Little Britain | Page 7

to this great
fungous metropolis. I have pleased myself with considering it as a
chosen spot, where the principles of sturdy John Bullism were garnered
up, like seed corn, to renew the national character, when it had run to
waste and degeneracy. I have rejoiced also in the general spirit of
harmony that prevailed throughout it; for though there might now and
then be a few clashes of opinion between the adherents of the
cheesemonger and the apothecary, and an occasional feud between the
burial societies, yet these were but transient clouds, and soon passed
away. The neighbors met with good-will, parted with a shake of the
hand, and never abused each other except behind their backs.
I could give rare descriptions of snug junketing parties at which I have
been present; where we played at All-fours, Pope- Joan,
Tome-come-tickle-me, and other choice old games; and where we
sometimes had a good old English country dance to the tune of Sir
Roger de Coverley. Once a year, also, the neighbors would gather
together, and go on a gypsy party to Epping Forest. It would have done
any man's heart good to see the merriment that took place here as we
banqueted on the grass under the trees. How we made the woods ring
with bursts of laughter at the songs of little Wagstaff and the merry
undertaker! After dinner, too, the young folks would play at
blind-man's-buff and hide-and-seek; and it was amusing to see them
tangled among the briers, and to hear a fine romping girl now and then
squeak from among the bushes. The elder folks would gather round the
cheesemonger and the apothecary to hear them talk politics; for they
generally brought out a newspaper in their pockets, to pass away time

in the country. They would now and then, to be sure, get a little warm
in argument; but their disputes were always adjusted by reference to a
worthy old umbrellamaker, in a double chin, who, never exactly
comprehending the subject, managed somehow or other to decide in
favor of both parties.
All empires, however, says some philosopher or historian, are doomed
to changes and revolutions. Luxury and innovation creep in; factions
arise; and families now and then spring up, whose ambition and
intrigues throw the whole system into confusion. Thus in latter days has
the tranquillity of Little Britain been grievously disturbed, and its
golden simplicity of manners threatened with total subversion by the
aspiring family of a retired butcher.
The family of the Lambs had long been among the most thriving and
popular in the neighborhood; the Miss Lambs were the belles of Little
Britain, and everybody was pleased when Old Lamb had made money
enough to shut up shop, and put his name on a brass plate on his door.
In an evil hour, however, one of the Miss Lambs had the honor of being
a lady in attendance on the Lady Mayoress, at her grand annual ball, on
which occasion she wore three towering ostrich feathers on her head.
The family never got over it; they were immediately smitten with a
passion for high life; set up a one-horse carriage, put a bit of gold lace
round the errand boy's hat, and have been the talk and detestation of the
whole neighborhood ever since. They could no longer be induced to
play at Pope-Joan or blind- man's-buff; they could endure no dances
but quadrilles, which nobody had ever heard of in Little Britain; and
they took to reading novels, talking bad French, and playing upon the
piano. Their brother, too, who had been articled to an attorney, set up
for a dandy and a critic, characters hitherto unknown in these parts; and
he confounded the worthy folks exceedingly by talking about Kean, the
opera, and the "Edinburgh Review."
What was still worse, the Lambs gave a grand ball, to which they
neglected to invite any of their old neighbors; but they had a great deal
of genteel company from Theobald's Road, Red- Lion Square, and
other parts towards the west. There were several beaux of their

brother's acquaintance from Gray's Inn Lane and Hatton Garden; and
not less than three Aldermen's ladies with their daughters. This was not
to be forgotten or forgiven. All Little Britain was in an uproar with the
smacking of whips, the lashing of miserable horses, and the rattling and
the jingling of hackney coaches. The gossips of the neighborhood
might be seen popping their nightcaps out at every window, watching
the crazy vehicles rumble by; and there was a knot of virulent old
cronies, that kept a lookout from a house just opposite the retired
butcher's, and scanned and criticised every one that knocked at the
door.
This dance was a cause of almost open war, and the whole