There were perils in travelling then, as now, only perhaps for the percentage of travellers, rather more so. There were highwaymen, though they were getting somewhat scarce. But the wheels came off, horses kicked over the traces, reins broke; and there are a thousand and one little accidents arising from man's subjugation of the horse, which are almost inseparable from their mutual positions; but we hardly expect to hear that on October 27, 1812, one of the Hampstead stages got blown over by the wind. We have already heard that passengers were occasionally frozen to death outside a Coach. But there is one peril one would scarcely have discounted. In Railway travelling, if a cow gets on the line, and tilts with dire onslaught at the train, Stephenson's grim speech, "So much the worse for the Coo," is verified; but when a lioness breaks loose, and attacks the horses of a Stage Coach, it strikes me that the "Coo" is the passenger thereby.
This was a little item of news which enlivened the good folks of 1816, for on October 20th of that year the Exeter Mail Coach, on its way to London, was attacked, at Winterslow-hut, seven miles from Salisbury, by a lioness who had escaped from a travelling menagerie; she sprang at one of the leaders, and for some time things were rather mixed. Two inside passengers hurriedly got out, rushed into a house close by, and locked themselves in. The driver wanted to get down and emulate the old Roman gladiatorial feats, by attacking the lioness with his pocket-knife, but the wiser counsels of his Guard restrained him. Then appeared a Deus ex Machina, in the shape of a large Mastiff dog, who "went for" Madame la Lionne, and made her retreat, her keepers afterwards capturing her. I believe the horse attacked afterwards died. But the incident, although ending fairly happily, created a great sensation at the time.
Among the minor scenes of the road, with which people were then familiar, were little carts drawn by dogs, as are the milk carts at Brussels at this day. I even recollect them, and their being put down. There is no doubt but it was in the power of a Costermonger (for they even existed in those days) to overload and ill treat his dog; but I believe the same liberty is even now accorded to him with respect to his donkey.
Apropos of these useful animals, my readers may not be aware of a highly important historical fact, which my researches have unearthed. "August 21, 1817: Donkey-riding is introduced on Hampstead Heath, and the Ladies of the neighbourhood, notwithstanding the vicinity of the Metropolis, enjoy the mode of taking the air without interruption. About a dozen donkies stand for hire on the Heath every morning, most of them with side-saddles. There are also donkey carts, and whiskies with ponies."
From the Road to the Streets, and from the Streets to the Houses, are only graceful and legitimate transitions, and here we can again learn something from the Duc de Levis, by using his eyes, and he thus writes of the general aspect of London, as he saw, and judged it. It may not be flattering to us, but we must remember, that in the Georgian era, especially in the long reign of George III., domestic architecture had reached its lowest depth. Mean frontages to houses, oblong windows, small panes of bad glass; no sanitary arrangements to speak of; a bath almost unknown; it was a time of the dullest mediocrity. It has been reserved to the last twenty-five years of our time to make things architectural more truly beautiful, and to restore, with some degree of knowledge, the legacies which our veritable art-loving ancestors left to our care.
M. le Duc says, "At length arrived in London, I should like to be able to give an idea of this immense city, by comparing it with other great capitals, a method which I prefer to all others; on this occasion, unfortunately it is not. In vain have we visited Paris, Vienna, Rome, Venice. Should you have even been at St. Petersburg or Moscow, none of these cities can give you a just idea of the English Capital. The greater part of large cities offer a collection of irregular hotels, palaces, and buildings; others, like Turin, are distinguished by long arcades. Amsterdam, Dantzic, contain a multitude of Canals; but nothing of all this resembles London. I must therefore have recourse to a particular description of it.
"First of all, represent to yourself wide streets running in a straight line, with good foot-paths; iron rails, upwards of five feet in height, are placed the whole length, which separate the houses from the footway, by an area, narrow, and of little depth, which lights the under stories; there are the kitchens, and the offices; a flight of steps serves at the same time for a communication out of doors. Over this kind of under storey is the ground floor, then the first and the second floor, but seldom a third, and never an elevated roof; neither is there any architectural decoration.
But every house, which has seldom more than three windows in front, has the door ornamented with two wooden pillars, painted white, surmounted by a heavy pediment; a small glass window gives light to the passage; in the front is the dining parlour; underneath a room, almost dark, because it looks only into a small opening, a few feet wide, which does not deserve the name of a court-yard. The staircase is sometimes of stone, but mostly of wood, and always covered with a Carpet.
"The first storey contains the drawing-room, and a tolerably large closet behind, where sometimes a bed is placed, but the proper bed-chambers are in the second floor. Under the roof are garrets for the servants. The furniture agrees with the simplicity of the building; it is much the same among all the opulent classes. The mantelpieces are usually of wood; no time-pieces; vases, candelabras, brackets, bronzes, are hardly known; and of all the arts, gilding is the least advanced. The only thing which shines is the Grate, in which Sea coal is used; the front is polished steel, and kept extremely bright; the tables, and the rest of the furniture being mahogany, take a fine polish. The paper-hangings are of an insipid colour, and insignificant design; the dining parlour and the halls are painted in fresco, mostly of a pale blue colour.
"The bed-chambers are still more plainly furnished than the drawing-room; true it is that they are made use of only for sleeping in, as they never use them for sitting-rooms; and the bed-chambers of the women are as inaccessible to the men as the Harems of the East. The beds are of white dimity or calico, with mahogany posts; and their form is simple, and does not vary. The beds, in the best houses, are but indifferent, especially the feather beds, which they usually cover with a blanket, and which, being placed immediately under the sheet, is not agreeable to foreigners, particularly in the summer season. The boudoir is unknown in England. This is, however, the manner of living even among the most wealthy. The progress of luxury has only lately induced them to adopt chimney-pieces of marble, and mirrors have become more frequent....