The busy street extending between and is described byStow (Queen Elizabeth) as the special quarter, almost up to his time, of the London poulterers, who sent their fowls and feathered game to be prepared. in Scalding Alley (anciently called Scalding House, or Scalding Wike). The pluckers and scorchers of the feathered fowl occupied the shops between the Stocks' Market (now the ) and the Great Conduit. Just before Stow's time the poulterers seem to

The chief points of interest in the street (past and present) are the Compter Prison, Grocers' Hall, , and several shops with memorable associations. Lubbock's Banking House, for instance, is leased of the Goldsmiths' Company, being part of Sir Martin Bowes' bequest to the Company in Elizabeth's time. Sir Martin Bowes we have already mentioned in our chapter on the Goldsmiths' Company.

The name of of our greatest English wits is indissolubly connected with the neighbourhood of the Poultry. It falls like a cracker, with merry bang and sparkle, among the graver histories with which this great street is associated. Tom Hood was the son of a Scotch bookseller in the Poultry. The firm was

Vernor and Hood.

Mr. Hood,

was

one

of the

Associated Booksellers,

who selected valuable old books for reprinting, with great success. Messrs. Vernor and Hood, when they moved to

31

, Poultry, took into partnership Mr. C. Sharpe. The firm of Messrs. Vernor and Hood published

The Beauties of England and Wales;

The Mirror,

Bloomfield's poems, and those of Henry Kirke White.

My father, the only remaining son, preferred the drudgery of an engraver's desk to encroaching upon the small family store. He was articled to his uncle, Mr. Sands, and subsequently was transferred to

one

of the Le Keux. He was a most devoted and excellent son to his mother, and the last days of her widowhood and decline were soothed by his tender care and affection. An opening that offered more congenial employment presented itself at last, when he was about the age of

twenty-one

. By the death of Mr. John Scott, the editor of the

London Magazine,

who was killed in a duel, that periodical passed into other hands, and became the property of my father's friends, Messrs. Taylor and Hessey. The new proprietors soon sent for him, and he became a sort of sub-editor to the magazine.

Time was when I sat upon a lofty stool,

At lofty desk, and with a clerkly pen,

Began each morning, at the stroke of ten,

To write to Bell and Co.'s commercial school,

In Warneford Court, a shady nook and cool,

The favourite retreat of merchant men.

Yet would my quill turn vagrant, even then,

And take stray dips in the Castalian pool;

Now double entry-now a flowery trope--

Mingling poetic honey with trade wax;

Blogg Brothers-Milton-Grote and Prescott-Pope,

Bristles and Hogg-Glynn, Mills, and Halifax-

Rogers and Towgood-hemp--the Bard of Hope--

Barilla-Byron-tallow-Burns and flax.

The

King's Head

The King's Head Tavern, which stood at the western extremity of the Stocks' Market, was not at known by the sign of the

King's Head,

Rose.

A gentleman arrested for debt: Master Cobham, with divers gentlemen and serving men, took him from the officers, and carried him to the Rose Tavern, where so great a fray, both the sheriffs were fain to come, and from the Rose Tavern took all the gentlemen and their servants, and carried them to the Compter.

Rose,

Rose and Crown,

There was no parting,

without a glass; so we went into the Rose Tavern in the Poultry, where the wine, according to its merit, had justly gained a reputation; and there, in a snug room, warmed with brush and faggot, over a quart of good claret, we laughed over our night's adventure. The tavern door was flanked by

two

columns twisted with vines carved in wood, which supported a small square gallery over the portico, surrounded by handsome ironwork. On the front of this gallery was erected the sign. It consisted of a central compartment containing the Rose, behind which the artist had introduced a tall silver cup, called

a standing bowl,

with drinking glasses. Beneath the painting was this inscription:--

This is THE ROSE TAVERN, Kept by WILLIAM KING, Citizen and Vintner. This Taverne's like its sign--a lustie Rose, A sight of joy that sweetness doth enclose; The daintie Flow're well pictur'd here is scene, But for its rarest sweets-come, searche within!

About the time that King altered his sign we find the authorities of St. Peter-upon-Cornhill determining

That the King's Arms, in painted glass, should be refreshed, and forthwith be set up (in

one

of their church windows) by the churchwarden at the parish charges; with whatsoever he giveth to the glazier as a gratuity.

The sign appears to have been a costly work, since there was the fragment of a leaf of an old accountbook found when the ruins of the house were cleared after the Great Fire, on which were written these entries :

pd. to Hoggestreete, the Duche paynter, for ye picture of a Rose, wth a Standingbowle and glasses, for a signe, xx li., besides diners and drinkings; also for a large table of walnut-tree, for a frame, and for iron-worke and hanging the picture, v li.

painted still life, oranges and lemons, plate, damask curtains, cloth of gold, and that medley of familiar objects that strike the ignorant vulgar.

Gallants, rejoice! This flow're is now full-blowne!

'Tis a Rose-Noble better'd by a crowne;

All you who love the emblem and the signe,

Enter, and prove our loyaltie and wine.

The tavern was rebuilt after the Great Fire, and flourished many years. It was long a depot in the metropolis for turtle; and in the quadrangle of the tavern might be seen scores of turtle, large and lively, in huge'tanks of water; or laid upward on the stone floor, ready for their destination. The tavern was also noted for large dinners of the City Companies and other public bodies. The house was refitted in , but has since been pulled down. (Timbs.)

Another noted Poultry Tavern was the

Three

Cranes,

Ecclesia et Factio: a Dialogue between Bow Church Steeple and the Exchange Grasshopper,

An Answer to the Dragon and Grasshopper; in a Dialogue between an Old Monkey and a Young Weasel, at the

Three

Cranes Tavern, in the Poultry.

No. was the house of Johnson's friends Edward and Charles Dilly, the booksellers. Here, in the year , Boswell and Johnson dined with the Dillys, Goldsmith, Langton, and the Rev. Mr. Toplady. The conversation was of excellent quality, and Boswell devotes many pages to it. They discussed the emigration and nidification of birds, on which subjects Goldsmith seems to have been deeply interested; the bread-fruit of Otaheite, which Johnson, who had never tasted it, considered surpassed by a slice of the loaf before him; toleration, and the early martyrs. On this last subject, Dr. Mayo,

the literary anvil,

tolerating all things that are tolerable,

Sir, the gentleman has heard you patiently for an hour; pray allow us now to hear him.

Sir, I was not interrupting the gentleman; I was only giving him a signal proof of my attention. Sir, you are impertinent.

[extra_illustrations.1.418.1] , Boswell, and Langton presently adjourned to the club, where they found Burke, Garrick, and Goldsmith, the latter still brooding over his sharp reprimand at Dilly's. Johnson, magnanimous as a lion, at once said aside to Boswell,

I'll make Goldsmith forgive me.

Dr. Goldsmith, something passed to-day where you and dined; I ask your pardon.

Goldsmith, touched with this, replied,

It must be much from you, sir, that I take ill

and rattled away as usual.

Yes, sir,

and that is often an empty purse.

In we find Boswell skilfully decoying his great idol to dinner at the Dillys [extra_illustrations.1.418.2] the notorious

Jack Wilkes.

Frank, a clean shirt!

a certain gentleman in lace,

They soon set to work discussing Foote's wit, and Johnson confessed that, though resolved not to be pleased, he had once at a dinner-party been obliged to lay down his knife and fork, throw himself back in his chair, and fairly laugh it out-

The dog was so comical, sir: he was irresistible.

Mr. Wilkes placed himself next to Dr. Johnson, and behaved to him with so much attention and politeness, that he gained upon him insensibly. No man ate more heartily than Johnson, or loved better what was nice and delicate. Mr. Wilkes was very assiduous in helping him to some fine veal.

Pray give me leave, sir--it is better there --a little of the brown--some fat, sir--a little of the stuffing--some gravy--let me have the pleasure of giving you some butter--allow me to recommend a squeeze of this orange; or the lemon, perhaps, may have more zest.

Sir-sir, I am obliged to you, sir,

surly virtue,

But the most memorable evening recorded at Dilly's was , when Johnson and Boswell dined there, and met Miss Seward, the Lichfield poetess, and Mrs. Knowles, a clever Quaker lady, who for once overcame the giant of Bolt Court in argument. Before dinner Johnson took up a book, and read it ravenously.

He knows how to read it better,

than any

one

. He gets at the substance of a book directly. He tears out the heart of it.

Women,

can spin, but they cannot make a good book of cookery.

They then fell to talking of a ghost that had appeared at Newcastle, and had recommended some person to apply to an attorney. Johnson thought the Wesleys had not taken pains enough in collecting evidence, at which Miss Seward smiled. This vexed the superstitious sage of , and he said, with solemn vehemence,

Yes, ma'am, this is a question which, after

five thousand

years, is yet undecided; a question, whether in theology or philosophy,

one

of the most important that can come before the human understanding.

Johnson, who during the evening had been very thunderous at intervals, breaking out against the Americans, describing them as

rascals, robbers, and pirates,

He roared out a tremendous volley which

one

might fancy could be heard across the Atlantic,

We remained,

together till it was very late. Notwithstanding occasional explosions of violence, we were all delighted upon the whole with Johnson. I compared him at the time to a warm West Indian climate, where you have a bright sun, quick vegetation, luxurious foliage, luscious fruits, but where the same heat sometimes produces thunder, lightning, and earthquakes in a terrible degree.

[extra_illustrations.1.419.1]  is a rectory situate at the corer of Scalng Alley. John de Asswell was collated thereto in the year . To this church anciently belonged the chapel of Corpus Christi and St. Mary, at the end of Conyhoop Lane, or Grocers' Alley, in the Poultry. The patronage of this church was in the prior and canons of St. Mary Overie's in till their suppression. This church was consumed in the Great Fire, anno , and then rebuilt, the parish of St. Mary Cole being, thereunto annexed. Among the monumental inscriptions in this church, Maitland gives the following on the well-known Thomas Tusser, of Elizabeth's reign, who wrote a quaint poem on a farmer's life and duties:--

Here Thomas Tusser, clad in earth, doth lie,

That some time made the points of husbandrie.

By him then leare thou maist, here learne we must,

When all is done we sleep and turn to dust.

And yet through Christ to heaven we hope to goe,

Who reads his bookes shall find his faith was so.

Among the curious epitaphs in St. Mildred's, Stow mentions the following, which is worth quoting here:--

HERE LIES BURIED THOMAS IKEN, SKINNER.

In Hodnet and London

God blessed my life,

Till forty and sixe yeeres,

With children and wife ;

And God will raise me

Up to life againe,

Therefore have I thought

My death no paine.

A fair monument of Queen Elizabeth had on the sides the following verses inscribed:--

If prayers or tears

Of subjects had prevailed,

To save a princesse

Through the world esteemed;

Then Atropos

In cutting here had fail'd,

And had not cut her thread,

But been redeem'd;

But pale-faced Death;

And cruel churlish Fate,

To prince and people

Brings the latest date.

Yet spight of Death and Fate,

Fame will display

Her gracious virtues

Through the world for aye,

Spain's Rod, Rome's Ruine,

Netherlands' Reliefe;

Heaven's gem, earth's joy,

World's wonder, Nature's chief.

Britaine's blessing, England's splendour,

Religion's Nurse, the Faith's Defender.

The Poultry Compter, on the site of the present Grocers' Alley, was of the old sheriffs prisons pulled down in , replaced soon after by a chapel. Stow mentions the prison as houses west from the parish of St. Mildred, and describes it as having been

there kept and continued time out of mind, for I have not read the original hereof.

It was the only prison,

with a ward set apart for Jews (probably from its vicinity to

Old Jewry

), and it was the only prison in London left unattacked by Lord George Gordon's blue cockaded rioters in

1780

.

first

officer

We have been scholars, I can tell you-we could not have been knaves so soon else; for as in that notable city called London, stand

two

most famous universities, Poultry and Wood St., where some are of

twenty

years standing, and have took all their degrees, from the master's side, down to the mistress's side, so in like manner,

It was at this prison, in the reign of Charles I.,

wizard,

conjuror,

devil.

But the author of a treatise, entitled

The Forfeiture of the City Charters,

gives a different account of this affair, and, fixing the scene of this tragedy on the 14th of July, writes, that as the doctor passed through Cheapside, he was attacked as above mentioned, which forced him to seek a retreat down Wood Street, and that he was there screened from the fury of the mob in a house, till they had broken all the windows, and forced the door; and then, no help coming to the relief of the doctor, the housekeeper was obliged to deliver him up to save the spoiling of his goods.

When the rabble had got him into their hands, some took him by the legs, and others by the arms, and so dragging him along the streets, cried, Lamb, Lamb, the conjuror, the conjuror! every one kicking and striking him that were nearest.

Whilst this tumult lasted, and the City was in an uproar, the news of what had passed came to the king's ear, who immediately ordered his guards to make ready, and, taking some of the chief nobility, he came in person to appease the tumult. In St. Paul's Churchyard he met the inhuman villains dragging the doctor along; and after the knightmarshal had proclaimed silence, who was but ill obeyed, the king, like a good prince, mildly exhorted and persuaded them to keep his peace, and deliver up the doctor to be tried according to law; and that if his offence, which they charged him with, should appear, he should be punished accordingly; commanding them to disperse and depart every man to his own home. But the insolent varlets answered, that they had judged him already; and thereupon pulled him limb from limb; or, at least, so dislocated his joints, that he instantly died.

This took place just before the Duke of Buckingham's assassination by Felton, in . The king, very much enraged at the treatment of Lamb, and the non-discovery of the real offenders, extorted a fine of from the abashed City.

Dekker, the dramatist, was thrown into this prison. This poet of the great Elizabethan race was of Ben Jonson's great rivals. He thus rails at Shakespeare's special friend, who had made

a supplication to be a poor journeyman player, and hadst been still so, but that thou couldst not set

a goad face

upon it. Thou hast forgot how thou ambled'st in leather-pilch, by a play-waggon in the highway; and took'st mad Jeronimo's part, to get service among the mimics,

Dekker thus delineates Ben :

That same Horace has the most ungodly face, by my fan; it looks for all the world like a rotten russet apple, when 'tis bruised. It's better than a spoonful of cinnamon water next my heart, for me to hear him speak; he sounds it so i' th' nose, and talks and rants like the poor fellows under Ludgate--to see his face make faces, when he reads his songs and sonnets.

Again, we have Ben's face compared with that of his favourite, Horace's-

You staring Leviathan! Look on the sweet visage of Horace; look, parboil'd face, look--has he not his face punchtfull of eylet-holes, like the cover of a warming-pan?

Ben Jonson's manner in a play-house is thus sketched by Dekker:--

Not to hang himself, even if he thought any man could write plays as well as himself; not to bombast out a new play with the old linings of jests stolen from the Temple's revels; not to sit in a gallery where your comedies have entered their actions, and there make vile and bad faces at every line, to make men have an eye to you, and to make players afraid; not to venture on the stage when your play is ended, and exchange courtesies and compliments with gallants, to make all the house rise and cry-

That's Horace! That's he that pens and purges humours!

But, notwithstanding all his bitterness, Dekker could speak generously of the old poet; for he thus sums up Ben Jonson's merits in the following lines :--

Good Horace! No! My cheeks do blush for thine,

As often as thou speakest so; where one true

And nobly virtuous spirit for thy best part

Loves thee, I wish one, ten; even from my heart!

I make account, I put up as deep share

In any good man's love, which thy worth earns,

As thou thyself; we envy not to see

Thy friends with bays to crowl thy poesy.

No, here the gall lies ;--we, that know what stuff

Thy very heart is made of, know the stalk

On which thy learning grows, and can give life

To thy one dying baseness; yet must we

Dance anticks on your paper.

But were thy warp'd soul put in a new mould,

I'd wear thee as a jewel set in gold.

Charles Lamb, speaking of Dekker's share in Massinger's , highly eulogises the impecunious poet.

This play,

has some beauties of so very high an order, that with all my respect for Massinger, I do not think he had poetical enthusiasm capable of rising up to them. His associate, Dekker, who wrote

Old Fortunatus

, had poetry enough for anything. The very impurities which obtrude themselves among the sweet pictures of this play, like Satan among the sons of Heaven, have a strength of contrast, a

raciness, and a glow in them, which are beyond Massinger. They are to the religion of the rest what Caliban is to Miranda.

Ned Ward, in his coarse but clever gives us a most distasteful picture of the Compter in -.

When we

first

entered,

this apartment, under the title of the King's Ward, the mixture of scents that arose from

mundungus

, tobacco, foul feet, dirty shirts, stinking breaths, and uncleanly carcases, poisoned our nostrils far worse than a

Southwark

ditch, a tanner's yard, or a tallow-chandler's melting-room. The ill-looking vermin, with long, rusty beards, swaddled up in rags, and their heads--some covered with thrum-caps, and others thrust into the tops of old stockings. Some quitted their play they were before engaged in, and came hovering round us, like so many cannibals, with such devouring countenances, as if a man had been but a morsel with 'em, all crying out,

Garnish, garnish,

as a rabble in an insurrection crying,

Liberty, liberty!

We were forced to submit to the doctrine of nonresistance, and comply with their demands, which extended to the sum of

two shillings

each.

The Poultry Compter has a special historical interest, from the fact of its being connected with the early struggles of our philanthropists against the slave-trade. It was here that several of the slaves released by Granville Sharp's noble exertions were confined. This excellent man, and true aggressive Christian, was grandson of an Archbishop of York, and son of a learned Northumberland rector. Though brought up to the bar, he never practised, and resigned a place in the Ordnance Office because he could not conscientiously approve of the American War. He lived a bachelor life in the Temple, doing good continually. Sharp opposed the impressment of sailors and the system of duelling; encouraged the distribution of the Bible, and advocated parliamentary reform. But it was as an enemy to slavery, and the practical opposer of its injustice and its cruelties, that Granville Sharp earned a foremost place in the great bede-roll of our English philanthropists. Mr. Sharp's interference in behalf of persecuted slaves was in .

In the year , says Clarkson, in his work on slavery, a Mr. David Lisle had brought over from Barbadoes Jonathan Strong, an African slave, as his servant. He used the latter in a barbarous manner at his lodgings, in , but particularly by beating him over the head with a pistol, which occasioned his head to swell. When the swelling went down a disorder fell into his eyes, which threatened the loss of them. To this a fever and ague succeeded; and he was affected with a lameness in both his legs.

Jonathan Strong having been brought into this deplorable condition, and being therefore wholly useless, was left by his master to go whither he pleased. He applied, accordingly, to Mr. William Sharp, the surgeon, for his advice, as to who gave up a portion of his time to the healing of the diseases of the poor. It was here that Mr. Granville Sharp, the brother of the former, saw him. Suffice it to say that in process of time he was cured. During this time Mr. Granville Sharp, pitying his hard case, supplied him with money, and afterwards got him a situation in the family of Mr. Brown, an apothecary, to carry out medicines.

In this new situation, when Strong had become healthy and robust in his appearance, his master happened to see him. The latter immediately formed the design of possessing him again. Accordingly, when he had found out his residence, he procured John Ross, keeper of the Poultry Compter, and William Miller, an officer under the Lord Mayor, to kidnap him. This was done by sending for him to a public-house in , and then seizing him. By these he was conveyed, without any warrant, to the Poultry Compter, where he was sold by his master to John Kerr for . Mr. Sharp, immediately upon this, waited upon Sir Robert Kite, the then Lord Mayor, and entreated him to send for Strong and to hear his case. A day was accordingly appointed, Mr. Sharp attended, also William M'Bean, a notary public, and David Laird, captain of the ship , which was to have conveyed Strong to Jamaica, in behalf of the purchaser, John Kerr. A long conversation ensued, in which the opinion of York and Talbot was quoted. Mr. Sharp made his observations. Certain lawyers who were present seemed to be staggered at the case, but inclined rather to re-commit the prisoner. The Lord Mayor, however, discharged Strong, as he had been taken up without a warrant.

As soon as this determination was made known, the parties began to move off. Captain Laird, however, who kept close to Strong, laid hold of him before he had quitted the room, and said aloud,

Then now I seize him as my slave.

I charge you, in the name of the king, with an assault upon the person of Jonathan Strong, and all these are my witnesses.

But the great turning case was that of James Somerset, in . James Somerset, an African slave, had been brought to England by his master, Charles Stewart, in . Somerset, in process of time, left him. Stewart took an opportunity of seizing him, and had him conveyed on board the , Captain Knowles, to be carried out of the kingdom and sold as a slave in Jamaica. The question raised was,

Whether a slave, by coming into England, became free?

In order that time might be given for ascertaining the law fully on this head, the case was argued at different sittings-, in ; secondly, in ; and thirdly, in . And that no decision otherwise than what the law warranted might be given, the opinion of the judges was taken upon the pleadings. The great and glorious issue of the trial was,

That as soon as ever any slave set his foot upon English territory he became free.

Thus ended the great case of Somerset, which, having been determined after so deliberate an investigation of the law, can never be reversed while the British Constitution remains. The eloquence displayed in it by those who were engaged on the side of liberty was perhaps never exceeded on any occasion; and the names of the counsellors, Davy, Glynn, Hargrave, Mansfield, and Alleyne, ought always to be remembered with gratitude by the friends of this great cause.

It was after this verdict that Cowper wrote the following beautiful lines:--

Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs

Imbibe our air, that moment they are free;

They touch our country, and their shackles fall.

That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud

And jealous of the blessing. Spread on, then,

And let it circulate through every vein

Of all your empire, that where Britain's power

Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.

It was in this Compter that Boyse, a true type of the Grub Street poet of Dr. Johnson's time, spent many of the latter days of his life. In the year Boyse was reduced to the lowest state of poverty, having no clothes left in which he could appear abroad; and what bare subsistence he procured was by writing occasional poems for the magazines. Of the disposition of his apparel Mr. Nichols received from Dr. Johnson, who knew him well, the following account. He used to pawn what he had of this sort, and it was no sooner redeemed by his friends, than pawned again. On occasion Dr. Johnson collected a sum of money for this purpose, and in days the clothes were pawned again. In this state Boyse remained in bed with no other covering than a blanket with holes, through which he passed his arms when he sat up to write. The author of his life in Cibber adds, that when his distresses were so pressing as to induce him to dispose of his shirt, he used to cut some white paper in slips, which he tied round his wrists, and in the same manner supplied his neck. In this plight he frequently appeared abroad, while his other apparel was scarcely sufficient for the purposes of decency.

In the month of , Boyse died in obscure lodgings near . Anold acquaintance of his endeavoured to collect money to defray the expenses of his funeral, so that the scandal of being buried by the parish might be avoided. But his endeavours were in vain, for the persons he had selected had been so otten troubled with applications during the life of this unhappy man, that they refused to contribute anything towards his funeral.

Of Boyse's best poems

The Deity

Transcendent pow'r! sole arbiter of fate! How great thy glory! and thy bliss how great, To view from thy exalted throne above (Eternal source of light, and life, and love!) Unnumbered creatures draw their smiling birth, To bless the heav'ns or beautify the earth; While systems roll, obedient to thy view, And worlds rejoice--which Newton never knew!

Below, thro' different forms does matter range, And life subsists from elemental change, Liquids condensing shapes terrestrial wear, Earth mounts in fire, and fire dissolves in air; While we, inquiring phantoms of a day, Inconstant as the shadows we survey! With them along Time's rapid current pass, And haste to mingle with the parent mass; But thou, Eternal Lord of life divine! In youth immortal shalt for ever shine! No change shall darken thy exalted name, From everlasting ages still the same!

[extra_illustrations.1.424.1]  of William III.'s reign, resided in the Poultry in the year .

The humour of rambling,

was now pretty well off with me, and my thoughts began to fix rather upon business. The shop I took, with the sign of the Black Raven, stood opposite to the Poultry Counter, where I traded

ten

years, as all other men must expect, with a variety of successes and disappointments. My shop was opened just upon the Revolution, and, as I remember, the same day the Prince of Orange came to London.

[extra_illustrations.1.417.1] National Mercantile Life Assurance Office, Poultry

[extra_illustrations.1.417.2] Bate--Optical Instrument-Card 67, Poultry

[extra_illustrations.1.418.1] Johnson

[extra_illustrations.1.418.2] to meet

[extra_illustrations.1.419.1] St. Mildred's Church, Poultry

[] The sum, said Johnson, was collected by sixpences, at a time when to me sixpence was a serious consideration.

[extra_illustrations.1.424.1] Dunton the eccentric bookseller