The First View of the New River—From London.
This is seen immediately on coming within view of Sadler’s Wells, a place of dramatic entertainment; after manifold windings and tunnellings from its source the New River passes beneath the arch in the engraving, and forms a basin within the large walled enclosure, from whence diverging main pipes convey the water to all parts of London. At the back of the boy angling on the wall is a public-house, with tea-gardens and skittle-ground, and known as Sir Hugh Myddleton’s Head, also as Deacon’s Music Hall, which has been immortalized by Hogarth in his print of Evening. But how changed the scene from what he represented it! To this stream, as the water nearest London favourable to sport, anglers of inferior note used to resort:—
| “Here ‘gentle anglers,’ and their rods withal, Essaying, do the finny tribe enthral. Here boys their penny lines and bloodworms throw, And scare, and catch, the ‘silly fish’ below.” |
We have said above, anglers used to resort, and we have said so advisedly, as that portion of the river is now arched over to the end of Colebrooke Row.
The New River, Islington, its vicinity, and our own favourite author—Charles Lamb, are, as it were, so inseparably bound together, that we hope to be excused for occupying a little of our reader’s time with Elia—His Friends—His Haunts—His Walks, and Talk(s), particularly about the neighbourhood of:—
| “——Islington! Thy green pleasant pastures, thy streamlet so clear, Old classic village! to Elia were dear— Rare child of humanity! oft have we stray’d On Sir Hugh’s pleasant banks in the cool of the shade. “Joy to thy spirit, aquatic Sir Hugh! To the end of old time shall thy River be New! Thy Head, ancient Parr,[9] too, shall not be forgotten; Nor thine, Virgin (?) Queen, tho’ thy timbers are rotten.” George Daniel’s “The Islington Garland.” |
Into the old parlour of the ancient “Sir Hugh Myddleton’s Head”—Elia, would often introduce his own, for there he would be sure to find, from its proximity to Sadler’s Wells Theatre, some play-going old crony with whom he could exchange a convival “crack,” and hear the celebrated Joe Grimaldi call for his tumbler of rum-punch; challenging Boniface to bring it to a rummer! Many a gleeful hour has been spent in this once rural hostelrie. But:—“All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.”
Colebrooke Cottage.
——“to Colebrooke-row, within half a stone’s throw of a cottage; endeared to me, in later years by its being the abode of ‘as much virtue as can live.’” Hone, in his Every-day Book, Oct. 10, 1827.