“Thrice he routed all his foes, And thrice he slew the slain.”
“But come, we will now proceed to a view of the Chapel, the Painted Hall, and the other curiosities of the interior; which done, we will take our refreshment at the Crown, and pursue our way home.”
They now took another cursory survey of this magnificent pile of buildings, the grandeur and effect of which is scarcely to be imagined; the beauty and variety being heightened by the grand square, and the area beyond terminating with a view of the Observatory, which stands on a hill in Greenwich Park.
Tallyho was next delighted with a view of the Chapel, which is 111 feet long, and 52 broad, and capable of conveniently accommodating 1000 Pensioners, nurses, and boys, exclusive of pews for the Directors, the several officers of the establishment, &c—The altar-piece, painted by West, representing The escape of St. Paul from Shipwreck on the Island of Malta, and the paintings between the cornice and the ceiling of the Ascension, by the same artist, claimed particular attention. The splendid decorations of the Great Hall, with its variety of paintings and statues, were also objects of peculiar admiration, the effect of which must be seen to be duly appreciated. After these gratifications, according to the proposal of Dashall, they retired, to the Crown, where having partaken of à good dinner, and a glass of wine, they returned to town, fully satisfied with their excursion, and arrived in Piccadilly without any occurrence worthy of further remark.
CHAPTER XII
And have you not heard of a jolly young Waterman, At Blackfriar's Bridge who is used still to ply! Who feathers his oars with such skill and dexterity. Winning each heart, and delighting each eye: He looks So neat, and he rows so steadily, The maidens all flock to his boat so readily, And he eyes the young rogues with so charming an air That this Waterman ne'er is in want of a fare.
IT was in one of those inviting mornings, mild and temperate, that Dashall and Tallyho, lounged along Piccadilly, observant of passing events, and anticipating those of more interest which might occur in the course of another day devoted to the investigation of Real Life in London.
The street already exhibited its usual bustle. The early coaches were rattling along on their way to their respective inns, loaded with passengers, inside and out, from the western parts of the country; the ponderous waggon, the brewer's dray, and not less stunning din of the lighter and more rapid vehicles, from the splendid chariot to the humble tax-cart, combined to annoy the auricular organs of the contemplative perambulator, and together with the incessant discord of the dust-bell, accompanied by the hoarse stentorian voice of its athletic artist, induced Squire Tallyho to accelerate his pace, in order to escape, as he said, “this conspiration of villainous sounds,” more dissonant than that of his hounds at fault, and followed by his friend Dashall, slackened not his speed, until he reached the quietude of the new street leading to the King's Palace, in Pall Mall.
In Regent Place (at the extremity of this fine street) the two friends paused in admiration of the noble pile of buildings, which had on this new interesting spot so rapidly risen, as if by the direction of that necromantic and nocturnal architect, the Genius of the Wonderful Lamp.