Chapter II: Part 2

'Sergeant Nickham,' says I, when I got fairly out of range of her windows, for I wouldn't trust _her_ with so much as a wink of mine--'Sergeant Nickham,' I said, 'you are the boy! If you can't command your face, there isn't a man in the force as can. If you haven't got a memory for faces, find me the man who has, that's all about it!'

Why, of all the extraordinary capers that I ever tumbled to in my life, I never came near such a caper as this. Miss Doyle! _That_ was Miss Doyle, was it? Right enough, no doubt; but if she wasn't also the sham clerk who came and found that I was put on the watch by Mr Byrle, I didn't know a horse from a hedgehog--that's all. The quick look of her eye, her sharp quick voice, the shape of her face, the very way she stood--lor! it was all as clear as daylight. But then I thought, and I kept on thinking till I had got back to the works, what could _she_ have to do with stealing engine-fittings? 'Twasn't likely as she had anything to do with that. It was past all question in my mind as to her being the same party. I knew it for certain; and then came the point--What did she dress herself up for and come a-spying on me and her uncle?--for she was Mr Byrle's niece.

I hadn't got to the bottom of this by any means, by the time I got back to the works; however, I gave my message very respectfully to Mr Forey; and offered Bob the gatekeeper his sixpence back, with many thanks.

'No, old chap,' he says; 'keep it at present. If you get on regular, I'll take it off you and a pint into the bargain the day you draw your first week's cash; but a fellow out of work knows the vally of a sixpence.'

The same ferryman took me back; and his temper hadn't improved, I found. I fancied too that he was particular watchful of me, and so I was particular watchful of him; and from long practice I could do it better and more secretly than he could, although he _had_ got a cross-eye. Lor! I could tell when we were nearing that same ship that the man climbed out of; I could tell it by the cunning way in which the boatman looked at me, to see if I would take any special notice of it. I didn't know what his little game might be, but I determined to spoil it; so I stooped down, and was tying up my shoe, making quite a long job of it, till after we had fairly passed the craft, and then I looked up with an innocent face that quite settled him.

Just as we pushed up to the hard (that's the landing-place), he says to me: 'Do you often cross here?'

'Not often,' I said; 'at anyrate, not yet. I generally cross a little higher up.' (That was very true; about Westminster Bridge was my place; if he liked to think I meant somewhere about Tooley Street or Billingsgate, of course I couldn't help it.) 'But I have left my old quarters, and so I shall often go this way.'

'Ah,' he says, 'you live at the _Yarmouth Smack_, don't you?'

'The what?' I said. 'Where's that?'

'The _Yarmouth Smack_,' he says again, pointing to the side we had come from. I knew where the _Yarmouth Smack_ was well enough; but I shook my head, and said: 'No; I live on this side of the water; but I shall live anywhere when I can get work.'

He didn't say any more; I did not suppose he would; but there was something uncommonly suspicious in his talking about the _Yarmouth Smack_, something more than I could believe came from chance.

In the lane, just as I was about to turn into the side door of the _Anchor_, I met the foreign-looking captain, who must have crossed the river before me, as I had last seen him on the other side. He knew me, I could tell well enough, and I knew him; but I was not going to let him see where I was going, so I passed the door of the _Anchor_, limping on till he was clear; then I hurried in, went upstairs at once, and was out in the old ruined arbours I have spoken of in a minute. These overhung the river at high-water (it was nearly high-tide now), and the landing-place of the ferry was close to them. The ferryman and the captain were talking, as I expected they would be, while the boat was waiting for passengers; and by standing in the corner box, I could have heard every word they said, if they had spoken out, as honest people should speak. But they were that artful and suspicious, although they could not have known there was anybody listening, that they talked almost in whispers, and I only caught the last bit from the ferryman. 'No,' he says; 'he's not the party; but I'll go up to the _Smack_ to-night and make sure of the man.'

Ah! as I thought; they were both in it somehow. But what a most extraordinary fuss and Gunpowder Plot sort of business there was about stealing a few bits of metal. I actually should have felt ashamed of the East-enders, who are really some of the sharpest folks I ever came across, if I had not felt there was a something behind, and that, by a lucky accident, I seemed upon the point of finding it out.

The night--my first night in the east too--was not to pass without an adventure, and I had not seen the last of my new acquaintance the captain. I got very tired of the company in the _Anchor_--not that I mind who I mix with, and if there had been any of the factory hands about the place, I would have sat with them until the house closed; but they only came there at meal-times it seemed, or on their road home. So I walked about the neighbourhood a bit; not because it was pleasant, for it was a wet night; and what with the rain and the mud and the drunken sailors and the fried-fish shops and the quarrelling there was going on, it was anything but agreeable. The fact is I like to know every court and alley in my district, and there _were_ some pretty courts and alleys here. However, nobody thought me worth robbing, and besides, I am always civil, so I never get interfered with. It's a capital rule; the best I know; and costs nothing.

When I was coming back, and had got pretty nearly to the _Anchor and Five Mermaids_ again (it is very absurd to give such long signs to public-houses), I saw a very pretty girl whom I had noticed before, standing at a corner out of the rain; but it was not raining very much now. She wasn't--well, I won't say what she was not, or what she was. She was very pretty, I say, and was doing no harm there; but two or three fellows coming by at the moment, one of them took hold of her roughly, and finished by almost pushing her down. She got away from him, and drew a door or two off; but his companions laughing at him for being bested by a woman, he followed her, and on her pushing him from her, gave her a back-handed smack in the face. There were several men loitering about, smoking and so forth, and I heard one or two say it was a shame; but none of them interfered; and I, being a little way off, and not wanting to get into a row, might have passed this over; but she called him a brute and a coward, and he went at her to strike her again. She ran across the road to where I stood, to avoid him, and he followed her. Then I saw it was my acquaintance the captain.

He swore more horribly than ever I heard any one swear, and springing forward, would certainly have hit her down; but I jumped between them and knocked up his arm. 'Brayvo!' said some women, who had been attracted by the girl's scream; and 'Brayvo!' said the men who hadn't interfered. At once the captain turned on me, and let fly desperately at my head; but I was not to be had in that way, and I stopped him and returned a hit that I know must have loosened a couple of teeth; and then he swore again, and began to pull off his coat. So did I.

'Don't fight wid him, my darlin',' said an old Irishwoman, who was selling herrings, laying her hand on my arm. 'You 're an honest English boy, and these fellows will have a knife in ye if they can't bate ye fair.'

'No, Biddy, they shan't,' said one of the men coming forward, followed by half-a-dozen more. 'If there's to be a fight, it shall be a fair one; and mates, we'll put any fellow into six feet of mud who only shews a knife.'

His mates said so too, and they were a rough and likely lot for it, and the river was within a score or so of yards. So with a scowl at them (for I do believe now he meant murder; I didn't think of it then, although I was a policeman), he rolled up his sleeves and came at me.

He was a strong fellow, not so tall perhaps, but certainly heavier than I was, and I daresay, from his manner, fancied he could fight. But fight _me_! Why, a gent once offered through Alec Keene (he had seen me spar in private at Alec's), to make it worth my while to leave the police, and he would back me against any ten-stone-four man I fancied, for a hundred; and I was half inclined to take it too, only something important turned up just then. Well, in two rounds I settled the captain. He tried to catch hold of me and throw me; but I knocked him clean off his legs each round; and then his friends took him away.

'There's one comfort at any rate in having had the row,' I thought: 'he'll never suppose I'm a detective after this.'

I wished, however, it had never come off, there was such a fuss. Why, if I could have drunk shillings and sixpences, I might have had them, I do believe. In a place like that you get a crowd directly; and although the affair did not last three minutes, there was a hundred men and as many women too, anxious to treat me; and I was naturally obliged to drink with one or two; not at the _Anchor_ though.

The affair made such a stir, that I read in one of the local papers the next week how Jem Mace had been down in the neighbourhood of the Docks, incog.; and that for once the brute strength of a boxer had been used in a good cause, and all that sort of nonsense. I know I have always found the best class of boxers very good fellows.

Of course I was vexed at this shindy having taken place so early, as the quieter I kept myself the better; and I would have given five pounds to have been out of it. My wishing this only shews you never know what is coming; and something came out of this street fight that I never expected.

SEA-LIONS.

The domestication of a pair of 'sea-lions' at the Brighton Aquarium, and the subsequent addition, some few months ago, of a 'little stranger' to this interesting family circle, afford an opportunity for a brief description of some of the more prominent points in the structure and habits of these little-known animals. The name 'sea-lion,' to begin with, is by no means so inappropriate or far fetched as popular designations are usually found to be, when submitted to scientific criticism. For the 'sea-lion' is included by zoologists along with the seals and walruses in the great Carnivorous order of quadrupeds, to which, it need hardly be remarked, the lions, tigers, bears, dogs, and other flesh-eaters belong. The sea-lion is in fact a large seal, and seals and walruses are simply marine bears; and if we can imagine the body of a familiar bear to be somewhat elongated, and that the limbs were converted into swimming paddles, we should obtain a rough but essentially correct idea of the zoological position of the seals and their neighbours.

But whilst the seals and sea-lions are united with the walruses to form a special group of carnivorous quadrupeds, adapted to lead a life in the sea, there exist some very prominent points of difference between the common seals and the less familiar sea-lions. The sea-lions and their nearest allies are thus sometimes named 'Eared' seals, from the possession of an outer ear; the latter appendage being absent in the common or True seals. And whilst the common seals waddle in a most ungainly fashion on land, the sea-lions are able to 'walk,' if not elegantly, at least with a better show of comfort than their more familiar neighbours. A glance at the structure of the sea-lion's feet, or better still, a comparison of its members with those of the seal, shews the reason of its greater skill and ability in progression on the land. The fore-limbs of the seal are, so to speak buried in the skin, below the elbow; only a small part of the fore-arm and hand being thus free from the body. The hind-limbs of the seals, again, exist in a permanently extended condition, and are disposed backwards in a line with the tail and body. The hind-limbs, moreover, are frequently united with the tail by means of a connecting fold of skin, and the whole hinder extremity of the body in a seal may thus be regarded as forming a large tail-fin. In swimming, the fore-limbs of the seal are applied closely to the sides of the body, and serve as rudders; whilst the hinder portion of the body, hinder limbs, and tail, constitute the swimming-organs--a work for which by their great flexibility they are perfectly adapted.

In the sea-lions on the other hand the fore-limbs are free from the skin and body to a much greater extent than in the seals. The 'hand' itself in the sea-lion is exceedingly flexible, although completely enclosed in a horny or leathery skin. The thumbs of this hand further exist in a well developed state; all five fingers being of nearly the same length in the seal. As regards the hind-feet of the sea-lion, these members, like the fore-limbs, are freely separated from the body, at least as far as the ankle and foot are concerned, and the foot is turned outwards, forcibly reminding one of the conformation of that organ in the bear. But we may only note by way of conclusion to these zoological characters that the teeth of the sea-lion are decidedly of a carnivorous type. Any one regarding the skull of a sea-lion could readily form the idea that the animal which possessed it was a flesh-eater. These animals usually possess thirty-six teeth; the 'eye' teeth being of very large size, and so placed in the jaws that any substance entering the mouth is firmly held by these teeth and the adjoining front teeth. The 'grinders' of the sea-lion are small, and do not appear to be of any very great use to the animal. These creatures swallow their food--consisting of fishes, molluscs, and sea-birds--whole, and when a large fish is divided in two, the portion retained in the mouth is swallowed; the portion which tumbles into the water being afterwards seized and duly swallowed in its turn.

That the sea-lions are by no means destitute of the craft and cunning of their land-neighbours, is proved by the fact that they capture such birds as the penguins by lying motionless in the water, allowing merely the tip of the nose to appear at the surface. The unwary bird, swooping down upon the floating object, presumed to consist of something eatable, is then seized and devoured by the concealed enemy.

Sea-lions may be regarded as the unknown, or at anyrate unrecognised benefactors of the fair sex, inasmuch as, from the rich _under-fur_ which they possess, the favourite material known as 'seal-skin' is obtained. This latter name is entirely misleading in its nature; the much prized material being the produce of the sea-lion and not of a true seal. The possession of this valuable under-fur has contributed very largely to the causes of the indiscriminate attack which has for years past been made upon the sea-lions. The spirit of commercial enterprise has resulted in a war of extermination against these animals in certain regions, from the effects of which it is doubtful if the species can ultimately recover.

The sea-lions differ materially from the seals in their geographical distribution. The latter animals, as every casual reader of a natural history text-book knows, inhabit temperate and northern seas. The sea-lions, on the other hand, are found to be absent from all parts of the Atlantic Ocean save its most southern portions. They are common on the South American coasts, and are found inhabiting island-groups which may be regarded as belonging to the same zoological province as the latter continent. The mouth of the River Plate is stated as the most northern boundary of these animals on the eastern side of South America, whilst on the western or Pacific side of the New World they are found on the Californian coasts, and are even met with on the coasts of the Aleutian Isles and of Japan. The Pribylov Islands, included in the Alaska group, are regarded as forming the most northerly point of the sea-lions' distribution; and these islands--now in the possession of the United States--together with the Falkland Islands and the Cape of Good Hope, still form the three chief sources from which the seal-fur or seal-skin of commerce is obtained. It is also well ascertained that sea-lions occur at Kerguelen's Land, on the New Zealand coasts, on the Tasmanian shores, and the east and south coasts of Australia.

The average length of a large male sea-lion ranges from six to seven or eight feet, his weight averaging six hundred pounds. The females are of much smaller size than the males, and measure from four and a half to five feet in length; their weight being from one hundred to one hundred and fifty pounds. These animals, as might be expected, grow slowly, and attain their full dimensions the males in six, and the females in four years. The habits of these animals are not only of curious and interesting nature, but evince a decidedly high order of intelligence. The haunts of the sea-lions are, in whalers' _parlance_, named 'rookeries;' and in the disposition of what may be termed their domestic arrangements, as well as in the regulation of their family and personal matters, these creatures appear to be guided by instincts which, like the social order of the ants and bees, are duly perpetuated, and have become of hereditary character. The sea-lions are migratory in habits, and disappear from the majority of the haunts and breeding-places in winter. The males are few in number as compared with the females or 'cows,' as they are termed; and each male receives under his protection a larger or smaller number of females; the oldest males possessing the largest number of dependants. In the early spring, some old males appear to return first to the haunts and do duty as reconnoitring parties; the advance-guard swimming about for several days, then landing and cautiously investigating the state of the land; their shore-visits being spent in a state of perpetual sniffing, and in the careful examination of their old haunt. About a month or six weeks after the arrival of the advance-guard, and after the inspection of the land has been duly carried out, sure signs of the coming race begin to appear in the form of hundreds of males, who select advantageous positions on the beach, and await the arrival of their partners. Nor is the period of waiting an uneventful one. The best situations on the beach are fought for with eagerness, not to say ferocity. The descriptions given of the combats of the males indicate that they are of the most sanguinary description; frequent mutilations being the results of this fight for a place on the reception-ground.

On the arrival of the females, the younger males appear to do duty as ushers, in marshalling the 'cows' to their places on the rocks and cliffs above the beach; and the work of the selection of mates by the males proceeds apace, until each happy family, consisting of a male with a dozen or fifteen cows, has been duly constituted. The progress of selection and sea-lion courtship is frequently, we regret to say, attended with disastrous consequences to the lady-members of the community. When a male, envious of the choice of his neighbour, sees an opportunity, he does not hesitate to avail himself of the chance, and not only to covet but literally to steal his neighbour's mate. The desired 'cow' is unceremoniously lifted in the mouth of the captor, and transferred with all possible expedition to his own family group. Great is the sorrow of the bereaved male; but woe to both intruder and female should the thief be discovered in the act! A fierce and sanguinary fight ensues, and the hapless, passive, and altogether innocent cause of the combat, may get dreadfully injured while the combat lasts.

The young sea-lions usually appear to be born almost immediately after the parents have landed and been allocated to their respective establishments. One young is produced at a birth; the infant sea-lion being of black colour and attaining the length of a foot. When they are four weeks old, they enter the water, and speedily become expert in swimming and diving; but it is alleged, and on good authority, that occasionally the females encounter refractory offspring, and have to exercise great patience in coaxing unwilling youngsters to enter the sea. The families have settled down to their wonted existence by the beginning of August; and we are informed that during the whole of the period which intervenes between the arrival of the females and the period last mentioned, the males have not only been most assiduous in their attendance upon their families, but that they have also been existing independently of any nutriment. The males exemplify a case of living upon self, and appear to subsist by the reabsorption of their fatty matters; in the same fashion as the bears, which retire fat and well nourished to their winter-quarters, and appear in the succeeding spring in a lean and emaciated condition.

Regarding the sea-lions and their young at present in captivity in the Brighton Aquarium, it is interesting to note the incidents connected with the first 'bath' of baby _Otaria_. This prodigy in the way of an aquarium specimen, tumbled accidentally into the water of his tank, and apparently caused his mamma much anxiety. It is stated that he plunged voluntarily into the water on a subsequent occasion, and appeared to be perfectly at home in his native element; swimming and diving with all the dexterity of an accomplished professor of the art of natation. Being startled by some sound, the young otaria dived beneath the surface of the water, the mother seizing her progeny by the neck, and swimming ashore with it in her mouth. On the occasion of the writer's visit to the Brighton Aquarium, the mother and young were disporting themselves in the water; the male sitting up in the tank, and giving vent to repeated sounds, resembling exactly the hoarse bark of a dog. We may heartily re-echo the wish, that the happiness and amenity of this interesting family may be disturbed by no untoward accident, if for no other reason that they exist among us as the representatives of a most interesting and now comparatively scarce group of quadrupeds.

It has often been disputed by naturalists whether or not the sea-lions possess a mane. There can be no doubt that the old males of one species at anyrate, the _Otaria jubata_ or Cook's sea-lion, the most common form on the South American coasts, possess a mane on the neck and shoulders. Nine or ten different species of sea-lions are known to zoologists, these species being distinguished from each other by very distinct variations in the form and structure of the skull, in the fur, &c. It must, however, be borne in mind, that the recognition of the exact species to which a sea-lion belongs is frequently a very difficult matter, owing to the differences perceptible in the fur of the two sexes and in the fur of either sex, at different ages.

The complaints of zoologists regarding the ill-regulated and indiscriminate slaughter of the sea-lions are, it is to be feared, as well founded as have been our own repeated remonstrances against the wholesale slaughter of seals. The United States government, however, it is satisfactory to learn, still regulate their sea-lion fisheries at the Pribylov Islands in a methodical manner. Thus the young males alone are killed, and the period during which they are taken extends from June to October; whilst the total number of sea-lions killed annually is limited. In the South Sea Islands, these animals were killed in such numbers that they are now exceedingly scarce; British and Americans alike, slaying the sea-lions without in the slightest degree discriminating between the sexes, or between young and old seals. It is to be hoped, for the sake of science as well as of commerce, that time has taught us wisdom in this respect. We have seen how necessary legislation has become to insure the prosperity of our home-fisheries; and now that the Royal Commissioners have finished their labours in behalf of crabs and lobsters, salmon and herring, it would be well for the public interests if Mr Frank Buckland and his coadjutors were empowered to look after the sea-lion and the seal.

ANCIENT STREETS AND HOMESTEADS OF ENGLAND.

With kindly regard for the names, the places, and the landmarks of our forefathers, which may be called the sentimental side of our national stability, are usually, but unfortunately not invariably combined the good sense which improves but does not destroy, and the good taste which recognises the intrinsic beauty of antiquity, its harmony with our history, and the dignity which it lends to the present. Foreigners are always deeply impressed by the 'ancientness' of England, by the maintenance of the old names, and the blending together in our cities of the convenience and luxury of modern life, with the memorials of a past as grand as any country has to boast of, and marked by far less vicissitude.

Among the evidences of the stability of England to which the attention of her own students of her history and that of foreign visitors may most worthily be directed, is the minor monumental history which Mr Alfred Rimmer illustrates, and whose value and interest the Dean of Chester points out in an interesting volume entitled _Ancient Streets and Homesteads of England_ (London: Macmillan & Co.); the history of the old buildings which still remain in the old streets of our old cities, in our villages and in our hamlets.

It is pleasant to ramble with Mr Rimmer from county to county of the old land, gathering as we go a great company from the past; and assuredly all will agree that no better starting-point can be found than Chester, the pride of archæologists, the boast of historians, the city whose renown has been touched into equal brilliance and tenderness by the genius of Sir Walter Scott. An American traveller has well described the charm of the city. 'It is full,' he says, 'of that delightful element of the crooked, the accidental, the unforeseen, which, to eyes accustomed to eternal right angles and straight lines, is the striking feature of European street scenery. The Chester streets give us a perfect feast of crookedness--of those random corners, projections, and recesses, those innumerable architectural surprises and caprices and fantasies which offer such a delicious holiday to a vision nourished upon brown stone fronts.' Shrewsbury perhaps gives at first sight a more vivid picture of a fine old English town, but it has not so many treasures hidden away under modern exteriors. It is likely, Mr Rimmer tells us, that even the oldest inhabitant of Chester is ignorant of the ancient relics which the city contains. Though the origin of the famous 'Rows' is disputed--some antiquaries holding them to belong to the Roman era of the city, and to have been simply an extension of the vestibule of Roman architecture; while others consider that they were built as a refuge for the citizens during any sudden attack of the Welsh--there is but one estimate of their quaint old-world beauty; and perhaps there is no relic of the past in all England which has more stirring memories to arouse than Chester Castle, with its Julius Cæsar's tower still standing firm against the influence of time, and its tradition of Hugh Lupus Hall.

Next to the completeness of the ancient walls of Chester, its carved woodwork strikes the visitor as an instance of conservation. The carved front of the house which belonged to Randal Holme, who left valuable records of the city, is much more ancient than the date it bears (1664); and though the house called Bishop Lloyd's is now divided into tenements, the splendid remains of its ceilings and fireplaces are preserved. A little beyond it stand the beautiful cottages, with their carving intact, into which Stanley House has been divided. Here the Earl of Derby, who was executed at Bolton in 1657, passed his last day. Some of the famous carved oak furniture of this historic mansion found its way a few years ago into the possession of Mr Sly, the landlord of the celebrated _King's Arms Inn_ at Lancaster, and was sold in the spring of the present year at the dispersion of his collection. One magnificent black oak bedstead splendidly carved is now in the possession of the Duke of Norfolk. Looking at the beautiful carved fronts of the cottages, and thinking of the terrible time in which the chief of the great House of Stanley left his ancestral home for ever, we are reminded of the quaint story which the earl's gentleman, Mr Bagaley, related concerning that departure. 'One Lieutenant Smith, a rude fellow,' he says, 'came in with his hat on, and told my lord he came from Colonel Duckenfield the governor, to tell his lordship he must be ready for his journey to Bolton. My lord replied: "When would have me to go?" "To-morrow, about six in the morning," said Smith. "Well," said my lord, "commend me to the governor, and tell him I shall be ready by that time." Then said Smith: "Doth your lordship know any friend or servant that would do the thing your lordship knows of? It would do well if you had a friend." My lord replied: "What do you mean--to cut off my head?" Smith said: "Yes, my lord; if you could have a friend." My lord said: "Nay, sir; if those men that would have my head will not find one to cut it off, let it stand where it is."'

The Blue Posts, 'God's Providence' House, with its inscription of thanksgiving that its inmates had been spared from the plague; the beautiful gabled house in Whitefriars, with its fine mouldings and traceries, are but a few of the memorials of the past over which one lingers in Chester, before passing on to the eastern part of the county, where one finds a special treat in the old town of Congleton, which presents features of successive periods of antiquity in its still and picturesque streets, and is surrounded on all sides by venerable family seats. Mr Rimmer's drawing of the old _Lion Inn_ gives a charming idea of a black-and-white gabled hostelry, with a vast porch resting on stone pillars, and supporting a room above it. The interior preserves all its old characteristics, and has a quiet ponderousness about it, as of an inn to which wayfarers came in coaches with armed outriders on horseback, with led-horses charged with baggage, or in heavy wagons. The idea of railways or smart dog-carts, or the pertness of all modern vehicles in fact, in connection with the _Lion Inn_, has a kind of impertinence about it.

Over the Cheshire border in Shropshire there is a great deal of interest for the student of the street architecture of the past; and in that county picturesque old inns abound. We find one at Ellesmere, with the grass growing in the vast courtyard, built round by the now empty stables, which were so full of life and bustle in the old coaching days. Mr Rimmer's very brief mention of Ellesmere implies that it is a much less important place than in reality it is; and all he says about Shropshire conveys an impression that he has not studied the antiquarian aspect of his subject at all so deeply as its artistic.

Two miles from Oswestry lies Whittington village, a perfect example of the solid and beautiful in village architecture, with the gateway of Peveril's Castle opening into it, and the birthplace of Sir Richard Whittington left to the choice of the visitor. Oswestry itself is an exceedingly interesting town; portions of the old wall still remain, with several stone and half-timbered houses of great antiquity; but it is seldom thoroughly explored, because the tourist is generally anxious to reach the county town of Shropshire, that famous city of Shrewsbury, which we know better perhaps through Shakspeare than through the historical chronicles of its life. The author might, however, have accorded more lengthened notice to Oswestry, which, if tradition may be relied upon, dates from the fourth century of the Christian era, and which undoubtedly derives its name from the overthrow and martyrdom of Oswald, the Christian king of Northumberland, who was vanquished there by Penda, the pagan king of Mercia.

Oswestry is stated to have been the site of a castle built in 1149 by Magod, one of the princes of Powys. It then passed, by marriage, into the hands of a Norman lord of Cher; and it was here that in 1164 Henry II. assembled the army with which he marched to Chirk, in his vain attempt to subjugate the principality. In 1277 Edward I. surrounded the town by a wall which was a mile in circumference, had four gates, and was further defended by a moat. In the thirteenth century both castle and town were destroyed by fire. Many scenes of our martial history pass before the mind's eye of the visitor to Oswestry. In 1403, Owen Glyndyr (or Glendower) marched from thence towards Shrewsbury at the head of twelve thousand men, intending there to unite his forces to those of the Earl of Northumberland and his son. Tradition, however, alleges that by the time he reached Shelton, two miles from Shrewsbury, he found the royal forces were engaged in battle with their enemy. The story of that eventful day is one out of which to make a mental picture as one contemplates the approach to Shrewsbury. Hotspur and his father had encamped on the previous night at a place called Berwick, nearly opposite Shelton, and they calculated on being joined there by Glendyr. They sorely needed his aid; the rebel army numbered only fourteen thousand men, while that of the king numbered twenty-six thousand. In vain they waited; in vain a few unsuccessful attempts were made at a compromise, and then at a place still known as Battlefield, and in a field yet called 'the King's Croft,' the battle was joined. Before, however, the first blow was struck, Harry Hotspur called for his sword, and was informed by his attendant that he had left it at Berwick. The iron warrior, who was about cheerfully to encounter a force greatly outnumbering his own, turned pale. 'I perceive,' he said, 'that my plough is drawing its last furrow, for a wizard told me that I should perish at Berwick, which I vainly interpreted of that town in the north.'

The Welsh chieftain climbed into the tree and beheld the conflict; at what period of the engagement is not told; but as he concluded the king would be victorious, he quietly came down again, and leaving Percy to defeat and death, marched back to his mountains. The old oak yet remains; but for the forty years during which we have known it, it has been in a failing condition. One by one its great boughs have yielded to the storm, or broken beneath their own weight; and it is now propped up with crutches and bound together with iron hoops. Probably in another half-century the place which has known it for at least six centuries will know it no more.

One of Mr Rimmer's illustrations shews us a street in Shrewsbury which may justly claim to be one of the most perfect examples of English streets yet remaining, if not the most perfect. The beautiful old gabled houses with their projecting richly carved fronts are in excellent preservation, and for a considerable distance a person walking down the middle of the street can touch them on each side; such was the economy of room in walled cities, which renders their physiognomy just the opposite to that of villages, in which the wide spaces constitute an especial beauty. Behind the city rise the Haughmond hills, clear and sharp, and wooded to their summits. Mr Rimmer tells us, that when the sun rises red over these hills, and especially if this red rising be accompanied by noise of wind, it is a certain sign of a stormy day; thus proving the truth of Shakspeare's description of how 'bloodily the sun began to peer above yon bosky hill,' upon the fatal day of the battle of Shrewsbury. Says Prince Henry to his father:

The southern wind
Doth play the trumpet to his purposes;
And by the hollow whistling in the leaves
Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.

We wish we could find in the facts a sanction for the author's statement, that in no town in England are the interesting remains, dear to the antiquary and the student, more scrupulously taken care of than in Shrewsbury; but we have before us the eloquent and pleading testimony to the contrary of Mr Ansell Day, the enthusiastic and indefatigable champion of the rights and the dignity of the old city; and on comparing his description of Shrewsbury a hundred years ago with Shrewsbury as it now is, we learn how much has been lost within a century. A hundred years ago, Shrewsbury boasted five churches of renowned beauty. The Abbey and the collegiate church of St Mary still remain, deeply interesting to the antiquary and to the visitor. But what has been the fate of the three others--of St Chad's, of St Alkmond's (so spacious, so beautiful, famous for its exquisite tower, and built by a sister of King Alfred), and of St Julian's? St Chad's requiring reparation, a country builder was employed, whose well-intentioned performance caused the tower to fall in and destroy a portion of the church. Instead of the damage being repaired, the old church was pulled down, and an expensive, hideous, and inconvenient structure was erected in its place. The other two churches were destroyed, without even the excuse of preliminary damage; indeed so strong and in such perfect repair were they, that their demolition was an exceedingly costly process; and the buildings which replace them are curiosities of ugliness. A hundred years ago, the ancient town was surrounded by walls with square towers at intervals, alike interesting and characteristic; only a few hundred yards of the wall now remain, and one tower alone stands, the solitary memento of the past. The ancient Abbey buildings too have been swept away; the Guesten House, formerly the scene of splendid and historical hospitality; the Refectory, where a parliament once assembled to meet its king; and of all the grandeur of the past, only the ancient pulpit remains, a beautiful object indeed, but an unmeaning one in its isolation.

Wenlock, Bridgenorth, Ross, and Monmouth with its ancient massive gate, bridge, and market-place, are full of beautiful remains; and Worcester brings many a remembrance of the historic past before our minds while we gaze on Mr Rimmer's drawings of the Corn-market, Friar Street, and the Close of the beautiful cathedral, where Henry II. and his queen were crowned, and King John is buried. In old Worcester, the days of the Great Rebellion seem quite modern, and Charles II. and his unlucky brother, men of only the recent past. A beautiful and impressive drawing is that of the _New Inn_, Gloucester, that hostelry of a strange history, for it was designed to accommodate the pilgrims who used to go in crowds to the shrine raised in the Abbey Church of Gloucester over the remains of the murdered King Edward II. The vast old hostelry is enormously strong and massive, and covers an immense area. It is fully half of timber, principally chestnut-wood. Tewkesbury, Exeter, and Glastonbury are full of beautiful remains, finely rendered in this book. The Abbot's Kitchen at Glastonbury is one of the relics of the past best known in all England; here St Patrick passed the last years of his life, and here King Arthur is said to have been buried.

At Winchester are found grand examples of the domestic architecture of the fifteenth century, in addition to the superb ecclesiastical edifices of the city; Cardinal Beaufort's Tower, and St Cross, whose noble gateway, approached from the Southampton Road, is seen through great elms and walnut-trees, where the long lines of quaint high chimneys form with the church and the foliage an exquisitely picturesque combination. We pass on in the artist's company to Guildford, where the gateway of Esher Palace still remains to remind us of Wolsey's residence there after his downfall; to Salisbury, which differs from other old cities in having nothing Roman, Saxon, or Norman about it, but being purely English and unique; to Canterbury, with its wonderful wealth of antiquities, ecclesiastical, domestic, and military, all preserved with jealous care; to Rochester, with its grand and gloomy castle, and the noble cathedral, around which there hangs an atmosphere of romance; to Rye, with its ancient grass-grown streets, gabled houses, and church clock, said to be the oldest in England; to St Albans, which has just been raised by the Queen to the dignity of a city; and from whose abbey the first books printed in England were issued; to Banbury, with its Old Parliament House, where Cromwell's fateful parliament sat, and the _Roebuck Inn_, which contains a room accounted the most beautiful Elizabethan apartment of the early style in existence. This was Oliver's council-chamber, after the taking of Banbury Castle.

After visiting Ely, Ipswich, Norwich, Lady Jane Grey's house at Leicester, and the crumbling ruins which only remain of the Abbey, we are bidden to the Fen counties, whose picturesqueness few are aware of, though their architectural beauties, especially those of Lincolnshire, are well known; and we are shewn among many other curious things the market-place at Oakham, all roofed and shingled with solid old oak. There is a singular custom at Oakham: every peer of the realm on first passing through the town has either to pay a fine or to present the town with a shoe from his horse; the shoe is then nailed up on the castle gate, or in some conspicuous part of the building. Queen Elizabeth has left a memento of this nature at Oakham, as also have George IV. and Queen Victoria. These shoes are often gilt, and stamped with the name and arms of the donor.

The county of Nottingham is also amply illustrated; and we find a drawing of the famous _Saracen's Head Inn_ at Southwell, which dates from the time of Henry IV., and where Charles I. gave himself up to the Scotch commissioners. The beautiful Minster, and the splendid ruins of the palace, once the residence of the archbishops of York, and many an old house and quiet glimpse of the home-life of the long past, are to be seen at Southwell, the place which monarchs and nobles vied with each other to endow and adorn. Warwickshire is but little noticed in this book beyond the inevitable Warwick Castle and Kenilworth; and yet how rich the land of the elm is in village, street, and homestead antiquity.

We would have welcomed further details of Coventry, that most interesting ancient city, the scene of the first days of the triumph of Henry VII., and of one term of the dreary imprisonment of Mary, Queen of Scots; the city of the wonderful church of St Michael, which may truly be called a dream--a poem in stone. York, Beverley, Durham, Lancaster, and Carlisle, all these the artist-author sets before us with their treasures of architecture and illustration of the social life of the past. Perhaps we linger longest over the noble views of Durham Castle, and the majestic cathedral with its three grand towers, which occupies one of the finest sites in England, and with the wooded bluff beneath it, is reflected in the broad bosom of the Wear. The author leads us so far north as Carlisle, but has not much to point to there of great antiquity. The Border city had to fight too hard for ages for her mere existence, to have means or leisure for the beautifying or refining arts. Her name is otherwise writ in history.

We are grateful to Mr Rimmer for this work, which will, we hope, give the impulse to much more literature of a similar order. There is a great need of closely studied and well-written histories of the old cities and towns of the United Kingdom, which, if not conceived merely in the dry antiquarian, nor yet in the simply picturesque artistic spirit, would induce readers to recognise, and lead them to explore the archæological treasures of their own countries, which may be reached with ease, and might, with the assistance of books of this kind, be studied with equal pleasure and profit.

JAPANESE FANS.

During the past few years, Japanese fans have become so popular in this country, that a few brief remarks respecting them and the manner in which they are manufactured--culled from the published Report by Her Majesty's Consul on the trade of Hiogo and Osaka--may perhaps prove acceptable to our readers.

Osaka, we learn, is the principal city for the manufacture of the _ogi_ or folding fans, which are those almost exclusively exported, all descriptions of the bamboo kind being made there; the figures, writing, &c. required for their adornment are executed at Kioto. The prices vary from a few pence up to six pounds sterling per hundred, and occasionally even higher prices are given, though the bulk consists of the cheaper sorts. The superior kinds of fans, it may be mentioned parenthetically, which are termed _uchiwa_ by the Japanese, are manufactured at Kioto, and are extensively used by the better classes of the natives.

The following are the principal features in the account which Mr Consul Annesley gives of the details connected with _ogi_ or folding fans. As in many other branches of industry, the principle of division of labour is carried out in the fan-making trade. The bamboo ribs are made in Osaka and Kioto by private individuals in their own houses, and combinations of the various notches cut in the lower part are left to one of the finishing workmen, who forms the various patterns of the handle according to plans prepared by the designer. In like manner the designer gives out to the engravers the patterns which his experience teaches him will be most likely to be saleable during the ensuing season; and when the different blocks have been cut, it still rests with him to say what colours are to be used for the two sides of each fan. In fact, this official holds, if not the best paid, at anyrate the most important position on the staff in ordinary. When the printed sheets which are to form the two sides of the fans have been handed over to the workman, together with the sets of bamboo slips which are to form the ribs, his first business is to fold the two sheets of which the fan is to be composed, so that they will retain the crease, and this is done by putting them between two pieces of paper, well saturated with oil, and properly creased. The four are then folded together and placed under a heavy weight.

When sufficient time has elapsed, the sheets are taken out, and the moulds used again, the released sheets being packed up for at least twenty-four hours in their folds. The next process is to take the ribs, which are temporarily arranged in order on a wire, and 'set' them into their places on one of the sheets, after it has been spread out on a block and pasted. A dash of paste then gives the woodwork adhesive powers, and that part of the process is finished by affixing the remaining sheet of paper. The fan has to be folded up and opened three or four times before the folds take the proper shape; and by the time the fan is put by to dry, it has received far more handling than any foreign paper could stand; indeed foreign paper has been tried, and had to be given up, as unsuitable for the work; but with great care the Osaka fan-makers had been able to make some fans with printed pictures which had been sent over from America, though they were invariably obliged to use one face of Japanese paper.

The qualities of native paper now used are not nearly so good as those of which the old fans were made, and in consequence, the style of manufacture has had to be changed. Instead of first pasting the two faces of the fan together and then running in pointed ribs, the ribs are square and are pasted in their places in the manner described above. The outside lacquered pieces and the fancy-work are all done in Osaka and Kioto, and some of the designs in gold lacquer on bone are really artistic; but the demand for the highly ornamented description of fans is not sufficient to encourage the production of large quantities of first-class work. When the insides are dry, the riveting of the pieces together, including the outer covering, is rapidly done, and a dash of varnish quickly finishes the fan.

The highest price that was ever given for a fan in the days of seclusion from the outer world rarely exceeded a sovereign; but since the arrival of foreigners in the country, some few have been made to order at prices varying from two to three pounds sterling. The general prices of ordinary fans range from two or three shillings to three pounds per hundred, though an extraordinarily expensive fan is turned out at ten pounds per hundred. The sale of fans in olden times seldom exceeded ten thousand a year for the whole country; but in recent years no less than three millions per annum have been exported from the ports of Osaka and Yokohama alone. In concluding these brief notes, it may be interesting to mention that the number of fans ordered in Japan for the Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia reached the large figure of eight hundred thousand, the estimated cost of which was ten thousand pounds, and that these were over and above the ordinary annual export alluded to before.

THE PIXIES.

Among the superstitions still far from being extirpated in Wales and some parts of Devonshire, is a belief in exceedingly small beings known as pixies. From anything we can learn, the pixies resemble the fairies of old English superstition, but with this difference, that pixies possess that love of fun and mischief which reminds us of the Puck of Shakspeare. When a pixy has been successful in any trick upon travellers, it is said to send forth a peal of laughter and to tumble head over heels to shew its delight; this has become proverbial in Devonshire; so that if any one laughs immoderately, he is said to laugh 'like a pixy.' The following pixy story is still current.

In a little country-place in the prettiest part of Devonshire there lived a miller's daughter, who was betrothed to a young farmer of the neighbourhood. For some time their course ran as smoothly as could be desired. But the young man began to cast looks of suspicion on another admirer of his betrothed, and to let a jealous demon rankle within him, whispering to him that he no longer held the first place in the damsel's affections.