Picturesque Sketches of London, Past and Present

ell upon the past, beside others of importance belonging to the present, but possessing not those picturesque features which we prefer dwelling upon. Here we shall paus

you stopped by a dead wall here, and thrown into a whirlpool of alleys a little further on, as if they had been run up by hundreds of builders from different points in the dark, who, when daylight came, found themselves in all sorts of zigzag ways endeavouring to brick up one another. And in these places you will always find "Apartments to let." True, they are very close, but then they are very central, for what part of London is there that the great main artery of Fleet-street does not lead

of Alsatia (a name given to this locality about 1600) in the Fortunes of Nigel; and from the same work we have so often quoted, we are enabled

* and inspired (into them) his own infernal spirit; for nothing but devilism could be read in every feature. Theft, homicide, and blasp

other members of her body were sacrificed to keep her ill-looking face in a little finery. Another, I suppose taken from the oyster-tub and put into (similar) allurements, made a more cleanly appearance, but became her ornaments as a cow would a curb-bridle or a

p in here with their effects, take sanctuary against the laws, compound their debts for a small matter, and oftentimes get a better estate by breaking than they could ever propose to do by trading. But now a late Act [he must here allude to the Act passed about 1696, William III.] of

, and the houses untenanted, as if the plague, or some like judgment from heaven, as well as execu

n the very sanctuary of the law, for the author (Ned Ward) just quoted tells us, t

r merry neighbour Punch, who does his "spiriting gently," and is as great a "terro

subject the Descent from the Cross. The steeple was struck by lightning in 1764, and when repaired was r

silent finge

ovelling man t

Girl, or Moll Cut-Purse. She died in the seventy-fifth year of her age, at her house in Fleet-street, next the Globe tavern, in 1659. In her will she left 20l. for the conduit to run with wine at the Restoration of Charles II. It was Moll who robbed General Fairfax on Hounslow Heath. Her life was published in 1662. She was, says Granger, "a fortune-teller, a pickpocket, a t

om our own experience, a specimen of a downright London lodging-house-we mean, one in which the landlord lives entirely by let

side except the knuckle, or the edge of the bare blade-bone. It was wonderful how often the cat got to our meat, and what trouble our landlady had been at, according to her account, to cut off the portions puss had mangled, before it was again fit to appear on the table. Cruel woman! she was always beating the cat whenever we had a cold joint. As for our tea-caddy, we tried half-a-dozen various kinds of locks; but they were picked with far more ease than the clever American managed to pick Chubb's patent. When we did at last get an unpickable lock, caddy and tea went altogether, and Cinderella said her mistress had had a strange sweep, and that sweeps were always sure to carry something or another away in the soot. The next day we found a sixpenny tin tea-caddy in our cupboard, so took the hint, and never sent out for more than two ounces at a time; and the landlady seemed to settle down satisfied with little more than half of it, so we had it "fresh and fresh" every day. We found that a twopenny French roll went

you was always good. Many cheap game-hawkers came to the door; and sometimes the l

money to prepay a letter, they invariably forgot to stamp "paid" on it at the post-office, though the girl knew to an inch where she had put the money at the time, and could remember every thing that was on the counter; and sometimes she said she had put the money in the scales, and was sure it could not have rolled off and fallen on the floor. Butter in these houses was very solid: it was wonderful what a thin slice you had for half a pound, though the Cinderella of the establishment swore

the room is for show, nothing for comfort. The mantelpiece is covered with articles which are neither ornamental nor useful: shells, four a shilling; a couple of white delf candlesticks; two old hand-screens, picked up dirt-cheap at an auction; in the centre three ugly-shaped earthenware articles, red, blue, and gilt tarnished, holding about a dozen spills each, which are never used-you are sick of seeing them reflected in the long mirror which was bought a bargain. If you have a handful of fire in the cold glittering grate on a bitter winter night, it makes you shiver to look at it: the poker looks so bright and chilling, you are afraid to tou

into these old, keen, money-making lodging-houses: the echoes of those houses are never broken by childish laughter, nor these creaking floors shaken by merry

fifty miles apart. The poor inhabitant in the attic may be dying while the first-floor lodger is entertaining a party of friends; and

ning in the mean time. Second-floor comes with a bold double-knock, something between a bum-bailiff's, a postman's, and a tax-gatherer's; he dines at one or two, and is on nodding terms with the first-floor; he persevered for months trying on a "Fine morning, sir," and at last was made happy by a most surly "Very, sir." He progressed a step farther one day by saying something unpleasant about the "common people up-stairs." First-floor dines at three or four, if he is a clerk or holds some slight situation under government, obtained, perhaps, through his father selling hi

oor children are very tidy, as most of the washing is put out, and the mother can spare time to look after them; they are taught to "toady" to first-floor as soon as they have learned to talk; to call them "miss" or "master," and their father and mother "pa" and "ma." Your heart aches while you look on the canting little creatures, whose ever

, pale, industrious mother is busy washing. But they will be taken out for a walk somewhere on Sunday, and for one day in the week be the happiest party under th

t is, young men are too fond of shifting about, and have not patience to wait until they become accustomed to the ways of these really respectable people. "Slow" has become a bad wo

he grate, after they had arranged his bedroom in the morning, and for a time the crackling of the fire seems like pleasant companionship. Then the church-clock tolls slowly and sadly, and he yawns while he thinks of the weary hours that have yet to pass away before bedtime. He makes his own tea-or, perchance, the little dirty servant, who has sixpence a week and her "wittals," brings it up: when he has finished, he rings the bell, the things are cleared away, and then he may hang himself if he pleases, quite certain that the deed would never be discovered until the morrow. Were he taken ill, and to ring the bell, the little servant would be sent to fetch a doctor, if the lodger had the wherewithal to pay; if not, they would advise him to go

nnot wholly avoid these man-traps; but, if he take our advice, he will stay at some decent coffee-house or tavern until he gets settled, and not venture into apartments, unless those who have them to let can be recommended by

such a roof. Changes, such as they foresaw not, compel them to add a few shillings a week to their income-for they have lived so many years in the same house that it would make them miserable to leave it. A son is in a situation, or a daughter has got married, and they have no longer any use for the rooms they occupied; or the landlord cannot do so much work as he formerly

ep a servant, but where a modest daughter honours you by her attendance, respect her as you would a sister. Remember, also, that i

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these wooden "puppets," see Douglas Jerrold's St. James's and St. Giles's, in which he reads as severe a lecture to hard-hearted overseers as the old ballad of The Babes in the Wood does to "wicked uncles." Before the statue of Queen Elizabeth, which stands over the doorway fronting Fleet-street, a poor simple-hearted Irishwoman was

to which our living poet laureate Alfred Tennyson does "most resort," according to his

with t

thousand

former days. With many of these our readers are doubtless familiar, but they perhaps never heard of the "Cock" before reading Tennyson's poems. Nevertheles

larg

ern poul

rward on a

ed a plum

, which were afterwards duly honoured by the worthy landlord, who gave to their bearer full value in generous food and liquor. This currency was so extensive that when, during the ravages of the Great Plague in London, the door of the Cock was closed, "when the plump head waiter" and all oth

locality far beyond the limits that our pages allow, so we shall w