There still linger on about the City several shops of the old pattern, which also recall the flavour of Dickens’s scenes and characters. There is a sort of pride in preserving these places intact and in their old fashion. Close to the Exchange may be seen a small, obscure-looking confectioner’s, with a sort of bow window filled in with small panes. It seems such a shop as would be found in a sleepy country town—say Dorking. This is the well-known “Birch’s”—a poorish-looking place for entertainment, it might be thought. Yet there is nothing in this assumption. Nowhere in London can you fare more sumptuously or at such varied prices. The little shop has flourished for much more than a hundred years, and its original proprietor became an alderman. The Birch family has disappeared; but “Ring and Brymer” hold sway, artists who contract for all the great City dinners at the Mansion House and elsewhere.
OLD DOORWAYS—LAURENCE POUNTNEY HILL.
In Fenchurch Street there is a curious old grocer’s warehouse—Davidson’s—with the low, small-paned windows, bowed out, and running all along in front, while an old-fashioned crane is seen projecting. Overhead the shop displays its sign—three gilded hundredweights: within, the place is low and more old-fashioned. Nearly opposite is another well-gilded tavern sign—a spirited Spread Eagle, as well carved in its way as the well-known “Cock” in Fleet Street, which has the reputation of being Grinling Gibbons’ work. All through the City the wary explorer will still meet with these signs—the most curious of which is the half-moon which projects from a shop in Holywell Street.
CHAPTER XX.
THE OLD CITY HALLS
ONE of the pleasantest surprises in our City wanderings is when we stray into some unfrequented street with a bizarre name, and pass by an antique but sound old doorway, porte-cochère-like, but with an air of solemn desertion which suggests a back street in some old-fashioned French town. It seems a nobleman’s “Hôtel,” relic of former magnificence. Thus we pause in Addle Street (odd name!) arrested by the Brewers’ Hall, a really interesting place. Here is a fine, solid, old-fashioned structure, with bold roof and oval windows, a flamboyant gateway, floridly carved, and ancient massive wooden gates which open with a “hatch,” really remarkable in its effect. Lifting the latch we enter the silent inclosure, which might be one of the old retired colleges at Cambridge, and not an antique survival in the heart of London. The courtyard is original: the façade fronts us with its rows of louvre windows, pierced in the ripe and red old brick; the long windows below them, with their small leaded panes, furnish light to the great Hall, and are framed in a rich mass of carving, flowers and fruits. To the right a fine bold staircase leads to the Hall. Not a soul is to be seen; and our footfalls echo in the deserted court.
In every direction we see old, flamboyant black oak. How imposing is the entrance to the Banqueting Hall, and really monumental—a massive ponderous gateway of black oak, with pillars and pediments and capitals, and figures soaring and gesticulating aloft, and flanked by solid panelling! Within there is the great oaken gallery, the tall windows, with the leaded panes. There is nothing finer in London than the great fireplace and mantel, which rises to the ceiling and offers an extraordinary display of the carver’s art. Below, it takes the shape of a sort of gateway, supported by solid pillars; while above there is a stately shield and inscription set in flourishings, and garlands of fruits and flowers, wrought in the most lavish and effective fashion.
A courteous superior official in charge shows us these things, and all that there is to be shown, with a hearty interest, as though rarely disturbed. The