Gliding on the pacific wave, the “trim-built wherry” now passed under the lofty elevation of the centre arch; and our observers were struck with the contrast between the object of their admiration and its ancient neighbour, London Bridge, that “nameless, shapeless bulk of stone and lime,” with its irregular narrow arches, through which the pent-up stream rushes with such dangerous velocity.
“This gothic hulk,” said the Squire, “is a deformity in the aspect of the river.” “And ought at least to be pulled down, if not rebuilt,” added his Cousin. “Even on the principle of economy, the large and incessant expenditure in support of this decayed structure, would be much more profitably applied in the erection of a new bridge of correspondent grandeur with the first metropolis in the universe; but the citizens seem inclined to protract the existence of this heavy fabric, as a memento of the bad taste of their progenitors.”
“Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness in the desert air.'
The indefatigable waterman continued to ply his oars, sans intermission, and in a few minutes our two associates in adventure were safely landed a short distance westward of the bridge. After remunerating the waterman, they ascended the stairs with an appetite quickened by the water breeze, and retired into the Shades, close at hand, for refreshment, previous to a renewal of their excursion.
The Shades, near London Bridge, is a house, or rather cellar, much resorted to by respectable citizens of “sober fame,” induced chiefly by the powerful attraction of genuine wines, which may here be had either drawn immediately from the wood, and served in regular standard pewter measures, or in bottles, also of full measure, containing the pure beverage, of various age and vintages. To these cellars numbers of the most respectable mercantile characters adjourn daily; enjoying the exhilarating juice of the grape, and further attracted by the pleasantness of situation, as commanding a full view of the river, whence the refreshing breeze is inhaled and enjoyed.
Here then, our heroes recruited; and while taking their wine, Bob was much gratified by the performance of an itinerant band of musicians, playing outside, some of the latest and most popular airs, in a masterly style of execution. “Among other numerous refinements and improvements of the age,” observed Dashall, “may be considered that of our itinerant metropolitan musicians, for instead of the vile, discordant and grating hurdy-gurdy; the mechanical organ grinder, and the cat-gut scraper, “sawing a tune,” we have now parties who form themselves into small bands of really scientific and able performers, who from instruments well selected produce a combination of delightful melody; and this progress of harmony is equally evident with respect to vocalists, who frequently posting themselves opposite some well frequented tavern or coffee-house, amuse the inmates with catches, glees, duets, &c. and trust to the liberal feelings which the “concord of sweet sounds may have inspired, for remuneration and encouragement.”
Scarcely had Dashall concluded his remarks, when the musical party ceased their instrumental exertions, and, diversifying the entertainment, one of the performers struck up a song, which we here present to the reader as a subject not inapplicable to our work.
In London where comical jokes go free, There are comical modes of cheating, Birch-brooms are cut up for Souchong and Bohea, And plaster for bread you are eating! And plaster for bread you are eating! (Spoken) “How do you do, Mrs. Caphusalent I hope you approved of the genuine tea.” “O yes, new brooms sweep clean, and I have no occasion to buy birch ones, while I deal at your shop for tea.” “There's nothing like my cheap bread,” says Doughy the baker. “O yes,” says Neddy, “you forget plaster of Paris is very like it.” What are you at? each knave may cry, Who feels my honest rhymes; What are you after's? my reply,— There never were such times! There never were such times! In Accum's test you'll find it clear, For spirits of wine read Royal gin! Quashee and drugs they call strong beer, And Turtle soup is Ox's shin! And Turtle soup is Ox's shin! (Spoken) “By the powers of Moll Kelly, Mr. Max, but you've murdered my dear friend Patrick O'Shaughnessy, for after taking a noggin of your blue ruin, he went to blow out the candle on stepping into bed, when the poor dear creature went off in a blaze, and set fire to the house. Its all nothing at all but spirits of wine, you bog-trotting swindler!” Moist sugar is made from the best red sand, New milk from whiting and water! Sloe juice poisons half the land, And the weights get shorter and shorter! And the weights get shorter and shorter! (Spoken) “I hope,” says Mr. Deputy Doublethroat, “you found the port I sent you last of the right sort: six years in bottle, Sir, I warrant it made your heart glad.” “You mean my bowels sad, Mr. Deputy. Out of six friends whom I invited to partake of it four have already been booked inside passengers for the other world, and my dear Mrs. Fribble and me have been confined with inflammation ever since. Instead of importer of foreign wines, Mr. Deputy, I'd have you write up retailer of English poisons.” {1} 1 The following receipt is copied from a book, which is there said to be worth the price of the volume. “What is drank as port wine, is very often only a mixture of malt liquors, red wine, and turnip juice. For the benefit of economical readers, the following are the proportions: forty- eight gallons of liquor pressed from turnips, eight gallons of malt spirits, and eight gallons of good port wine, coloured with cochineal, and roughened with elder tops. It should stand two years in casks, and one in bottles. If rough cider is substituted for turnip juice, and Coniac brandy for malt spirits, the wine will be the better.” Turkey-coffee is Horse-beans ground, Irish eggs are boil'd in lime: In every trade deception's found, Except it be in yours or mine! Except it be in yours or mine! (Spoken) “There's more milk drank in London in a week than all the Cows in England could give in a fortnight;” says Blunderskull. “How can that be?” “Why to be sure, because two-thirds of it is white-wash!” What are you at? each knave may cry, Who feels my honest rhymes: What are you after's? my reply,— There never were such times! There never were such times!
It was but a few steps from the Shades to the Monument, to which our adventurers were now pursuing their way, when they met with an incident not unworthy of observation. Do not leave your goods, is the friendly admonition generally inscribed, in large characters, over the resting place for porters, throughout the metropolis. Opposite the church of Saint Magnus, close by London Bridge, a porter having pitched his load, turned his back upon it, and reclined himself against the post in careless ease, and security. It was just as our heroes approached, that the porter had turned himself round to resume his burden, when lo! it had vanished; in what manner no one can tell! without doubt, one of those numerous street-prowlers who are continually on the look out for prey, observing the remissness of the porter, had availed himself of the favourable opportunity, and quietly walked off with his booty. A crowd collected round the sufferer, but it afforded him neither sympathy nor relief. Our associates, however, contributed in mitigation of his loss, and proceeding up Fish-street Hill, were, in a few moments, shrouded under the towering column of the Monument.
Ascending the spiral stair-case of black marble, consisting of three hundred and forty-five steps, winding like a cork-screw, to the summit, our aspirants reached their aerial station in the gallery of this lofty edifice, and enjoyed one of the most variegated and extensively interesting prospects of any in the metropolis. Far as the eye could reach, skirting itself down the river, a forest of tall masts appeared, and the colours of all nations, waving gaily in the breeze, gave a splendid idea of the opulence and industry of the first commercial city in the universe. The moving panorama, far beneath the giddy height, resembled the flitting figures of a camera obscura; the spacious Thames was reduced to a brook; the stately vessels riding on its undulating wave seemed the dwarfish boats of the school-boy navigator; and glancing on the streets and along London Bridge, horses dwindled in appearance to mice, and carriages to children's toys! after having enjoyed, during several minutes, the prospects afforded by their elevated position, the two friends descended, and with a feeling of relief again trod the safer and less difficult path of terra firma.