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the Court of George III. The Big-endians and Little-endians are still too fierce in their controversy regarding the merits of the good old King and his bob-wig to admit an impartial writer being allowed to discuss the merits of the latter with impunity. The higher affairs of state of which the memories haunt the walls of St. James's belong rather to a history of Great Britain than of London. Pass we them, then, unsung, from the appearance of the King and Queen at the balcony to see the treasure captured by the Hermione in the Spanish galleons go down St. James's Street and along Pall Mall, to the imposing procession of the periwig makers of London, to present their petition that His Majesty (then in his twenty-fifth year) would most graciously condescend to wear a wig for the encouragement of their trade-from the assault of the maniac Margaret Nicholson upon her sovereign to the ceremony of dubbing the Hatfield knights. If in the days of its glory St. James's was an unsightly husk containing a rich kernel, its local position was in excellent keeping with its character; for was there not its own stately park behind, and the shop in which Gilray's caricatures were exposed for sale before it?

Long may the structure remain undefaced by the Vandal hands of men of taste-a monument of an age of which Great Britain has no reason to be ashamed. As yet Reynolds was not, nor Byron, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Scott; and yet, without the reflected radiance of imaginative art and literature, a court did exist which for sturdy intrinsic worth and social polish was quite as good as that of any Augustuses, or Medici, or Louises of them all. Something there might be in its external appearance more akin to Hogarth than to Raffaelle-to Fielding than to Ariosto; but a fine spirit may be found inhabiting an uncouth form. The courtiers who inspired the graceful pictures of Pope were no clowns. It must have been a finished grace in the deportment of Miss Chudleigh that enabled her to win the admiration even of the fastidious Richardson. "Love's youngest

daughter, fair Lepel," must have been beautiful in reality as in song. The Gunnings, Lady Mary Wortley Montague, Miss Peggy Bankes-they were less lucky in sprightly wits to celebrate their charms, but no less charming in reality than their predecessors of the court of Charles II. Nor were the men themselves to be despised. Braver soldiers than the Stairs and Conways no monarch need wish to see at his side, or more gracefully, fervidly ambitious than the Pulteneys and Pitts. Chesterfield and Horace Walpole stand high among those who knew how to lend an additional charm to the small talk of society by giving it an elegant tournure. And was there not George Selwyn, unrivalled in any age in his own peculiar line, with his penchant for executions and his stories innumerable? They were good times, and deserve to be held in honoured remembrance; as we may make our own, if we follow the example set us by the men who then lived-be what we really are, and seek our own happiness after our own fashion, without thinking too curiously "what will Mrs. Grundy say?" There was a glorious self-will about the English mind in the first half of the eighteenth century, which, if it produced much that was grotesque, gave birth to much that had the charm of a hearty sincerity about it. May the dingy walls of St. James's long stand the express image of those times!

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WERE we to speak of the " philosophy of the roofs of houses," it would doubtless be deemed an odd innovation on the established range and scope of philosophy. Yet, though odd, it is not worthless: the busy scenes presented in our streets, the diversity of purpose to which the lower stories of our houses are appropriated, the changes in form and fashion observable in house-architecture, the varied adaptation to the extended wants and tastes of the inmates,-have all been prominent objects for study, on the part of the painter, the poet, the statesman, the topographer. But is there nothing to be gleaned from a more ele vated point of sight? Is the region of attics and garrets, roofs and chimneys, a barren one? Let us see.

We will suppose the reader to be accompanying us in a short trip on the Eastern Counties Railway, which, commencing in Shoreditch, cuts through a densely-populated mass of buildings before getting into the open country, and

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which, from the necessity for leaving space for the street-traffic beneath, is elevated to the level of the roofs. During the very few minutes consumed in the passage through this district, an active glance around shows us a remarkable similarity in the upper parts of the houses. House after house presents, at the upper stories, ranges of windows totally unlike those of common dwellinghouses, and more nearly resembling those of a factory or a range of workshops. Many streets are seen, some parallel with the railway, and others intersecting it, in which every house without exception possesses these wide, lattice-like windows; more frequently at the upper than the lower part of the house. The rapidity of our movement prevents any distinct cognizance of the purpose to which these wide-windowed rooms are devoted; yet it is not difficult to detect here and there indications of the frame-work of a loom, and of woven substances of different colours. The windows tell their own tale; they throw light upon the labours of the Spitalfields Weavers, who, almost without exception, inhabit the houses here spoken of. In some cases, particularly northward of the railway, the upper stories only are lighted by these wide windows; but in glancing southward the eye meets with many clusters of houses, every story of which exhibits the indication of a weaver's home.

But the roofs of the houses; what of them? Many and many a roof exhibits a piece of apparatus which on steady inspection is seen to be a kind of bird-trap; or else another specimen of mechanism, which, resembling a pigeon-house in appearance, seems to be used as a large cage. Other districts in London are sparingly decked out in a similar way; but so thick are the instances in Spitalfields, that they form one of the characteristics of the spot ;-a characteristic expressed in other words by saying that the weavers of Spitalfields and Bethnal Green are the most famous bird-catchers in or near London. These men supply the greater part of the singing-birds, such as linnets, woodlarks, goldfinches, greenfinches, and chaffinches, found in London: sometimes spreading their nets in the fields northward of the metropolis; and at other times finding a market for their birds in the eastern part of London. The erections on the roofs of the houses have reference to these bird-fancying, bird-catching propensities of the

weavers.

On leaving the railway, and the bird's-eye view which it has afforded us, and traversing the mass of streets which it intersects, the sight presented is not a cheering and pleasing one: it tells too largely of misery and wretchedness; of human beings cooped up in narrow streets; and it presents but a slender number of churches and chapels, of squares and open places, of institutions and public buildings, all of which, in various ways and in different degrees, would exercise a humanizing effect.

It is not easy to express the general idea respecting Spitalfields as a district. There is a parish of that name, or rather having the name of Christchurch, Spitalfields: but this parish contains a small portion only of the silk-weavers; and it is probable that most persons apply the term Spitalfields to the whole district where the weavers reside. In this enlarged acceptation we will lay down something like a boundary in the following manner:-Begin at Shoreditch Church, and proceed along the Hackney Road till it is intersected by the Regent's Canal; follow the course of the Canal to the Mile-end Road; proceed westward

from thence through Whitechapel to Aldgate; from Aldgate through Houndsditch to Bishopsgate Street; and thence northward to the point whence the tour was commenced. This boundary encloses an irregularly-shaped district, in which nearly the whole of the weavers reside; and as these weavers are universally known "Spitalfields" weavers, the entire district is frequently called Spitalfields, although including large portions of Bethnal Green, Shoreditch, Whitechapel, and Mile-end New Town.

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By far the larger portion of this extensive district was open fields until comparatively modern times. Bethnal Green was really a green, and Spitalfields, like Goodman's-fields and Moorfields, were really covered with grassy sward in the last century. But towards the south-west corner of the district in the nook bounded on three sides by Bishopsgate Street, Houndsditch, and Whitechapel, are many antiquated buildings, and associations connected with others still more ancient. Some of these have especial reference to the name and the early history of Spitalfields; and to these we must devote a brief notice.

Bishopsgate Street is separated into two at the part where the gate formerly stood; the southern section having the appellation "Within" appended to its name, and "Without" to the northern. The continuation of the latter street is called Norton Folgate, and at the junction of the two is a small street leading eastward into Spital Square. Let the reader visit this quiet, unobtrusive, irregularly-shaped "Square," and look around him. He will see none but sober-looking brick houses; yet is there much material for thought. He is in the heart of the silk-district of London, the centre from whence that employment springs by which the weavers are supported. A large proportion of the houses in this square are inhabited by silk-manufacturers, who purchase raw and thrown silk from the merchants, and employ throwsters and weavers to bring it into those forms so familiar to all; the humble operatives living for the most part eastward of this spot. By carrying the thoughts back to the middle of the last century, we may view this Square as Spital Yard, nearly surrounded by houses as at present. A farther retrospect of another century presents the Square to our view as an open plot of ground, with a pulpit standing in the north-east corner, and a house near it for the accommodation of the Lord Mayor and Corporation during the preaching of the Spital sermons. A still more remote view exhibits this open area as part of the burial-ground immediately adjacent to the Spital or Priory from which the district takes its name.

Passing from Spital Square towards the north, we enter upon the mass of streets which occupy the space between it and the Railway; and among these White Lion Street, and portions of the adjacent streets, together with the northern side of Spital Square, point out pretty nearly the spot where the Spital once stood. The erection of this house of charity-for such it appears to have been in many respects- is dated more than six centuries back. Stow tells us in his Survey-"Next I read in a charter, dated in the year 1235, that Walter Brune, citizen of London, and Rosia his wife, having founded the priory or new hospital of Our Blessed Lady, since called St. Mary Spittle without Bishopsgate, confirmed the same to the honour of God and Our Blessed Lady for Canons regular, the nineteenth of Henry III." Although the institution thus appears to have partaken of a monastic character, yet there are indications, scattered through

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the writings of our early chroniclers, that provision was made for poor travellers, and persons in sickness or distress. The names of the successive priors have been preserved, as have likewise those of many eminent persons who were buried within its precincts. From time to time wealthy and benevolent citizens presented sums of money to the priory, either in aid of its general funds, or for some special purpose. But the time at length arrived when this-like most other establishments of the kind in England-suffered from the ruthless hand of Henry VIII. In the year 1534 the Spital was dissolved; and at its surrender evidence was shown of the good offices to which the revenues had partially, at least, been appropriated: for "besides ornaments of the church and other goods pertaining to the hospital, there were found standing one hundred and eighty beds, well furnished, for receipt of the poor of charity; for it was an hospital of great relief." By the time that Stow wrote, the ground on which the Spital had stood, and which had been given to one Stephen Vaughan by Henry VIII., was occupied by "many fair houses, builded for receipt and lodging of worshipful and honourable men." When or by whom the priory itself was pulled down does not clearly appear. Bagford, in a letter to Hearne, in Leland's 'Collectanea,' speaks of the priory as being then standing, and as being strongly built of timber, with a turret at one corner. At various periods in the early part of the last century portions of the priory ruins were discovered in or near the houses adjacent to the northern side of Spital Square, one of which houses was occupied by the celebrated Bolingbroke.

The Square itself, which is so named by a most ingenious misapplication of terms, is nearly coincident with a plot of ground once belonging to the Spital, and devoted to open-air preaching. A pulpit existed there nearly five centuries ago, and, according to Mr. Ellis, (History of Shoreditch,') stood at the north-east corner of Spital Square, nearly facing the spot now occupied by Sir George Wheler's Chapel. From this pulpit were originally preached the celebrated sermons known as the Spital sermons, forming three out of five which were wont to be preached at Easter time, one at Paul's Cross, on Good Friday, on the subject of the Crucifixion; three on the Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday in Easter week, at the Spital pulpit, on the Resurrection; and one, a kind of summary of the others, at Paul's Cross, on the Sunday after Easter. Near the south side of the pulpit was a house for the accommodation of the Lord Mayor, the Aldermen, their ladies, and persons of distinction from the court end of the town. A curious display of outward adorning took place on these occasions: for it seems that the city magistrates wore violet robes on the Good Friday, scarlet robes on the Monday and Tuesday, violet again on the Wednesday, and, lastly, scarlet on the following Sunday. The boys of Christ's Hospital, from the time of its formation, were accustomed to attend the Spital sermons; and did so annually until the pulpit was destroyed in the time of the civil wars. We meet with occasional announcements of distinguished persons having attended to hear these sermons, among whom were, on April 21, 1617, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the great Lord Bacon. On such occasions these distinguished persons became the guests of the Lord Mayor for the rest of the day, and were as we are expressly informed, and may readily believe-"lovingly and honourably both welcomed and entertained with a most liberal and bountiful dinner." For the subsequent history of

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