Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II.
set out, like the knight of La Mancha, in search of adventures, without
running the risk of mistaking windmills for giants: one of the former
would, indeed, be a high treat to the insatiable curiosity of the
inhabitants of this metropolis; and as to giants, there are none on
shew since Bartholomew-fair, excepting those stationary gentlemen, the
twin-brothers, Gog and Magog, in Guildhall.”
Passing through the town without meeting with any new object worthy
of particular notice, they found themselves at the extremity of
Threadneedle-street, when Dashall, pointing to a neat plain building,
“this,” said he, “is the South Sea House. The South Sea Company was
established for the purpose of an exclusive trade to the South Seas,
and many thousands were ruined by the speculation: the iniquity and
deception were at last discovered, and those who were at the head
were punished. The eager hope of wealth frequently engenders
disappointment,--but here credulity attained her zenith;--amongst other
schemes, equally practicable, the projectors of this notorious bubble
set up a method of making butter from beech-trees; a plan to learn
people to cast their nativity; an insurance against divorces; and a way
of making deal boards out of saw-dust!”
“And is it possible,” inquired Tallyho, “that such most preposterous
theories obtained belief?”
“Even so,” answered Dashall,--“What is there in which human folly
will not believe?--We have all read of the bottle-conjurer.{1}--The
prevalence of curiosity is universal. I could safely stake any money,
that if public notice was given of a person who would leap down his own
throat, he would gain belief, and a full audience would favour him with
their company to witness his marvellous performance.”
1 This speculator by wholesale in English credulity,
advertised, “that he would, in the Haymarket theatre,
literally and _bona fide_ creep into a quart bottle; and
further, would, when inside such quart bottle, entertain the
audience with a solo on the violin!”
Long before the appointed hour of performance, the house was
crammed at all points, and thousands were sent from the
doors for want of room. The most eager curiosity prevailed
as the time drew near for the commencement of these
extraordinary feats, and the clamour for the appearance of
the performer was incessant and vociferous. At last he came
forward upon the stage, and all was breathless attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry to say that I cannot, to-
night, find a bottle large enough for the purpose intended;
but to-morrow I faithfully engage to go into a pint bottle,
in atonement of the present disappointment!” He then
retired. The shock was electrical,--a dead silence prevailed
for a moment;--the delusion vanished, and “confusion worse
confounded” ensued; the interior of the house was nearly
demolished. His It. H. the D. of C. was present, and lost a
gold-hilted sword. During “the wreck of matter and the crush
of worlds,” the speculator made off with his booty.
~~303~~~ Proceeding into Bishopsgate-street, the new City of London
Tavern caught the attention of Tallyho.
“This,” observed his friend, “is probably the first tavern in London,
with reference to superior accommodation. Here congregate the most
eminent corporate bodies, directors of public institutions and others,
on occasions of business or enjoyment; here the admirable arrangement
of every thing conducive to comfort is minutely attended to; here the
plenitude of abundance, and the delicacies of luxury, distinguish the
festive board, and the culinary art is shown forth to the very acme of
perfection; which, together with the varied, unsophisticated excellence
of the richest wines, secure to this celebrated tavern the continuance
of a well-merited public approbation. But one of these days we shall
avail ourselves of practical experience, by forming part of the company
at dinner.”
Proposing in their way home to take the skirts of the metropolis, they
directed their course through Moorfield, where Tallyho remarked on the
unseemly desolate waste there presenting itself, and expressed surprise
that it was not appropriated to some purposes of utility or ornament.
~~304~~~ “It appears,” answered Dashall, “as if some such improvement
was in projection; probably a new square, if we may so opine from
present indications; however, be the intention what it may, the
execution is uncommonly tardy; with the exception of the central
iron-railing, the handsome structure on the opposite side, the solitary
building on the right, and range of new houses on the left, the tout
ensemble was the same twenty years ago. It is a scene of dilapidation
which might perhaps have been
“More honoured in the breach than in th' observance.”
I recollect, that when a boy, I frequently extended my rambles into
the quarters of Moorfields, for so was this place then named, from its
compartments, exhibiting rural appearance even in the centre of London.
Here were four enclosed fields, displaying in the season the beautiful
verdure of nature; and numerous trees branching, in ample shade, over
two great walks, that intersected each other at right angles, and formed
the afternoon promenade of the citizens' wives and daughters. In former
times, the quarters of Moorfields were resorted to by holiday visitants,
as the favourite place of rendezvous, where predominated the recreation
of manly exercises, and shows, gambols, and merriment were the orders of
the day. The present is an age of improvement,--and yet I cannot think,
in an already monstrously overgrown metropolis, the substitution of
bricks and mortar an equivalent for green fields and rural simplicity.”
Leaving Moorfields, they passed, in a few minutes, into Finsbury-square.
Tallyho appeared surprised by its uniformly handsome edifices, its
spacious extent, and beautiful circular area, in which the ground is
laid out and the shrubberies disposed to the very best advantage. “Here,
at least,” he observed, “is a proof that Taste and Elegance are not
altogether excluded a civic residence.”
“In this square, taking its name from the division of Finsbury,” said
Dashall, “reside many of the merchants and other eminent citizens of
London; and here, in the decorations, internally, of their respective
mansions, they vie with the more courtly residents westward, and exceed
them generally in the quietude of domestic enjoyment.”
~~305~~~ Renewing their walk along the City Road, the gate of Bunhill
Fields burying-ground standing conveniently open, “Let us step in,” said
Dashall,--“this is the most extensive depository of the dead in London,
and as every grave almost is surmounted by a tombstone, we cannot fail
in acquiring an impressive _memento mori_.”
While examining a monumental record, of which there appeared a countless
number, their attention was withdrawn from the dead, and attracted by
the living. An elderly personage, arrayed in a rusty suit of sables,
with an ink bottle dangling from one of the buttons of his coat, was
intently employed in copying a long, yet well written inscription, to
the memory of Patrick Colquhon, L.L.D., author of a Treatise on the
Police of the Metropolis, and several other works of great public
utility. Having accomplished his object, the stranger saluted
Dashall and Tallyho in a manner so courteous as seemingly to invite
conversation.
“You have chosen, Sir,” observed Mr. Dashall, “rather a sombre cast of
amusement.”
“Otherwise occupation,” said the stranger, “from which I derive
subsistence. Amidst the endless varieties of Real Life in London, I am
an _Epitaph-Collector_, favoured by my friends with the appellation of
_Old Mortality_, furnished them by the voluminous writer and meteor of
the north, Sir Walter Scott.”
“Do you collect,” asked Tallyho, “with the view of publishing on your
own account?”
“No, Sir,--I really am not in possession of the means wherewith
to embark on so hazardous a speculation. I am thus employed by an
eccentric, yet very worthy gentleman, of large property, who ambitious
of transmitting his name to posterity, means to favour the world with a
more multitudinous collection of epitaphs than has hitherto appeared
in any age or nation;--his prospectus states “Monumental Gleanings, in
twenty-five quarto volumes!”
“Astonishing!” exclaimed Dashall,--“Can it be possible that he ever will
be able to accomplish so vast an undertaking?”
“And if he does,” said Tallyho, “can it be possible that any person will
be found to read a production of such magnitude, and on such a subject?”
~~306~~~ “That to him is a matter of indifference,” said Old
Mortality,--“he means to defray the entire charges, and the object of
publication effected, will rest satisfied with the approbation of the
discerning few, leaving encomium from the multitude to authors or
compilers more susceptible of flattery,--
“Born with a stomach to digest a ton!”
As to the quantum of materiel, he is indefatigable in personal research,
employing besides numerous collectors even in the sister island, and in
this, from the Land's-end to Johnny Grot's house.”
“And when,” asked Dashall, “is it probable that this gigantic work may
be completed?”
“Can't say,” answered Old Mortality,--“I should think at no very remote
period: the collection is in daily accumulation, and we are already in
possession of above ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND.”
“Prodigious!” exclaimed Dashall, “as Dominic Sampson says. And pray,
Sir, what number may your assiduities have contributed towards the
aggregate?”
“That,” answered Old Mortality, “I cannot exactly ascertain; to those,
however, already supplied, this ground will yield a considerable
increase.”
“May we solicit,” said Tallyho, “without the imputation of intrusion,
the favour of your reading to us from your table-book, a few of the most
remarkable epitaphs?”
Old Mortality readily promised gratification as far as possible, but he
had not his table-book with him; “I have been employed to day,” said he,
“in making extracts from one of our manuscript folio volumes, for the
purpose of insertion in the different metropolitan daily papers;--here
they are”--taking a small bundle from his pocket, tied round with red
tape,--“one for each paper: permit me, gentlemen, for a moment just to
look over the endorsations.”
The triumvirate now seated themselves on a tombstone, and Old Mortality
untying the bundle of extracts, laid them down in loose compact; then
taking up the first, and reading the superscription, shewing for what
newspaper it was intended, he reversed it on the tombstone.--“This,”
said he, “is for “_The Times, British Press, Morning Post, Morning
Chronicle, Morning Advertiser, Morning Herald, Public Ledger_,--all
right,--and sorted, as the postman sorts his letters: I shall take,
first of all, Printing-house Square, the others are in a direct line of
delivery.” This important arrangement made, he took up one paper from
the bundle, and read the contents with an audible voice:--~~307~~~
SPECIMEN OF MONUMENTAL GLEANINGS,
Extracted from the manuscript folio of a new compilation of Epitaphs,
serious and eccentric, now in collection, from numerous Dormitories in
Great Britain and Ireland; To be completed with all possible expedition,
And will be ushered to the patronage of a discerning Public, in
Twenty-five quarto volumes.
In the Church-yard of Winchester, Hants.
Here lies interred a Hampshire Grenadier,
Who got his death by drinking cold small beer.
Soldiers, take heed from his untimely fall,
And if you drink, drink strong, or none at all.
In Stepney Church-yard.