And have you not heard of a jolly young Waterman, At Blackfriar's Bridge who is used still to ply!
Who feathers his oars with such skill and dexterity.
 
Winning each heart, and delighting each eye:
He looks So neat, and he rows so steadily,
The maidens all flock to his boat so readily,
And he eyes the young rogues with so charming an air
That this Waterman ne'er is in want of a fare.
[164] IT was in one of those inviting mornings, mild and temperate, that Dashall and Tallyho, lounged along Piccadilly, observant of passing events, and anticipating those of more interest which might occur in the course of another day devoted to the investigation of Real Life in London.
The street already exhibited its usual bustle. The early coaches were rattling along on their way to their respective inns, loaded with passengers, inside and out, from the western parts of the country; the ponderous waggon, the brewer's dray, and not less stunning din of the lighter and more rapid vehicles, from the splendid chariot to the humble tax-cart, combined to annoy the auricular organs of the contemplative perambulator, and together with the incessant discord of the dust-bell, accompanied by the hoarse stentorian voice of its athletic artist, induced Squire Tallyho to accelerate his pace, in order to escape, as he said, “this conspiration of villainous sounds,” more dissonant than that of his hounds at fault, and followed by his friend Dashall, slackened not his speed, until he reached the quietude of the new street leading to the King's Palace, in Pall Mall.
In Regent Place (at the extremity of this fine street) the two friends paused in admiration of the noble pile of buildings, which had on this new interesting spot so rapidly risen, as if by the direction of that necromantic and nocturnal architect, the Genius of the Wonderful Lamp.
[165] “Until lately, Carlton House, or more properly, now the King's Palace, was hid from observation, and the Royal view, in front of his princely mansion, was bounded to the opposite side of the way, the distance of a few yards only; now the eye enjoys a perspective glance of a spacious and magnificent street, terminating in a handsome public edifice, and yet terminating in appearance only, for here the new improvements sweep shortly to the left, and our attention is attracted to a superb circus, or quadrant, from whence without further deviation, Regent Street continues in lengthened magnificence, until it unites itself in affinity of grandeur with Great Portland Place.”
Thus far had Dashall proceeded, when the Squire expressed his surprise that the new street had not been so planned as to lead, in one direct and uninterrupted line, from Pall Mall to its ultimate termination.
“Then indeed,” answered his friend, “it would have been one of the finest streets in the world.” “Here too,” continued the Squire, “is a manifest deficiency in Regent Place, there is a vacuum, it ought to be supplied with something, be it what it may, for the eye to rest on.”
“True, and your idea has been anticipated. One of the most interesting amongst the antiquities of Egypt, the column known as Cleopatra's Needle{1} is destined to raise
1 CLEOPATRA'S NEEDLE.
 
The Court of Common Council +
Fogrum, Botlieram, Gotham, &c. a full meeting.
 
Fog. (Laying down a newspaper.)
The City should be told of it.—They say
That Cleopatra's Needle's to be stuck
In front of Carlton House!
 
Got. They'll make the square
A pin-cushion.
 
Bot. No! worse—a needle-case.
Has my Lord Sidmouth sent no letter yet
To my Lord Mayor!—It should be pasted up.
 
Fog. 'Tis said the Deptford Sheer-hulk has been cleared
Of all its vagabonds, to bring it here.
 
Hot. This beats Whitechapel hollow.    What's its weight?
 
Fog. About three hundred tons.
 
Bot. All solid steel?
A pond'rous weapon for a lady's handling!
 
Fog. No, stone with scratches on't; and here they say
They're making five-mile telescopes to read them!
 
But.  Zounds! what a strapping hand she must have had!
Who was the sempstress?
 
Fog.                                  Sir, a giantess,
 
About ten thousand yards—without her shoes,
Her thimble has been guessed, tho' rotten now,
To fill the place they call the Lake of Maris,
By Alexandria!—Nay, the noseless tilings
That sit upon their tails in Russell Street,
Were Cleopatra's pebbles, taws and dolls!
 
Bot. Why, what a monstrous thread she must have used!
 
Fog. The Chronicle here says—a patent twist
Of elephants' legs, and dromedaries' spines,
And buffaloes' horns!
 
Got.                             What was her favourite work?
 
Fog. (Rising majestically) Sir, she sewed pyramids!
 
All lift their hands and eyes in silence.—The Council adjourns.
[166] its lofty summit in Regent Place, and the western will shortly outrival the eastern wonder of the metropolis.{1}
1 The Monument.
 
“Where London's column pointing to the skies,
Like a tall bull! lifts its head and lies.”
 
“By the bye, let us once more extend our excursion to the Monument, the day is delightful, and the atmosphere unclouded. We will approximate the skies, and take a bird's-eye view of the metropolis.” In conformity with this suggestion the Squire submitted himself to the guidance of his friend, and an aquatic trip being agreed on, they directed their progress to Spring Garden Gate, and thence across the Park, towards Westminster Bridge.
“A boat, a boat, your honour,” vociferated several clamorous watermen, all in a breath; of whose invitation Dashall took not any notice; “I hate importunity,” he observed to his friend. Passing towards the stairs he was silently but respectfully saluted by a modest looking young man, without the obtrusive offer of service.—“Trim your boat, my lad,” this was the business of a moment; “now pull away and land us at the Shades—'of Elysium,'” said the Squire, terminating the instructions rather abruptly, of the amphibious conveyancer. “I am rather at a loss to know,” said the waterman, “where that place is, but if your honors incline to the Shades at London Bridge, I'll row you there in the twirling of a mop-stick.” “The very spot,” said Dashall, and the waterman doffing his jacket, and encouraged to freedom by the familiar manner of the two strangers, [167] plied his oars lustily, humming, in cadence, the old song:
“I was, d'ye see a waterman,
As tight and blythe as any,
?Twixt Chelsea town and Horsley-down,
I gain'd an honest penny.”
 
They now glided pleasantly on the serene bosom of the Thames, and enjoyed, in mute admiration, the beauties of a variegated prospect, which, if equalled, is at least not excelled by any other in the universe. On either side of this noble river, a dense mass of buildings presented itself to the eye, and as the buoyant vehicle proceeded, the interest of the varying scene increased in progressive proportion. Thousands of barges skirted the margin of the lordly stream, and seemed like dependant vassals, whose creation and existence were derived from and sustained by the fiat of old father Thames; and imagination might well pourtray the figure of the venerable parent of this magnificent stream regulating its rippling wave, and riding, in the triumph of regal sway, over his spacious domains. The grandeur of the public edifices on the left, the numerous indications of art on the right, the active industry on both sides, and the fairy-like boats of pleasurable conveyance gliding to and fro', and shooting, in the distance, through one or other of the lofty arches of Waterloo Bridge, produced an effect imposingly grand, and was dwelt upon by our hero of Belville Hall, particularly with mingled sensations of surprise, admiration, and delight.
Silence had prevailed for some time, with the exception of the waterman, who now and then carroll'd a stanza responsive to the stroke of the oar, when the attention of his fare was drawn towards him.
“You seem to enjoy a merry life, my good friend,” said the Squire.
“Ay, ay, your honour, God bless you, why should not I? At my poor home, and your honour knows that the cottage of the peasant is equally dear to him as is the Palace to the Prince, there is my old woman, with her five little ones, all looking forward to the happiness of seeing me in the evening, after the labours of the day; and to feel that one is cared for by somebody, is a sweet consolation, amidst all our toils,—besides, your honour, the old times are partly come round again; half-a-crown will go farther, aye, thrice-told, now, than it did a few [168]years ago;—then hang sorrow, I am a contented waterman, your honour; so d——n the Pope, long life to King George the Fourth, and success to the land that we live in!” “Here,” said Dashall, “is an heterogeneous mixture of prejudice, simplicity and good nature.”
“You are but a young man, and cannot long have followed your present profession.—Is it from choice that you continue it.”
“Why, your honour, I served an apprenticeship to it, am not long out of my time, and continue it as well from choice as necessity; the first because I like it, and lastly, as our parson says, because in any other situation I could serve neither my neighbour nor myself.”
By this time the tiny bark had shot the centre arch of Waterloo; and new scenes of interest presented themselves, in ever-varying succession, as they proceeded towards Blackfriars. Somerset House wore, particularly, an aspect of great and imposing effect, and not less, as they ploughed the liquid element, was the interest excited, and the reminiscence of the Squire brought into action by the appearance of the Temple Gardens.—The simple, yet neatly laid out green-sward, reminded him of the verdant slope on part of his domains at Belville Hall, but here the resemblance finished; a diminutive, although pure and limpid rivulet only, passed the slope alluded to, and here was a world of waters, into which the influx of ten thousand such rivulets would produce no apparent increase. Amidst these cogitations by the Squire, and others of an unknown description by Dashall, the boat passed underneath Blackfriars' Bridge, and the lofty doom of St. Paul burst upon the view of the two associates, with gigantic majesty, and withdrew from their minds every impression save that of the towering object in view, superseding the consideration of all else, either present or retrospective.
“Rest on your oars,” was the order now given by the two friends, and while the waterman implicitly obeyed the mandate, they gazed with enthusiasm, on the stupendous edifice, seen perhaps, to better advantage from the river than from any other station, and felt proud in their affinity to a country and countryman, capable, the former of instituting, and the latter of carrying into effect so august an undertaking.{1}
1 During the building of St. Paul's Church, a country
carpenter applied to the Overseer of the workmen  for
employment as a carver. The Overseer smiling at the man's
temerity, hearing he had never worked in London, it was
observed by Sir Christopher Wren, who was present, who
calling the man to him, asked him what he had chiefly worked
at in the country?"Pig-troughs, &c.” was his answer. “Well
then,” says Sir Christopher, “let us see a specimen of your
workmanship in a sow and pigs.” The man returned in a few
days, having performed his part with such exquisite skill,
that he was immediately employed; and in tine, executed some
of the most difficult parts of the Cathedral, to the great
astonishment of all that knew the circumstance. So true it
is that genius is often lost in obscurity.
[169] Again proceeding on their way, they arrived in a few minutes, at another amongst the many in the metropolis, of those surprising works of public utility which reflect the highest honor on the laudable enterprize of the present times,—the Iron Bridge, known as Southwark Bridge, leading from the bottom of Queen Street, Cheapside to the Borough. It is constructed of cast-iron, and, from the river particularly, presents an appearance of elegance and magnificence; consisting of three arches only, the spacious span of each, stretching across the Thames in towering majesty, affords an aquatic vista equally novel and interesting.
Gliding on the pacific wave, the “trim-built wherry” now passed under the lofty elevation of the centre arch; and our observers were struck with the contrast between the object of their admiration and its ancient neighbour, London Bridge, that “nameless, shapeless bulk of stone and lime,” with its irregular narrow arches, through which the pent-up stream rushes with such dangerous velocity.
“This gothic hulk,” said the Squire, “is a deformity in the aspect of the river.” “And ought at least to be pulled down, if not rebuilt,” added his Cousin. “Even on the principle of economy, the large and incessant expenditure in support of this decayed structure, would be much more profitably applied in the erection of a new bridge of correspondent grandeur with the first metropolis in the universe; but the citizens seem inclined to protract the existence of this heavy fabric, as a memento of the bad taste of their progenitors.”
“Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness in the desert air.'
[170] The indefatigable waterman continued to ply his oars, sans intermission, and in a few minutes our two associates in adventure were safely landed a short distance westward of the bridge. After remunerating the waterman, they ascended the stairs with an appetite quickened by the water breeze, and retired into the Shades, close at hand, for refreshment, previous to a renewal of their excursion.
The Shades, near London Bridge, is a house, or rather cellar, much resorted to by respectable citizens of “sober fame,” induced chiefly by the powerful attraction of genuine wines, which may here be had either drawn immediately from the wood, and served in regular standard pewter measures, or in bottles, also of full measure, containing the pure beverage, of various age and vintages. To these cellars numbers of the most respectable mercantile characters adjourn daily; enjoying the exhilarating juice of the grape, and further attracted by the pleasantness of situation, as commanding a full view of the river, whence the refreshing breeze is inhaled and enjoyed.
Here then, our heroes recruited; and while taking their wine, Bob was much gratified by the performance of an itinerant band of musicians, playing outside, some of the latest and most popular airs, in a masterly style of execution. “Among other numerous refinements and improvements of the age,” observed Dashall, “may be considered that of our itinerant metropolitan musicians, for instead of the vile, discordant and grating hurdy-gurdy; the mechanical organ grinder, and the cat-g............