Iowa County democrat. [volume] (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1877-1938, 1882-04-21

corner came forth an old crone, who
wiping her lips suspiciously, invited
our attention to her stock of wax
lights. which no one ever bought,
and which no one ever took if he
did buy, unless he wanted to be
called an "ole wagabone," or some
such pet name. The little ragged
girl at the corner. who in the
spring sold primroses, wall flowers
and violets, was doing a thriving
business in roasted chestnuts, and
her cry rang after US, as we entered
the building-''All 'ot, all 'ot, pipin
'ot, bilin 'ot, sixteen a penny, choose
where yer like
The dismal avenues of the market,
robbed Of most of their adornments,
were closing for the night. The horse
radish women had long since gone,
and sundry off-scourings of human
ity were peering around, eager as
dogs to ferret out any scrap of bone
or meat. Had we been little later,
we might have seen mysterious vans
laden with what looked like huge
bags, but which was in reality-let
me whisper it-American meat, and
which by the morning would be
baptized anew, and sold as prime
Scotch" No English butcher sells
American beef, and of course, no
properly constituted English person
ever eats any American beef.
Having passed under the central
arch of the market, we were
soon decided that this time we
would strike due north, notwith-
standing the inducements offered at
such weird time of exploring Cow
Cross St., Charterhouse ST., or St.
Johns Lane. Had we followed the last
named, we should have reached St.
Johns Gate, relic of priory founded
IN the twelfth century, and still later
famous as the home for. a time of
DIR. johnson. In the room over the
gate was the Gentleman's Maya
cine" first edited, and in the same
place Da Sid Garrick made his first
London appearance. A little grave
yard close by holds the remains OF
the grandfather and other relatives
of Edwin Booth What a supernat-
urally dismal, secondhand little
corner it Isl
We followed st. Johns Road and
wasted much time at secondhand
book stalls, at diminutive " curiosity
shops" and but for the fog and
peaceful drizzle might have made
discoveries Of rare editions without
number. We were now in Clerken-
well, beloved of watch-makers, dia-
mond sellers, gold beaters, spectacle
makers and many other like trades;
famous for Sunday meetings on its
green, where Bradlaugh-ites, persecu-
ted shop assistants, and much-put-
on bus and tram employees ventilate
their wrongs; but to our mind, most
famous for having been the home Of
Mr.. Venus. In which little house
did he sort his human various I
and soak himself IN tea. while the
energetic Silas Wegg concocted fresh
schemes for putting Baffin's nose
to the grind-stone!
We left Sadlers Wells to our left
and noticed that the classic boards
were once more trod by the legiti-
mate. A few hundred yards more
and we had reached our destination,
the angels" and were in "Merr
Islington,' most noted of London
puplic houses, a gin palace built
where a famous old coaching house
of the same name once stood. The
angels F" has a decided flavor of its
own. At night-fall vice and misery
stalk rampant on all sides, and one
wonders what must have been the
impression on Oliver Twist, when he
for the first time with the Artful
Dodger as companion, passed by the
Angels on his way to Fagins. From
the " Peacock close by, Tom Brown
Of delightful school-days memory,
started for Rugby.
What would those two friends of
our youth think of Merrie Isling-
ton now, and this particular lower
corner of it where stands the Angel,
swarming with people of various
low degrees, light streaming from
the windows of its gorgeous bars.
and shining out each night upon the
crowds Of people, of buses, trans
and cabs, which make the Angel
their goal. F.M.