Notes and Queries, Number 48, September 28, 1850 | Page 2

streets presented, we reached Beaufort Buildings, in the Strand, the street in which we resided.
There a new scene presented itself, which was very impressive to our young minds. The street was full of soldiers, and the coachman said to my mother, "I cannot go down." A soldier addressed my mother: "No one, ma'am, can go down this street:" to whom my mother replied, "I live here, and am going to my own home." An officer then gave permission for us, and the coachman with our box, to proceed, and we were soon at our own door. The coachman, ignorant of the passport which the handkerchief and ribbon had proved, said, on setting the box down, "You see, ma'am, we got on without my taking off my hat: for who would take off his hat to such a set of fellows? I would rather have sat there all the day long."
The assembling of the military in this street was to defend the dwellings of Mr. Kitchener and Mr. Heron, both these gentlemen being Roman Catholics. Mr. Kitchener (who was the father of Dr. Kitchener, the author of the _Cook's Oracle_) was an eminent coal merchant, whose wharf was by the river-side southward, behind Beaufort Buildings, then called Worcester Grounds[1], as the lane leading to it was called Worcester Lane: but Mr. Kitchener, or his successor Mr. Cox, endeavoured to change it by having "Beaufort Wharf" painted on their wagons. Thus the name "Worcester Grounds" got lost; but the lane which bore the same name got no advantage by the change, for it received the appropriate title of "Dirty Lane," used only for carts and horses, foot passengers reaching the wharf by the steps at the bottom of Fountain Court and Beaufort Buildings.
But to return to my narrative. My parents soon removed us out of this scene of public confusion, to the house of a relative residing at St. Pancras: and well do I remember the painful interest with which, as soon as it got dark, the whole family of my uncle used to go on the roof of the house and count the number of fires, guessing the place of each. The alarm was so great, though at a distance, that it was always late before the family retired to rest. I remained at St. Pancras until the riots had been subdued and peace restored; and now, though very many matters crowd my mind, as report after report then reached us, I will leave them to record only what I personally saw and heard.
Before the vacation was ended, the trials of the prisoners had proceeded, and I went to a friend's house to see some condemned ones pass to execution. The house from which I had this painful view has been removed; the site is now the road to Waterloo Bridge. I believe it was because a lad was to be executed that I was allowed to go. The mournful procession passed up St. Catherine's Street, and from the distance I was, I could only see that the lad in height did not reach above the shoulders of the two men between whom he sat, who, with him, were to be executed in Russell Street. Universal and deep was the sympathy expressed towards the youth from the throng of people, which was considerable. As it was long before the street was sufficiently cleared to allow us to return home, the report came that the execution was over, and that the boy was so light that the executioner jumped on him to break his neck: and such was the effect of previous sympathy, that a feeling of horror was excited at the brutality (as they called it) of the action; but, viewing it calmly, it was wise, and intended kindly to shorten the time of suffering. While thus waiting, I heard an account of this boy's trial. A censure was expressed on the government for hanging one so young, when it was stated that this boy was the only one executed, though so many were guilty, as an example, as the proof of his guilt was unquestionable. A witness against him on the trial said, "I will swear that I have seen that boy actively engaged at several conflagrations." He was rebuked for thus positively speaking by the opposite counsel, when he said, "I am quite sure it is the active boy I have seen so often for I was so impressed with his flagrant conduct that I cut a piece out of his clothes:" and putting his hand into his pocket, he pulled out the piece which he had cut off, which exactly fitted to the boy's jacket. This decided his execution: yet justice was not vindictive, for very few persons were executed.
I will trespass yet further on your pages to