Southwark Fair ranked next to St. Bartholomew, and comprehended all the attractions for which its rival on the other side of the water was so famous. On the 13th day of September 1660, John Evelyn visited it. “I saw,” said this entertaining sight-seer, “in Southwark, at St. Margaret's Faire, monkies and apes daunce, and do other feates of activity on ye high rope: they were gallantly clad À la mode, went upright, saluted the company, bowing and pulling off their hats; they saluted one another with as good a grace as if instructed by a dauncing-master; they turned heels over head with a basket having eggs in it, without breaking any; also with lighted candles in their hands, and on their heads, without extinguishing them, and with vessels of water, without spilling a drop. I also saw an Italian wench daunce and performe all the tricks of ye tight rope to admiration. All the Court went to see her. Likewise here was a man who tooke up a piece of iron cannon, of about 400 lbs weight, with the haire of his head onely.” September 15, 1698, the curious old narrator paid it another visit. “The dreadful earthquake in Jamaica this summer” (says he) “was prophanely and ludicrously represented in a puppet-play, or some such lewd pastime in the fair of Southwark, wch caused the Queane to put downe that idle and vicious mock shew.” The fair, however, revived, and outlived her Majesty many merry years. How slept the authorities some seasons ago, when Messrs. Mathews and Yates dramatised an “Earthquake” at the Adelphi!

The Bowling Green in Southwark was the high 'Change of the Fair. Mr. Fawkes, the conjuror, exhibited at his booth, over against the Crown Tavern, near St. George's Church. Dramatic representations, music and dancing, the humours of Punch and Harlequin, a glass of “good wine, and other liquors,” were to be had at the several booths held at the “Golden Horse-shoe,” * the “Half-Moon Inn,” ** and other well-known houses of entertainment. Thither resorted Lee and Harper to delight the denizens of Kent Street, Guy's Hospital, and St. Thomas's, with Guy of Warwick, Robin Hood, the comical adventures of Little John and the Pindar's wife, and the Fall of PhaËton! In July 1753, the Tennis Court and booths that were on the Bowling Green, with some other buildings where the fair used to be held, were pulled down; and shortly after, that pleasant Bowling Green was converted into a potato and cabbage market!

Southwark, or Lady Fair, has long since been suppressed. Thanks, however, to the “great painter of mankind,” that we can hold it as often as we please in our own breakfast-parlours and drawing-rooms! The works of Hogarth are medicines for melancholy. If the mood be of Jacques's quality, “a most humorous sadness,” it will revel in the master's whim; if of a deeper tinge, there is the dark side of the picture for mournful reflection. Though an unsparing satirist, probing vice and folly to the quick, he has compassion for human frailty and sorrow. He is no vulgar caricaturist, making merry with personal deformity; he paints wickedness in its true colours, and if the semblance be hideous, the original, not the copy, is to blame. His scenes are faithful transcripts of life, high and low. He conducts us into the splendid saloons of fashion;—we pass with him into the direst cells of want and misery. He reads a lesson to idleness, extravagance, and debauchery, such as never was read before. He is equally master of the pathetic and the ludicrous. He exhibits the terrible passions, and their consequences, with almost superhuman power. Every stroke of his pencil points a moral; every object, however insignificant, has its meaning. His detail is marvellous, and bespeaks a mind pregnant with illustration, an eye that nothing could escape. Bysshe's Art of Poetry, the well-chalked tally, the map of the gold mines, and the starved cur making off with the day's lean provision, are in perfect keeping with the distressed poet's ragged finery, his half-mended breeches, and all the exquisite minutiae of his garret. His very wig, most picturesquely awry, is a happy symbol of poetical and pecuniary perplexity. Of the same marking character are the cow's horns, rising just above the little citizen's head, in the print of “Evening,” telling a sly tale; while the dramatis personae of the Strollers' Barn, the flags, paint-pots, pageants, clouds, waves, puppets, dark-lanterns, thunder, lightning, daggers, periwigs, crowns, sceptres, salt-boxes, ghosts, devils, and tragedy queens exhibit such an unique miscellany of wonders, that none but an Hogarth ever thought of bringing together. Turn, by way of contrast, to “Gin Lane,” and its frightful accompaniments!

Hogarth went quite as much to see Southwark Fair and its fun (for which he had a high relish) as to transfer them to his canvass. 'Tis a holiday with the mountebanks, and he has caught them in all their grimacerie and glory. A troop of strollers, belonging to Messrs. Cibber and Bullock, attitudinising and making mouths, as a prologue to the “Fall of Bajazet,” are suddenly surprised into the centre of gravity by the breaking down of their scaffold, and Kings, Queens, Turks, tumblers, monkeys, and Merry Andrews descend topsy-turvy into a china-shop below! At Lee and Harper's grand booth are the celebrated Wooden Horse of Troy, the Temptation of Adam and Eve, and Punch's Opera. A fire-eater is devouring his red-hot element, and his periwigged Jack-Pud-ding is distributing his quack nostrums. A tragedy hero has a brace of bailiffs in his train; and a prize-fighter, with his hare sconce dotted with sable patches, and a nose that might successfully bob for black-beetles against a brick wall, mounted on a blind bone-setter, perambulates the fair, challenging the wide world to mortal combat!

These, with a pretty female drummer of amazonian proportions; an equilibrist swinging on the slack rope; a juggler with his cups and balls; a pickpocket and a couple of country boobies; a bag-piper; a dancing dog; a dwarf drummer, and a music-grinder, make up a dramatis jiersono only to be equalled by the Strolling Players * and the March to Finchley.

There is a fair,—an extraordinary one,—the holding of which depends not on the caprice of magisterial wiggery. Jack Frost—a bold fellow! for he has taken Marlborough and Wellington by the nose—twice or thrice in a century proclaims his fair. No sooner is the joyful tidings bruited abroad, than the dutiful sons and daughters of Old Father Thames flock to his paternal bosom, which, being icy cold, they warm by roasting an ox upon it, and then transfer to its glassy surface the turmoil, traffic, and monstrosities of dry land.

Evelyn has given an interesting description of Frost Fair in 1683-4. This amusing chronicler of passing events possessed more than Athenian curiosity. He entered the penetralia of the court of King Charles the Second; and while he whispered in his closet pathetic Jeremiads over its immorality, he shocked his averted vision day after day with its impurities—still peeping! still praying! For all and sundry of the merry Monarch's “misses,” and for poor Nelly (by far the best of them) in particular, he expressed a becoming horror in his private meditations; yet his outward bearing towards them indicated no such compunctious visitings. He was an excellent tactician. He crept into the privy councils of the regicides, and, mirabile dictu! retired from the enemy's camp in a whole skin; and while fortunes were being confiscated, and heads were falling on all sides, he kept his own snug in his pocket, and erect on his shoulders. Monarchy, Anarchy, High Church, Low Church, No Church, Catholicism, Anything-ism, Every-thing-ism.! plain John (he declined a baronetcy) passed over the red-hot ploughshares of political and religious persecution unsinged. And we rejoice at his good luck; for whether he treat of London's great Plague or Fire, the liaisons of his “kind master” King Charles the Second, the naughtiness of Nelly and her nymphs, or the ludicrous outbreaks of Southwark, St. Bartholomew, and Frost Fairs, he is a delightful, gentlemanly old gossiper!

On the 1st of January 1683-4, the cold was so intense, that booths (a novel spectacle) were erected on the Thames, and Jack Frost proclaimed his earliest recorded fair.

“I went crosse the Thames,” says Evelyn, January 9, 1683-4, “on the ice, which now became so thick as to bear not only streetes of boothes, in which they roasted meate, and had divers shops of wares, quite acrosse as in a towne, but coaches, carts, and horses passed over. So I went from Westminster Stay res to Lambeth, and din'd with the Archbishop. I walked over the ice (after dinner) from Lambeth Stayres to the Horseferry.”

“The Thames (Jany 16) was filled with people and tents, selling all sorts of wares as in a citty. The frost (Jany 24) continuing more and more severe, the Thames before London was still planned with boothes in formal streetes, all sorts of trades and shops furnished and full of commodities, even to a printing-presse, where the people and ladyes tooke a fancy to have their names printed on the Thames. This humour tooke so universally, that 'twas estimated the printer gain'd 51. a-day, for printing a line only, at sixpence a name, besides what he got by ballads, &c. Coaches plied from Westminster to the Temple, and from several other staires to and fro, as in the streetes, sleds, sliding with skeates, a bull-baiting, horse and coach races, puppet playes and interludes, cookes, tipling, and other lewd places, so that it seem'd to be a bacchanalian triumph, or carnival on the water.”

“It began to thaw (Feb. 5), but froze againe. My coach crossed from Lambeth to the Horseferry at Millbank, Westminster. The booths were almost all taken downe; but there was first a map, or landskip, * cut in copper, representing all the manner of the camp, and the several actions, sports, and pastimes thereon, in memory of so signal a frost.”

In 1715-16 Jack Frost paid Old Father Thames a second visit. * But whether maids had grown modest, dissenters loyal, and false-hearted men and true,

according to old Erra Pater's prognostication in 1663, is a question; and in 1739-40 * he honoured him with a third, which was no less joyous than the preceding two. In 1788-9, the Thames was completely frozen over below London Bridge. Booths were erected on the ice; and puppet-shows, wild beasts, bear-baiting, turnabouts, pigs and sheep roasted, exhibited the various amusements of Bartholomew Fair multiplied and improved. From Putney Bridge down to Redriff was one continued scene of jollity during this seven weeks' saturnalia. The last Frost Fair was celebrated in the year 1814. The frost commenced on 27th December 1813, and continued to the 5th February 1814. *

There was a grand walk, or mall, from Blackfriars Bridge to London Bridge, that was appropriately named The City Road, and lined on each side with booths of all descriptions. Several printing presses were erected, and at one of these an orange-coloured standard was hoisted, with “Orange Boven” printed in large characters. There were E O and Rouge et Noir tables, tee-totums and skittles; concerts of rough music, viz. salt-boxes and rolling-pins, gridirons and tongs, horns, and marrow-bones and cleavers. The carousing booths were filled with merry parties, some dancing to the sound of the fiddle, others sitting round blazing fires smoking and drinking. A printer's devil bawled out to the spectators, Now is your time, ladies and gentlemen,—now is your time to support the freedom of the press! * Can the press enjoy greater liberty? Here you find it working in the middle of the Thames!” And calling upon his operatical powers to second his eloquence, he, with “vocal voice most vociferous,” thus out-vociferated e'en sound itself,—

Siste Viator! if sooner or later

You travel as far as from here to Jerusalem,

Or live to the ages of Parr or Methusalem,—

On the word of old Wynkyn,

And Caxton, I'm thinking,

Tho' I don't wear a clothes—

Brush under my nose,

Or sweep my room

With my beard, like a broom,

I prophecy truly as wise Erra Pater,

You won't see again sick a wonder of Natur!”

A “Swan of Thames,” too—an Irish swan!—whose abdominal regions looked as if they were stuffed with halfpenny doggrel,

entertained a half-frozen audience, who gave him shake for shake with

THE METRICAL, MUSICAL, COLD, AND COMICAL HUMOURS OF FROST FAIR.=

Open the door to me, my love,

Prithee open the door,—

Lift the latch of your h'gant thatch,

Your pleasant room, attic! or what a rheumatic

And cold I shall catch!

And then, Miss Clark, between you and your spark

'Twill be never a match!

I've been singing and ringing, and rapping and tapping,

And coughing and sneezing, and wheezing and freezing,

While you have been napping,

Miss Clark, by the Clock of St. Mark,

Twenty minutes and more!

Little Jack Frost the Thames has cross'd

In a surtout of frieze, as smart as you please!—

There's a Bartlemy Fair and a thorough—

Slopsellers, sailors, three Tooley Street tailors,

All the Élite of St. Thomas's Street,

The Mint, and the Fleet!

The bear's at Polito's jigging his jolly toes;

Mr. Punch, with his hooked nose and hunch;

Patrick O'Brien, of giants the lion;

And Simon Paap, that sits in his lap;

The Lady that sews, and knits her hose,

And mends her clothes, and rubs her nose,

And comes and goes, without fingers and toes!

You may take a slice of roast beef on the ice;

At the Wellington Tap, and Mother Red-cap,

The stout runs down remarkably brown!

To the Thimble and Thistle, the Pig and Whistle,

Worthy Sir Felix has sent some choice relics

Of liquor, I'm told, to keep out the cold!

If you 've got a sweet tooth, there 's the gingerbread

booth—

To the fife and the fiddle we'll dance down the middle,

Take a sup again, then dance up again!

And have our names printed off on the Thames;

Mister and Missis (all Cupids and kisses!)

Dermot O'Shinnigly, in a jig, in a glee!

And take a slide, or ha'penny ride

From Blackfriars Bridge to the Borough!

The sun won't rise till you open your eyes—

Then give the sly slip to the sleepers.

Don't, Miss Clark, let us be in the dark,

But open your window and peepers.

A friend of ours who had a tumble, declared, that though he had no desire to see the city burnt down, he devoutly wished to have the streets laid in ashes! And another, somewhat of a penurious turn, being found in bed late in the morning, and saluted with, “What! not yet risen?” replied, “No; nor shall I till coals fall!”