Exclaimed Dashall, as he advanced from the breakfast table towards the window, when a pleasing and singular street-exhibition presented itself, which had attracted around a numerous audience, of all ages and conditions.

An itinerant purveyor of novelties was in the act of showing forth to an admiring crowd, the docility of a tame hare. On a table in the street, on which was placed a drum, the little animal stood, in an erect posture, and with surprising tractableness obeyed the commands of its exhibiter, delivered in very broken English, with which, nevertheless, it seemed perfectly conversant.

“Vat mattiere now, dat you be so solky, and no take notice of your goot friends?—Come, Sare, shew your politesse, and salute de genteelmens at de window, who so kind as come to look at you.—Make way dere, goot peoples and leetel childer, dat de genteelmens sail see,—dat vill do. Now, sare, begin;—do your beisance all round.”

The animal, without any apparent instruction to whom to give the precedency of obeisance, immediately faced “de genteelmens at de window,” and saluted them with a conge of particular respect; which being acknowledged with a motion of the hand by Dashall, the intelligent animal expressed its sense of his complacency, by a second obeisance, more profound than the first.

The spectators applauded, and the performer testified its gratitude by a bow, all round.

“Dat all goot. Now, sare, tree role on de drom for le Roi d'Angletterre:—Vive le Roi d'Anglettere!”

This command the animal very promptly obeyed, by substituting its fore feet for sticks, and giving three prolonged rolls of the drum, each in distinct succession.

“Now den for Messieurs.”

With equal alacrity this hint was attended to, and as le Roi d'Angletterre had three, so de genteelmens at de window were honoured with two rolls of the drum.

The like compliment was paid to all de Englise peoples; and the minor salute of one roll was given to the surrounding spectators.

The indefatigable drummer was next required to give a token of regard for the Cook; but this he declined to do, and the order, though frequently given, was as frequently uncomplied with.

“Vill you take notice of me, den?”

This question was instantly answered by the accustomed mark of respect.

“Genteelmans at de window, and peoples on de street, my leetel drommer no love de cook,—no show her de respect dat he show you—he know dat de cook be no friend of de pauvre hare; “—then turning towards the animal, —“Vat,” said he, “must I speak all de tanks mineself?”

In deficiency of speech, the animal reiterated its obeisances— “Diable!” exclaimed the exhibiter—“here comes de cook, to kill and spit you!”

The hare instantly hastened to its hiding place, and thus terminated the exhibition.

“This epitome of the world,” observed Tallyho, “lacks nothing to gratify every sense of man! Here industry is on the alert to accumulate wealth, and dissipation in haste to spend it. Here riot and licentiousness roll triumphantly in gilded state, while merit pines in penury and obscurity;—and here ingenuity roams the streets for a scanty and precarious subsistence, exhibiting learned pigs, dogs, and so forth, that will cast accounts with the precision of an experienced arithmetician; and a tame hare that will beat a drum, and make a bow more gracefully than a dancing-master. This last instance of human ingeniousness, by which the poor Frenchman picks up a living, would almost induce a belief that the power of art is unlimitable, and that apparently insurmountable difficulties may be overcome by diligent perseverance!—Who, besides this foreigner, would have thought of divesting a hare of its natural timidity, and rendering it subservient, by a display of intelligence, to the acquirement of his subsistence?”

“And who,” said Dashall, “would have thought, but a German, of training canary-birds to imitate military evolution,—make a prisoner of one of their fellows as a deserter,—try and condemn him to death,—apparently execute the sentence, by shooting him with a small gun,—and finally, bear away the motionless and seemingly lifeless body on a wheel-barrow, for interment!—Nay, who would think of inverting the order of nature, by creating and cementing a union of friendship between cats and birds and mice, associating them together, within the confines of a cage, in the utmost harmony of social intercourse?—And who shall presume to set bounds to the human art, that from a deal board has constructed the figure of a man that will beat at the difficult game of chess, the first players in Europe;{1} and created a wooden musician, that in a solo from the trumpet, will excel the best living performers on that instrument!”

“London is a rare place for sights,—always something new;—where the spirits need never flag through want of amusement. Let me recapitulate,—there is the automaton chess-player and the automaton trumpeter,—the family compact, alias amicable society of cat, birds, and mice,—the military canaries, and an hundred phenomena besides, of which we shall make the round in due time. In the meanwhile, let us set out, like the knight of La Mancha, in search of adventures, without running the risk of mistaking windmills for giants: one of the former would, indeed, be a high treat to the insatiable curiosity of the inhabitants of this metropolis; and as to giants, there are none on shew since Bartholomew-fair, excepting those stationary gentlemen, the twin-brothers, Gog and Magog, in Guildhall.”

Passing through the town without meeting with any new object worthy of particular notice, they found themselves at the extremity of Threadneedle-street, when Dashall, pointing to a neat plain building, “this,” said he, “is the South Sea House. The South Sea Company was established for the purpose of an exclusive trade to the South Seas, and many thousands were ruined by the speculation: the iniquity and deception were at last discovered, and those who were at the head were punished. The eager hope of wealth frequently engenders disappointment,—but here credulity attained her zenith;—amongst other schemes, equally practicable, the projectors of this notorious bubble set up a method of making butter from beech-trees; a plan to learn people to cast their nativity; an insurance against divorces; and a way of making deal boards out of saw-dust!”

“And is it possible,” inquired Tallyho, “that such most preposterous theories obtained belief?”

“Even so,” answered Dashall,—“What is there in which human folly will not believe?—We have all read of the bottle-conjurer.{1}—The prevalence of curiosity is universal. I could safely stake any money, that if public notice was given of a person who would leap down his own throat, he would gain belief, and a full audience would favour him with their company to witness his marvellous performance.”

Proceeding into Bishopsgate-street, the new City of London Tavern caught the attention of Tallyho.

“This,” observed his friend, “is probably the first tavern in London, with reference to superior accommodation. Here congregate the most eminent corporate bodies, directors of public institutions and others, on occasions of business or enjoyment; here the admirable arrangement of every thing conducive to comfort is minutely attended to; here the plenitude of abundance, and the delicacies of luxury, distinguish the festive board, and the culinary art is shown forth to the very acme of perfection; which, together with the varied, unsophisticated excellence of the richest wines, secure to this celebrated tavern the continuance of a well-merited public approbation. But one of these days we shall avail ourselves of practical experience, by forming part of the company at dinner.”

Proposing in their way home to take the skirts of the metropolis, they directed their course through Moorfield, where Tallyho remarked on the unseemly desolate waste there presenting itself, and expressed surprise that it was not appropriated to some purposes of utility or ornament.

“It appears,” answered Dashall, “as if some such improvement was in projection; probably a new square, if we may so opine from present indications; however, be the intention what it may, the execution is uncommonly tardy; with the exception of the central iron-railing, the handsome structure on the opposite side, the solitary building on the right, and range of new houses on the left, the tout ensemble was the same twenty years ago. It is a scene of dilapidation which might perhaps have been

“More honoured in the breach than in th' observance.”

I recollect, that when a boy, I frequently extended my rambles into the quarters of Moorfields, for so was this place then named, from its compartments, exhibiting rural appearance even in the centre of London. Here were four enclosed fields, displaying in the season the beautiful verdure of nature; and numerous trees branching, in ample shade, over two great walks, that intersected each other at right angles, and formed the afternoon promenade of the citizens' wives and daughters. In former times, the quarters of Moorfields were resorted to by holiday visitants, as the favourite place of rendezvous, where predominated the recreation of manly exercises, and shows, gambols, and merriment were the orders of the day. The present is an age of improvement,—and yet I cannot think, in an already monstrously overgrown metropolis, the substitution of bricks and mortar an equivalent for green fields and rural simplicity.”

Leaving Moorfields, they passed, in a few minutes, into Finsbury-square.

Tallyho appeared surprised by its uniformly handsome edifices, its spacious extent, and beautiful circular area, in which the ground is laid out and the shrubberies disposed to the very best advantage. “Here, at least,” he observed, “is a proof that Taste and Elegance are not altogether excluded a civic residence.”

“In this square, taking its name from the division of Finsbury,” said Dashall, “reside many of the merchants and other eminent citizens of London; and here, in the decorations, internally, of their respective mansions, they vie with the more courtly residents westward, and exceed them generally in the quietude of domestic enjoyment.”

Renewing their walk along the City Road, the gate of Bunhill Fields burying-ground standing conveniently open, “Let us step in,” said Dashall,—“this is the most extensive depository of the dead in London, and as every grave almost is surmounted by a tombstone, we cannot fail in acquiring an impressive memento mori.”

While examining a monumental record, of which there appeared a countless number, their attention was withdrawn from the dead, and attracted by the living. An elderly personage, arrayed in a rusty suit of sables, with an ink bottle dangling from one of the buttons of his coat, was intently employed in copying a long, yet well written inscription, to the memory of Patrick Colquhon, L.L.D., author of a Treatise on the Police of the Metropolis, and several other works of great public utility. Having accomplished his object, the stranger saluted Dashall and Tallyho in a manner so courteous as seemingly to invite conversation.

“You have chosen, Sir,” observed Mr. Dashall, “rather a sombre cast of amusement.”

“Otherwise occupation,” said the stranger, “from which I derive subsistence. Amidst the endless varieties of Real Life in London, I am an Epitaph-Collector, favoured by my friends with the appellation of Old Mortality, furnished them by the voluminous writer and meteor of the north, Sir Walter Scott.”

“Do you collect,” asked Tallyho, “with the view of publishing on your own account?”

“No, Sir,—I really am not in possession of the means wherewith to embark on so hazardous a speculation. I am thus employed by an eccentric, yet very worthy gentleman, of large property, who ambitious of transmitting his name to posterity, means to favour the world with a more multitudinous collection of epitaphs than has hitherto appeared in any age or nation;—his prospectus states “Monumental Gleanings, in twenty-five quarto volumes!”

“Astonishing!” exclaimed Dashall,—“Can it be possible that he ever will be able to accomplish so vast an undertaking?”

“And if he does,” said Tallyho, “can it be possible that any person will be found to read a production of such magnitude, and on such a subject?”

“That to him is a matter of indifference,” said Old Mortality,—“he means to defray the entire charges, and the object of publication effected, will rest satisfied with the approbation of the discerning few, leaving encomium from the multitude to authors or compilers more susceptible of flattery,—

As to the quantum of materiel, he is indefatigable in personal research, employing besides numerous collectors even in the sister island, and in this, from the Land's-end to Johnny Grot's house.”

“And when,” asked Dashall, “is it probable that this gigantic work may be completed?”

“Can't say,” answered Old Mortality,—“I should think at no very remote period: the collection is in daily accumulation, and we are already in possession of above ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND.”

“Prodigious!” exclaimed Dashall, “as Dominic Sampson says. And pray, Sir, what number may your assiduities have contributed towards the aggregate?”

“That,” answered Old Mortality, “I cannot exactly ascertain; to those, however, already supplied, this ground will yield a considerable increase.”

“May we solicit,” said Tallyho, “without the imputation of intrusion, the favour of your reading to us from your table-book, a few of the most remarkable epitaphs?”

Old Mortality readily promised gratification as far as possible, but he had not his table-book with him; “I have been employed to day,” said he, “in making extracts from one of our manuscript folio volumes, for the purpose of insertion in the different metropolitan daily papers;—here they are”—taking a small bundle from his pocket, tied round with red tape,—“one for each paper: permit me, gentlemen, for a moment just to look over the endorsations.”

The triumvirate now seated themselves on a tombstone, and Old Mortality untying the bundle of extracts, laid them down in loose compact; then taking up the first, and reading the superscription, shewing for what newspaper it was intended, he reversed it on the tombstone.—“This,” said he, “is for “The Times, British Press, Morning Post, Morning Chronicle, Morning Advertiser, Morning Herald, Public Ledger,—all right,—and sorted, as the postman sorts his letters: I shall take, first of all, Printing-house Square, the others are in a direct line of delivery.” This important arrangement made, he took up one paper from the bundle, and read the contents with an audible voice:—

SPECIMEN OF MONUMENTAL GLEANINGS,

Extracted from the manuscript folio of a new compilation of Epitaphs, serious and eccentric, now in collection, from numerous Dormitories in Great Britain and Ireland; To be completed with all possible expedition, And will be ushered to the patronage of a discerning Public, in Twenty-five quarto volumes.

Interchanging civilities, the party now separated, the collector to resume his occupation, and the two friends their walk.

“Twenty-five quarto volumes,” exclaimed the Squire, “and exclusively filled with epitaphs; this fellow has set himself a task with a vengeance!”

“And which,” answered his friend, “he will never be able to accomplish; however, the ambition of renown as a voluminous collector is the less censurable, as being unattended by any of its too frequently pernicious concomitants, and giving to others an acceptable and not irrational employment; he is only blameable in the projected extent, not the nature of his pursuit; and happy would it be for mankind did the love of fame engender no greater evil than that, if any, which may accrue from the Herculean labours of this epitaph collector.”

“Yet to us, the uninitiated of the country, it would never occur that there existed even in London a man who disseminated his fortune, and applied his mental and corporeal energies in gleaning epitaphs.”

“Neither perhaps would it occur that there existed even in London a virtuoso who discovered that fleas were a species of lobster, and who proceeded to proof by the ordeal of boiling water, on the supposition that the process would change their hue from black to red, and thus satisfactorily establish the correctness of his judgment; unfortunately, however, the boiled fleas still retained their original colour, and the ingenious hypothesis was reluctantly relinquished."{1}

Pursuing their course along the City Road, the two friends were attracted by the appearance of a caravan, stationary on the road side, whereon was inscribed, in large characters, The Female Salamander.

“Here is another instance,” observed Dashall, “of the varieties of Real Life in London.”

“Walk in, gentlemen,” exclaimed the proprietor, “and see the surprising young woman over whom the element of fire has no control!”

Tom and Bob accepted the invitation. Entering the caravan, they were received by an interesting young female, apparently not more than eighteen years of age, with a courteousness of manner far beyond what could have been expected from an itinerant exhibitor.

So soon as a sufficient number of spectators had congregated within the vehicle, the female Salamander commenced her exhibition.

Taking a red-hot poker from the fire, she grasped it firmly, and drew it from head to point through her hand, without sustaining the smallest injury!

“Will you permit me to look at your hand?” asked Dashall.

The girl extended her hand,—the palm was moist, and seemed to have been previously fortified against danger by some secret liquid or other application, now reeking from its recent contact with the flaming weapon.

An uncivilized bumpkin accused her of deception, asserting that the poker was not heated to the extent represented.

“Touch and try,” answered the girl. He did so, and the cauterizing instrument gave a feeling (although not very satisfactory) negative to his assertion.

“The mystery,” continued Dashall, “of resisting the impression of tire, certainly originates in the liquid by which your hand has been protected.”

“I shall answer your observation,” said the Salamander, “by another performance.”

She then dipped her fingers into a pot of molten lead, and let fall upon her tongue several drops of the metallic fluid, to the no small amazement and terror of the company; and as if to remove the idea of precautionary application, she after a lapse of five minutes, repeated the same extraordinary exhibition, and finally immerged her naked feet in the boiling material.

The inscrutable means by which the Salamander executed these feats with the most complete success and safety, were not to be divulged; and as neither of our respectable friends felt desirous of emulating the fair exhibitant, they declined the importunity of further inquiry.

“This is, indeed,” said Dashall, as they resumed their walk, “the age of wonders:—here is a girl who can bear to gargle her mouth with melted lead, put her delicate feet into the same scalding material, and pass through her hands a flaming red-hot poker! I am inclined to believe, that were the present an age of superstition, she might be burnt for a witch, were she not happily incombustible. For my own part, I sincerely hope that this pyrophorous prodigy will never think of quitting her own country; and as I am a bachelor, I verily believe I should be tempted to make her an offer of my hand, could I flatter myself with any chance of raising aflame, or making a match with such uninflammable commodity. Only conceive the luxury, when a man comes home fatigued, and in a hurry for his tea, of having a wife who can instantly take out the heater for the urn with her fingers,—stir the fire with ditto—snuff candles with ditto—make a spit of her arm, or a toasting fork of her thumb! What a saving, too, at the washing season, since she need only hold her hand between the bars till it is red-hot, thrust it into a box iron, and iron you off a dozen children's frocks, while an ordinary laundress would be coddling the irons over the fire, spitting upon them, and holding them to her cheek to ascertain the heat before she began to work.”

“And,” observed the Squire, taking up his friend's vein of humour, “if the young lady be as insensible to the flames of Cupid as she is to those of Vulcan, she might still be highly useful in a national point of view, and well worthy the attention of the various fire-offices.”

“Exactly so,” replied his Cousin,—“how desirable for instance would it have been at the late alarming fire in Gracechurch-street, to have had a trustworthy person like her, who could very coolly perambulate the blazing warehouses, to rescue from the flames the most valuable commodities, or lolling astraddle upon a burning beam, hold the red-hot engine pipe in her hand, and calmly direct the hissing water to those points where it may be most effectually applied. In our various manufactories, what essential services she might perform. In glass-houses, for instance, it is notorious that great mischief sometimes arises from inability to ascertain when the sand and flint have arrived at the proper degree of fusion. How completely might this be remedied, by merely shutting up the female Salamander in the furnace; and I can really imagine nothing more interesting, than to contemplate her in that situation, dressed in an asbestos pelisse, watching the reproduction of a phoenix hung up in an iron cage by her side, fondling a spritely little Salamander, and bathing her naked feet in the vitreous lava, to report upon the intensity of heat. Much more might be urged to draw the attention of government to the propriety of retaining this anti-ignitible young lady, not only for the benefits she may confer upon the public, but for the example she may afford to others of her own sex; that by a proper exertion of courage, the most ardent sparks may be sometimes encountered without the smallest inconvenience or injury.”

Indulging in this playful vein of raillery, they now reached that part of the City Road intersected by the Regent's Canal, where its spacious basin, circumjacent wharfs and warehouses, and winding line of water, with barges gliding majestically on its placid wave, where lately appeared open fields arrayed in the verdure of nature, afforded full scope for remark by Mr. Dashall, on the gigantic design and rapid accomplishment, by commercial enterprize, of the most stupendous undertakings.

“This work of incalculable public utility,” said Mr. Dashall, “sprang into being with the alacrity of enchantment;—the same remark may apply to every other improvement of this vast metropolis, so rapid in execution, that one thinks of the wonderful lamp, and the magnificent palace of Aladdin, erected in one night by the attendant genii.”

Onwards towards “merry Islington;"{1}—“here,” said Dashall, “is the New River: this fine artificial stream is brought from two springs at Chad well and Am well, in Hertfordshire, for the supply of London with water. It was finished in 1613, by Sir Hugh Middleton, a citizen of London, who expended his whole fortune in this public undertaking. The river, with all its windings, is nearly 39 miles in length; it has 43 sluices, and 215 bridges; over and under it a great number of brooks and water-courses have their passage. In some places this canal is carried through vales, and in others through subterraneous passages. It terminates in a basin called the New River Head, close by. From the reservoir at Islington the water is conveyed by 58 main pipes under ground along the middle of the principal streets; and thence by leaden pipes to the different houses. Thus, by means of the New River, and of the London Bridge water-works, every house in the metropolis is abundantly supplied with water, at the expense each of a few shillings only per annum.

This village of Islington is a large and populous place, superior both in size and appearance to many considerable towns in the country. Observe the Angel Inn, celebrated for its ordinary, where you may enjoy, after a country ramble, an excellent dinner on very moderate terms.—Apropos, of the Angel Inn ordinary: some years ago it was regularly every Sunday attended by a thin meagre gaunt and bony figure, of cadaverous aspect, who excited amongst the other guests no small degree of dismay, and not without cause. Cognominated the Wolf, he justified his pretensions to the appellation, by his almost incredible powers of gormandizing; for a quantum of viands sufficient for six men of moderate appetite, would vanish on the magic contact of his knife and fork, in the twinkling of an eye; in fact, his voracity was considered of boundless extent, for he invariably and without cessation consumed by wholesale, so long as eatables remained on the table. One day, after having essentially contributed to the demolition of a baron of beef, and devoured an entire shoulder of lamb, with a commensurate proportion of bread, roots, vegetables, &c, he pounced, with the celerity of a hawk, on a fine roast goose, which unfortunately happened to have been just then placed within the reach of his annihilating fangs, and in a very short space of time it was reduced to a skeleton; having occasion for a few minutes to leave the room, the company in the meanwhile secreted the bones of the goose. The waiter now entered for the purpose of removing the cloth: casting his eyes round the room, he seemed absorbed in perplexity—“What is the matter?” asked one of the company; “do you miss arty thing?”—“Yes, Sir, the bones of a goose!”—“Why then you may save yourself the trouble of further search; the gentleman just gone out, of modest manners and puny appetite, has devoured the goose, bones and all!”—The waiter lost no time in reporting the appalling fact to his master, who now more than ever was desirous of getting rid of the glutton—but how? it was impossible to exclude him the ordinary, or set bounds to his appetite; the only resource left was that of buying him off, which was done at the rate of one shilling per diem, and the wolf took his hebdomadary repast at a different ordinary: from this also his absence was purchased at the same rate as by the first. Speculating on his gluttony, he levied similar contributions on the proprietors of the principal ordinaries in the metropolis and environs; and if the fellow is still living, I have no doubt of his continuing to derive his subsistence from the sources already described!—Now what think you of Real Life in London?"{1}

The Squire knew not what to think—the circumstance was so extraordinary, that the story would have been rejected by him as unworthy of notice, had it been told by any other person; and coming even from his respectable friend, he remained, until reassured of the fact, rather incredulous of belief.

Descending the declivity leading from Pentonville to Battle Bridge, Dashall, pointing to an extensive pile of buildings at some little distance on the left,—“That,” said he, “is Cold Bath Fields Penitentiary House, constructed on the plan of the late Mr. Howard, and may be considered in all respects as an experiment of his principles. It cost the county of Middlesex between £70 and £80,000, and its yearly expenditure is about £7,000. It was opened in 1794, and was originally designed only as a kind of Bridewell; but having suitable accommodations for several descriptions of prisoners, it was applied to their different circumstances. The prison you may observe is surrounded by a wall of moderate height. Here are workshops for the prisoners; an office in which the business of the prison is transacted; a committee-room, and the best chapel of any prison in London. The cells are 218 in number, about eight feet long each. In these, penitentiary prisoners are confined till they have completed their tasks, when they are let into the courts at the back. Owing to the exertions of Sir Francis Burdett, and his partizans, this house, about the year 1799 and 1800, attracted much popular odium. Many abuses, now rectified, were then found to exist in the management, though not to the full extent described.”

A new scene now rose on the view of our two pedestrians. A little further on, in a field by the roadside, a motley assemblage of auditors environed an orator mounted on a chair, who with frequent contortion of feature, and appropriate accompaniment of gesticulation, was holding forth in the spirit, as Pashalt, surmised, either of radicalism or fanaticism. This elevated personage, on closer approximation, proved to be a field-preacher, and judging from exterior appearance, no stranger to the good things of this life, although his present admonitory harangue strongly reprobated indulgence in the vanities of this wicked world;—he was well clad, and in portly condition, and certainly his rubicundity of visage by no means indicated on his part the union of practice with precept.

Nothing of further interest occurred, and they reached home, pleased with their day's ramble, that had been productive of so much amusement;—“thus verifying,” said Dashall to the Squire, “the observation which you lately made—that every hour brings to a metropolitan perambulator a fresh accession of incident.”