Part 70 (2/2)
A torrent of tears, feelingly shewed the anguish of her mind. She was ruined beyond hope of redemption; the rabbits she had every morning on credit, she plied the streets in selling them, through many a wearisome hour in the day, happy if next morning, having realized a very moderate profit by her laborious vocation, she could settle accounts with the wholesale dealer, and take a fresh cargo with which to commence another day's adventure.--But now, wringing her hands in an agony of grief, ”It is all over with me!” she exclaimed,--” my means of subsistence is gone,--my credit is lost,--and G.o.d's will be done,--I must go home and starve!”{1}
1 It is scarcely credible that one salesman in Leadenhall market, at the present time, sells on an average 14,000 rabbits weekly. He contracts with the coach masters for the carriage, and pays them eleven pounds per thousand, amounting, weekly, to 154. The way he disposes of them, is by employing 150 travelling pole-men and women; in the morning they are started upon credit, and the next day they return, bringing back the skins, settle the accounts, and then take a fresh cargo.
Ever p.r.o.ne to relieve distress, Dashall and Tallyho sympathized most sincerely with this unfortunate girl; there was an indescribable something of extreme interest about her, which was well calculated to excite a feeling of generous commiseration.
Shall we now say the two philanthropists? for such they proved themselves. Each then, in the same moment, expanded his purse, and together more than compensated the delighted and astonished girl for her loss, who, blessing her benefactors, went home rejoicing.
Gaining the extremity of the market, at the bottom of Skinner-street, the two friends rounded the corner, and verged towards Ludgate-hill by the Fleet Prison. Here a fresh claim, though of lesser magnitude, obtruded itself on their benevolence. ”Pity the poor debtors, having no ~96~~ allowance!” exclaimed an emaciated being, gazing with an eye of wistful expectancy, through the thrice-grated window of a small apartment on a level nearly with the street; ”Pity the poor debtors;”
The supplicating tone of deep distress in which these words were uttered spoke irresistibly to the heart, and the blessing of Heaven was once more invoked on the donors.
”And this is the prison,” observed the Squire, ”where a presumed scion of the Royal branch, a few days ago surrendered to her bail, as a prisoner for debt.”--”The same,” rejoined his Cousin, ”and the Princess is now most unroyally domiciled at a private-house within the rules of the Fleet, on Ludgate-hill.--_Sic transit gloria mundi!_”
”Certainly,” said the Squire, ”this London produces extraordinary sights, and not less extraordinary occurrences;--but of all the scenes of Real Life which has. .h.i.therto come within the scope of our observation, the most singular is that of the presumed legitimate cousin of the King of England, recently in a Spunging-house, and now confined for a debt of a few hundred pounds to the rules of the Fleet.”{1}
1 Ci-divant Princess of c.u.mberland
To the Right Hon. Lord Sidmouth.
My Lord,'--When I reflect on the injuries I have received by the refusal of your Lords.h.i.+p to forward my claims in a proper way to his Majesty, I consider it as a duty that I owe to my high descent, to enquire of your Lords.h.i.+p, why I have been suffered to remain so long neglected and deprived of the rights, which in common with other younger branches of the Royal Family, I am ent.i.tled to? As soon as the demise of my late Royal Uncle, his late Majesty, occurred, I addressed your Lords.h.i.+p, for his present Majesty's gracious knowledge. In my letters, repeatedly sent to your Lord-s.h.i.+p, I a.s.sured you for the King's knowledge, that I had but one anxious desire, which was to act in conformity to his Majesty's Royal will and pleasure, after an audience had been allowed to shew my papers. If, my Lord, I had been an impostor, it was the duty of Ministers to have enquired into my claims, and to have exposed them if unjust or illegal.
But, no! my Lord; every application was treated with cold and apathetic contempt; and although all the writings of my parent's marriage and my birth have been verified according to law, at Judge Abbott's chambers, Sergeants' Inn,--at Master Simeon's Office, Court of Chancery,--before Sir Robert Baker and Barber Beaumont Esq.--and twelve affidavits sworn and sent in to your Lords.h.i.+p, yet at this late moment I find myself neglected and oppressed, and without one guinea of support from the Government or Royal Family! My dear late cousin, Prince Edward, Duke of Kent, supported and protected me several years before his lamented death. His Royal Highness saw the papers delivered to me by the Earl of Warwick of my legitimacy, and there are at least a hundred papers connected with my parent's affairs and my own; and General Wetherall, Comptroller to his late Royal Highness, looked over many such papers, at my residence in his Royal Master's life-time. The excellent heart of the late Duke of Kent was of a nature to decide, in all events of life meeting his eye, with religion and moral justice. Thus has he loved and cherished me, his cousin, and solemnly bound himself to see me righted the moment that the death of his late Majesty authorised my papers meeting the eye of the nation.
My Lord,--You well know why my claims are neglected--a mighty cause exists! But it is a duty that I owe to myself and the English nation to give a narrative of facts as they are, unless immediate justice is done me. I am Olive, the only child of the late Duke of c.u.mberland, by Olivia, his virtuous, injured wife; and very shortly the public shall know the great and forbearing conduct of Dr. Wilmot. To him at one period, the English were indebted for tranquillity; it can be proved, my Lord. And although my health is similar to the late injured Queen's (my first cousin,) from having experienced every deprivation and persecution from interested enemies, yet I religiously trust the time is not remote, when truth will triumph over calumny and oppression.--I have the honor to be, my Lord,
Your obedient servant,
Olive.
Ludgate-hill, Nov. 6th. 1821.
~97~~”Some Kings are not partial to female cousins; and the legitimacy (said Dashall,) of this pretended Princess of c.u.mberland does not appear sufficiently tangible to admit of recognition, otherwise, without doubt, she would have been provided for!”
”Her case, however, wears not much the semblance of imposition,” said the Squire. ”The circ.u.mstances which she so minutely states, with reference to living characters, strongly imply that her pretensions are not ill-founded.”
They had now reached Ludgate-hill; a crowd was collected opposite the residence of the Princess of c.u.mberland, when the captive heroine condescended to shew herself at the window.--She is of matronly appearance, and was well dressed.--The mobility received her with due respect; the lady made her obeisance, and the a.s.semblage retired, on terms apparently of reciprocal satisfaction.--
Strolling onwards until they gained the centre of Blackfriars Bridge, the two friends paused in admiration of the interesting scene before them.
Amidst the spires and turrets of the metropolis, Saint Paul's, close at hand, rose in the proud pre-eminence of stupendous grandeur, like a mighty monarch surrounded ~98~~ by tributary kings, rendering him the homage of va.s.salage.
--Emerging from the dense ma.s.s of buildings on the line from the Tower to Westminster Abbey, appeared a continued succession of prominent public edifices; on the river Thames the scene was diversified by numerous wherries, gliding pleasurably on the rippling wave; some shooting under the arches of the elegant Waterloo, and others under the s.p.a.cious span of the lofty iron bridge of Southwark,--while on either side the river, Labour was on the alert, and the busy and ceaseless hum of Industry resounded far and near.
'Twas low water, and the _mud-larks_ now intent on their several vocations, engaged the eye of the Squire.--”What are those people about?” he asked, ”What are they in search of?”
”These are _mud-larks_,” answered his friend, ”in search of what chance may throw in their way; all's fish that comes to net! You have much to learn yet of Real Life in London, and must prolong your stay accordingly.--Willing to eat the bread of honesty, these poor people are in the daily practice of frequenting the sh.o.r.es of the Thames, to literally pick up a living. Nothing comes amiss; all that is portable, however insignificant in value, goes into the general repository.
The mud-lark returns home, when his labours are ended, sorts the indiscriminate heterogeneous ”ma.s.s of matter,” and disposes of it as well as he can.”{1}
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