Story of an Irish informer—Steam Cars—Sale of Vauxhall Gardens—First Jewish Baronet—New Railways opened—High tide—Fire at the Tower—Birth of Prince of Wales—His patent as such—The Thames at length tunnelled—Antiquities found in Royal Exchange.

We have known something about Irish crime, but the following true tale takes a lot of beating. On the last day of the Clonmel Assizes, in July, Judge Torrens heard a case of arson, in which the prisoners, who were four in number, were all acquitted, after a trial which lasted eight hours.

The principal witness for the prosecution was an approver, named Lysaght; and, in all the annals of informers, it would be extremely difficult to find a parallel to this same Lysaght. Indeed, the admission by the Crown of the testimony of such a miscreant, in the matter of life or death, appears to be highly reprehensible, as the following abstract of his evidence will plainly evince:

John Lysaght examined: I remember the time when Walsh’s house was burnt. Anthony Ryan came to me before the house was burned to borrow a gun. I brought it to him on a Monday night, and he told me to come with him to McCarthy’s house, who wanted to see me. I went to McCarthy’s, and near his place was an old house, in which some of our party were assembled. McCarthy brought some bread and spirits, and we took share of it. McCarthy asked me if I would go with the men to frighten Walsh, and burn the house. I promised to do so, and he then furnished us with powder and ball; we went down to the river side, and McCarthy gave his pistols and 7/6 in money to Anthony Ryan. He gave me some powder, flax, and something like saltpetre, and showed me, by putting some powder into the pan, and snapping it, how the flax was to be lighted. McCarthy then parted with us, and we, after eating the bread and meat, went to Walsh’s. I lighted the tow, and Paddy Ryan put the fire into the roof. I and two of the party then went and stood sentry near the road. After a time, I heard a noise, and ran back to give an alarm. We then left, and went by Toom homewards, and separated near Marshall’s gate; this was about three or four in the morning. I and Paddy Ryan had shot guns, Ned Ryan had a long one, Darby Ryan a bayonet on a pole, and the two Ryans had McCarthy’s pistols. We left the house after it was in flames. I knew a man named Bryan Noonan; he is dead.

Judge Torrens: Was it you murdered Noonan?

Witness: No. I joined in it.

Mr. Hatchell: How many men did you murder before this?

Witness: None.

You say it was Anthony Ryan went to you to get the gun?—It was.

He has, since, been transported?—Yes.

You went with the party to the burning for the love of amusement?—They induced me to go with them, but did not force me; I was not very unwilling to go after getting the liquor; but, when I brought the gun, had no such intention.

Did you load the gun before you went out?—I did.

Had you liberty to carry a gun?—Yes, from a magistrate, Mr. Coates, who is since dead.

Were you ever tried before you committed the murder on Noonan?—Indeed I was; I was tried before, for posting a threatening notice, but it was no such thing.

Were you not sentenced to be transported?—I was.

Did you not fire shots at the same time?—Yes.

Judge Torrens: And the reward you gave the Government for bringing you back was murdering Noonan

Mr. Hatchell: Was not your brother Caravat tried?—Yes.

You say you were only present at the murder of Noonan; now, was it not you who knocked down the unfortunate man with the butt-end of a blunderbuss?—Yes, the very first. (Sensation.)

And you don’t call that murdering the man?—We were all murdering him.

Were you not one of the men who carried him into the ditch to hide the body?—I was.

Where is your brother, the Caravat?—I don’t know.

Was he at the burning of Walsh’s house?—No.

Did you know Leonard, the smith?—I did.

Did you see him killed?—I saw him struck, but was not looking on at his killing.

Did you give him a blow then?—I did not strike a blow at the man.

Did you give a blow that day?—Yes, when myself was struck.

Do you remember Wat Hayes?—Yes.

You attacked him, but he shot you off?—No, he did not.

Was not one of your companions shot by Mr. Hayes?—No, but a man near me.

Now, tell me, did he not kill one of your friends?—Oh, he had a party against us, and waylaid us.

Did you remember Jemmy Hughes, who was killed with a hatchet?—I did.

Were you not looking at his murder?—Oh, no; he was married to my first cousin.

Were you not taxed with the murder?—The whole country knew who was in that affair.

You recollect David Hickey, who was killed at Bilboa?—I was in the fair.

You were of the party?—I was looking at him.

That was your third murder.

A Juror: His fifth murder.

Did you rob Michael Rogers?—No, but I got the course of law, and was acquitted.

You knew Mick Griffin, Lord Stradbroke’s herd?—I heard he was shot.

Was your brother Caravat accused of this business?—No, I never heard of it.

Did you not say you would put a rope about McCarthy’s neck?—I did not. I remember when Kennedy was put out of possession. McCarthy’s cattle and premises were burned after this, but the country say it was himself did it. I never asked a farm of Lord Stradbroke, but my father or brothers might. I never heard that McCarthy prevented us getting the farm, on the ground of our being so bad.

Do you remember you and your uncle carrying away a woman?—I do.

Your uncle was transported?—He was.

So you have been guilty of one abduction, five murders, and one burning; what else did you do? Would you suggest any other crime in the catalogue, of which you were not guilty?

Judge Torrens: Did you commit a rape?—No.

Mr. Hatchell: Were any of your brothers convicted of a rape?—Yes.

Were you not charged with holding the unfortunate woman while your brother committed the rape?—No, but another brother was.

Judge Torrens: Did you steal cattle?—No.

Mr. Hatchell: That would be too shabby an offence. When you came to Walsh’s house, you lifted one of the Ryans up in the roof?—Yes.

And you lit the fire?—I did.

Did you know there were women in the house?—I partly guessed there were.

Did you mind how many innocent people might have been burned?—I did not care. (Great sensation.)

Judge and Counsel, with great disgust, ordered the wretch off the table.

In these days of Motor Cars, any gossip about their progenitors must be of interest. On 7 Aug., a steam carriage, carrying 16 persons, belonging to the General Steam Company, was tried between the York and Albany, Regent’s Park, and the Manor House at Tottenham—i.e., along the Camden Road to Finsbury Park—doing the distance in rather less than half-an-hour. Another ran on 13 Sep. from Deptford to Sevenoaks, about 21 miles, in 2 hours 37 minutes, but there were small accidents by the way. Later on in the month the first-named carriage performed about Windsor, Frogmore and Dachet, and frequently reached a speed of 18 to 20 miles an hour; and on Oct. 1 it was shown to the Queen and Prince Albert, the latter expressing himself highly pleased with it. It then only did 16 miles an hour.

On 9 Sep. Vauxhall Gardens, which had been a place of amusement since the time of Charles I., were sold for £20,000. In Punch of 14 Aug. we find a sad account of a last visit:

“Impelled by a sense of duty, we wended our way to the ‘Royal property,’ [169a] to take a last look at the long expiring gardens. It was a wet night—the lamps burnt dimly—the military band played in the minor key—the waiters stalked about with so silent, melancholy a tread, that we took their towels for pocket handkerchiefs; the concert in the open rain went off tamely—dirge-like, in spite of the ‘Siege of Acre,’ which was described in a set of quadrilles, embellished with blue fire and maroons, and adorned with a dozen double drums, thumped at intervals, like death notes, in various parts of the doomed gardens. The divertissement was anything but diverting, when we reflected upon the impending fate of the ‘Rotunda,’ in which it was performed.

“No such damp was, however, thrown over the evolutions of ‘Ducrow’s beautiful horses and equestrian artistes,’ including the ‘new grand entrÉe and calvacade of Amazons.’ They had no sympathy with the decline and fall of the Simpsonian [169b] empire. They were strangers, interlopers, called in, like mutes and feathers, to grace the ‘funeral show,’ to give a more graceful flourish to the final exit. The horses pawed the sawdust, evidently unconscious that the earth it covered would soon be ‘let on lease for building ground’; the riders seemed in the hey-day of their equestrian triumph. Let them, however, derive from the fate of Vauxhall a deep, a fearful lesson!—though we shudder as we write, it shall not be said that destruction came upon them unawares—that no warning voice had been raised—that even the squeak of Punch was silent! Let them not sneer, and call us superstitious—we do not give credence to supernatural agency as a fixed and general principle; but we did believe in Simpson, and stake our professional reputation upon Widdicomb! [170a]

“That Vauxhall Gardens were under the special protection of, that they drew the very breath of their attractiveness from, the ceremonial Simpson, who can deny? When he flitted from walk to walk, from box to box, and welcomed everybody to the ‘Royal property,’ right royally did things go on! Who would then have dreamt that the illustrious George [170b]—he of the Piazza—would ever be ‘honoured with instructions to sell’? that his eulogistic pen would be employed in giving the puff superlative to the Elysian haunts of quondam fashion—in other words—painting the lily-gilding refined gold? But, alas! Simpson, the tutelar deity, departed (‘died,’ some say, but we don’t believe it), and, at the moment he made his last bow, Vauxhall ought to have been closed; it was madness—the madness which will call us, peradventure, superstitious—which kept the gates open when Simpson’s career closed—it was an anomaly, for, like Love and Heaven, Simpson was Vauxhall, and Vauxhall was Simpson!

“Let Ducrow reflect upon these things—we dare not speak out—but a tutelar being watches over, and giveth vitality to his arena—his ring is, he may rely upon it, a fairy one—while that mysterious being dances and prances in it, all will go well; his horses will not stumble, never will his clowns forget a syllable of their antiquated jokes. Oh! let him, then, whilst seriously reflecting upon Simpson and the fate of Vauxhall, give good heed unto the Methuselah, who hath already passed his second centenary in the circle!

“These were our awful reflections while viewing the scenes in the circle, very properly constructed in the Rotunda. They overpowered us—we dared not stay to see the fireworks, ‘in the midst of which Signora Rossini was to make her terrific ascent and descent on a rope three hundred feet high.’ She might have been the sprite of Madame Saqui; [171] in fact, the ‘Vauxhall Papers,’ published in the gardens, put forth a legend which favours such a dreadful supposition. We refer our readers to them—they are only sixpence apiece.

“Of course, the gardens were full, in spite of the weather; for what must be the callousness of that man who could let the Gardens pass under the hammer of George Robins, without bidding them an affectionate farewell? Good gracious! we can hardly believe such insensibility does exist. Hasten then, dear readers, as you would fly to catch the expiring sigh of a fine old boon companion—hasten to take your parting slice of ham, your last bowl of arrack—even now, while the great auctioneer says ‘going.’”

On 24 August Sir J. L. Goldsmid was made a Baronet, and was the first Jewish gentleman who ever received that title. Perhaps it is not generally known that an honour, not much inferior, had, once, very nearly fallen to the lot of a brother Israelite. At one of those festive meetings at Carlton House, in which George IV. sometimes allowed a few of his most favoured subjects to participate, Mr. Braham was introduced to sing his then newly-composed song, “A Bumper of Burgundy,” when the gratified monarch, rising from his chair, was, with difficulty, restrained from conferring immediate knighthood on the flattered musician.

Three well-known railways were opened this year; the Great Western, from London to Bristol, on 30 June; the London and Blackwall, on 2 Aug.; and the London and Brighton, on 21 Sep.

On 18 Oct. was a remarkably high tide in the Thames, which did an immense amount of damage. This, and another event were celebrated in a contemporary ballad, beginning:

“There’s lately been a great high tide,
Nor can it be surprising,
When everything is getting dear,
That water should be rising,”

and after dealing with that event in a very witty manner, it went on:

“The Tower of London, envying
Father Thames’s notoriety,
Resolved to have a ‘flare up’
And be talked of in society;
Ten thousand guns were fired at once,
With very few escapers,
But, though no one heard the great report,
There was one in the papers.”

This terrible conflagration was first noticed about half-past ten, on the night of 31 Oct., by a sentinel on duty on the terrace near the Jewel Office, whose attention was attracted to a glimmering light under the cupola of the Round, or Bowyer Tower—which was close to the Armoury, in which was deposited an immense amount of stores, such as muskets, etc., and many priceless trophies of war. When the sentinel found the light increased, he gave the alarm by firing his musket, and the whole of the garrison, officers and men, turned out; but the fire had got so great a hold that, before a sufficient supply of water could be obtained, the entire roof of the Armoury was in flames.

Unfortunately, it was low tide in the Thames, and, although the fire-engines soon arrived, and there were the Garrison and 250 policemen to render assistance, the flames spread rapidly; so fast, indeed, that the only things then got out and saved, were the Duke of York’s sword and belt, and a beautiful Maltese gun.

The grand staircase of this Armoury was considered one of the finest in Europe, and the following is a contemporary description of it. “In a recess on the landing was a platform supported on eight brass six-pounder guns, taken at Waterloo, and which served as pillars. On this was a splendid trophy, consisting of arms and weapons, ancient and modern, comprising nearly 200 varieties, and nearly all differing in form or pattern. In the centre was a marble bust of William IV. Upon the walls, at the sides, were two large stars, formed of swords, and their brass scabbards, bayonets and pistols, one representing the Star of the Garter, and the other of the Bath. Also two figures in gilt suits of armour on ornamented pedestals. The rails of the stairs and the cornice of the ceiling were ornamented with architectural figures, curiously formed with arms. Below, upon pedestals, were two very striking groups, one representing a knight in gilt armour, preparing for action, attended by his esquire, who was in the act of buckling on his spurs, and a pikeman, with his 18 feet pike. The other group was a knight in a handsome suit of bright armour, of the time of Elizabeth, in action, having seized a banner from the enemy, waving his followers on. On each side of the entrance door was a knight in a suit of gilt armour, and two others, similarly clad, stood on brackets. The whole of these were destroyed, with the exception of the Waterloo cannon.”

The fire was soon perilously near to the Jewel Office, which was scorching hot—yet Mr. Swifte, the keeper of the jewels, saved the whole of the Regalia, down to the minutest article, and was earnestly begged to retire and leave the last thing, a huge silver wine fountain, to its fate, but he would not, and this, also, was salved.

“Then Mr. Swifte was nothing slow
The Crown and Jewels saving;
And to get the great Wine Cooler out,
Great danger he was braving.
Now, Mr. Swifte, of all the wine,
Should now be made the ruler,
For while the fire was getting hotter,
He was getting the Wine Cooler.”

There was an awful scare as to the chance of the store of gunpowder catching alight—but 400 barrels of powder, and 200 boxes of grenades and ball cartridges, were removed to the magazine, and the remainder was thrown into the moat.

On the 8th Dec. the general public were allowed to inspect the ruins, and to purchase mementos of the fire; the prices were, 6d. for half-a-dozen gun-flints, and the same amount for a few burnt percussion caps; pieces of fused iron and arms went at prices varying from 1s. to 20s., the latter, the maximum price. For many years I had a fused cavalry pistol, and some calcined flints which were very pretty. The fused cannon were sold as old metal.

On the 9 Nov. His Majesty Edward VII. was born, and, on the 8th Dec. was created Prince of Wales. His patent is as follows:

“Victoria, by the grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Queen, Defender of the Faith.

“To all Archbishops, Dukes, Earls, Viscounts, Bishops, Barons, Baronets, Knights, Justices, Provosts, Ministers, and all other our faithful subjects, greeting—

“Know ye, that we have made and created, and by these our letters patent, do make and create, our most dear Son, the Prince of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland (Duke of Saxony, Duke of Cornwall and Rothsay, Earl of Carrick, Baron Renfrew, Lord of the Isles, and Great Steward of Scotland), Prince of Wales and Earl of Chester; and to the same, our most dear Son, the Prince of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, have given and granted, and by this our present Charter do give, grant and confirm, the name, style, title, dignity and honour of the same Principality and Earldom, and him, our said most dear Son, the Prince of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, as has been accustomed, we do ennoble and invest with the said Principality and Earldom, by girting him with a sword, by putting a coronet on his head, and a gold ring on his finger, and, also, by delivering a gold rod into his hand, that he may preside there, and may direct and defend those parts. To hold to him and his Heirs, Kings of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, for ever, wherefore we will, and strictly command for us, our heirs, and successors, that our said most dear Son, the Prince of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, may have the name, style, title, state, dignity, and honour of the Principality of Wales, and Earldom of Chester aforesaid, unto him and his heirs, Kings of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, as is above mentioned.

“In witness whereof, we have caused these, our letters, to be made patent. Witness ourself at Westminster, this 8th day of December, 1841.

By the Queen herself.
“Edmunds.”

We read in the Times of 25 Nov., anent the Thames Tunnel, that “a thoroughfare was, yesterday, effected in this work, and made use of, for the first time, by the whole of the directors, and some of the original subscribers, who had assembled upon the occasion. The shield having been advanced to the shaft at Wapping, a considerable opening was cut in the brickwork, and it was through this the party, who had met at Rotherhithe, were enabled to pass, thus opening the first subterranean communication between the opposite shores of the river. Upon their arrival at the shaft, the party was greeted by the workmen with most hearty cheers. A curious and interesting incident was connected with the event; a few bottles of wine, preserved since the dinner given on the occasion when the foundation stone was laid, with the understanding that it was to be drunk only when it could be carried under the Thames, having been opened and enjoyed by the company, to the health of Her Majesty and the infant Prince. It was remarked, too, as a singular coincidence, that a seal on one of the corks bore the impress of the Prince of Wales’s feathers, a circumstance that caused some merriment. The engineer, Sir I. Brunel, appeared highly gratified at the happy result of his past anxiety and arduous labour. The shield will continue its advance, until it has afforded space for the formation of the remainder of the tunnel, which is expected to be completed in about three weeks.”

By the end of the year the foundations of the New Royal Exchange were dug out and concreted, and, as it was always anticipated that some important discoveries might take place in the course of the excavation, proper arrangements were made on the commencement of the work, that any articles of interest which might be disinterred, should be secured for the Gresham Committee. In the Specification for the Works, issued in 1840, the Contractor and Excavator were required, in taking out the soil, to deliver up “any plate, coins, antiquities, or curiosities, whether in metal, or otherwise, or any carved stones, or carvings in marble, pottery, terra cotta, or tesserÆ, which may be found in the course of the excavations; it being understood that all such matters, or things, are to be taken up with all requisite care, and are to remain the property of the Gresham Committee.”

They found a portion of a Roman building, but the greatest haul was in an old gravel pit, some 50ft. by 34, filled with hardened mud, in which were contained considerable quantities of animal and vegetable remains, apparently the discarded refuse of the inhabitants of the vicinity. In the same depository were also found very numerous fragments of the red Roman pottery, usually called “Samian Ware,” pieces of glass vessels, broken terra-cotta lamps, parts of amphorÆ, mortaria, and other articles made of earth, and all the rubbish which might naturally become accumulated in a pond in the course of years. In this mass likewise occurred a number of Imperial Roman coins, several bronze and iron styles, parts of writing tablets, a bather’s strigil, a large quantity of caliga soles, sandals and remains of leather, all of which can now be seen in the highly interesting Museum of the Corporation of the City of London, at the Guildhall.