LITTLE BRITAIN.

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What I write is most true . . . . . I have a whole booke of cases lying by me, which if I should sette foorth, some grave aus (within the hearing of Bow Bell) would be out of charity with me.

 NASH.

 IN the tre of the great City of London lies a small neighborhood, sisting of a cluster of narrow streets and courts, of very venerable and debilitated houses, which goes by the name of LITTLE BRITAIN. Christ Church School and St.

 Bartholomews Hospital bound it on the west; Smith?eld and Long Lane on the north; Aldersgate Street, like an arm of the sea, divides it from the eastern part of the city; whilst the yawning gulf of Bull-and-Mouth Street separates it from Butcher Lane and the regions of e. Over this little territory, thus bounded and desighe great dome of St. Pauls, swelling above the intervening houses of Paternoster Row, Amen er, and Ave-Maria Lane, looks down with an air of motherly prote.

 This quarter derives its appellation from having been, in aimes, the residence of the Dukes of Brittany. As London increased, however, rank and fashion rolled off to the west, and trade, creeping on at their heels, took possession of their deserted abodes. For some time Little Britain became the great mart of learning, and eopled by the busy and proli?c race of booksellers: these also gradually deserted it, and, emigrating beyond the great strait of e Street, settled down in Paternoster Row and St. Pauls Churchyard, where they tio increase and multiply even at the present day.

 But, though thus fallen into dee, Little Britain still bears traces of its former splendor. There are several houses ready to tumble down, the fronts of which are magly enriched with old oaken carvings of hideous faces, unknown birds, beasts, and ?shes, and fruits and ?owers which it would perplex a naturalist to classify. There are also, in Aldersgate Street, certain remains of what were once spacious and lordly family mansions, but which have in latter days been subdivided into several tes. Here may often be found the family of a petty tradesman, with its trumpery furniture, burrowing among the relics of antiquated ?nery i rambling time-stained apartments with fretted ceilings, gilded ices, and enormous marble ?replaces. The lanes and courts also tain many smaller houses, not on so grand a scale, but, like your small a gentry, sturdily maintaining their claims to equal antiquity.

 These have their gable ends to the street, great bow windows with diamond panes set in lead, grotesque carvings, and low arched doorways.*

 * It is evident that the author of this iing unication has included, in his general title of Little Britain, man of those little lanes and courts that belong immediately to Cloth Fair.

 In this most venerable and sheltered little have I passed several quiet years of existence, fortably lodged in the sed ?oor of one of the smallest but oldest edi?ces. My sitting-room is an old wainscoted chamber, with small panels a off with a miscellaneous array of furniture. I have a particular respect for three or fh-backed, claw-footed chairs, covered with tarnished brocade, which bear the marks of having seeer days, and have doubtless ?gured in some of the old palaces of Little Britain. They seem to me to keep together and to look down with sn pt upon their leathern-bottomed neighbors, as I have seen decayed gentry carry a high head among the plebeian society with which they were reduced to associate. The whole front of my sitting-room is taken up with a bow window, on the panes of which are recorded the names of previous octs for many geions, mingled with scraps of very indiffereleman-like poetry, written in characters which I scarcely decipher, and which extol the charms of many a beauty of Little Britain who has long, long since bloomed, faded, and passed away. As I am an idle personage, with no apparent occupation, and pay my bill regularly every week, I am looked upon as the only indepe gentleman of the neighborhood, and, being curious to learernal state of a unity so apparently shut up within itself, I have mao work my way into all the s as of the place.

 Little Britain may truly be called the hearts core of the city, the stronghold of true John Bullism. It is a fragment of London as it was in its better days, with its antiquated folks and fashions. Here ?ourish i preservation many of the holiday games and s of yore. The inhabitants miously eat pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, hot cross-buns on Good Friday, and roast goose at Michaelmas; they send love-letters on Valentines Day, burn the Pope on the Fifth of November, and kiss all the girls uhe mistletoe at Christmas. Roast beef and plum-pudding are also held in superstitious veion, and port and sherry maintain their grounds as the only true English wines, all others being sidered vile outlandish beverages.

 Little Britain has its long catalogue of city wonders, which its inhabitants sider the wonders of the world, such as the great bell of St. Pauls, which sours all the beer when it tolls; the ?gures that strike the hours at St. Dunstans clock; the Mo; the lions iower; and the wooden giants in Guildhall. They still believe in dreams and fortuelling, and an old woman that lives in Bull-and-Mouth Street makes a tolerable subsistence by deteg stolen goods and promising the girls good husbands. They are apt to be rendered unfortable by ets and eclipses, and if a dog howls dolefully at night it is looked upon as a sure sign of death in the place. There are even many ghost-stories current, particularly ing the old mansion-houses, in several of which it is said strange sights are sometimes seen. Lords and ladies, the former in full-bottomed wigs, hanging sleeves, and swords, the latter in lappets, stays, hoops, and brocade, have been seen walking up and down the great waste chambers on moonlight nights, and are supposed to be the shades of the a proprietors in their court-dresses.

 Little Britain has likewise its sages and great men. One of the most important of the former is a tall, dry old gentleman of the name of Skryme, who keeps a small apothecarys shop. He has a cadaverous tenance, full of cavities and projes, with a brown circle round each eye, like a pair of horacles. He is much thought of by the old women, who sider him as a kind of jurer because he has two or three stuffed alligators hanging up in his shop and several snakes in bottles. He is a great reader of almanad neers, and is much given to pore over alarming ats of plots, spiracies, ?res, earthquakes, and volic eruptions; which last phenomena he siders as signs of the times. He has always some dismal tale of the kind to deal out to his ers with their doses, and thus at the same time puts both soul and body into an uproar. He is a great believer in omens and predis; and has the prophecies of Robert Nixon and Mother Shipton by heart. No man make so much out of an eclipse, or even an unusually dark day; and he shook the tail of the last et over the heads of his ers and disciples until they were nearly frightened out of their wits. He has lately got hold of a popular legend or prophecy, on which he has been unusually eloquent. There has been a saying current among the a sibyls, who treasure up these things, that when the grasshopper oop of the Exge shook hands with the dragon oop of Bow Church steeple, fearful events would take place. This strange jun, it seems, has as strangely e to pass. The same architect has been engaged lately on the repairs of the cupola of the Exge and the steeple of Bow Church; and, fearful to relate, the dragon and the grasshopper actually lie, cheek by jole, in the yard of his workshop.

 "Others," as Mr. Skryme is aced to say, "may go star-gazing, and look for juns in the heavens, but here is a jun on the earth, near at home and under our own eyes, which surpasses all the signs and calculations of astrologers." Sihese portentous weathercocks have thus laid their heads together, wonderful events had already occurred. The good old king, notwithstanding that he had lived eighty-two years, had all at once given up the ghost; another king had mouhe throne; a royal duke had died suddenly; another, in France, had been murdered; there had been radical meetings in all parts of the kingdom; the bloody ses at Maer; the great plot in Cato Street; and, above all, the queen had returo England! All these sinister events are reted by Mr. Skyrme with a mysterious look and a dismal shake of the head; and being taken with his drugs, and associated in the minds of his auditors with stuffed-sea-monsters, bottled serpents, and his own visage, which is a title-page of tribulation, they have spread great gloom through the minds of the people of Little Britain. They shake their heads whehey go by Bow Church, and observe that they never expected any good to e of taking down that steeple, whi old times told nothing but glad tidings, as the history of Whittington and his Cat bears witness.

 The rival oracle of Little Britain is a substantial cheesemonger, who lives in a fragment of one of the old family mansions, and is as magly lodged as a round-bellied mite in the midst of one of his own Cheshires. Indeed, he is a man of no little standing and importance, and his renowends through Huggin lane and Lad lane, and even unto Aldermanbury. His opinion is very much taken in affairs of state, havihe Sunday papers for the last half tury, together with the Gentlemans Magazine, Rapins History of England, and the Naval icle.

 His head is stored with invaluable maxims which have borhe test of time and use for turies. It is his ?rm opinion that "it is a moral impossible," so long as England is true to herself, that anything shake her: and he has much to say on the subject of the national debt, which, somehow or other, he proves to be a great national bulwark and blessing. He passed the greater part of his life in the purlieus of Little Britain until of late years, when, having bee rid grown into the dignity of a Sunday e, he begins to take his pleasure ahe world. He has therefore made several excursions to Hampstead, Highgate, and other neighb towns, where he has passed whole afternoons in looking back uporopolis through a telescope and endeav to descry the steeple of St.

 Bartholomews. Not a stage-an of Bull-and-Mouth Street but touches his hat as he passes, and he is sidered quite a patron at the coach-of?ce of the Goose and Gridiron, St. Pauls Churchyard. His family have been very urgent for him to make an expedition to Mar<cite>９9lｉb?</cite>gate, but he has great doubts of those new gimcracks, the steamboats, and ihinks himself too advanced in life to uake sea-voyages.

 Little Britain has occasionally its fas and divisions, and party spirit ran very high at oime, in sequence of two rival "Burial Societies" bei up in the place. One held its meeting at the Swan and Horse-Shoe, and atronized by the cheesemohe other at the Cod , uhe auspices of the apothecary: it is needless to say that the latter was the most ?ourishing. I have passed an evening or two at each, and have acquired much valuable information as to the best mode of being buried, the parative merits of churchyards, together with divers hints on the subject of patent iron s. I have heard the question discussed in all its bearings as to the legality of prohibiting the latter on at of their durability. The feuds occasioned by these societies have happily died of late; but they were for a long time prevailing themes of troversy, the people of Little Britain beiremely solicitous of funeral honors and of lying fortably in their graves.

 Besides these two funeral societies there is a third of quite a different cast, which tends to throw the sunshine of good-humor over the whole neighborhood. It meets once a week at a little old-fashioned house kept by a jolly publi of the name of Wagstaff, and bearing for insignia a resple half-moon, with a most seductive bunch of grapes. The whole edi?ce is covered with inscriptions to catch the eye of the thirsty wayfarer; such as "Truman, Hanbury, and Cos Entire," "Wine, Rum, and Brandy Vaults," "Old Tom, Rum, and pounds," etc. This indeed has been a temple of Bacchus and Momus from time immemorial. It has always been in the family of the Wagstaffs, so that its history is tolerably preserved by the present landlord. It was much frequented by the gallants and cavalieros of the reign of Elizabeth, and was looked into now and then by the wits of Charles the Seds day. But what Wagstaff principally prides himself upon is that Henry the Eighth, in one of his noal rambles, broke the head of one of his aors with his famous walking-staff. This, however, is sidered as rather a dubious and vain-glorious boast of the landlord.

 The club whiow holds its weekly sessions here goes by the name of "the R Lads of Little Britain." They abound in old catches, glees, and choice stories that are traditional in the plad not to be met with in any other part of the metropolis.

 There is a madcap uaker who is inimitable at a merry song, but the life of the club, and ihe prime wit of Little Britain, is bully Wagstaff himself. His aors were all wags before him, and he has ied with the inn a large stock of songs and jokes, which go with it from geion to geion as heirlooms. He is a dapper little fellow, with bandy legs and pot belly, a red face with a moist merry eye, and a little shock of gray hair behind. At the opening of every club night he is called in to sing his "fession of Faith," which is the famous old drinking trowl from "Gammer Gurtons Needle." He sings it, to be sure, with many variations, as he received it from his fathers lips; for it has been a standing favorite at the Half-Moon and Bunch of Grapes ever si was written; nay, he af?rms that his predecessors have often had the honor of singing it before the nobility ary at Christmas mummeries, when Little Britain was in all its glory.*

 * As mine host of the Half-Moons fession of Faith may not be familiar to the majority of readers, and as it is a spe of the current songs of Little Britain, I subjoin it in its inal raphy. I would observe that the whole club always join in the chorus with a fearful thumping oable and clattering of pewter pots.

 I ot eate but lytle meate,

 My stomacke is not good,

 But sure I thihat I drinke

 With him that weares a hood.

 Though I go bare, take ye no care,

 I nothing am a colde,

 I stuff my skyn so full within,

 Of joly good ale and olde.

 Chorus. Backe and syde go bare,

 Both foote and hand go colde,

 But, belly, God send thee good ale ynoughe,

 Whether it be new or olde.

 I have no rost, but a nut brawoste

 And a crab laid in the fyre;

 A little breade shall do me steade,

 Much breade I not desyre.

 No frost nor snow, nor winde, I trowe,

 hurte mee, if I wolde,

 I am so t and throwly lapt

 Of joly good ale and olde.

 Chorus. Backe and syde go bare, etc.

 And Tyb my wife, that, as her lyfe,

 Loveth well good ale to seeke,

 Full oft drynkes shee, tyll ye may see,

 The teares run downe her cheeke.

 Then doth shee trowle to me the bowle,

 Even as a mault-worme sholde,

 And sayth, sweete harte, I took my parte

 Of this jolly good ale and olde.

 Chorus. Backe and syde go bare, etc.

 Now let them dryyll they nod and winke,

 Even as goode fellowes sholde doe,

 They shall not mysse to have the blisse,

 Good ale doth brio;

 And all poore soules that have scowred bowles,

 Or have them lustily trolde,

 God save the lyves of them and their wives,

 Whether they be yonge or olde.

 Chorus. Backe and syde go bare, etc.

 It would do ones heart good to hear, on a club night, the shouts of merriment, the snatches of song, and now and then the choral bursts of half a dozen discordant voices, which issue from this jovial mansion. At such times the street is lined with listeners, who enjoy a delight equal to that of gazing into a feers window or snuf?ng up the steams of a cook-shop.

 There are two annual events which produce great stir aion in Little Britain: these are St. Bartholomews Fair and the Lord Mayors Day. During the time of the Fair, which is held in the adjoining regions of Smith?eld, there is nothing going on but gossiping and gadding about. The late quiet streets of Little Britain are overrun with an irruption of strange ?gures and faces; every tavern is a se of rout and revel. The ?ddle and the song are heard from the taproom m, noon, and night; and at each window may be seen some group of boon panions, with half-shut eyes, hats on one side, pipe in mouth and tankard in hand, fondling and prosing, and singing maudlin songs over their liquor. Even the sober de of private families, which I must say is rigidly kept up at other times among my neighbors, is no proof against this saturnalia. There is no such thing as keeping maid-servants within doors. Their brains are absolutely set madding with Pund the Puppet-Show, the Flying Horses, Signior Polito, the Fire-Eater, the celebrated Mr. Paap, and the Irish Giant. The children too lavish all their holiday money in toys and gilt gingerbread, and ?ll the house with the Lilliputian din of drums, trumpets, and penny whistles.

 But the Lord Mayors Day is the great anniversary. The Lord Mayor is looked up to by the inhabitants of Little Britain as the greatest potentate upoh, his gilt coach with six horses as the summit of human splendor, and his procession, with all the sheriffs and aldermen in his train, as the gra of earthly pageants. How they exult in the idea that the king himself dare er the city without ?rst knog at the gate of Temple Bar and asking permission of the Lord Mayor; for if he did, heaven ah! there is no knowing what might be the sequehe man in armor who rides before the Lord Mayor, and is the city champion, has orders to cut down everybody that offends against the dignity of the city; and then there is the little man with a velvet per on his head, who sits at the window of the state coad holds the city sword, as long as a pikestaff. Odds blood! if he once draws that sword, Majesty itself is not safe.

 Uhe prote of this mighty poteherefore, the good people of Little Britain sleep in peace. Temple Bar is an effectual barrier against all interior foes; and as tn invasion, the Lord Mayor has but to throw himself into the Tower, call irain-bands, and put the standing army of Beef-eaters under arms, and he may bid de?ao the world!

 Thus ed up in its own s, its own habits, and its own opinions, Little Britain has long ?ourished as a sou to this great fungous metropolis. I have pleased myself with sidering it as a chosen spot, where the principles of sturdy John Bullism were garnered up, like seed , to rehe national character when it had run to waste and degeneracy. I have rejoiced also in the general spirit of harmony that prevailed throughout it; for though there might now and then be a few clashes of opinioween the adherents of the cheesemonger and the apothecary, and an occasional feud between the burial societies, yet these were but tra clouds and soon passed away. The neighbors met with good-will, parted with a shake of the hand, and never abused each other except behind their backs.

 I could give rare descriptions of snug juing parties at which I have bee, where we played at All-Fours, Pope-Joan, Tom-e-tickle-me, and other choice old games, and where we sometimes had a good old English try dao the tune of Sir Roger de Coverley. Once a year also the neighbors would gather together and go on a gypsy party to Epping Forest. It would have done any ma good to see the merriment that took place here as we baed on the grass uhe trees. How we made the wo with bursts of laughter at the songs of little Wagstaff and the merry uaker! After dioo, the young folks would play at blindmans-buff and hide-and-seek, and it was amusing to see them tangled among the briers, and to hear a ?ne romping girl now and then squeak from among the bushes. The elder folks would gather round the cheesemonger and the apothecary to hear them talk politics, for they generally brought out a neer in their pockets to pass away time in the try. They would now and then, to be sure, get a little warm in argument; but their disputes were always adjusted by refereo a worthy old umbrella-maker in a double , who, never exactly prehending the subject, managed somehow or other to decide in favor of both parties.

 All empires, however, says some philosopher or historian, are doomed to ges and revolutions. Luxury and innovation creep in, fas arise, and families now and then spring up whose ambition and intrigues throw the whole system into fusion.

 Thus ier days has the tranquillity of Little Britain been grievously disturbed and its golden simplicity of mahreatened with total subversion by the aspiring family of a retired butcher.

 The family of the Lambs had long been among the most thriving and popular in the neighborhood: the Miss Lambs were the belles of Little Britain, and everybody leased when Old Lamb had made money enough to shut up shop and put his name on a brass plate on his door. In an evil hour, however, one of the Miss Lambs had the honor of being a lady in attendan the Lady Mayoress at her grand annual ball, on which occasion she wore three t ostrich feathers on her head. The family never got over it; they were immediately smitten with a passion fh life; set up a one-horse carriage, put a bit of gold lace round the errand-boys hat, and have beealk aation of the whole neighborhood ever sihey could no longer be io play at Pope-Joan or blindmans-buff; they could endure no dances but quadrilles, whiobody had ever heard of in Little Britain; and they took to reading novels, talking bad French, and playing upon the piano. Their brother, too, who had been articled to an attorney, set up for a dandy and a critic, characters hitherto unknown in these parts, and he fouhe worthy folks exceedingly by talking about Kean, the Opera, and the "Edinburgh Review."

 What was still worse, the Lambs gave a grand ball, to which they ed to invite any of their old neighbors; but they had a great deal of genteel pany from Theobalds Road, Red Lion Square, and other parts towards the west. There were several beaux of their brothers acquaintance from Grays Inn Lane and Hatton Garden, and not less than three aldermens ladies with their daughters. This was not to be fotten or fiven. All Little Britain was in an uproar with the smag of whips, the lashing of in miserable horses, and t?. rattling and jingling of haey-coaches. The gossips of the neighborhood might be seen popping their night-caps out at every window, watg the crazy vehicles rumble by; and there was a knot of virulent old ies that kept a look-out from a house just opposite the retired butchers and sed and criticised every ohat k the door.

 This dance was a cause of almost open war, and the whole neighborhood declared they would have nothing more to say to the Lambs. It is true that Mrs. Lamb, when she had no es with her quality acquaintance, would give little humdrum tea-juings to some of her old ies, "quite," as she would say, "in a friendly way;" and it is equally true that her invitations were always accepted, in spite of all previous vows to the trary. Nay, the good ladies would sit and be delighted with the music of the Miss Lambs, who would desd to strum an Irish melody for them on the piano; and they would listen with wonderful io Mrs. Lambs aes of Alderman Plus family, of Portsoken Ward, and the Miss Timberlakes, the rich heiresses of Crutched Friars but then they relieved their sces and averted the reproaches of their federates by vassing at the gossiping vocatiohing that had passed, and pulling the Lambs and their rout all to pieces.

 The only one of the family that could not be made fashionable was the retired butcher himself. Ho Lamb, in spite of the meekness of his name, was a rough, hearty old fellow, with the voice of a lion, a head of black hair like a shoe-brush, and a broad face mottled like his own beef. It was in vain that the daughters always spoke of him as "the old gentleman, addressed him as "papa" in tones of in?nite softness, and endeavored to coax him into a dressing-gown and slippers and entlemanly habits. Do what they might, there was no keeping dowcher. His sturdy nature would break through all their glozings. He had a hearty vulgar good-humor that was irrepressible. His very jokes made his sensitive daughters shudder, and he persisted in wearing his blue cotton coat of a m, dining at two oclock, and having a "bit of sausage with his tea."

 He was doomed, however, to share the unpopularity of his family.

 He found his old rades gradually growing cold and civil to him, no longer laughing at his jokes, and now and then throwing out a ?ing at "some people" and a hint about "quality binding."

 This both led and perplexed the ho butcher; and his wife and daughters, with the mate policy of the shrewder sex, taking advantage of the circumsta length prevailed upon him to give up his afternoons pipe and tankard at Wagstaffs, to sit after dinner by himself and take his pint of port--a liquor he detested--and to nod in his chair in solitary and dismal gentility.

 The Miss Lambs might now be seen ?aunting along the streets in French bos with unknown beaux, and talking and laughing so loud that it distressed the nerves of every good lady within hearing. They eve so far as to attempt patronage, and actually induced a French dang master to set up in the neighborhood; but the worthy folks of Little Britain took ?re at it, and did so persecute the paul that he was fain to pack up ?ddle and dang-pumps and decamp with such precipitation that he absolutely fot to pay for his lodgings.

 I had ?attered myself, at ?rst, with the idea that all this ?ery indignation on the part of the unity was merely the over?owing of <big></big>their zeal food old English manners and their horror of innovation, and I applauded the silent pt they were so vociferous in expressing for upstart pride, French fashions and the Miss Lambs. But I grieve to say that I soon perceived the iion had taken hold, and that my neighbors, after ning, were beginning to follow their example. I overheard my landlady importuning her husband to let their daughters have one quarter at Frend musid that they might take a few lessons in quadrille. I even saw, in the course of a few Sundays, han ?ve French bos, precisely like those of the Miss Lambs, parading about Little Britain.

 I still had my hopes that all this folly would gradually die away, that the Lambs might move out of the neighborhood, might die, ht run away with attorneys apprentices, and that quiet and simplicity might be agaiored to the unity.

 But unluckily a rival power arose. An opulent oilman died, a a ith a large jointure and a family of buxom daughters. The young ladies had long been repining i at the parsimony of a prudent father, which kept down all their elegant aspirings. Their ambition, being now no longer restrained, broke out into a blaze, and they openly took the ?eld against the family of the butcher. It is true that the Lambs, having had the ?rst start, had naturally an advantage of them in the fashionable career. They could speak a little bad French, play the piano, dance quadrilles, and had formed high acquaintances; but the Trotters were not to be distanced. When the Lambs appeared with two feathers in their hats, the Miss Trotters mounted four and of twice as ?ne colors. If the Lambs gave a dahe Trotters were sure not to be behindhand; and, though they might not boast of as good pany, yet they had double the number awice as merry.

 The whole unity has at length divided itself into fashionable fas uhe banners of these two families. The old games of Pope-Joan and Tom-e-tickle-me are entirely discarded; there is no such thing as getting up an ho try dance; and on my attempting to kiss a young lady uhe mistletoe last Christmas, I was indignantly repulsed, the Miss Lambs having pronou "shog vulgar." Bitter rivalry has also broken out as to the most fashionable part of Little Britain, the Lambs standing up for the dignity of Cross-Keys Square, and the Trotters for the viity of St. Bartholomews.

 Thus is this little territory torn by fas and internal dissensions, like the great empire whose bears; and what will be the result would puzzle the apothecary himself, with all his talent at prognostics, to determihough I apprehend that it will terminate ial downfall of genuine John Bullism.

 The immediate effects are extremely unpleasant to me. Being a single man, and, as I observed before, rather an idle good-for-nothing personage, I have been sidered the only gentleman by profession in the place. I stand therefore in high favor with both parties, and have to hear all their et sels and mutual backbitings. As I am too civil not to agree with the ladies on all occasions, I have itted myself most horribly with both parties by abusing their oppos. I might mao recile this to my sce, which is a truly aodating one, but I ot to my apprehension: if the Lambs and Trotters ever e to a reciliation and pare notes, I am ruined!

 I have determiherefore, to beat a retreat in time, and am actually looking out for some other nes<cite>?9９lib?</cite>t in this great city where old English manners are still kept up, where French is her eaten, drunk, danced, nor spoken, and where there are no fashionable families of retired tradesmen. This found, I will, like a veteran rat, hasten away before I have an old house about my ears, bid a long, though a sorrowful adieu to my present abode, and leave the rival fas of the Lambs and the Trotters to divide the distracted empire of LITTLE BRITAIN.

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