The conversion of the huge stone quarry at the Mount into a cemetery was a very good idea. This immense excavation was becoming a matter of anxiety with the authorities, as to what should be done with so large an area of so peculiar a nature. To fill it up with rubbish seemed an impossibility; while the constant and increasing demand for stone added to the difficulties of the situation. The establishment of a cemetery at Kensal Green in Middlesex, suggested the conversion of this quarry to a similar purpose. A feeling in the minds of people that the dead should not be interred amidst the living, began to prevail—a feeling that has since grown so strong as to be fully recognised in the extensive cemeteries now formed at the outskirts of this and all large towns. Duke-street used to be called “The road to the Quarry,” and was almost solely used by the carts bringing stone into the town. Eighty years ago, there were only a few houses at the top of this street, having gardens at the back. There was a ropery which extended from the corner of the present Berry-street (called after Captain Berry, who built the first house in it), to the roperies which occupied the site of the present Arcades. All above this was fields, with a few houses only in Wood-street, Fleet-street, Wolstenholme-square, and Hanover-street. This latter street contained some very handsome mansions, having large gardens connected with them.

Rodney-street was laid out by a German named Schlink, who, being desirous to perpetuate his name, called his new thoroughfare Schlink-street. Several houses were erected in it, but the idea of living in “Schlink”-street—the word “Schlink” being associated with bad meat—deterred persons from furthering the German’s speculation. In deference to this notion, the name of the then popular hero, “Rodney,” was given to the street; and it has continued to be occupied by families of the highest respectability, and especially of late years by the medical profession.

I recollect a rather curious circumstance, connected with one of the best houses in this street, which caused some amusement at the time amongst those who were acquainted with the particulars and the parties. It was a complete instance of “turning the tables.” About thirty years, or more, ago, a gentleman lived in Rodney-street, whose commercial relations required him to be frequently in the metropolis. He found his presence there was likely to be continuous, and determined to give up his house in Liverpool and reside permanently in London. He, therefore, took steps to let his house (which he held under lease at one hundred and five pounds per annum) by advertising it, and putting a bill in the window to that effect. To his surprise he received a notice from his landlord informing him that by the tenure of his lease, to which he was referred, he would find that he could not sub-let. Finding this to be the case, he went to the owner of the property, and expressed a desire to be released from his occupancy on fair terms, offering to find a substantial tenant and pay half a year’s rent. The landlord, knowing he had a good tenant, rejected this offer in a way somewhat approaching to rudeness. Finding himself tied to the stake, as it were, the gentleman inquired under what terms he could be released? The answer was, that nothing short of twelve months rent and a tenant, would suffice to obtain a release. Without making a reply to this proposal, the gentleman went his way. A few mornings after this interview, the owner of the house, in passing, saw a man painting the chequers [197] on the door cheeks, and on looking up found that “--- --- was licensed to sell beer by retail, to be drunk on the premises.” Astonished at this proceeding, he ordered the painter to stop his work, but the painter told him he was paid for the job, and do it he would. On being told who it was that spoke to him his reply was that he did not care, and that he might go to a place “where beer is not sold by retail nor on the premises,” for aught he cared. Furious at this insolence, the angry landlord sent word to his tenant that he wanted to see him, at the same time giving him notice of what he would do if he persisted in appropriating the house to the purpose intimated. The only answer returned was, that the tenant would be at “the beer-shop” at ten in the morning, where he would meet his landlord. At ten, accordingly, the old gentleman went to his tenant, and on meeting him asked him what was the meaning of his proceedings. “Why,” replied the tenant, “I find by my lease that it is true I cannot sub-let, and as you will not accept what I consider fair terms of release, I intend, for the remainder of my term, to keep the place open as a beer-shop. I have taken out a license, bought furniture for the purpose, and here comes the first load of forms and tables” (at that moment, sure enough, up came a cart heavily laden with all sorts of beer-house requisites). “I intend to make the drawing-room a dancing saloon, and the garden a skittle alley. I have engaged an old warehouseman to manage the business for me, and if we don’t do a roaring business, I hope to make enough to pay your rent, and become free from loss.” The intense anger of the landlord may be imagined; and he left the house uttering threats of the utmost vengeance of the law; but on an interview with his attorney he found there was no redress—a beer-shop was “not in the bond.” He, therefore, went again to his refractory tenant, for it was clear that if the house was once opened as a beer-shop, the adjoining property would be deteriorated. He was smilingly greeted, and his tenant regretted that he had not tapped his ale, or he would have offered him a glass. “Come, Mr. ---,” said the landlord, “let us see if we cannot arrange this matter. I am now willing to accept your offer of half a year’s rent, and a tenant.” “No,” said Mr. ---, “I cannot think of such terms now.” “Well, then, suppose you give me a quarter’s rent, and find me the tenant.” “No!” “Then the rent without the tenant.” “No!” “Then a tenant without the rent.” “No; but I will tell you what I’ll agree to, my good sir—you see, I have been put to some expense. I made you a fair, and, as I think, a liberal offer, which you would not accept. Now, if you will reimburse me all the expense I have been put to, and pay £10 to the town charities, I will abandon my beer-house scheme, undertake to give up the key, and close the account between us.” With these terms the landlord eventually complied, thus having “the tables fairly turned” upon him.

Cock-fighting was at one time a favourite sport in Liverpool, amongst the lower orders, and, indeed, amongst all other classes too. In a street leading out of Pownall-square (so called after Mr. William Pownall, whose death was accelerated during his mayoralty in 1708, in consequence of a severe cold, caught in suppressing a serious riot of the Irish which occurred in the night-time in a place near the Salthouse Dock, called the Devil’s acre), there was a famous cock-pit. The street is now called Cockspur-street. Where the cock-pit stood there is a small dissenting chapel, and the entrance to it may be found up a court. This cock-pit was the resort of all the low ruffians of the neighbourhood. In consequence of the disturbances which continually took place, it was suppressed as the neighbourhood increased in population. It is rather singular that in more than one instance cock-pits have been converted into places of public worship. The cock-pit at Aintree, for instance, was so converted; and the first sermon preached in it was by the Rev. Dr. Hume, who skilfully alluded to the scenes that had been enacted in it, without in the least offensively describing them. That sermon was a remarkable one, and made a great impression on the congregation assembled there for the first time. The late Lord Derby was an enthusiastic cock-fighter, and kept a complete set of trainers and attendants. When I was a boy, it was thought nothing of to attend a cock-fight, and, such was the passion for this cruel sport, that many lads used to keep cocks for the purpose.

It is a curious thing to watch the changes that have taken place from time to time in different neighbourhoods as to the character of the inhabitants. Where at one time we may have found the aristocracy of the town assembling, we have noticed its respectability gradually fading away, and those who inhabited large mansions removing elsewhere. For instance, Rose-hill, Cazneau-street (called after Mr. Cazneau; at one time a pretty street indeed, with gardens in front of all the houses), and Beau-street, were fashionable suburban localities. St. Anne-street abounded in handsome mansions and was considered the court-end of the town. The courtly tide then set southward; Abercromby-square, and its neighbourhood sprung up, and so surged outward to Aigburth one way and to West Derby another. Everton I have already spoken of. I remember the houses in Faulkner-terrace remaining for years unfinished, and it was at one time called “Faulkner’s Folly,” from the notion that no one would ever think of living so far out of the town. Mr. Faulkner, however, proved himself to be more long-sighted than those who ridiculed his undertaking.

I remember the present Haymarket a field with a rivulet flowing through the midst of it, and the whole of this neighbourhood fields and gardens. In Cazneau-street there was an archery lodge, a portion of which is still standing.

I remember, too, the erection of Richmond Fair, in 1787. It was projected by a Mr. Dobb, who dwelt in a bay-windowed house still standing in St. Anne-street. He intended it for a Cloth Hall for the Irish factors to sell their linens in, which they brought in great quantities at that time to Liverpool. The Linen Hall at Chester gave him the idea of this undertaking. It took very well at first, but in consequence of complaints being made by the shopkeepers in the town that the dealers in linen, instead of selling wholesale were carrying on an extensive retail trade and injuring their business, the authorities stopped all further traffic in it, and, after remaining some years unoccupied, it has of late been converted into small tenements.