The Girls Own Paper, Vol. VIII, No. 357, October 30, 1886 | Page 7

I can; and should I become garrulous and tedious, as old ladies are wont sometimes to be, you must recall me by a gentle reminder that you live in the present century, whose characteristics are short, decisive, and by all means amusing.
My career has been a strange and eventful one, as you yourselves will see if I can interest you sufficiently to listen to the end.
Of course, I was not always known as the Old Lady of Threadneedle-street; indeed, I can well remember the feeling of annoyance with which I saw Mr. Punch's illustration of me in 1847, as a fat old woman without a trace of beauty, except in my garments, which were made of bank notes. I have kept a copy of it, and will just pencil you the outline.
The annoyance was intensified when I found myself handed down to posterity by him as the Old Lady of Threadneedle-street. He could have no authority for this picture, seeing that, like the Delphian mystery of old, I am invisible, and deliver my oracles through my directors.
You are girls, and will quite understand the distress of being thrust suddenly into old age. Up to 1847 I was young, good-looking, and attractive, and to be bereft of my youth and romance at one blow; to know that from henceforth all would be prosaic and business-like, that I should never again have lovers seeking my favour, was a condition of extreme pain. I had always prided myself on my figure, but even this Mr. Punch did not leave me, but told the world that it was due to tight-lacing. It was very cruel, and I have sometimes thought it was envy of my position; but let that go. I took counsel with myself, and determined to face the future with the resolve to be the very nicest old lady in the world, and to make myself so useful to my fellow-creatures that they should love me and stand by me even though my first youth had passed. And I am sure you will agree with me in thinking that I have accomplished this, and that not only have I kept clear of weakness and decrepitude, but have achieved for myself a reputation and position second to no lady in the land.
It has been necessary for me to make this little explanation, otherwise you might have thought I had never been young. And now to proceed.
It was in the reign of William and Mary that I first saw the light, being born in Mercers' Hall on the 27th of July, 1694.
From this place, after a few months, I was removed to Grocers' Hall, Poultry; not the stately structure with which you are acquainted, but one much more simple, which was razed to make room for the present building.
I may say, without vanity, that my birth created a sensation throughout the length and breadth of the land.
The House of Commons even was not exempt from this excitement, but set aside its serious work to discuss whether or not I should be strangled and put out of the way, or nurtured into strength by its support and countenance.
Those members who were in favour of the last resolution declared that I should rescue the nation out of the hands of extortioners, lower interests, raise the value of land, revive public credit, improve commerce, and connect the people more closely with the Government, while those of the contrary opinion assured the House that I should engross the whole money of the kingdom, that I should weaken commerce by tempting people to withdraw their money from trade, that I should encourage fraud and gaming, and corrupt the morals of the nation.
Little recked I of all the stir and commotion my birth was causing, as, nursed and cared for by my father, William Paterson, a Scotch merchant, and his friend, Mr. Michael Godfrey, I gradually grew into strength. It was not till long afterwards that I heard and understood the circumstances of my birth, and how around me were centred the interests of the kingdom.
When I was only twelve months old, those who were bound together to take care of my interests separated my father from me, giving as an excuse that he was of too speculative and adventurous a spirit to be entrusted with my welfare.
Poor father! It has always seemed to me very sad that he who had worked so long and so persistently for my success should have been condemned to spend the last years of his life in solitude and neglect in Scotland, while I, his child, was gradually becoming everything that his highest ambition could have pictured; but so it was.
[Illustration: THE OLD LADY OF THREADNEEDLE STREET. From "Punch."]
I have often wished that he had employed those last weary years of his in writing