Notwithstanding this impediment, the rage for building speculation has actually arranged a number of dwellings immediately opposite, and, although they have been recently built, it seems that the river Fleet is faithful to its tradition, to cast a blight upon whatever it comes in contact with. One of these dwellings, built in fantastic Gothic, is already in a neglected condition, and bids fair soon to become a ruin. The character of all the houses is very mean; they are spoiling pleasant fields to make unpleasant dwellings. Soon after passing these houses the stream takes another bend, and receives the other channel from the sources by Ken Wood, and the course meanders along, keeping a general parallel towards Kentish Town, and receiving on its way a small streamlet; then drawing nearer, it washes the gardens of a few houses, now wretchedly faded, but not much more than half a century old; and, passing along close in the rear of these dwellings, it at length disappears under an arch in a new neighbourhood which is fast extending itself. For a short distance its course is lost altogether, but it passes a little north of the Mother Red Cap to the Regent's canal, which passes over it, and it follows pretty nearly the same course for a little distance towards St. Pancras, which a century ago was a mere suburban village, but is now a huge parish, with a population exceeding that of many European cities.

The course hence is distinctly to be traced by the undulations and hollows which have not been effaced by the accumulation of soil. Proceeding towards the immense workhouse of this parish, which is still in the vicinity of fields, we enter into a district with many indications of former suburban retreats. Those on our right have some pretensions, and must have had their gardens washed by the river; the hollow of its course is plainly visible at the back of all these houses, and a little way beyond the workhouse it follows the road to Battle Bridge. The left side has generally the steepest banks, and this holds good nearly all the way to Blackfriars. In many parts of the road we can still trace, in some measure, its meanderings; in some places, where it evidently came near the path, walls are made

for the protection of passengers. This is the case close to the old church, now indeed quite a misnomer, for it has been rebuilt in a very quaint style. It is on a rising ground, and was so secluded in the last century, as to appear like a small village church. Its churchyard was famous as a burialplace for Roman Catholics. In earlier times it was a notorious neighbourhood for thieves, as is related by Norden; in fact, not much more than a century ago, it had a very bad reputation, and was often the scene of robberies, and sometimes of murder. Some public-houses along the line of the present New Road were the rendezvous of these ruffians.

During this part of the course of the Fleet its width began to increase, according to a writer in Hone's Table Book, who recorded it as one of the last of the ancient streams of London of which traces remained uncovered. He describes it at Battle Bridge as spreading out a little, and pursuing its way rather sluggishly. This accords with the geographical features, for at this part there is a level at the foot of the steep hills on the Islington side, and it was evidently a marshy district. Many miserable dwellings and huts that used to be here have been removed for the Great Northern station, as well as the Small Pox and Fever Hospitals, so that the character of the place is much changed. Before we quite reach the station, on the south side between this and the New Road, is the low district of the Brill, which Stukeley considered a Roman camp. It is worth while here to call attention to the extraordinary space immediately affected by this watercourse at this particular spot, as marked by the declivities of the ground. From the reservoir of the New River at the top of the hill at Pentonville, there is the longest and one of the steepest descents of any road in London, down to the hollow at Battle Bridge, or King's Cross; the ascent up the New Road, which may be called the opposite bank, is much more gradual, but is still longer, for it does not cease until it reaches Tottenham Court Road, from the corner of which, down to the Mother Red Cap at Camden Town, there is also a slope towards the bed of the Fleet river. The distance in a direct line from the Reservoir to Tot

tenham Court Road is rather more than a mile and a quarter, the other side of the angle from Tottenham Court Road to Mother Red Cap not quite so much.

In consequence probably of the situation of Battle Bridge at the foot of hills, it was subject to inundation after heavy rains, the channel of the Fleet being insufficient to carry off the accumulated waters. The last serious inundation is recorded in Nelson's History of Islington as having taken place in January 1809:

At this period, when the snow was lying very deep, a rapid thaw came on, and the arches not affording a sufficient passage for the increased current, the whole space between Pancras, Somers Town, and the bottom of the hill at Pentonville, was in a short time covered with water. The flood rose to the height of three feet in the middle of the highway, the lower rooms of all the houses within that space were completely inundated, and the inhabitants sustained considerable damage in their goods and furniture, which many of them had not time to remove. Two cart-horses were drowned, and for several days persons were obliged to be conveyed to and from their houses, and receive their provisions, &c. in at the windows, by means of carts.

The course continued along the flat ground to the foot of Pentonville Hill, when it bent its way to Bagnigge Wells, in the rear of the mean-looking houses of Hamilton Place, and it then was about twelve feet in width, but it narrowed as it approached the House of Correction. At a point near Bagnigge Wells called "Black Mary's Hole," but why I will not attempt to determine, it was said that an anchor had been found, proving that it was formerly navigable up to that spot; which indeed I think by no means improbable, if we examine closely the strongly-defined features of the locality, which even now, where the elevation of the ground has been very considerable, presents a very wide hollow, which might well have given space for a good-sized channel. Some have stated that an anchor was also found as far as St. Pancras, but no weight can be given to this story.

Bagnigge Wells, the residence of Nell Gwyn, and afterwards a place of public entertainment, has altogether changed its character since the whole neighbourhood has been covered with

houses. Some few old and miserable dwellings still remain, the original occupiers of the soil, and the changes here are too singular not to be noted. The course of the stream appears to have been behind the houses in Bagnigge Wells Road, and through the ground belonging to the place of entertainment. This part is now a curiosity: if we go to the north side of the prison, and look across a small timber-yard, we behold in a dell, some twenty or twenty-five feet beneath us, a few wretched and decayed houses, whose chimney-tops scarce reach the level of our feet. These houses must have been by the side of the stream, for they are directly on its course; but improvements have taken place around them, the soil has been artificially raised, and here they are pushed entirely aside, as if disowned by their more genteel neighbours.

This raising of the soil occurred at the erection of the Coldbath Fields Prison, and in the "Table Book" is a view of the newly-erected walls, raised upon lofty arches, higher even than the present height of the walls from the ground, and at their foundation is seen the stream of the Fleet. This entirely accounts for the alteration, and for the phenomena just alluded to. Some little change of the course of the river was made at the time the prison was erected in 1825, and at that period this was the nearest point at which the stream became visible. All the rising grounds on the Islington side of Bagnigge Wells were then gardens, rented by London tradesmen, to cultivate their own cabbages and lettuces; a custom which one must regret is now dying out, because of its utter impracticability.

The course runs on the west side of the prison, to a hollow and somewhat peculiar spot called Mount Pleasant, where, bending a little towards Gray's Inn Lane, it again turns eastward and meanders towards Holborn Bridge. The names of the streets and localities are characteristic of its former condition. "Mount Pleasant" a century ago might have deserved that name; Elm Street perhaps points out where a solitary elm lingered, having outlived its companions of the forest. Coppice Row, a short distance hence by Clerkenwell Green, is pleasantly suggestive; now both will pro

voke a smile or a sigh at the contrast. Laystall Street is a still more curious denomination, being quite an obsolete term for a refuse-heap; so we may conclude that the rubbish of the neighbouring city was once thrown here.

We now lose any obvious traces of the stream, for from this point it runs behind the houses; but its course is again visible at the end of Warner Street, and pursuing the route of Saffron Hill we find ourselves on the west bank of the river, and by Field Lane we issue out at Holborn Bridge. At all these points the course is strongly defined by a broad and deep hollow, which is remarkably seen at Hatton Wall, formerly the boundary of Sir Christopher Hatton's estate, and which, I think, shews that his gardens must have run down to the river side.

It will perhaps be scarcely believed, except by those who are already informed on the subject, that at this part of its course the Fleet river is still visible. Fortunately it cannot be so long, as the continuation of the new street, so long delayed, will compel its being covered up.

The river Fleet may surely claim the bad pre-eminence of being the most ancient existing nuisance, having flourished in that character for nearly six hundred years; for in 1290 the prior and brethren of the Carmelites (White Friars) complained to the king and parliament of the putrid exhalations of the Fleet River, which were so abominable that many brethren died from the effects of the miasma, and even the divine offices were interrupted. To this petition the Black Friars added theirs, and the Bishop of Salisbury his, as well as all the neighbours. The Bishop's residence was close by, and is now indicated by Salisbury Court, Fleet Street. A succession of plagues of all kinds have since decimated London; and, although a frightful disorder, known to be peculiarly aggravated by proximity to open sewers, has given us three warnings, yet does this nuisance still exist, almost within sight of the locality where the inhabitants raised such vehement complaints against it six hundred years ago. The curious visitor should go where they are now destroying the houses in the vicinity of Hatton Wall and Vine Street, and he will there see the broad

open stream of the Fleet at some depth below him, running in a swift course towards the Thames. On each side are old dwellings of a ruined character, and all sorts of communication therefrom for discharging their refuse into it. It is about twelve feet in breadth, and comes in sight from beneath a broad arch under Vine Street. It was uncovered a very few years ago nearly as far as Holborn Bridge, and, apart from the nuisance of having an open ditch in the heart of London, it is known to have been used in this very locality for the most dreadful crimes, even to the present generation.

Field Lane, at the foot of Holborn Hill, in Stowe's time had just been built on, and was called "Gold Lane, sometime a filthy passage into the fields, now both sides built with small tenements." This and Chick Lane, now West Street, Smithfield, are both notable names in the criminal annals of London. The glories of the former are departed, one side being removed, and its narrow court laid open to the continuation of Farringdon Street; yet what does remain retains some features to give an idea of the past. As we pass now, and look at the strangely primitive character of the shops, we are carried back at least two centuries. But the distinguishing features of Field Lane are the many-coloured silk handkerchiefs which flauntingly hang about the doors of some of the sons of Israel. Probably each has its story-and it would be no scandal to say that their real owners never sent them there. When this notable receptacle for stolen property was a narrow court at the foot of Holborn Hill, the passenger losing his handkerchief might pursue the thief hopelessly if he turned the corner of Field Lane. A story related to me by one of the actors I can vouch for the truth of, and it illustrates the morality of the place. A fast gentleman from the country wished his friend to show him all London's wonders. He took him one evening to see Field Lane, and to understand the place thoroughly they entered a shop, and asked for some French cambric handkerchiefs. Some were soon produced and selected. The purchaser then said to the lady who served him, "I hope there are no marks in them."-"No, I'll be bound there

said, "You may remember that about that time I was robbed of 100 guineas. You may also remember that we made many exertions to discover the thief without effect. From the time I was robbed until to-day I have never seen the thief, but this morning, walking along Pall Mall, I saw the man, whom I can swear to, hand a lady from one of the shops into a carriage; I followed them home, and discovered him to be Mr. Member of Parliament for: I leave myself in your hands." Mr. A. said, "Surely you must be mistaken?" "No," replied the gentleman, "I will swear to the man.' Mr. A. said, "What then do you expect?" He answered, "Considering the circumstances, a sum of money." Mr. A. replied, "If I have anything to do with it, you will receive nothing but your 100 guineas." "But," said he, "I must be entitled to the interest of my money;" and he, being in straitened circumstances, urged it the more. Mr. A. said, "You will receive nothing more than 100 guineas;" and he then wrote as the client had directed. On the following day he received a visit from a gentleman, who stated he had come from Mr. -, to settle an affair on his own terms; and he added, "I know not what may be the nature of the business I am about to settle, but all I know is, that I left my friend last evening in a state bordering on frenzy, and he has this morning started for the continent, leaving his family in great anxiety, lest he might destroy himself." Mr. A. without mentioning any particulars, stated that he required 100 guineas, which was immediately paid. The solution of the story, which was not known for many years afterwards, is, that a young gentleman, having lost all his money at a gaming-table, had actually ventured on the desperate step of resorting to the public highway. As the story, with its details, belongs altogether to a past age, it is worth recording, as a passage in the romance of life, stranger even than fiction.

In the immediate vicinity of Chick Lane, on the edge of Smithfield, near to St. John's Court, was "The Elms," from very early times the place of

public execution. It derived its name from the number of elms growing about the place, but which old John Stowe states, "The building there hath been so increased, that now remaineth not one tree growing :" and he further alludes to the extension of the metropolis, by saying, that "Amongst these new buildings is Cowbridge Street, or Cow Lane, which turneth toward Oldbourne, in which lane the Prior of Sempringham had his inn or London lodging." It may be remarked that the elm particularly flourishes on the soil of London and its environs. At the time that this spot was selected for execution it was outside the metropolis, obedient to a custom that seems to have been generally prevalent, both here and abroad, not to have the offensive instrument of death constantly in the sight of or too near dwellings. If this were the reason, it was a humane and feeling one, especially when the instrument was a fixed erection, as was the case until the invention of the drop, and the transferring the place of punishment to the gaol. As early as 1196 William Fitzosbert, for seditiously exciting the citizens, was condemned to be drawn by the heels to the "Elms," in Smithfield, and there hanged. In 1330 Roger Mortimer, Earl of March, was brought from the Tower and hanged there. But in 1413, when the extension of the metropolis had probably brought dwellings near this place, the gallows was removed to the upper end of the High Street, St. Giles's: when London advanced so far, it was removed to Tyburn; and when Oxford Street, in 1760, had reached within sight of this locality, it was removed to Paddington.

Perhaps I may here mention that the old form of the gallows then, as a permanent structure, consisted of three upright beams set at an equilateral triangle, with transverse beams across them. The gibbet, however, for hanging in chains, was usually a projecting arm, similar to that which suspends the sign of a country inn; but sometimes there were two, and then it assumed the form of a cross. This distinction is observed in the old maps, in which the positions of gallows are marked.*