The one man to whom I always enjoyed listening was the Rev. J.C.M. Bellew, who preached in Bloomsbury. He was a great elocutionist, his sermons were well constructed and interesting, and to me the music was the greatest charm of all. The most eloquent and informing sermon I ever heard was one by Canon Liddon, in St. Paul's Cathedral, on Buddha. He preached for one hour and a quarter, and never did I experience quicker or more intellectual enjoyment than on that occasion. I also had the pleasure of hearing, at Islington, Professor Huxley deliver one of his controversial addresses. Huxley's life was principally spent in the promulgating of right and truth, and his eloquence was almost an inspiration. The only time I had the pleasure of hearing John Bright speak was at the Highbury Congregational Church, when he presided at a lecture given by the Rev. R.W. Dale. A more eloquent introduction than that given by John Bright I have never heard.
Sport was always one of my fascinations, whether it was running, walking, boxing, or cricket. I have no doubt the cricket I so much enjoyed during my apprenticeship helped me in obtaining a position in the eleven at Stationers' Hall Court, where for many years a good team was always available for a Saturday afternoon game; and I am pleased to record that in these early days there were few things I looked forward to with greater pleasure than the Saturday afternoon cricket, especially when I was chosen as one of the eleven.
One Saturday afternoon an extraordinary incident took place at a cricket match, at which I was a spectator; it was between Middlesex and Nottingham, on the ground now held by the Smithfield Market near Holloway. Tom Hearn, the great Middlesex bowler, was holding the ball ready for delivery, when a pigeon came flying over the wicket. Hearn looked up and in a moment threw the ball into the air and struck the pigeon in the breast. The poor bird fluttered down close to the wicket. It was a clever shot and Hearn was greatly cheered.
Occasionally during the week, boxing was one of my great delights, and I flatter myself I was quite up to the average in this most useful exercise. I have seen most of the champion boxers of that period engaged in the noble art of self-defence, and on one occasion I was persuaded to have the gloves on with a professional prize fighter, but my weak points were soon found out, and I felt it was best to leave well alone.
What greatly interested me on one occasion was my visit to a ratting match. The wager was laid on a terrier for £25 that he would kill 300 rats in fifteen minutes. The rats were taken out of traps and counted into a square pit, and as they fell in they rushed to one corner of it. When the 300 were all in, it was a wonderful sight to see them in a heap in one corner of the pit. The dog, Peter was his name, was put in the middle of the pit and when the referee called time, he was let go and the killing began with a vengeance. The bet was won with a minute to spare, and I can safely say I never spent fourteen minutes amid greater tension and excitement.
In these times, on Good Friday, there was always wrestling at the Agricultural Hall. I usually went and well remember the splendid contest between the Cornish and Cumberland wrestlers. It was great sport, and for a few minutes during the surging back and forward before a firm grip had been obtained by one of the giants, the spectators almost held their breath in the excitement. I often wonder whether this particular sport of wrestling has, like many other things, become almost a thing of the past, or is it that our lives have so changed that we now take little notice of such matters.
Although somewhat indirectly connected with sport, I have always derived a great deal of fun and enjoyment from watching the return of the visitors of the Epsom Races to see the Derby run. From Clapham Common to the Elephant and Castle, and on to the City there was for many hours one continuous stream of people and conveyances, some in good style, while others rode in donkey carts or any conveyance obtainable. These race-goers mostly sang comic songs, were all bent upon enjoyment, and in many cases the race appeared to be a secondary consideration. These enjoyments have now mostly passed away, a better tone prevails with the people, and the means of conveyance to Epsom Downs have been greatly accelerated. I once had the pleasure of seeing the Derby ran; it was in 1896, when the race was won by Persimmon, King Edward VII's (then Prince of Wales) horse. It was a splendid race, and never could there have been a greater reception than was given when the Prince came from the Stand after the race to lead his horse back to the weighing machine.
My experience on that occasion must have been almost a record. I left business at one o'clock, went by cab to London Bridge, caught a train to Epsom, arrived at my arranged stand on the race-course, and saw each race run until the Derby was over and the Prince had led his horse off the course; then to the station and back to town and was in business again at four o'clock—in all, three hours. This was a good record.
During the summer, with a small band of fellow-assistants, I often arranged pedestrian outings. We frequently started early on Saturday, after business, slept the night out and returned by train on Sunday evening. Two of these outings are still fresh in my memory. On the first occasion, we went by train to Gravesend, then walked to Chatham, where we spent a very uncomfortable night, thence to Rochester Cathedral and the Dickens country, afterwards walking to St. Mary's Cray and staying on the way to inspect Kit's Coty House in Kent, a prehistoric structure which belongs to the Stone or Bronze Age. It consists of a large flat stone supported by two other stones and is a link with the past and well worth a visit. From St. Mary's Cray we reached home by train.
Another of our outings was by rail to Hampton Court, then a walk to Staines, where we had to sleep on the floor and on billiard tables, but, not being very comfortable, we got up at three o'clock in the morning and spent our time, until breakfast was ready, rowing on the Thames. From Staines we walked to Windsor, and were in time for service at St. George's Chapel, and I had the pleasure of hearing the then Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Tait; thence home by train. Such outings as these can only be enjoyed at one period of life, and I have always been glad I undertook them when I did, for other things came into my life which made me, I hope, a better and happier man.