Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II.
period when he lost his limb. “He is now pouring in a broadside, and in
imagination enjoying a part of his life over again. It is a sorry sight,
my worthy Sirs, and yet upon the whole it is a cheerful one, to see an
old man live his time over again; now he is physicing them with
grape-shot--Bang--Bang--like hail--my eyes how she took it--Go it again,
my boys, said the old Commodore--Ditto repeated, as the Doctor used to
say. D----m the Doctor; the words were scarcely out of his mouth, when
down he ~162~~ went; and as I stood alongside him, ready to attend to
his orders, I was very near being sent down the hatchway stairs without
assistance; for the same shot that doused my old master, carried away my
arm just here.--” D----me,” said the old man, to his brave crew, as they
carried us down to the cockpit--“I shall never forget it as long as
I live--That was a pepperer--Once more, my boys, and the day's your
own.--My eyes, he had hardly said the words, before--Bang, bang, went
our bull dogs--and sure enough it was all over. They cried Piccavi, and
went to the Doctor; but after that I know no more about the matter--we
were a long while before we got the better of our wounds; and as for
him, he has never spoken since--and as to hearing, I believe he never
wished to hear any more, than that the enemies of his country had got a
good drubbing.”
By this time the old gentleman having gone through his manouvres,
with perhaps as much accuracy as my Uncle Toby did the siege of
Dendermond--having blown up the enemy with a flourish of his stick, made
a profound bow, and hobbled away.--“Thank you, my friend,” said the Hon.
Tom Dashall, “for your information; we should never have understood
him without your assistance, for which accept of this, and our best
wishes--giving him a couple of half-crowns, with which, after thanking
the donors, he made the best of his way in search of the old Commodore,
who put our heroes forcibly in mind of the following lines:
“What a d----d bad time for a seaman to sculk,
Under gingerbread hatches on shore;
What a d----d hard job that this battered old hulk,
Can't be rigg'd out for sea once more.”
“Thus you see,” said Dashall, “how our habits become rooted in us: the
old Commodore, though unable to give the word of command, or to hear the
thunder of the cannon, still lives in the midst of the battle, becomes
warmed and animated by the imaginary heat of the engagement, and
“Thrice he routed all his foes,
And thrice he slew the slain.”
“But come, we will now proceed to a view of the Chapel, the Painted
Hall, and the other curiosities of the ~163~~ interior; which done, we
will take our refreshment at the Crown, and pursue our way home.”
They now took another cursory survey of this magnificent pile of
buildings, the grandeur and effect of which is scarcely to be imagined;
the beauty and variety being heightened by the grand square, and the
area beyond terminating with a view of the Observatory, which stands on
a hill in Greenwich Park.
Tallyho was next delighted with a view of the Chapel, which is 111
feet long, and 52 broad, and capable of conveniently accommodating 1000
Pensioners, nurses, and boys, exclusive of pews for the Directors, the
several officers of the establishment, &c--The altar-piece, painted by
West, representing The escape of St. Paul from Shipwreck on the Island
of Malta, and the paintings between the cornice and the ceiling of
the Ascension, by the same artist, claimed particular attention. The
splendid decorations of the Great Hall, with its variety of paintings
and statues, were also objects of peculiar admiration, the effect of
which must be seen to be duly appreciated. After these gratifications,
according to the proposal of Dashall, they retired, to the Crown, where
having partaken of à good dinner, and a glass of wine, they returned to
town, fully satisfied with their excursion, and arrived in Piccadilly
without any occurrence worthy of further remark.
CHAPTER XII
And have you not heard of a jolly young Waterman,
At Blackfriar's Bridge who is used still to ply!
Who feathers his oars with such skill and dexterity.
Winning each heart, and delighting each eye:
He looks So neat, and he rows so steadily,
The maidens all flock to his boat so readily,
And he eyes the young rogues with so charming an air
That this Waterman ne'er is in want of a fare.
~164~~ IT was in one of those inviting mornings, mild and temperate,
that Dashall and Tallyho, lounged along Piccadilly, observant of passing
events, and anticipating those of more interest which might occur in
the course of another day devoted to the investigation of Real Life in
London.
The street already exhibited its usual bustle. The early coaches were
rattling along on their way to their respective inns, loaded with
passengers, inside and out, from the western parts of the country; the
ponderous waggon, the brewer's dray, and not less stunning din of the
lighter and more rapid vehicles, from the splendid chariot to the humble
tax-cart, combined to annoy the auricular organs of the contemplative
perambulator, and together with the incessant discord of the dust-bell,
accompanied by the hoarse stentorian voice of its athletic artist,
induced Squire Tallyho to accelerate his pace, in order to escape, as he
said, “this conspiration of villainous sounds,” more dissonant than that
of his hounds at fault, and followed by his friend Dashall, slackened
not his speed, until he reached the quietude of the new street leading
to the King's Palace, in Pall Mall.
In Regent Place (at the extremity of this fine street) the two friends
paused in admiration of the noble pile of buildings, which had on this
new interesting spot so rapidly risen, as if by the direction of that
necromantic and nocturnal architect, the Genius of the Wonderful Lamp.
~165~~ “Until lately, Carlton House, or more properly, now the King's
Palace, was hid from observation, and the Royal view, in front of his
princely mansion, was bounded to the opposite side of the way, the
distance of a few yards only; now the eye enjoys a perspective glance
of a spacious and magnificent street, terminating in a handsome public
edifice, and yet terminating in appearance only, for here the new
improvements sweep shortly to the left, and our attention is attracted
to a superb circus, or quadrant, from whence without further deviation,
Regent Street continues in lengthened magnificence, until it unites
itself in affinity of grandeur with Great Portland Place.”
Thus far had Dashall proceeded, when the Squire expressed his surprise
that the new street had not been so planned as to lead, in one direct
and uninterrupted line, from Pall Mall to its ultimate termination.
“Then indeed,” answered his friend, “it would have been one of the
finest streets in the world.” “Here too,” continued the Squire, “is a
manifest deficiency in Regent Place, there is a vacuum, it ought to be
supplied with something, be it what it may, for the eye to rest on.”
“True, and your idea has been anticipated. One of the most interesting
amongst the antiquities of Egypt, the column known as Cleopatra's
Needle{1} is destined to raise
1 CLEOPATRA'S NEEDLE.
The Court of Common Council +
Fogrum, Botlieram, Gotham, &c. a full meeting.
Fog. (Laying down a newspaper.)
The City should be told of it.--They say
That Cleopatra's Needle's to be stuck
In front of Carlton House!
Got. They'll make the square
A pin-cushion.
Bot. No! worse--a needle-case.
Has my Lord Sidmouth sent no letter yet
To my Lord Mayor!--It should be pasted up.
Fog. 'Tis said the Deptford Sheer-hulk has been cleared
Of all its vagabonds, to bring it here.
Hot. This beats Whitechapel hollow. What's its weight?
Fog. About three hundred tons.
Bot. All solid steel?
A pond'rous weapon for a lady's handling!
Fog. No, stone with scratches on't; and here they say
They're making five-mile telescopes to read them!
But. Zounds! what a strapping hand she must have had!
Who was the sempstress?
Fog. Sir, a giantess,
About ten thousand yards--without her shoes,
Her thimble has been guessed, tho' rotten now,
To fill the place they call the Lake of Maris,
By Alexandria!--Nay, the noseless tilings
That sit upon their tails in Russell Street,
Were Cleopatra's pebbles, taws and dolls!
Bot. Why, what a monstrous thread she must have used!
Fog. The Chronicle here says--a patent twist
Of elephants' legs, and dromedaries' spines,
And buffaloes' horns!
Got. What was her favourite work?
Fog. (Rising majestically) Sir, she sewed pyramids!
All lift their hands and eyes in silence.--The Council adjourns.
~166~~ its lofty summit in Regent Place, and the western will shortly
outrival the eastern wonder of the metropolis.{1}
1 The Monument.
“Where London's column pointing to the skies,
Like a tall bull! lifts its head and lies.”
“By the bye, let us once more extend our excursion to the Monument, the
day is delightful, and the atmosphere unclouded. We will approximate the
skies, and take a bird's-eye view of the metropolis.” In conformity
with this suggestion the Squire submitted himself to the guidance of
his friend, and an aquatic trip being agreed on, they directed their
progress to Spring Garden Gate, and thence across the Park, towards
Westminster Bridge.
“A boat, a boat, your honour,” vociferated several clamorous watermen,
all in a breath; of whose invitation Dashall took not any notice; “I
hate importunity,” he observed to his friend. Passing towards the stairs
he was silently but respectfully saluted by a modest looking young man,
without the obtrusive offer of service.--“Trim your boat, my lad,”
this was the business of a moment; “now pull away and land us at the
Shades--'of Elysium,'” said the Squire, terminating the instructions
rather abruptly, of the amphibious conveyancer. “I am rather at a loss
to know,” said the waterman, “where that place is, but if your honors
incline to the Shades at London Bridge, I'll row you there in the
twirling of a mop-stick.” “The very spot,” said Dashall, and the
waterman doffing his jacket, and encouraged to freedom by the familiar
manner of the two strangers, ~167~~ plied his oars lustily, humming, in
cadence, the old song:
“I was, d'ye see a waterman,
As tight and blythe as any,
'Twixt Chelsea town and Horsley-down,
I gain'd an honest penny.”
They now glided pleasantly on the serene bosom of the Thames, and
enjoyed, in mute admiration, the beauties of a variegated prospect,
which, if equalled, is at least not excelled by any other in the
universe. On either side of this noble river, a dense mass of buildings
presented itself to the eye, and as the buoyant vehicle proceeded,
the interest of the varying scene increased in progressive proportion.
Thousands of barges skirted the margin of the lordly stream, and seemed
like dependant vassals, whose creation and existence were derived from
and sustained by the fiat of old father Thames; and imagination might
well pourtray the figure of the venerable parent of this magnificent
stream regulating its rippling wave, and riding, in the triumph of regal
sway, over his spacious domains. The grandeur of the public edifices
on the left, the numerous indications of art on the right, the active
industry on both sides, and the fairy-like boats of pleasurable