visitants fast while the sun was going
down. Many were arrested in their pro-
gress to the gate by the sight of the boys
belonging to the college, who were at
their evening play within their own
grounds, and who, before they retired for
the night, sung
"God save the King,"
and "Rule Britannia," in full chorus, with
fine effect.

The fair, or at least such part of it as was suffered to be continued, was held in the open space on the right hand of the street leading from Greenwich to the Creek bridge. "The Crown and Anchor" booth was the great attraction, as indeed well it might. It was a tent, three hundred and twenty-three feet long, and sixty feet wide. Seventy feet of this, at the entrance, was occupied by seats for persons who chose to take refreshment, and by a large space from whence the viands were delivered. The remaining two hundred and fifty feet formed Assembly room," wherein were boarded floors for four rows of dancers throughout this extensive length; on each side were seats and tables. The price of admission to the assembly was one shilling. The check ticket was a card, whereon was printed,

the 66

VAUXHALL.

CROWN AND ANCHOR,
WHIT MONDAY.

This room was thoroughly lighted up by depending branches from the roofs handsomely formed; and by stars and festoons, and the letters G. R. and other devices, bearing illumination lamps. It was more completely filled with dancers and spectators, than were convenient to either. Neither the company nor the scene can be well described. The orchestra, elevated across the middle of the

tent, consisting of two harps, three violins, a bass viol, two clarionets, and a flute, played airs from "Der Freischütz," and other popular tunes. Save the crowd, there was no confusion; save in the quality of the dancers and dancing, there was no observable difference between this and other large assemblies; except, indeed, that there was no master of the ceremonies, nor any difficulty in obtaining or declining partners. It was neither a dancing school, nor a school of morals; but the moralist might draw conclusions which would here, and at this time, be out of place. There were at least 2,000 persons in this booth at one time. In the fair were about twenty other dancing booths; yet none of them comparable in extent to the "Crown and Anchor." In one only was a price demanded for admission; the tickets to the "Albion Assembly" were sixpence. Most of these booths had names; for instance, "The Royal Standard ;""The Lads of the Village," "The Black Boy and Cat Tavern," "The Moon-rakers,' &c. At eleven o'clock, stages from Greenwich to London were in full request. One of them obtained 48. each for inside, and 28. 6d. for outside passengers; the average price was 38. inside, and 28. outside; and though the footpaths were crowded with passengers, yet all the inns in Greenwich and tainly, the greater part of the visitors were on the road were thoroughly filled. Cermere spectators of the scene.

NIGHT

The late Henry Kirke White, in a frag ment of a poem on "Time," beautifully imagines the slumbers of the sorrowful. Reader, bear with its melancholy tone. A summer's day is not less lovely for a 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-orphans 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 hland 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,

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.

696

The Sluice-house.

Ye who with rod and line aspire to catch
Leviathans that swim within the stream
Of this fam'd River, now no longer New,
Yet still so call'd, 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
New River, is a pleasant summer afternoon's
walk. Highbury barn, or, as it is now
called, Highbury tavern, is the first place of
note beyond Canonbury It was anciently
a barn belonging to the ecclesiastics of
Clerkenwell; though it is at present only
known to the inhabitants of that suburb,
by its capacity for filling them with good
things in return for the money they spend

there. The "barn" itself is the assemblyroom, whereon the old roof still remains. This house has stood in the way of all passengers to the Sluice-house, and turned many from their firm-set purpose of fishing in the waters near it. Every man who carries a rod and line is not an Isaac Walton, whom neither blandishment nor obstacle could swerve from his mighty end, when he went forth to kill fish.

He was the great progenitor of all

That war upon the tenants of the stream, He neither stumbled, stopt, nor had a fall When he essay'd to war on dace, bleak, 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 tolerable 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 from 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

partee, which few can equal. One or two instances may somewhat depict

Jemmy Gordon.

"When our fathers pluck'd the blackberry received the honour of knighthood, Jemmy And sipp'd the silver tide."

An etching of the eccentric individual, from whence the present engraving is taken, was transmitted by a respectable "Cantab," for insertion in the EveryDay Book, with the few particulars ensuing :

James Gordon was once a respectable solicitor in Cambridge, till "love and liquor"

"Robb'd him of that which once enriched him,

And made him poor indeed!" He is well known to many resident and non-resident sons of alma mater, as a déclamateur, and for ready wit and reNo. 23.

approached him, and looking him full in the face, exclaimed,

"The king, by merely laying sword on,

Could make a knight of Jemmy Gordon." At a late assize at Cambridge, a man named Pilgrim was convicted of horsestealing, and sentenced to transportation. Gordon seeing the prosecutor in the sir, have done what the pope of Rome street, loudly vociferated to him, "You, cannot do; you have put a stop to Pilgrim's Progress!"

Gordon was met one day by a person of rather indifferent character, who pitied Jemmy's forlorn condition, (he being without shoes and stockings,) and said, "Gordon, if you will call at my house, I assuming a contemptuous air, replied, will give you a pair of shoes." Jemmy,

A Leg..

White......

Green...... Brown.

Grey

Pink

Tall.....
Short