fait and troth, (said she) his
dinner is all of a heap in the pot there, praaties, salt-herrings, and
apple-dumplings,{1} and that is my husband Thady Mac Dermott, who is
neither more nor less than a bricklayer's laborer, is after amusing
himself and obliging his neighbours, at a small outlay, of a Sunday
morning, by claning their boots and shoes; so it is an ill wind that
blows nobody good, they say.” The accommodating hostess then producing
a bottle of blacking, with the requisite brushing implements, applied
herself assiduously to the operation of claning the Squire's boots,
and restored them, in a few minutes, to the splendour of their pristine
brilliancy.
Scarcely had this important operation been performed, when entered Thady
Mac Dermott and his son, the origin of the accident. “The devil burn
your trampers, you imp of the Mac Dermotts,” cried the father: “couldn't
you run against the gentleman without dirtying his boots? Never mind it
at all at all; I'll be after giving you a walloping for it, any how.”
1 The fastidious delicacy of English cookery, when
contrasted with that of Irish culinary preparation in the
Holy-land, is surprising. The wife of an Irish laborer who
is desirous of giving her husband a delectable meal, and of
various description, bodders not her brain with a diversity
of utensils; but from the same pot or pan will produce, as
if by enchantment, potatoes, (without which an Irishman
cannot possibly make a dinner,) salt-herrings, and apple-
dumplings; nor, does this extraordinary union of opposites
affect the appetite of those partaking the oglio.
~106~~ The first instrument of attack that comes to hand is an
Irishman's weapon.--Thady brandished in _terrorem_ a red hot poker, and
his son with the agility of a cat took sanctuary under the bed, but at
the intercession of the Squire was allowed to emerge with impunity, and
admitted to a participation of the salt-herrings and apple-dumplings.
The two friends declining an invitation to taste of these dainties,
now departed, Tallyho not forgetting the “outlay, and the ill-wind that
blows nobody good.”
Winding the mazes of the holy land, which may not unaptly be considered
a colony of Irish emigrants, our perambulators without further
occurrence worthy of notice, threaded their way through streets, lanes,
and alleys, until they emerged at the bottom of Tottenham-court Road,
close by the extensive brewery of Read and Co. Entering the premises,
they were gratified with a view of every thing interesting in the
establishment; and the Squire, to whom the spectacle was entirely new,
stood wrapt in wonder at the vast magnitude of its immense vats
and boilers, containing, as he observed, of the fluid of Sir John
Barleycorn, a sufficiency to inundate the whole neighbourhood! “Such a
circumstance,” said the attendant, “actually occurred a few years
ago, when the vat burst, and an ocean of beer rushed forth, with such
impetuous force as to bear down, in its resistless progress, the side of
a house, and fill, to the imminent hazard of drowning the astonished and
alarmed occupants, all the cellars in the vicinity.”{1}
1 Scarcely any thing contributes so much to characterize the
enterprising spirit of the present age, as the vast scale on
which many branches of manufacture are carried on in this
country. Every one has heard of the celebrated tun of
Heidelberg, but that monument of idle vanity is rivalled by
the vessels now employed in the breweries of this
metropolis.
Having seen all that is remarkable in this spacious concern, the two
associates turned into Oxford Street, where their attention was directed
to a gay female in an elegant equipage, pair in hand, dashing along, in
the manner of royal celerity.
“Observe that lady,” said Dashall, “She is the celebrated Mrs. C*r*y,
the favourite sultana of a certain Commander in Chief, and I shall give
you her history in a few words.”
~107~~ “Sutherland, a bombadier at Woolwich, obtained a commission, but
was less successful in securing the fidelity of his wife, who eloped
with an officer to Gibraltar; the produce of this intercourse was the
amoroso whom we observed _en passant_; in process of time she married
C*r*y, an officer in a veteran battalion, but shortly afterwards getting
tired of the connection, she adopted the laudable example set by her
respectable mamma, deserted her husband and came to England, under the
protection of a surgeon in the army, whose embraces she relinquished for
those of her present illustrious possessor. How long she may keep him in
captivation, is a surmise of rather equivocal import; however ardent
at present, his attachment, Mrs. C*r*y must be aware of the versatile
propensities of his R*y*l H*ghn*ss of Y**k, and sans doubt like her
predecessor, Mary Ann C***ke, will make the most of a favourable
opportunity.”
“London exhibits Real Life in all its forms and gradations, from the
hireling of royalty in a curricle, to the passive spouse of all the
town, on the pavement; from the splendour of affluence to the miseries
of penury; even Mendicity itself has its shades of variety, its success
being less frequently derived from the acuteness of distress than the
caprice of Nature, in having gifted the mendicant with some peculiar
eccentricity of person or character, to attract attention and sympathy.
He who is without these endowments passes unnoticed; but the diminutive
and deformed creature, seated on a child's cart, who with the help
of crutches shoves himself along the street, and whose whole height,
including his machine, does not exceed two feet; this minikin, _ecce
homo_, is gazed at by the casual passenger as a prodigy, and seldom
fails to benefit by the excitation of curiosity.”--
Approaching the tiny personage alluded to,--“Well, Mr. Andrew Whiston,”
said Dashall, “what important business brings you so far westward? I
thought that your migrations from Bankside had never extended beyond the
precincts of Temple-bar.”
“I wot weel, your honor, that I have strayed far frae hame, and to
little purpose,--better fortune has not lit on me this wearisome day,
than meeting wi' your honor, for God bless you many a time has the poor
dwarfish body tasted your bounty.”
During this colloquy, Tallyho gazed on the poor dwarfish body with
commiseration, intermixed with no small portion of surprise, at this
fresh display of general knowledge by his intelligent and amusing coz,
to whom all of interest and curiosity in the metropolis, animate and
inanimate, seemed perfectly familiar.
~108~~ “And whither away now, Master Whiston; do you mean to look in at
the rendezvous to night?”{1}
“Faith no, sir,--I got a fright there some few years since, and I shall
be very cautious of getting into the like disaster a second time.”
The conversation had so far proceeded, to the entertainment of
congregated passengers, when the auditory getting rather inconveniently
numerous, the two friends left each his mite of benevolence with
Maister Andrew Whiston, gaining home without further incident or
interruption.{2}
1 Recurring to the holy land, the rendezvous is a noted
house in St. Giles's, where, after the labors of the day,
the mendicant fraternity assemble, enjoy the comfort of a
good supper; amongst other items, not unfrequently an
alderman in chains, alias a roast turkey, garnished with
pork-sausages; elect their chairman, and spend the night as
jolly beggars ought to do, in mirth and revelry.
2 Andrew Whiston was born at Dundee in Scotland, February
10th, 1770, and has, during the last twenty-eight years,
resided in London. The person of this man is well known to
the perambulators of the metropolis. He forms altogether a
disgusting little figure, pushing himself about on a small
cart, which moves upon wheels, and wearing an apron to
conceal the deformity of his legs. His whole height,
including his vehicle, does not exceed two feet. To avoid
the penalties attached to begging and vagrancy, he carries a
few pens stuck between his coat and waistcoat, and declares
that the dealing in those articles is the only trade to
which he has been brought up. It is not improbable, that by
means of this, and other arts and mysteries which he
exercises, Andrew has been enabled to procure something more
than salt to his porridge. It cannot be supposed that his
person is calculated to excite the tender passion; it must
therefore be to the idea of his having accumulated wealth,
that we are to attribute the following circumstance. A short
time since, Andrew began to think seriously of taking unto
himself a wife, and having looked round among his female
acquaint-ance for a desirable partner, he fixed his choice