Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1889-12-01

first contribution into the editors box;
Pepys making a detour to pass Nell
Gwinne's house in Drury Lane; Guy Faux,
with his dark lantern, creeping toward
Westminster; Wat Tyler and his friends
flames of the Surrey palace; and
one gets glimpses down the side
streets of the silent highway, with
Its ghosts of gilded barges worthy of the
Grand Canal, its gay water parties, and its
prisoners for the Tower, with exciting men,
0ries of escapes thence on dark and favoring
nights; and thousand other incidents of
truth and fable; Dick Wilmington, not in
ones fancy the least real of them all, though
it was the bells of distant Highgate that
rang so persuasively in his ear.
JERRoLD's IMPRESSIONS OF LONDON.
Do you remember Dore's frontispiece to
London? 1t is Dick himself; the most
poetical of all the Frenchman's illustrations
of metropolitan life and fancy, and / may
be permitted to record the fact that ac-
companied Dore and Blanchard Jerrold on
one of their London pilgrimages, which
ended in a night at Evans, a stones throw
from Charing Cross. Perhaps the younger
Jerrold wrote too much; he was never sufi-
ciently appreciated; his christian Vaga-
bond' is a favorite book of mine, and his
letterpress accompanIments to Dore's pict-
ures were delightful both in style and mat
ter. 1--WE are pilgrims, wanderers, gypsy
loiterers in the great world of London" he
wrote of himself and Dore-both, alas, only
memories now-"not historians of the an
eient port and capital, to which the Dinant-
ers of Dinant, on the Meuse, carried their
renowned brass vessels 600 years ago. Upon
the bosom of old Thames, now churned with
paddle and screw, cargoes were borne TO the
ancestors of Chaucer. 1t is, indeed, an an
cient tide of business and pleasure; ancient
in the tabled days of the boy Wilmington,
listening to the bells at Highgate. And we
approach London by the main srtery that
leeds its unhinching vigor. We have seen
the Titan awake and asleep-at work and at
play. We have paid our court to him in his
brightest and his hAppiest guises; when
he stands solemn and erect in the dignity of
his quaint and ancient state; when his
steadfastness to the old is illustrated by the
dress OF the 'Yeoman of the Guard or his
passion for the new is shown in the hun
dred changes of every passing hour" To-
day their desires are complex-they are for
the new and the old; the new in science,
the old in dress and architecture. Under
the clock at the Postal Telegraph Office we
are within electric touch of the Antipodes.
There are public servants at hand through
whom we can communicate lightning mes
sages to China and Peru, to Cairo and St.
Petersburg, to Paris and New York; and
close by we can talk by telephone to Brigh-
ton. All that is new in luxury of rapid
transit, in sensuous delights of taste and
smell, of silks and satins, in music and
mimicry, in railway cars and steam yachts,
is in fashion; but in the matter of decorative
design and colors we are barking back to
the days before iron and steel and modern
stucco took the place of brass and copper
and oaken beams. The pillar Of fiery life
and change of revivifying power revolves
as hotiy and with as fierce life at Charing
Cross as at that imaginary scene OF the
worlds heartbeat which Haggard saw in
his dream of "She."
PAST AND PRESENT.
Fifty years ago the Golden Cross was one
of the great coaching houses of 3he Metropo-
lis. 1t was here that Mr.. Piekwick and his
friends met and commenced those travels
which have given delight to English-speak-
ing peoples all over the world. 1t was on
his way from Goswell street to the Golden
Cross that Mr.. Pickwlck took note of those
remarkable incidents in natural history,
which were made to him by the cabman,
leading up to the assault from which Mr..
Alfred Jingle rescued Pickwick and his
fellow-clubmen. The usual arched entrance
and courtyard of the period have long since
but many traveller must have
stood here and endeavored to realize the
situation and Mr.. Jingle's warning. ''Ter-
rible place-dangerous work-other day
five children-mother-tal lady-cut in
sandwiches-forgot the arch-crash," etc.
Who does not remember Jingle's opening
speech to the members of the club
whose adventures have delighted ali
manner of peoplel Dickens was
evidently fond of the old tavern, for he
brought David Copperfeld here by the
Canterbury coach. Lord Mohun is con-
spicuous character in "Esmond," and the
duels of the period are graphically illus
trated in that historic romance. Poor
Dickensl he had humber recollections of
Charing Cross and Leicester Fields than
whose muse scared into higher
but Pickwick and Peggotty, Mi
cawber and Dombey, belong to the creative
power of geniusa while Esmond, Philip, |
Becky Sharp and Colonel Newcombo are the |
offspring OF an educated observer. Both
will live to haunt the regions of Charing
Cross with engrossing memories. The |
links that bind the present with the |
past are many and varied at this CEN
ter of romance and utility. Even the mod |
ern newsboy has his predecessors in the |
nrst hawkers of the daily journals. Disraeli |
tells us that the MercurieS and Diurndls of |
the civil wars were hawked in the streets, |
and to spur curiosity every paper had on |
the front the leading items of its contents. |
Observe the hawkers of to-day; they exhibit |
placards of the attractions the great news |
sheets offer to the town, and you note with |
regret how much of tragedy and horror, of |
war aud murder. of narrowing revelations |
fill the modern bill; but do not make the |
mistake of thinking London is more wicked, |
the world more cruel, than it was in the |
past. There IS no scandal so bad, no crime |
SO awful in these days that has not its fel- |
low in history; and no deed so noble, no act |
Of heroism so heroic that it has not its match
On the modern "roll of honor"
And so the great play goes on from day
TO day, reaching back into the centuries
the shadow of its scenes going forward upon
5he coming years; the whole one vast re-
nearsal for that future state, which is the
mystery of mysteries.
JOSEPH HATToN,
His Fortune