It was in 1867 that a new and interesting experience came my way. For many years various associations had held meetings in Hyde Park to air their grievances, either imaginary or otherwise. At one of these, the Home Secretary, Spencer H. Walpole, decided that a different method should be adopted in their management. This was objected to by a particular Association and they defied the Home Secretary, with the result that he had the gates of the Park closed against them. The people were so incensed at this that although the railings of the Park were as far as possible protected by the police, the crowds were too strong for them and broke the railings in many places and held their meeting. I was among those who helped to pull down the railings and got for my trouble a good blow on my back from a policeman's truncheon. However, I had an experience which was new and interesting: I cannot say who was in the right, but I remember the Home Secretary had to resign a few days afterwards for what was stated to be lack of tactfulness in regard to this meeting.
One of the most sickening and disgusting sights which I remember was the old slaughter-houses of Smithfield. This Market stood where Paternoster Square now stands. Cattle were driven into the market during the night, bullocks and sheep, and were killed in the early morning and sometimes during the day. I have watched them being slaughtered and seen the blood flow from the slaughter-houses into Paternoster Row. To people of to-day it does not seem possible that such a thing could be allowed in the heart of the City of London. The butchers would often parade round their shops with what was called a Cleaver Chorus; this was done by bringing together with a clash a marrow-bone and their cleaver or hatchet, and quite an attractive sound was produced but not much harmony. When there was an execution taking place at Newgate, these men would gather together in a body in their disgusting blood-soaked overalls and just before the time for the execution rush singing into the crowd surrounding the gallows. However thick the crowd was, the people would give way rather than come into contact with these greasy and disgusting butchers, who by these means got a front position in what should have been a sad and mournful ceremony.
It was probably through there being so much more meat near at hand that the prices for lunch were much cheaper then than they are now. I remember in Warwick Lane there used to be a popular refreshment house called "The Bedford," and many times I have had a good lunch there for sixpence, a lunch which consisted of toad-in-the-hole (it was made of a good beef-steak in the middle of batter pudding) for fourpence, potatoes one penny, and ale one penny. Things have changed greatly since those times. There also used to be in the Oxford Arms passage, situated where some of the St. Paul's residentiary houses now stand, an inn, in association with the hay market held there, named the Oxford Arms. Here each day there was brought on to the table a good joint of beef or a leg of mutton from which you could cut and come again, with vegetables, pastry, etc., all for the price of one shilling. For the sake of many in the City, one is often tempted to wish some of these old customs were with us still.
I have a lingering remembrance of an important event occurring just before bedtime in December, 1867. A fire was evident somewhere at the West End, so off I started and was in time to see the last of Her Majesty's Theatre which was that night entirely burned down. It was a grand sight, but the crowd which collected was unbearable. I understood that at the time an opera was being played and several of the great performers of the day, such as Titiens, Christine Neilson, and Santley, were among the artistes present. It was a sight never to be forgotten.
It was about this time that Adah Isaacs Menken, an American actress and poet and also the wife of J.C. Heenan, the prize fighter, was playing the hero in "Mazeppa" at Astley's Theatre. She was a splendid and attractive figure, and when she came on the stage, dressed only in tights, mounting her horse and riding away into the wilds to be picked to pieces by the birds, she had a tremendous ovation. The performance was a great attraction and most young men made a point of seeing it. It was said that a bet had been made as to whether the actress's legs were padded and the attendant who helped her on to the horse was bribed to pinch her leg to settle the bet. I heard that he did so, and got a kick in return which not only settled the bet but also the attendant.
The changes that have been made in London since my early days have been very great. I never pass down Holborn but I think of the passage called Middle Row, which I have often gone through, in front of the delightful old-fashioned Shakespearean houses of which we are all so proud. At that time there was a row of houses on the other side of the passage, and at nearly the bottom of the hill stood the publishing house of Darton & Harvey. This, like many others, has been swept away by the present Holborn Viaduct. The Thames Embankment was opened within my early recollection, also the Law Courts; and there was also the sweeping away of Holywell Street, where I have passed many a pleasant hour poring over the boxes of old books in search of a treasure. I remember once, as I thought, buying for 2s. 6d. a book with not a very chaste reputation. It was done up very carefully in a sealed envelope and when I opened it at home I found it was an old soiled Common Prayer Book. I did not get what I expected, but perhaps it was better for me that I was swindled. London, however, is being made a city of which we are all proud. Although there is still much to be done, the changes and improvements have been great since my early days.
Going back to the Theatre and Music Hall, these were the times of the songs "Champagne Charlie is my name," sung by Leybourne, "The Bells go a Ringing for Sarah," by Kate Santley, Stead's "The Perfect Cure," and, from a different point of view, the delightful singing by Sims Reeves of "Come into the Garden, Maud," and Carlotta Patti of "Home, Sweet Home," and "Comin' through the Rye." These now appear very old-fashioned, but they touched the imagination more than many of the songs of the present day. Blondin was at this time at the height of his popularity. His performances at the Crystal Palace, and afterwards at the Alexandra Palace and other places, attracted great crowds. It made you hold your breath to watch him on the high rope balancing a four-legged chair and then stand upon it, or sometimes carry a man on his back across the rope or wheel him in a barrow.
Among other exhibitions, I remember seeing General Tom Thumb and Minnie Warren with their troop of midget humanity, performing at St. James's Hall. Cremorne Gardens and Highbury Barn were at this time at the height of their popularity, and although from where I lived it meant a night out to visit the former, the latter was within walking distance. I wanted to see everything possible, and I think so far I succeeded, for my wanderings were varied from the top of St. Paul's Cathedral and the Monument to the Cider Cellars in the Strand and to Nicholson's Judge and Jury and the Poesie Plastics of Leicester Square.
Living as I did at this time in the north of London, I frequently walked through Highbury to what is now the beautiful Finsbury Park. The New River was then an open stream beside which it was pleasant to walk. On passing through a wicket-gate, one came to a building called the Sluice House, at which refreshments could be procured. A path through a field took us to Finsbury Park Tavern on the site of which the refreshment houses in Finsbury Park now stand. Boats were let out for hire on the lake, and pigeon shooting was one of the sports carried on in the grounds. Many times have I seen a considerable number of these injured innocents brought down. This sport, I am pleased to think, is not so popular now as it was at that period.
It was, I suppose, somewhat natural to a young man who has been brought up in a very puritanical atmosphere and among the strictest sect of the Pharisees, to take every advantage of the liberty I was now enjoying. I was anxious, however, to see and hear some of the preachers of whom I had heard so much. This attraction, however, soon died away, because to an extent I found no sympathy. The first great preacher I went to hear was the Rev. C.H. Spurgeon. Unfortunately my impression of him was a bad one, for he had just given out his text when several people walked into the chapel. The preacher stopped and looked hard at the people entering. When they were seated, he said, "We are sorry we could not wait for you, but you will be in time to go away with the rest." I thought this a most unkind and uncalled-for remark, and made up my mind I would never hear him again, and I did not. Another incident, I suppose I must call it, or eccentricity, occurred at the only time I heard Dr. Parker at the City Temple. Before beginning his sermon he waited a few minutes and then said, "We are not feeling quite well this evening, so shall dispense with our usual action." To me, this was nothing but unnecessary egotism.