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dwarf, no giant, no fire-eater, no exhibi- your seat—this is a fight of stairs to tion of any kind. There was a large your chamber-here is a flower-stand for round-about of wooden horses for boys, your mantle-piece;" and so he went on; and a few swings, none of them half presenting, in rapid succession, the wellfilled. The landlord of “the Struggler” shaped representation of more than thirty could not struggle his stand into notice. forms of different utensils or conveniIn vain he chalked up. “ Hagger's entire, ences : at the conclusion, he was well Iwo-pence a bottle :” this was ginger- rewarded for his ingenuity. Further on beer; if it was not brisker than the de- was a larger group; from the centre mand for it, it was made “poor indeed;" whereof came forth sounds unlike those he had little aid, but unsold “ Lemmun heard by him who wroteaid, one penny a glass.” Yet the publichouses in Greenwich were filling fast,

“ Orpheus play'd so well, he moved old

Nick, and the fiddles squeaked from several first-floor windows. It was now nearly

But thou mov'st nothing but thy fiddle

stick." two o'clock, and the stage-coaches from London, thoroughly filled inside and out, This player so “ imitated Orpheus,” that drove rapidly in : these, and the flocking he moved the very bowels, uneasiness down of foot passengers, gave sign of seemed to seize on all who heard his great visitation. One object I cannot discords. He was seated on the grass, in pass by, for it forcibly contrasted in me the garb of a sailor. At his right hand mind with the joyous disposition of the lay a square board, whereon was painted day. It was a poor blackbird in a cage, “ a tale of woe,” in letters that disdained from the first-floor window of a house in the printer's art; at the top, a little box, Melville-place. The cage was high and with a glass cover, discovered that it was square; its bars were of a dark brown “plus” of what himself was

“ minus ;" bamboo ; the top and bottom were of the its inscription described its contentssame dolorous colour; between the bars “ These bones was taken out of my leg." were strong iron wires; the bird himself I could not withstand his claim to supsat dull and mute; I passed the house port. He was effecting the destruction several times; not a single note did he of “ Sweet Poll of Plymouth," for which give forth. A few hours before I had I gave him a trifle more than his “fair” heard his fellows in the thickets whistling audience usually bestowed, perhaps. He in full throat; and here was he, in endless instantly begged I would name my thrall, without a bit of green to cheer“ favourite;" I desired to be acquainted him, or even the decent jailery of a with his; he said he could not deny light wicker cage. I looked at him, and nothing to so noble a benefactor,” and thought of the Lollards at Lambeth, of he immediately began to murder “BlackThomas Delaune in Newgate, of Prynne eyed Susan.” If the man at the wall of in the Gatehouse, and Laud in the Tower: the Fishmongers' almshouses were dead, -all these were offenders; yet wherein he would be the worst player in England. had this poor bird offeuded that he should There were several parties playing at be like them, and be forced to keep “ Kiss in the ring,” an innocent merriWhitsuntide in prison? I wished him a ment in the country; here it was cerholiday, and would have given him one tainly not merriment. On the hill the to the end of his life, had I known how,

were abundant, and the far After dining and taking tea at the greater nuinber were, in appearance and “ Yorkshire Grey," I returned to the manners, devoid of that vulgarity and park, through the Greenwich gate, near grossness from whence it might be inferred the hospital. The scene here was very that the sport was any way improper; lively. "Great numbers were seated on nor did I observe, during a stay of several the grass, some refreshing themselves, hours, the least indication of its being others were lookers at the large company otherwise than a cheerful amusement. of walkers. Surrounded by a goodly One of the prettiest sights was a game at number was a man who stood to exhibit “ Thread my needle," played by about a the wonders of a single-folded sheet of dozen lasses, with a grace and glee that writing paper to the sight of all except reminded me of Angelica's nymphs. I himself; he was blind. By a motion of indulged a hope that the hilarity of rural his hand he changed it into various forms. pastimes might yet be preserved. There “ Here,” said he,“ is a garden-chair for was no drinking in the park. It lost its

runners

visitants fast while the sun was going tent, consisting of two harps, three violins, dowu. Many were arrested in their pro- a bass viol, two clarioneis, and a flute, gress to the gate by the sight of the boys played airs from “ Der Freischütz,” and belonging to the college, who were at other popular tunes. Save the crowd, their evening play within their own there was no confusion; save in the quality grounds, and who, before they retired for of the dancers and dancing, there was no the night, sung

“God save the King," observable difference between this and and “Rule Britannia,” in full chorus, with other large assemblies; except, indeed, fine effect.

that there was no master of the ceremoThe fair, or at least such part of it as nies, nor any difficulty in obtaining or was suffered to be continued, was held declining partners. It was neither a in the open space on the right hand of dancing school, nor a school of morals; the street leading from Greenwich to the but the moralist might draw conclusions Creek bridge. “The Crown and Anchor” which would here, and at this time, be out booth was the great attraction, as indeed of place. There were at least 2,000 perwell it might. It was a tent, three hun- sons in this booth at one time. In the dred and twenty-three feet long, and fair were about twenty other dancing sixty feet wide. Seventy feet of this, booths; yet none of them comparable in at the entrance, was occupied by seats for extent to the “ Crown and Anchor." In persons who chose to take refreshment, one only was a price demanded for adand by a large space from whence the mission; the tickets to the “ Albion Asviands were delivered. The remaining sembly" were sixpence. Most of these two hundred and fifty feet formed booths had names; for instance, “ The the “ Assembly room," wherein were Royal Standard ;" “ The Lads of the Vilboarded floors for four rows of dancers lage," "The Black Boy and Cat Tavern," throughout this extensive length; on each “ The Moon-rakers,” &c. At eleven side were seats and tables. The price of o'clock, stages from Greenwich to London admission to the assembly was one shil- were in full request. One of them obling. The check ticket was a card, tained 4s. each for inside, and 2s. 6d. for whereon was printed,

outside passengers; the average price was

38. inside, and 28. outside; and though VAUXHALL.

the footpaths were crowded with passenCROWN AND ANCHOR, WHIT MONDAY.

gers, yet all the inns in Greenwich and

on the road were thoroughly filled. CerThis room was thoroughly lighted up tainly, the greater part of the visitors were by depending branches from the roofs

mere spectators of the scene. handsomely formed; and by stars and festoons, and the letters G. Ř. and other devices, bearing illumination lamps. It The late Henry Kirke White, in a frag was more completely filled with dancers ment of a poem on “Time," beautifully and spectators, than were convenient to imagines the slumbers of the sorrowful. either. Neither the company nor the Reader, bear with its melancholy tone. scene can be well described. The or- A summer's day is not less lovely for a chestra, elevated across the middle of the passing cloud.

Behold the world
Rests, and her tired inhabitants have paused
From trouble and turmoil. The widow now
Has ceased to weep, and her twin-orpbans lie
Lock'd in each arm, partakers of her rest.
The man of sorrow has forgot his woes;
The outcast that his head is shelterless,
His griefs unshared. The mother tends no more
Her daughter's dying slumbers, but surprised
With heaviness, and sunk upon her couch,
Dreams of her bridals. Even the hectic lull'd
On Death's lean arm to rest, in visions wrapt,
Crowning with Hope's bland wreath his shuddering nurse.
Poor victim ! smiles.-Silence and deep repose
Reign o'er the nations; and the warning voice
Of Nature utters audibly within
The general moral ;-tells us that repose,
Deathlike as this, but of far longer span,

NIGHT

Is coming on us—that the weary crowds,
Who now enjoy a temporary calm,
Shall soon taste lasting quiet, wrapt around
With grave-clothes ; and their aching restless heads
Mouldering in holes and corners unobserved
Till the last trump shall break their sullen sleep.

[graphic]

The Sluice-house.
Ye who with rod and line aspire to catch
Leviathans that swim within the streain
Of this fam'd River, now no longer New,
Yet still so call'a, come hither to the Sluice-house .
Here, largest gudgeons live, and fattest roach
Resort, and even barbel have been found.
Here too doth sometimes prey the rav'ning shark
Of streams like this, that is to say, a jack.
If fortune aid ye, ye perchance shall find
Upon an average within one day,
At least a fish, or two; if ye do not,
This will I promise ye, that ye shall have
Most glorious nibbles : come then, haste ye here,

And with ye bring large stock of baits and patience. From Canonbury tower onward by the there. The“ barn” itself is the assemblyNew River,is a pleasant summer afternoon's room, whereon the old roof still remains. walk. Highbury barn, or, as it is now This house has stood in the way of all called, Highbury tavern, is the first place of passengers to the Sluice-house, and turned note beyond Canonbury. It was anciently many from their firm-set purpose of fisha barn belonging to the ecclesiastics of ing in the waters near it. Every man Clerkenwell; though it is at present only who carries a rod and line is not an Isaac known to the inhabitants of that suburb, Walton, whom neither blandishment nor by its capacity for filling them with good obstacle could swerve froin his mighty things in return for the money they spend end, when he went forth to kill fish.

He
was the great progenitor of all

partee, which few can equal. One or
That war upon the tenants of the stream, iwo ins'ances may somewhat depict
He neither stumbled, stopt, nor had a fall
When he essay'd to war on dace, bleak,

Jemmy Gordon. bream, Stone-loach or pike, or other fish, I deem.

The Sluice-house is a small wooden building, distant about half a mile beyond Highbury, just before the river angles off towards Newington. With London anglers it has always been a house of celebrity, because it is the nearest spot wherein they have hope of toleralle sport. Within it is now placed a machine for forcing water into the pipes that supply the inhabitants of Holloway, and other parts adjacent. Just beyond is the Eel-pie house, which many who angle thereabouts mistake for the Sluice-house. To instruct the uninformed, and to gratify the 'eye of some who remember the spot they frequented in their youth, the preceding view, taken in May 1825, has been engraved. If the artist had been also a portrait painter, it would have been well to have secured a sketch of the present keeper of the Sluice-house ; his manly mien, and mild expressive face, are worthy of the pencil : if there be truth in physiognomy, he is an honest, goodhearted man.

His dame, who tenders Barcelona nuts and oranges at the Sluicehouse door for sale, with fishing-lines froin two-pence to six-pence, and rods at a penny each, is somewhat stricken in years, and wholly innocent of the metropolis and its manners. She seems of the times—

Gordon meeting a gentleman in the “When our fathers pluck'd the blackberry received the honour of knighthood, Jemmy

streets of Cambridge who had recently And sipp'd the silver tide.”

approached him, and looking him full in

the face, exclaimed, An etching of the eccentric indi

“ The king, by merely laying sword on, vidnal, from whence the present engraving

Could make a knight of Jemmy Gordon." is taken, was transmitted by a respect

At a late assize at Cambridge, a man able “Cantab,” for insertion in the Every- named Pilgrim was convicted of horseDay Book, with the few particulars stealing, and sentenced to transportation. ensuing :

Gordon seeing the prosecutor in the

street, loudly vociferated to him, “ You, James Gordon was once a respectable sir, have done what the pope of Rome solicitor in Cambridge, till “ love and cannot do; you have put a stop to Piliquor"

grim's Progress !"

Gordon was met one day by a person “ Robb’d him of that which once enriched of rather indifferent character, who pitied

him, And made him poor indeed !"

Jemmy's forlorn condition, (he being

without shoes and stockings,) and said, He is well known to many resident and “ Gordon, if you will call at iny house, I non-resident sons of alma mater, as a will give you a pair of shoes." Jemmy, déclamateur, and for ready wit and re- assu ning a contemptuous air, replied,

No. 23.

[graphic]
[blocks in formation]

A Wood.......

......a baker .......a carrier

....a butcher

“ No, sir! excuse me, I would not stand in your shoes for all the world !".

Some months ago, Jemmy had the misfortune to fall from a hay-loft, wherein he had retired for the night, and broke his thigh; since then he has reposed in a workhouse. No man's life is more calculated “ To adorn a moral, and to point a tale."

N. These brief memoranda suffice to memorialize z peculiar individual. James Gordon at ore time possessed “ fame, wealth, and honours :" now-bis “fame" is a hapless notoriety; all the “ wealth” that remains to him is a form that might have been less careworn had he been less careless; his honour is “ air-thin air," “ his gibes, his jests, his flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table in a roar,” no longer enliven the plenteous banquet :

" Deserted in his utmost ueed

By men his former bounty fed," the bitter morsel for his life's support is parish dole. “ The gayest of the gay” is forgotten in his age in the darkness of life; when reflection on what was, cannot better what is. Brilliant circles of acquaintance sparkle with frivolity, but friendship has no place within them. The prudence of sensuality is selfishness.

A Shed .......

a grocer A Field

a confectioner
A Tunnell
A Marsh
A Brook........a turf-dealer
A Greenwood ...a baker
A Lee..

..an innkeeper
A Bush ....a carpenter
A Grove .......a shoemaker
A Lane ......... a carpenter
A Green........ a builder
A Hill .
A Haycock.

.... a publican A Barne........a grocer

..a butler A Hutt

a shoeblack
A Hovel........a draper
A Hatt.. a bookseller
A Capp

.a gardener A Spencer

a butcher
A Bullock ......a baker
A Fox ......... a brazier
A Lamb........ a sadler
A Lion......... a grocer
A Mole.........a town-crier
A Roe.

........an engraver A Buck

........ a college gyp. A Hogg

........ a gentleman A Bond

a grocer A Binder. .a fruiterer A Cock

a shoemaker A Hawk........a paperhanger A Drake ....... a dissenting minister A Swan ........a shoemaker A Bird ......... an innkeeper A Peacock . .... a lawyer A Rook

........ a tailor A Wren

........ a bricklayer's labourer A Falcon.

......a gentleman A Crow .......

a builder A Pearl

........ a cook A Stone

... a glazier
A Cross .. a boatwright
A Barefoot ..... an innkeeper
A Leg..

......... a mantua-maker White..

The Cambridge communication concerning James Gordon is accompanied by an amusing list of names derived from "men and things.” Personages and their Callings at Cam

. a shoemaker Green .......... a carpenter Brown

a fishmonger Grey

.. a painter Pink

a publican Tall...

.. a printer Short Long

.. a shopkeeper

bridge in 1825. A King ... is.... a brewer A Bishop

....... a tailor
A Baron ....... a horse-dealer
A Knight

....... a turf-dealer
A Proctor ......a tailor
A Marshall ..... a cheesemonger
An Earl

...a laundress
A Butler ....... a picture-frame maker
A Page.

...a bookbinder A Pope

.an old woman
An Abbott .a bonnet-maker
A Monk. ...& waterman
A Nun.

...a horse-dealer
A Moor ..a poulterer
A Savage. ..a carpenter
A Scott .. an Englishman
A Rose ..a fishmonger
A Lilly

.. a brewer

.. a tailor

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