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CHAPTER XX

Gretna Green parsons – Number of marriages – Chinese indemnity – Thames tunnel – The aerial machine – Treasure trove – Accident to Mr. Brunel – Arkwright’s will – Secession in the Scotch Church – The “Gent” – Shakspere’s autograph.

At this time, Gretna Green marriages were in full blast (they were only made unlawful in 1856), and we learn from the Carlisle Journal, copied into the Times of 20 Feb., something about the Parsons: “We observe by announcement in some of the London papers, that some worthy gentlemen in London, are about to enlighten the public on the subject of Gretna Green marriages, by the publication of a book called The Gretna Green Memoirs, by Robert Elliott, with an introduction and appendix by the Rev. Caleb Brown. In addition to this information, we have been honoured with a copy of what Mr. Elliott calls a ‘cercler,’ which he is desirous we should publish as a paragraph for the benefit of our readers. From this ‘cercler’ we learn that ‘this interesting work contains an accurate account of remarkable elopements, pursuits, anecdotes, etc., never before published.’ Then we are further informed that there is ‘in the press,’ to be published by subscription, The Gretna Green Register, containing the names of 7,744 persons married by Robert Elliott, the Gretna Green Parson. It is added, that ‘the whole is being carefully printed from the original registers, written and kept by himself.’ The Gretna Green Parson, we suspect, has fallen into dishonest hands, or he would not have suffered it to be said that he was about to publish registers which never had existence. The Gretna Green Parson is pretty well known in this neighbourhood. He married a grand daughter of old Joe Paisley, the ‘original’ blacksmith; and, after the death of that worthy ‘parson,’ he set up an opposition shop, in the marriage line to David Laing, who had acquired some notoriety in the business. This was in 1811, and he continued to ‘trade’ until 1822, when it either fell away from him, or he from it. His reverence subsequently condescended to act as horsekeeper, or hostler, at one of the inns in this city, and a few months ago was sent for to London, as a witness, in some marriage case, and is now set up as an author! We suspect the whole thing is an attempt to gull the public into the purchase of a book of inventions. If 7,000 were deducted from the names of those to be inserted in the ‘Register,’ the number would still exceed, by many a score, those who were actually ‘married,’ as it is called, by ‘Robert Elliott, the Gretna Green Parson.’”

The poor “Parson” could not stand this attack on his veracity, and wrote a letter to the Times, which appeared in its issue of 23 Feb., in which he does not deny the bulk of the paragraph taken from the Carlisle Journal, but gives his figures as to his matrimonial business: he says that in the following years; he married so many couples:

He says he married 7,744 persons, but, either his arithmetic, according to the above account, is faulty, or there is an inaccuracy in the Times figures.

On 3 March arrived, in London, the first instalment of the Chinese indemnity – £1,000,000, all in silver. I remember seeing the dock wagons guarded by soldiers, and wondering, until told, what they contained. Some more arrived on the 7th.

The Thames Tunnel was opened to the public on 25 March, with as much ceremony as a private company could manage. There were the Lord Mayor, the directors, and a host of scientific persons, who solemnly went in procession down the staircase on the Rotherhithe side, passed along the western archway of the Tunnel, ascended and descended the staircase at Wapping, and returned through the eastern archway. In the evening there was a grand dinner at the “London Tavern,” where “Prosperity to the Thames Tunnel” was drunk in some wine which had been preserved from the commencement of the enterprise, to celebrate its completion.

As with motor cars, so with aeronautics, the time of which I write, was well in advance. We know of Sen. Santos Dumont’s performances with his motor balloon, in connection with the Eiffel Tower, but Mr. Samuel Henson was before him in applying mechanical power in aeronautics. He took out a patent (No. 9,478), dated 29 Sep., 1842, for “Apparatus and machinery for conveying letters, goods and passengers, from place to place through the air.”

It was an aeroplane. The car which contained passengers, engineer, engines, etc., was suspended in the centre of a framework, which combined strength with lightness, covered with a light, but close, woven fabric. It was started by descending an inclined plane, the impetus from which caused it to rise in the air, when the steam engine was put in action, to continue its motion. The area of the sustaining surface was some 4,500 square feet, and the weight to be borne by it, including the carriage, etc., was estimated at 3,000lbs., which was claimed to be considerably less per square foot than that of many birds.

In April, 1843 – but on what exact date I do not know, an experimental voyage was made from the Hill of Dumbuck, near Glasgow, by Professor Geolls. He successfully negotiated the descent of the inclined plane, and rapidly rose in the air, until he reached an altitude of nearly 3 miles. Feeling giddy, he determined to descend to a mile and a half above the earth. “This I easily effected by depressing the tail of the machine, which, up to this moment, I had kept at an angle with the horizon of 9¾ degrees, to that of 45. My course I had not varied since leaving the hill; it was, per compass, south-west, and by west, half-west, passing over Ayrshire, and in a direct line from Dumbuck to Ailsa Craig, whither, indeed, I was tending, with the view of landing, the latter being admirably suited for launching the machine in a similar way to that adopted at Dumbuck, on my return home again.

“Daylight had now broken, and the scene was most gorgeous. I passed many ships; and, in particular, one steamer, but whose paltry speed, in comparison with mine, was nothing. Alas! however, this was not destined to last; for, just as I had shot ahead of the steamer, something went wrong with the machinery, and the fanners stopped. This did not at all alarm me; for, as described by Mr. Henson, these fanners are only necessary for propulsion, and not at all requisite for maintaining the machine in the air. Unfortunately, however, I perfectly forgot, in the hurry of the moment, to remove the weights from the safety valve, and the effects from this were disastrous in the extreme. The great accumulation of steam that took place was too much for the pipes; and, consequently, bang went three of them, at the same instant. The machine, at this exact moment, feeling its equilibrium altered, surged considerably, and the remaining pipes necessarily followed the example of the others: fizz – bizz – whizz, away they went, one after the other, like pop guns. Unfortunately, one of these pipes, in flying off, struck a bamboo stretcher, and shattered it so, that the machine, losing bearance on one side, toppled over and became perfectly unmanageable; she, in fact, whirled over and over in a way that may be imagined, but which it is altogether impossible to describe.

“I, of course, was now descending with fearful rapidity, and nothing was left me to contemplate but death and destruction. I can only compare my sensations at this moment to those experienced in a nightmare, which, everyone knows, are not the most agreeable in the world. Sensibility now forsook me; and, indeed, this was not to be wondered at, in consequence of the whirling of the machine. On coming to my senses again, I found myself in bed, with severe headache, nausea and vomiting, the usual accompaniments of such a flight through the air; but, thanks to Providence, I am now in a fair way of recovery, and willing to perform the same feat again.”

Luckily for the aeronaut, the accident was seen by the master of a steamer, who sent a boat to his assistance, but the machine was lost.

We often hear of “treasure trove,” but seldom find the owner. However, here is a case: On 11 April, the magistrate at Clerkenwell Police Court had a man named Benjamin Thomas, and five other labourers, brought before him, under the following circumstances. It seems they had been recently engaged in grubbing up the roots of some trees in Tufnell Park, Holloway, when they found, buried in the earth, two jars full of sovereigns, supposed to have amounted to £400. They divided the money between them; but it was claimed by Mr. Henry Tufnell, as Lord of the Manor; and all of them consented to give up what they had, except Thomas, who said that his share was £51, but that he had spent, or lost it. The sum recovered only amounted to £231 17s. Thomas was remanded for a few days, but, in the interval, a new claimant appeared, in the person of Mr. Joseph Frost, of the firm of J. and J. Frost, brass founders in Clerkenwell. It appeared that, some time in August last year, in a temporary fit of mental delusion, he had carried the money out at night, and buried it. Mr. Tufnell waived his claim in favour of Mr. Frost, and Thomas was committed for trial, on the charge of feloniously appropriating the money to his own use.

A very curious accident happened to Brunel, the eminent engineer. He was playing with the child of a friend, pretending to swallow a half-sovereign, and bring it out at his ear, when it slipped, and stuck in his trachæa, whence it could not be disloged. This must have been in the latter part of April, for it is mentioned in the Times of 28 April, as having occurred some short time previously. All efforts of the surgeons could not reach the coin, even though they constructed a machine which suspended him by the heels, when he was shaken and thumped. On 27 April Sir B. Brodie performed trachæotomy on the unfortunate gentleman, but without avail; so they waited until he had somewhat recovered, and again hung him up by his heels. This was on 13 May, and, after a few gentle thumps, the half-sovereign quitted its place, and dropped out of his mouth, without causing him any pain or inconvenience.

In these days, millionaires, and multi-millionaires are exceedingly common, but not so in the time of which I write, and much astonishment was created at the sum of money which Mr. Richard Arkwright, son of Sir Richard, the inventor of the spinning jinny, left behind him. His will was proved, on 24 May, in Canterbury Prerogative Court, and his personal property was sworn to exceed £1,000,000; the stamp duty on the probate of which was £15,000, which was the highest duty then payable, when the testator’s personal estate was £1,000,000 or upwards. In this case the deceased left behind him a fortune of nearly £3,000,000.

The 18th of May is memorable in the Presbyterian Church of Scotland, for the great secession of its members, and the foundation of the Free Church. This was the day appointed for the opening of the General Assembly, and Dr. Welsh, the Moderator of the former Assembly, took the Chair. As soon as business commenced, he read a protest from those who were dissatisfied with the then state of the Church. It was a very long document, and having read it, the Doctor, and those who were of the same opinion, quietly left the Hall, forming a procession and marching four abreast, to a Hall in Canon-mills, where they elected Dr. Chalmers as their Moderator.

A contemporary account of this movement is given in the Observer of 29 May: “The number of clergymen who have seceded from the Church of Scotland, is now 450; and it cannot be a question that, by the middle of the week, the number will be close on 500. This is nearly the half of the entire clergy, the number being under 1,200. Among the leaders will be found the name of almost every minister distinguished for talent, moral worth, or weight of character. Nearly the whole of the people have left the Establishment with their ministers – so that the Free Presbyterian Church, instituted by those who have left the Establishment, may be considered the Church of Scotland. The general impression in Scotland is, that the residuary church cannot long exist. About £240,000 have been raised in less than ten weeks, for the erection of new churches, and for the support of the seceding clergy; and there can be no question that, in a few weeks, the amount will considerably exceed £300,000. Among the contributors, are the Marchioness of Breadalbane, £1,000; a Colonel in the Army, whose name we do not remember, £6,000, in three yearly instalments of £2,000; Mr. Henry Paul, a private gentleman, £2,000; Mr. Nisbet, bookseller, London, £1,000; a Dissenter, £500; and there are various other subscriptions of £2,000 and £1,000 each. Mr. Fox Maule is to build and endow a church at his own expense; Mr. A. Campbell, member for Argyleshire, is to do the same. In Elgin, the pious and spirited inhabitants have raised £1,000 to build a church for the Rev. Alexander Topp, a young and popular minister; and they will also liberally contribute to his support. So that, in many instances, churches will be built, and ministers be provided for, solely by private munificence and local exertion, without requiring any aid from the general fund. The General Assembly of the Establishment is now sitting in Edinburgh, but its proceedings excite little interest. The General Assembly of the Free Church, which the people recognise as the Church of Scotland, is also sitting in Edinburgh, and its proceedings excite an intensity of interest hitherto unparalleled in the ecclesiastical history of Scotland.”

About this time there arose an objectionable class of men, who tried to ape the gentleman, but could not, and they went by the generic term of “Gents.” Punch was death upon them, and I give one of the satirist’s onslaughts, as it reproduces the costumes and amusements of the day. First let us see the “Gent” pictorially, and then, afterwards, read what manner of animal he was.

AN ACT

For amending the Public Deportment of certain individuals called “Gents,” abiding in London and other places.

Whereas it having been represented that there are, at present existing in the Metropolis, as well as in the provincial districts, certain individuals known and spoken of as “Gents,” whose bearing and manners are perfectly at variance with the characters, which, from a monomania, they appear desirous of assuming:

And Whereas, in consequence of cheap clothes, imitative dispositions, and intellectual poverty, this class is greatly on the increase, it has been thought necessary that this Act should be framed to control their vicious habits:

May it, therefore, please your Majesty, that it be enacted: And be it enacted henceforth, that all Gents, not actually in the employ of the Morning Post, or Mr. Simpson, of the “Albion,” be prevented from wearing white cravats at parties, the same being evidently an attempt of sixth-rate individuals to ape the manners of first-class circles. And that no Gent, who does not actually keep a horse, and is not in the Army, be allowed to strut up and down the Burlington Arcade, with a whip and moustachios, such imposition being exceedingly offensive, and amounting to a passive swindling of the spectators.

And be it enacted, that all such things as light-blue stocks, large figured shawls, cheap primrose gloves, white Chesterfield coal sacks, half-guinea Albert boots; in fact, all those articles ticketed in the shop windows as “Gent’s last style,” be considered the distinctive marks of the class, and condemned accordingly. And that every individual, moreover, smoking outside an omnibus, sticking large pins in his cravat, wearing fierce studs in his shirt, walking with others four abreast in Regent Street, reading slang publications, and adopting their language, playing billiards in public rooms, sporting dingy white gloves in the slips of the theatres, frequenting night taverns, and being on terms of familiarity with the singers and waiters, thinking great things of champagne, as if everything at a party depended upon it; and, especially, wearing the hat on one side, be the signs of most unmitigated Gents, and shunned equally with hydrophobia.

And be it further enacted that no Gent be, in future, allowed to cross a hired horse with a view to ten shillings worth of Sunday display in the Parks, the turnout being always detected; nor shall be permitted to drive a gig, in a fierce scarf, under similar circumstances. Nor shall any Gent imagine that an acquaintance with all the questionable resorts of London is “knowing life”; or that trousers of large check pattern are anything but exceeding Gentish.

Saving always that the Gents have not the sense to endeavour bettering their condition, which is exceedingly probable; under which circumstances they had better remain as they are, in ignorance of their melancholy position. But, on the other hand, it is commanded that people of common intellect, henceforth cease to designate any of their male friends as “Gents,” the word being one of exceedingly bad style, and equally objectionable with “genteel,” which is, possibly, derived from it. And that if, after this, anyone speaks of a “Gent,” or “Party” he knows, it is ordered that such speaker be immediately set down as one of the unfortunate class in question.

The Shakspere autograph which was sold on 24 May, 1841, came again into the market, and was bought on 19 May, for £145, by the Corporation of the City of London. The Patres Conscripti of the Common Council were not of one mind as to the eligibility of the purchase. On the motion “that the Court agree to the report, and that the Chamberlain be instructed to pay the sum,” Mr. Warton rose to move, as an amendment, that the report should lie upon the table. (A laugh, and loud cries of “Hear, hear.”) He had, he said, done all he could in the Committee, to prevail upon the members that the purchase of the autograph was a most wasteful and prodigal expenditure. (“Hear, hear,” and “No, no.”) The precedent was a most mischievous one. If the Court sanctioned such a proceeding as that which the report had described, by and by the autographs of archbishops and bishops, and other individuals who had, in times long past, distinguished themselves, would supply apologies for wasting the City cash, in order to gratify gentlemen who were afflicted with that description of mania. (Laughter.) He hoped the Court would not catch the infection, but second his rational effort to check it, by condemning the report to its proper station on the table. After all, the document was doubtful; but there was no doubt at all as to the profligacy of the expenditure. (Laughter, and cries of “Hear, hear,” and “No, no.”) Mr. Knott said it was quite ridiculous to think for a moment, of voting £145 for a few doubtful, illegible, almost obliterated scratches of a pen. (Laughter, and cries of “Hear, hear.”) He defied any man on earth to say what those scratches represented. On a division there were, for the motion 41; for the amendment 31.

CHAPTER XXI

Exhibition of cartoons – A duel – A monster – Gambling – The “Albert Hat” – Nelson’s statue – Fun thereon – Soldiers’ savings banks – A post boy and Lord Mayor’s show – M. Jullien and his orchestra – Prince Albert as a farmer – George IV.’s Statue – Ojibbeway Indians.

The public exhibition of Cartoons for the frescoes for the new Palace of Westminster, took place in Westminster Hall, on 3 July. There were 140 subjects altogether, varying in size from 15ft. to 10ft. square, none being admitted over, or under those standards. Prizes of £300 each were awarded to Armitage, Watts and Cope; of £200 to Calcott, Bell and Townsend; of £100 to Frost, Harris, Selous, Bridges and Severn; the judges being the Marquis of Lansdowne, Sir R. Peel and Messrs. S. Rogers, Westmacott, Cook and Etty. The Cartoons remained in Westminster Hall for 6 months; and, in Nov. were removed to the Suffolk Street Gallery. They were finally adjudicated upon by the Royal Commission of Fine Arts, on 12 July, 1844, the successful artists chosen to execute frescoes were Cope, Horsley, Dyce, Maclise, Redgrave, and Cave Thomas.

The practice of duelling was fast dying out, and I give the following case as being nearly one of the last, and one in which the seconds and surgeon were tried for being accessory to murder. Two brothers-in-law – Lt. – Col. Fawcett of the 55th Regiment and Lt. Munro of the Royal Horse Guards – quarrelled, and on the morning of the 1st July fought a duel with pistols in a field at the back of the “Brecknock Arms Tavern,” in Camden Road. Lt. – Col. Fawcett fell, mortally wounded, and died on the 3rd July. The Coroner’s jury found Lt. Munro, and the two seconds, guilty of wilful murder, and the surgeon as guilty in the second degree only, as it was believed he was present only as medical attendant. Lieut. Munro and his second got out of the way, but Lt-Col. Fawcett’s second and the surgeon were tried at the Central Criminal Court on 25 Aug. No evidence was tendered against the surgeon, and he was at once discharged, and the jury found the second “Not Guilty.” Lt. Munro’s second surrendered himself, was tried on 14 Feb., 1844, and acquitted. Lieut. Munro was cashiered from the Army for being absent without leave; he afterwards surrendered, and was tried, 18 Aug., 1847, found guilty, and sentenced to death; which sentence was commuted to 12 months’ imprisonment in Newgate.

The Times of 30 June, quoting the Reading Mercury, has the following: “A Monster. – A day or two since, a gentleman travelling along the road near Colnbrook, had his attention attracted to the screams of a child in the care of a tramping woman, who had with her, two other children totally blind. The cries of the child were so distressing, that he insisted on knowing the cause; but; not getting a satisfactory answer, he forcibly removed a bandage from its eyes, when, horrid to relate, he found these encased with two small perforated shells, in which were two live black beetles, for the purpose of destroying the sight. The woman was instantly seized, and given into custody; and, at the magistrate’s meeting, at Eton, on Wednesday last, committed for trial. There is too much reason to fear that the wretch produced the blindness of the other two children, by similar means.” This was rendered into a street ballad.

A correspondent pointed out that it was well known to all who pass through the parish of St. James’s, at night, that the district absolutely swarmed with gaming houses; there was, in fact, no concealment about the matter, as the keepers vied with each other in illuminating their doors and windows to attract the notice of their victims. How was it that this disgrace was permitted to exist from season to season? The police seemed satisfied with the occasional conviction of one or more minor delinquents from the neighbourhood of Leicester Square, but the Leviathans in crime were allowed to continue their nightly course of profligacy and plunder with impunity. The French authorities, by a law which was strictly enforced, entirely swept away this nuisance from their capital, notoriously, for years, the very hotbed of the vice of gaming; but we were lamentably behind our neighbours; for, while we boasted of a Court pure in morals, and strict in the performance of every religious duty, we allowed the Sabbath to be desecrated, and the Palace of the Sovereign to be contaminated by the close vicinage of houses expressly open for the practice of this demoralising habit. – Are we much better now?

At the latter end of October, a new headdress for the infantry was proposed, and Prince Albert was universally credited as being its godfather – but public opinion was so unequivocally expressed against it, that it was never likely to be popular. It was neither soldier-like, nor appropriate, and bore a strong resemblance to the old Hessian cap, which was introduced into the German service. This headgear was covered with black cloth, the crown and brim being of black-varnished leather; the band was of white worsted, as was the tuft, which was placed on a ball of red worsted. Beneath this ball was a royal crown, underneath which was a Maltese cross, in the centre of which was inscribed the number of the regiment.

Punch was especially severe upon the Albert hat – and with the pictorial satire of “Prince Albert’s Studio” (by the way the hat is in no ways exaggerated), is the following: “Ever since the accession of Prince Albert to the Royal Husband-ship of these realms, he has devoted the energies of his mind, and the ingenuity of his hands to the manufacture of Infantry caps, Cavalry trousers, and Regulation sabretaches. One of his first measures was to transmogrify the pantaloons of the Eleventh Hussars; and, as the regiment alluded to is “Prince Albert’s Own,” His Royal Highness may do as he likes with his own, and no one can complain of his bedizening the legs of the unfortunate Eleventh, with scarlet cloth and gold door leather. When, however, the Prince, throwing the whole of his energies into a hat, proposed to encase the heads of the British soldiery in a machine which seemed a decided cross between a muff, a coal scuttle and a slop pail, then Punch was compelled to interfere, for the honour of the British Army. The result has been that the headgear has been summarily withdrawn, by an order from the War Office, and the manufacture of more of the Albert hat has been absolutely prohibited.

“Greatness of mind is shown in various ways by different individuals. Hannibal was a great cutter out, for he cut a passage through the Alps; but Prince Albert cuts out Hannibal, inasmuch as His Royal Highness devotes his talent to the cutting out of coats, and ‘things inexpressible.’ The Prince’s studio could not fail to be an object of interest to the readers of Punch. We have, therefore, at an enormous sacrifice of time and specie, obtained a view of it.”

On the morning of Nov. 3, at 4 a.m., the raising of a portion of the colossal statue of Nelson, on the pillar in Trafalgar Square, commenced. This figure is 17 feet high from its base to the top of the hat, and is made of stone from the Granton quarry, belonging to the Duke of Buccleugh. It weighs nearly 18 tons, and, needless to say, is made in segments. These were put together before it was raised, to show the public – and during the two days it was on view, it was visited by 100,000 persons.

The building this column had seemed slow, but that was nothing compared to its completion; the bas reliefs were long in being placed, and it was not till 31 Jan., 1867, that Landseer’s four couchant lions were exposed to public gaze. Of the progress of its building, Punch (25 Nov., 1843) has some very fine fooling.

“THE NELSON COLUMN DRAMA

The earliest announcement of the late Covent Garden management, was a piece entitled ‘Trafalgar Square, or the Nelson Monument.’ We have obtained the following slight information respecting it. The drama is described as ‘a grand architectural and historical burletta,’ in two acts; and the prologue was to have been spoken by Mr. Widdicomb, as Time. The two acts comprise the commencement and completion, and a lapse of twenty years is supposed to take place between them, in which time ‘the boy,’ who is the principal character, becomes a middle-aged man. The following speech is very fine. The boy enquires of the mason when the column will be finished, who replies, in an interval of the steak banquet, which they are enjoying together:

Mason. – I’ve asked that fearful question of the stars,

 
Who wink responding – of the Board of Works,
Whose works have bored us – of the misty moon,
Towards whose lodgings, after years of toil,
We rise no nearer.  All were still, but now,
Whilst gazing on that steak of beef,
Sent up to form our capital repast,
And cheer us in our lonely solitude,
I hope the best – the best can hope no more.
’Twill rise, like College honours, by degrees,
And to our limbs a pillar be, of ease:
Our hearts are warm – although upon the frieze.
 

The following duet is also introduced by the man and the boy in the second act:

Boy

 
I remember, I remember,
   When I was a little boy,
On the column, in November,
   I was given some employ.
 
 
I helped the man to build it,
   And we labour’d hard and long,
But the granite came up slowly,
   For we were not very strong.
 
 
         I remember, I remember,
            How we raised its form on high,
         With one block in December,
            And another in July.
 

Both

 
We remember, we remember,
   When St. Martin’s bells were rung,
In the laying of the first stone, for
   We both were very young.
 
 
But weary years have past, now,
   Since we our work begun;
We fear we shall not last now,
   To see our labour done.
 
 
         We remember, we remember,
            But we heard it on the sly,
         ’Twon’t be finished next November,
            Nor the subsequent July.”
 

Very early in November, a War Office circular (dated 31 Oct.) was issued, to regulate and establish regimental savings banks, which have done so much to encourage thrift among our soldiers. The maximum of each soldier’s deposit was limited to £30 in any one year, and to £200 in the whole. The rate of interest on deposits was fixed at £3 15 s. per cent per annum, but no interest was to be allowed upon less than 6s. 8d. and 13s. 4d., nor upon any sums that had not remained on deposit for at least one month, to be reckoned from the last monthly muster day.

In the Times of 10 Nov. is the following: “A rather amusing scene took place in Cheapside, yesterday, shortly before the Lord Mayor’s procession to Westminster. Whilst the streets were blocked up against the passage of vehicles and horses, one of those sharp little urchins, known by the generic title of the ‘twopenny cavalry,’ who rattle through the streets with Her Majesty’s suburban mails, was stopped, opposite Bow Church, by a party of police, who told him they acted under the orders of the Lord Mayor. The post-boy, with all the dignity of Her Majesty’s representative, assuming an air of great condescension, assured the police that he had the highest possible respect for the Lord Mayor, but, being express upon Her Majesty’s business, he was determined to proceed. The police persisted in stopping him, a crowd collected, and it was clear their sympathies sided with the post-boy, who carried himself, throughout the controversy, with great courage, calmness, and self-possession. The police had, by this time, seized the bridle, whilst the boy endeavoured to force his way forward, backed by the strenuous exertions of his steed, who also appeared as if inspired by the authority of a Royal Commission. The post-boy, finding physical force insufficient, tried what authority would do, and threatened them with the vengeance of the Home Secretary, for attempting to stop Her Majesty’s mails. This had the desired effect of bringing the police to a parley; and, as the post-boy was backed by popular applause, he gained momentarily in the discussion, but did not complete his advantage until he took out a memorandum book, and began, coolly, to note down the numbers of the constables. This stroke was decisive; they, at once, capitulated, merely stipulating that they should have his address in return. To this, he readily assented, and searched diligently for his cardcase, but that mark of gentility was not at hand. He, however, made a page from his memorandum book serve his purpose, and took his leave amid the loud congratulations of the applauding crowd, with the following pithy address to the constables: ‘I can’t well see what use you are. A hundred years ago there were no police, and Lord Mayor’s shows went off better than they do now. For my part, I can’t see what you do here at all, for you know’ – he added with a significant grin – ‘you know you don’t look so very well in a procession.’ Shouts of laughter followed the post-boy’s brief speech, as he rode on triumphantly.”