The fog and soot and smoke of London soon give the newest building an appearance of age, and mercifully bring it into harmony with its surroundings. Almost before the new gate was completed, it had that appearance; and before it had a chance to grow really old, there arose a demand for its removal altogether. Petitions praying for its destruction were circulated and signed. Verse, if not poetry, urging its retention was written and printed.

If that Gate is pulled down, ‘twixt the Court and the City,
You’ll blend in one mass, prudent, worthless and witty.
If you league cit and lordling, as brother and brother,
You’ll break order’s chain and they’ll war with each other.
Like the Great Wall of China, it keeps out the Tartars
From making irruptions, where industry barters,
Like Samson’s Wild Foxes, they’ll fire your houses,
And madden your spinsters, and cousin your spouses.
They’ll destroy in one sweep, both the Mart and the Forum,
Which your fathers held dear, and their fathers before ’em.

But, attacked by strong city men and defended only by sentiment, Temple Bar still continued to impede traffic and shut out light and air, while the generations who fought for its removal passed to their rest. It became the subject of jokes and conundrums. Why is Temple Bar like a lady’s veil? it was asked; the answer being that both must be raised (razed) for busses. The distinction between a buss and a kiss, suggested by Herrick, of whom the eighteenth-century City man never heard, would have been lost; but we know that—

Kissing and bussing differ both in this,
We buss our wantons and our wives we kiss.

No account of Temple Bar would be complete without reference to the iron spikes above the centre of the pediment, on which were placed occasionally the heads of persons executed for high treason. This ghastly custom continued down to the middle of the eighteenth century, and gave rise to many stories, most of them legendary, but which go to prove, were proof necessary, that squeamishness was not a common fault in the days of the Georges.

To refer, however briefly, to the taverns which clustered east and west of Temple Bar and to the authors who frequented them, would be to stop the progress of this paper—and begin another. Dr. Johnson only voiced public opinion when he said that a tavern chair is a throne of human felicity. For more than three centuries within the shadow of Temple Bar there was an uninterrupted flow of wine and wit and wisdom, with, doubtless, some wickedness. From Ben Jonson, whose favorite resort was The Devil, adjoining the Bar on the south side, down to Tennyson, who frequented The Cock, on the north, came the same cry, for good talk and good wine.

O plump head-waiter at the Cock,
To which I most resort,
How goes the time? ’Tis five o’clock—
Go fetch a pint of port.

This does not sound like the author of “Locksley Hall,” but it is; and while within the taverns, “the chief glory of England, its authors,” were writing and talking themselves into immortality, just outside there ebbed and flowed beneath the arches of Temple Bar, east in the morning and west at night, the human stream which is one of the wonders of the world.

On Thursday evening last, some gentlemen, who
supped and spent some agreeable hours at The
Devil Tavern near Temple Barr, upon calling for
the bill of expenses had the following given them
by the landlord, viz.:
For geese, the finest ever seen£s.d
By Duke or Duchess, King or Queen,0.6.6.
For nice green peas, as plump and pretty,
Better ne'er ate in London City,0.3.9.
For charming gravy, made to please,
With butter, bread & Cheshire cheese,0.3.0.
For honest porter, brown and stout,
That cheers the heart, & cures the gout,0.I.5.
For unadulterated wine;
Genuine! Noble! Pure! Divine!0.6.0.
For my Nan's punch (and Nan knows how
To make good punch, you'll all allow)0.7.0.
For juniper, most clear and fine,
That looks and almost tastes, like wine,0.I.4.
For choice tobacco, undefiled
Harmless and pleasant, soft and mild0.0.2.
£I.9.2.

CLIPPING FROM A NEWSPAPER PUBLISHED IN 1767