Patient: “This is really most delightful—a most beautiful dream.”
Not only was there advance in medicine, but, also, in social science—people began to think that the condition of the working classes might be ameliorated by giving them better dwellings. As yet, little or nothing had been done, in this way, in London, but a grand opportunity occurred at Liverpool, in the building of Birkenhead, and an extensive range of model dwellings were erected, four-storied, with ornate exterior, the rents varying from 3s. to 5s. per set of rooms, according to position; but this included a constant supply of water, and the use of one gas burner in each set of rooms, and all rates and taxes; with, moreover, two iron bedsteads, a grate with an oven, and convenient fixtures; and they were found to answer financially.
The Queen’s consent was given on 26 Aug. to an “Act to Encourage the Establishment of Public Baths and Wash-houses” (9–10 Vic., c. 74). How it was appreciated by the animals called “Vestrymen” may be seen by the fact that at a Vestry meeting of the inhabitants of St. Leonard’s, Shoreditch,
held 26 Oct., the subject was brought forward, when an amendment was moved “that it be taken into consideration that day six months.” For the amendment, 28; against 20!
The dangers of Smithfield Market were becoming too apparent, as we see by a letter in the Times of 26 Nov.:
“Sir,—Your paper of this morning again gives an account of more accidents arising in consequence of cattle being driven along our crowded streets, and we may expect to hear of numerous, probably some fatal, injuries being sustained during the short, and, often, very dark days, which are common for some months in the winter. Everyone, whose avocations call him into the city, has to complain of the delay arising from the over-crowded state of the leading thoroughfares; and, on Smithfield Market days, the obstruction is greatly increased by the droves of cattle and sheep which, in a bewildered, and frequently infuriated state, are being forced by crowds of men, boys, and dogs, along the streets, to the great annoyance, and, often, danger, of the passengers. I do not here dwell on the revolting scenes of cruelty to the animals, which everyone has to witness and deplore; but, on the ground of danger to human life, and, also, because of the seriously increased obstruction to the general traffic, which is caused by having the cattle market in the heart of the metropolis, I would urge the removal of Smithfield Market to some more appropriate place. When this has been effected—when abattoirs have been constructed, where, alone, all the larger animals are permitted to be slaughtered, and when cattle are allowed to be driven through the streets only at hours before the business of the day has commenced—then, and not before, will London be, in reference to its cattle market and slaughter houses, what is required in the middle of the nineteenth century.”
Punch gives us the following lyric on the subject:
The Bull Fight of Smithfield.
There’s trampling feet in Goswell Street, there’s row on Holborn Hill,
There’s crush and crowd, and swearing loud, from bass to treble shrill;
From grazier cad, and drover lad, and butcher shining greasy,
And slaughter men, and knacker’s men, and policemen free and easy.’Tis Monday morn, and onward borne to Smithfield’s mart repair
The pigs and sheep, and, lowing deep, the oxen fine and fair;
They’re trooping on from Islington, and down Whitechapel road,
To wild halloo of a shouting crew, and yelp, and bite, and goad.From combs of distant Devonshire, from sunny Sussex wold,
From where their Durham pastures the stately short-horns hold;
From Herefordshire marches, from fenny Cambridge flat,
For London’s maw they gather—those oxen fair and fat.The stunted stocks of Cambria’s rocks uneasily are lowing,
With redder blaze of wild amaze their eyes around them throwing;
And the unkempt stot of Galloway, and the Kyloe of the Mearns,
Whose hoof, that crush’d the heather tuft, the mild Macadam spurns.They may talk of plaza mayors, of torero’s nimble feat,
Of Montez, the famed matador of picadors so fleet;
But what is Spanish Bull fight to deeds which we can show,
When through the street, at all they meet, the Smithfield oxen go?See there, see there, where, high in air, the nurse and nurseling fly!
Into a first-floor window, see, where that old gent, they shy!
Now they’re bolting into parlours, now they’re tumbling into cellars,
To the great disgust and terror of the peaceable indwellers.Who rides so neat down Chiswell Street? A City Knight, I ween;
By girth and span an alderman, nor less by port and mien.
Look out, look out! that sudden shout! the Smithfield herd is nigh!
Now turn, Sir Knight, and boldly fight, or, more discreetly, fly.He hath eased round on his saddle, all fidgetty and fast;
There’s another herd behind him, and the time for flight is past.
Full in his front glares a rabid runt, thro’ tears of pain that blind him,
For the drover’s almost twisted off the tail that hangs behind him.All lightly armed for such a shock was stout Sir Calipee,
But he couched his new umbrella, and “Police” aloud cried he!
Crash—smash—slap-dash! The whalebone snaps, the saddle seat is bare,
And the Knight, in mazy circles, is flying thro’ the air!The runt tears on, the rout is gone, the street is calm once more,
And to Bartlemy’s they bear him, extended on a door;
Now, gramercy, good Sir Calipee, to the turtle and the haunch,
That padded out thy civic ribs, and lined thy stately paunch.No ribs are broke, but a shattering stroke thy system has sustain’d;
Any other than an alderman had certainly been brained.
And, soon as he had breath to swear, the Knight right roundly swore
That, straight, he’d put down Smithfield, and set up an abattoir.