CHAPTER XXV.

THE CURIOSITIES OF LONDON.

A MOST venerable relic--none more so in London--is the Domesday Book, which I was allowed to inspect one day while sauntering through the Chapter House of Westminster Abbey. This hoary volume is called the "Domesday Book," or, "Register of the Lands of England," and was made in the year 1086, almost in the morning of English history.

There are two volumes of the "Domesday Book," one being a folio and the other a quarto. A fee of a shilling is charged strangers, to inspect the musty old tomes, with their illuminated characters, which detail the various "messuages," "folkmotes," "carucates," and "hydes," of land, which were divided among Norman William's mail clad barons, by right of conquest, nearly a thousand years ago.

These volumes are the oldest in England, although I have been informed that there are, in the Bodleian Library, at Oxford, two books, in Greek characters, which were saved from the destruction of the Alexandrian Library in the Ninth Century.

[Sidenote: THE DREADNOUGHT.]

One of the Domesday volumes is a very large folio, the other is a quarto. The quarto is written on 382 double pages of vellum, in one and the same hand, in small but plain characters, each page having double columns. Some of the capital letters and principal pages are touched with black ink, and others are crossed with lines of red ink. The second volume, in folio, is written in 450 pages of vellum, but in single columns, occupying each page, and in a large, fair character. At the end of the second volume is the following memorial, in capital letters, of the time of its completion:

"Anno Millesimo Octogesimo Sexto ab Incarnatione Domini, vigesimo vero regni Willielmi, facta est ista Descriptio, non solum per hos tres Comitatus, sed etiam per alios."

These books, until the year 1696, or for over six hundred years, were carried innumerable times from place to place, through England, under strong guards, within the jurisdiction of the various Lord Chancellors, and Courts, to settle disputes and verify local records and documents, in regard to the transmission of real estate, for every acre of land owned to-day in England is held by the original tenure, given in Domesday Book.

Since 1696 the book has been kept with the King's Seal, at Westminster, in the Exchequer, under three locks and keys in the charge of the Auditor, the Chamberlain, and Deputy Chamberlains of the Exchequer. It is kept in a vaulted porch never warmed by fire. For eight hundred years it has never felt or seen a fire, and yet the pages are bright, sound, and perfect as ever. In making searches, or transcripts from the volume, the text must not be touched, and this has always been the rule from forgotten days. All the cities, towns, and villages of England are recorded in this book, with their value, location, and boundaries, their castles, fortresses, marches, and the religious houses of the Kingdom, as they stood twenty years after Duke William, of Normandy, reined in his war horse from the slaughter of Hastings' dread field.

The Hospital Ship "Dreadnought," (soon to be broken up and sold,) which lies moored off Greenwich, in the dirty Thames, is another of the curious sights of London. An hospital for the sick and diseased seamen of all nations arriving in the port of London, was established on board of the "Grampus," a 50 gun frigate, in 1821, but the "Grampus" did not prove large enough for the purpose, and the next vessel chosen was the 104 gun three-decker "Dreadnought," which was fitted up in 1831, as an Hospital Ship. This old hulk has glorious memories for all Englishmen, who, as they look at her rotting timbers, can imagine that they see her coming out of the smoke of Trafalgar fight, after capturing the Spanish three-decker, "San Juan," which had, two hours before, beaten off the English frigates, "Bellerophon" and "Defiance."

The establishment on board of the "Dreadnought" consists of a Superintendent, two Surgeons, an Apothecary, Visiting Physicians, and a Chaplain. The ship is moored contiguous to the bulk of the shipping in the docks, and in the river, and is the only place in London for the reception of sick seamen arriving from abroad, or to whom accidents may happen between the mouth of the river and London Bridge. Sick seamen of every nation, on presenting themselves alongside, are immediately and kindly received without any recommendatory letters, and ship-wrecked sailors, and vagrant seamen, are admitted, if deserving. In 1869, 2,463 patients were received on board, and 1,836 seamen were attended to as out patients.

[Sidenote: A GAUDY SHOW.]

The Emperor of Russia subscribes annually £150, the Queen of Spain £100, the King of Italy £100, the Emperor of France £200, the Sultan of Turkey £100, the King of Denmark £50, and the King of Prussia £100. I heard nothing of a contribution from the American Government, but it is probable that the American Consul may, in some way, provide for the destitute seamen of his country.

The patients are ranged upon the lower decks, the portholes affording a sort of ventilation, such as it is--the breeze coming in from the putrid Thames' river, and in the cabin are all the implements of surgery, so that a leg or arm can be whipped off at a moment's notice, or an abscess, or ulcer, may be punctured equally quick.

Visitors can inspect the "Dreadnought" on any day of the week, excepting Sunday--between the hours of eleven and three.

The number of seamen cared for in this floating hospital, for the past thirty years, with their different places of nativity, is as follows:

Englishmen, 84,600; Scotchmen, 18,960; Irishmen, 17,325; Frenchmen, 3,911; Germans, 2,800; Russians, 2,230; Prussians, 1,840; Hollanders, 480; Danes, 1,600; Swedes, 2,117; Norwegians, 1,604; Italians, 1,208; Portuguese, 706; Spaniards, 801; East Indians, 2,014; West Indians, 3,212; British Americans, 1,582; United States, 3,316; South Americans, 712; Africans, 1,200; Turks, 174; Greeks, 295; New Zealanders, 98; Australians, 307; South Sea Islanders, 80; Chinese, 347; born at sea, 206.

Generally there are about two hundred patients in the floating Hospital at a time, and it is kept pretty full, from the fact that a poor sailor will perish afloat sooner than enter a land hospital, and seamen often travel from the most distant parts of England, Ireland, and Scotland, to be received in the Dreadnought.

One day, while standing on Cheapside looking at the busy thoroughfare, which much resembles Broadway, New York, in its main features, I saw a queerly-shaped, but magnificent vehicle dash by, embellished in gold and silver, and hung with crimson velvet.

I asked a bystander what it was, and he answered with proper British pride:

"Why, don't you know? That's the Queen's State Kerridge a-goin to the Tower to be repaired."

I afterward saw this vehicle in all its glory and detail, and for the benefit of Americans who may desire to get up a gorgeous equipage, I will do my best to describe it.

The carriage is composed of four Sea Tritons, who support the body by cables; the two placed on the front, as it were, bear the driver, (a most magnificent flunkey in powder and velvet,) and are sounding shells, and those on the back part carry the bundles of Lictors rods which are seen on Roman monuments and medals. The foot board on which the driver rests his noble feet, is a large scallop shell, supported by marine plants of different kinds. The pole resembles a bundle of lances, and the wheels are made in imitation of the war chariots which once rolled around classic arenas in the Games. The body of the coach is composed of eight palm trees, which, branching out at the top, sustain the roof, and at each angle are trophies of English battles by land and sea.

On the top of the roof are three little figures of fairies representing England, Ireland, and Scotland, supporting a golden crown, and holding the sceptre, the sword of state, and insignia of knighthood, and from their bodies fall festoons of laurel to the four corners of the roof.

On the right and left doors, and on the back and front pannels, are painted allegorical designs in splendid style, representing Britannia on a Throne, Religion, Wisdom, Justice, Valor, Fortitude, Commerce, Plenty, Victory, and all the other virtues and acquisitions which all Englishmen flatter themselves can only be found in "Britain ye knaw."

[Sidenote: THE QUEEN'S STATE COACH.]

Inside the State Coach it is simply magnificent. The body is lined with scarlet embossed velvet, superbly laced and embroidered with the Star, enameled by the Collar of the Order of the Garter, and surmounted by the crown with the George and Dragon pendant. St. George, St. Michael, and even St. Patrick, get a show here, although the latter has very little show from the Queen in his own country.

The hammer cloth is of scarlet velvet, with gold badges, ropes, and tassels. The length of the carriage and body is 24 feet, width 8 feet 3 inches, height 12 feet, length of pole 12 feet, weight four tons. So that the Queen, when she desires a state airing, is carted around for the amusement of her subjects, in a four-ton vehicle. The painting of the panels cost £800, or about $4,000 greenbacks. The eight horses which are employed to draw this magnificent carriage on state occasions, are valued at £2,000, and the expense for grooms, drivers, coachmen, and boys, of this equipage, which is not used more than once in five years, (and when not used being chiefly of service in showing off the manly proportions of John Brown,) is for every year over $25,000, or as much as the salary of the President of the United States. The Queen's coach is one hundred and eight years old, and is kept in the Royal Mews or Stables at Pimlico.

The bill which a loyal people had to pay when it was sent in for this coach, was as follows:

Coachmaker (including Wheelwright and Smith), £1637 15 0 Carver, 2500 0 0 Gilder, 935 14 0 Painter, 315 0 0 Laceman, 737 10 7 Chaser, 665 4 6 Harnessmaker, 385 15 0 Mercer, 202 5 10-1/2 Beltmaker, 99 6 6 Milliner, 31 3 4 Saddler, 10 16 6 Woollendraper, 4 3 6 Covermaker, 3 9 6 ---------- £7528 4 3-1/2

There was an awful row about the size of the bill, which was at first £8,000, but after a great argument it was cut down to the amount paid, £7,528 4 3-1/2. The maker refused to take off the three-half pence, and declared that he had been "skinned and robbed," but I imagine it was the poor miserable wretches who died of starvation and cold and exposure in the London streets that had the best right to complain.

The Lord Mayor's State Coach, which was built in 1757, is almost as magnificent as the Queen's, and is designed in fully as good or bad taste, I do not know which to call it.

To show how the people of England tolerate the most outrageous humbugs on the face of the earth, I will give some of the items in regard to the cost of the Lord Mayor's coach. When the coach was built, one hundred and thirteen years ago, each alderman in the city subscribed £60 towards its construction; then each alderman who was afterward sworn into office, was forced to contribute £60 on taking the oath. And each Lord Mayor also gave £100 on entering his office, to keep the coach in order. In 1768 the entire expense of keeping the coach fell on the Lord Mayor, who had to pay £300 during that year, and twenty years after its construction, the coach cost in 1787, £355 to keep it in order for that twelve months. During seven years of this present century, the cost for repairs was per annum--£115, and in 1812 it was newly lined and gilt for the benefit of the gaping London crowds, at an expense of £600, and a new seat cloth was furnished for £90; and again in 1821, this costly vehicle devoured the bread which ought to have been eaten by the starving poor, to the tune of £206 for another relining. In 1812 a carriage-making firm agreed to keep the coach in order for ten years at an expense to the city of £48 a year, which offer was accepted. The real amount of money swallowed up in this old lumbering vehicle is incalculable. Six horses are required to draw it, valued at £200 a piece, and the coach weighs 7,600 pounds. A Lord Mayor, when well fed and taken care of, weighs, I believe, about 312 pounds. The harnesses for each of the six horses weighs 106 pounds, or 636 pounds in all.

The State Coach belonging to the Speaker of the House of Commons, was built for Oliver Cromwell, and is drawn by two horses.

[Sidenote: JONATHAN WILD'S SKELETON.]

The two sheriffs of London have also State Coaches, burnished and blazoned with gold, and hung with silks and velvets, and although they only receive £1,000 for their year's services, the expense of state coaches, horses, liveries, and drivers, never falls below 2,500 guineas for their term. They are not allowed to serve if they swear themselves to be worth over £15,000, or $75,000.

The ceremony of installing a London sheriff I am afraid would make a New York Sheriff howl, and much profanity would result were the ancient ceremonies to become necessary at the City Hall of New York. I give the curious form of installation of a Sheriff of London.

The sheriffs are chosen by the Livery Companies or Trade Associations of London, on the morning of the Feast of St. Michael, and are presented in the Court of Exchequer, accompanied by the Lord Mayor and all the Aldermen, when the Recorder of London introduces the two sheriffs, one for London proper, and the other for Middlesex County, and the Chief Judge in his red robes, signifies the Queen's assent, handing the sheriff's "roll"--a sheet of paper which has had the names of the sheriffs pricked in by the Queen's own hand, the writs and appliances are read and filed, and the sheriffs and senior under-sheriffs take the oaths; when the late sheriffs present their accounts. The crier of the court then makes proclamation for one who does homage for the sheriffs of London to "stand forth and do his duty;" when the senior alderman below the chair rises, the usher of the court hands him a bill-hook, and holds in both hands a small bundle of sticks, which the alderman cuts asunder, and then cuts another bundle with a hatchet. Similar proclamation is then made for the sheriff of Middlesex, when the alderman counts six horse-shoes lying upon the table, and sixty-one hob-nails handed in a tray; and the numbers are declared twice.

The sticks are thin peeled twigs tied in a bundle at each end with red tape; the horse-shoes are of large size, and very old; the hob-nails are supplied fresh every year. By the first ceremony the alderman does suit and service for the tenants of a manor in Shropshire, the chopping of sticks betokening the custom of the tenants supplying their lord with fuel. The counting of the horse-shoes and nails is another suit and service of the owners of a forge in St. Clement Danes, Strand, which formerly belonged to the city, but no longer exists. Sheriff Hoare, in his MS. journal of his shrievalty, 1740-41, says, "where the tenements and lands are situated no one knows, nor doth the city receive any rents or profits thereby."

In the Town Hall or Guildhall of London, some very strange relics are preserved, but none can be more strange than the yellow faded parchment shown me on which was written the humble petition of that notorious rascal and thief-taker, Jonathan Wild, who had first trained Jack Sheppard to thievery, after which he entrapped and hung him. Well, this very virtuous old gentleman had the audacity to send a petition to the Court of Aldermen in the year 1724, praying for the freedom of the City in view of the benefit he had conferred on it by the apprehension of so many thieves who had returned from transportation.

One day while paying a visit to a celebrated surgeon, whose residence is at Windsor, I was invited to look into his closets, in which were stored a number of curiosities. Suddenly a door in a recess of the chamber flew open, and out popped a skeleton on wires, with a ghastly, grinning jaw, and its ribs all open like the timbers of a wrecked ship.

"That's the skeleton of Jonathan Wild," said the surgeon, "It has been in our family for a hundred years, I believe."