View in Hagbush Lane, Islington.

A HUT, ERECTED BY WILLIAM CORRALL, A POOR AND AGED LABOURER, AFTER THE VIOLENT AND LAWLESS DESTRUCTION OF HIS COTTAGE, EARLY IN THE MORNING OF THE SIXTH OF SEPTEMBER, 1827.

“—————— ’Twas strange; ’twas passing strange!
’Twas pitiful! ’twas wond’rous pitiful!”

I thought, in the Every-Day Book, that I had done with “Hagbush-lane” altogether—the tale of the poor man’s wrongs, when “the proud man’s contumely” grew into open aggression, had passed from me; and I presumed that, for his little while on this side the grave, the oppressed might “go free,” and “hear not the voice of the oppressor”—but when selfishness is unwatched it has a natural tendency to break forth, and a sudden and recent renewal of an outrage, which every honest mind had condemned, furnishes a fresh story. It is well related in the following letter:—

To the Editor.

Sir,—In the first volume of the Every-Day Book you have favoured the lovers of rural scenery with an historical and descriptive notice of Hagbush-lane, Islington, accompanied with an engraving of the “mud edifice” which formerly stood there; of which you have given “the simple annals:”—its erection by a poor labourer who, else, had no shelter for himself, wife, and child, to “shrink into,” when “pierced by wintry winds;”—its demolition by the wealthy occupants of the neighbouring fields;—the again-houseless man’s endeavour to rebuild his hovel;—the rich man’s repetition of the destruction of his half-finished hut;—and finally, the labourer’s succeeding in the erection of a cottage, more commodious than the first, where he continued unmolested to sell small beer to poor workmen and wayfarers.—Allow me, sir, the melancholy task of informing you of the “final destruction” of this sample of rusticity.—Hagbush-lane is despoiled of its appropriate ornament.

I have ever been an admirer of the beautiful scenery that is to be met with on that side of the metropolis; and never, since reading your interesting narrative and description, have I strolled that way, without passing through Hagbush-lane. On entering the wide part from the field by Copenhagen-house, one day last week, I was sadly astonished at the change—the cottage, with its garden-rails and benches, had disappeared; and the garden was entirely laid waste: trees, bushes, and vegetables rudely torn up by the roots, lay withering where they had flourished. Upon the site of his demolished dwelling stood the poor old man, bent by affliction as much as by age, leaning on his stick. From the heartbroken expression of his features, it did not take me a moment to guess the cause of this devastation:—the opulent landholder has, for the third time, taken this ungentle expedient to rid his pastures of a neighbouring “nuisance”—the hut of cheerless poverty.

The distressed old rustic stated, that on Thursday, (which was the sixth of September,) at about six o’clock in the morning, before the inmates had arisen, a party of workmen came to the cottage; and, merely informing them that “they must disturb them,” instantly commenced the work of destruction. His dwelling was soon levelled with the ground; and the growth of his garden torn up, and thrown in a heap into the lane. He declared, with a tear, that “it had ruined him for ever, and would be the death of him.” I did not ask him many questions: it had been a sin to probe his too deeply wounded feelings.

Proceeding up the lane, to where it is crossed by the new road, I perceived that, in the open space by the road-side, at the entrance into the narrow part of the lane, the old man had managed to botch up, with pieces of board and old canvass, a miserable shed to shelter him. It was surrounded with household utensils, and what materials he had saved from the ruins of his cottage—a most wretched sty—but little larger than the dog-kennel that was erected near it, from which a faithful cur barked loudly at the intruder’s footstep.

Being a stranger in the neighbourhood, I cannot pretend to know any thing of the motives that have induced his rich neighbours thus to distress the poor and aged man;—perhaps they are best known to themselves, and it is well if they can justify them to any but themselves!—but surely, surely he will not be suffered to remain thus exposed in the approaching season,