A little piece of poetry very well sums up
"ENGLAND IN 1816.
In eighteen hundred ten and six
Old England's glory some would fix:
Peace throughout Europe; Royal Marriages,
New Streets, new Palaces, and Carriages.
New Stars, new Ribbons, and new Crosses,
A Coinage new, whate'er the loss is—
Splendid new Bridges, splendid Lights,
And Columns destined for our Knights!
Sounds not this well? Then who would think
We stood on ruin's very brink?
For, now the Picture but capsize
And view it with your proper eyes.
In London, flashy shops behold,
And new Bazaars, but nothing sold;
In every street, a carpet out,
That shews my Lady on her route,
To spend her poor remains in France,
And teach her children how to dance.
Then for the Country—Farmers breaking,
Clothiers half ruin'd, Landlords quaking,
A solemn gloom, no sun, no hay day
Between this very hour and Lady.
The Corn, too, laid, and some say rotting,
The Luddites up in arms, or plotting—
The panic general, and the Stocks
As flat, almost, as the New Docks—
Then a Subscription by the Great,
Lest all our poor should emigrate,
A boon that seems too sure a test
Of apprehension for the rest.
But last, and worst, a Ministry in doubt,
Too weak to stand, too strong to be turned out."
In August we had riots in Glasgow and Preston, and this in spite of the "Association for the Relief of the Manufacturing and Labouring poor." Nay, even the prisoners in Newgate caught the infection, and organized a riot of their own, which had a somewhat frivolous beginning. On the 25th of August a visitor to the prison had his watch stolen, and naturally complained of the matter to the Keeper, who ordered all the convicts and their visitors to be searched, and no more visitors allowed until the watch was found. The Convicts considered this as a breach of their privileges, and not only refused to be searched, but took possession of the Common Yard, and turned out, by force, all the officers, and turnkeys. Of course, this conduct could not be allowed, and the Convicts were ultimately driven into the upper wards—where, being armed with the iron railings of the staircase, they barricaded themselves as well as they could, and awaited results.
The Keeper, on his side, did not like the look of things; he did not want any of his force injured, as they probably would be, if they attempted to force the wards, held by these desperadoes—and he disposed his men, so as to watch them well, to see they did not escape, and then sent for instructions to the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs, but all three were out of town. However, the Lord Mayor arrived on the Scene about two in the morning, and waited till six to see if the malcontents would yield—but, as there seemed no chance of this, they were informed, when the usual time of calling them to breakfast arrived, that unless they surrendered, they would have no food that day. This was an argumentum ad hominem not to be denied. One soon gave in, and, within an hour, they were all secured.
Yet another Royal Marriage: which took place on the 22nd of July, between William Frederick, Duke of Gloucester, grandson of Frederick, Prince of Wales, to his cousin, the Princess Mary, fourth daughter of Geo. III., and, consequently, his cousin. It was a suitable marriage, for they were born in the same year (1776), and had long been attached to each other. There was nothing particular about the ceremony except that it was solemnized in the grand saloon in the Queen's palace, where an altar was erected—and transformed, according to the fashion of Royal Marriages, into an unmeaning buffet of plate. "The gold Communion plate was the most massive and costly that ever was displayed upon one occasion. It consisted of the Altar plate belonging to King William; from Whitehall Chapel, two uncommonly large dishes, richly chased with appropriate devices of our Lord's last supper with His disciples; the compartments round the dishes having also appropriate designs. Two immensely large flagons, from the Chapel Royal, beautifully chased; also a large number of ewers; several chalices, or cups of solid gold. Each corner had most superbly gilt tripods for six candles."
By way of contrast, and also to illustrate the manners, of the times, let us read the following account of a "Singular Wedding. Tuesday evening the neighbourhood of Drury Lane was thrown into the utmost confusion, in consequence of an extraordinary phenomenon very seldom witnessed. Some sweeps, residing in Charles Street, having been married, they resolved to celebrate the day, and, about eight o'clock in the evening, the bride and bridegroom, attended by eleven couples more, all mounted on asses, and followed by several hundreds of spectators, with tin pots, horns, dust bells, watchmen's rattles, flambeaux, etc., proceeded through Drury Lane, and made their grand entrance into Holborn up Newton Street to the Bank public-house, where they stopped to get some refreshment; but in forming the procession again, the bride's Arabian was unfortunately thrown down by the pressure of the mob, and the lady precipitated in the mud. This enraged the bridegroom, who immediately dismounted, and began by dealing several blows among his neighbours, with extreme fury. The consequence was, that a general battle ensued, and several heads were broken. Gardner, the beadle of that district, came up, backed by about a dozen Knights of the lanthorn, who succeeded in securing several of the sable warriors, which finally dispersed the merry group."
Apropos of chimney sweeps, we know that there was much legislation in behalf of the climbing boys, who were still much used, as a great deal of senseless prejudice and opposition prevailed against the use of Machines: and that these poor boys needed some protection from their brutal masters, the following case on the 10th of July, at the Middlesex Sessions will show.
"At ten o'clock yesterday morning, the trial of William Molys took place at Hick's Hall. Our readers will recollect that the prisoner was a master sweep, and lately stood his trial at the Old Bailey, on a charge of murder, for having, by brutal treatment, caused the death of John Hewlings, a child of five or six years of age, his apprentice. He was, however, acquitted of this charge, but retained on an indictment for an assault on the same child.
"To this charge the prisoner pleaded Not Guilty.