Rambling Recollections of Chelsea Part 1

Rambling Recollections of Chelsea.

by J. B. Ellenor.

INTRODUCTION.

[Picture: Decorative divider]

_In offering my early recollections of Chelsea and surrounding neighbourhood_, _I thought they might be interesting to many of my old friends and neighbours_, _and while away pleasantly some of their leisure moments_. _The idea of compiling them from a diary_, _spasmodically kept_, _only occurred to me when confined to my room_, _to pa.s.s away some of the weary hours_, _and I certainly found the task extremely advantageous_. _Accordingly_, _I have had them printed_, _for presentation to my friends_, _as a souvenir of our old friendship_.

_Highfield Lodge_, _Wandsworth Common_.

_June_, 1901.

CHAPTER 1.-Early Recollections.

In my early recollection Chelsea had many industries characteristic of the village, which have entirely pa.s.sed away. The only conveyance-a two-horse stage coach, called the "Village Clock"-used to run from the Cross Keys, in Lawrence Street, twice a day, for one shilling to Charing Cross, and one-and-six pence to the City. It would stop to change horses at the "Black Horse," in Coventry Street. Time, from Chelsea, ten in the morning and two in the afternoon; supposed to do the journey in an hour-which it never did. This coach appeared to be as much as was required, as it was seldom full, although it would go round in the morning to pick up its regular pa.s.sengers.

The roads and streets had a very different appearance at that time, when the King's Road was like a country road, with a toll gate on the north-east side of Sloane Square. By the Asylum Wall, as far as Whitelands, there was no path at all. Where Colville Terrace now stands was Colville's Nursery, as far as Downing's Floorcloth Factory, with no path, and on the opposite side from Whitelands to the White Stiles was Siger's Nursery. The White Stiles-where is now Avenue Terrace-was an open s.p.a.ce with a grand avenue of horse chestnuts and some old-fashioned wood fence with two stone steps and a stile at each end, and where Bywater Street and Markham Square stand was Morr's Nursery.

The King's Road only took a second place in Chelsea proper. Paradise Row and Cheyne Walk were considered the busiest and most thriving parts of the village, as nearly all its industries were located on the river bank, and nearly all the best families lived in Cheyne Walk or Paradise Row, and in the Royal Hospital, where the old soldiers used to pa.s.s the board, and pensions were paid.

For a boy in those days there were but few opportunities for amus.e.m.e.nt and recreation. The only resources we had were rowing, running, swimming and boxing, to learn which was the proper thing to do and nearly every boy's ambition. I know it was mine, and as soon as I could save up two-and-six pence and get a half holiday, I used to go up to Air Street, Piccadilly, to a tavern on the right hand side kept by a retired prize-fighter, there to have a lesson from a professional in the "n.o.ble art of self-defence," as it was then called. There were always a lot of professionals waiting about who used to take it in turns to give the lessons, and a very shabby, disreputable lot they were. We had to pay one shilling for the lesson and sixpence for the use of the room, the lesson to last twenty minutes (which was quite long enough.) You could have a wash and brush up if you knew your way about and were a regular customer, and could always get information of the whereabouts of a fight that was to come off. After leaving I would walk down St. James' Street to Charing Cross, to the pastrycook's shop at the left hand corner of Spring Gardens, and sit down at one of the tables, and, as we then called it, "do the Baron," by ordering a sixpenny ice, or jelly and two cheese-cakes, and give the pretty waitress the twopence change, and go home proud and happy thinking of my next dissipation. These expeditions were always taken alone, being too choice to be shared with anyone else.

Downing's Floorcloth Factory, that I was speaking of, was burnt down about 1829, having been set on fire one Sat.u.r.day night, and a young man about eighteen, named Butler, was hanged for it. His father used to be a sort of odd man or jobbing gardener for us, and a committee for his defence sat at our house, mostly people belonging to the chapel that young Butler was connected with. I used to be taken out to see an old officer from Chelsea Hospital, who used to come in full uniform with c.o.c.ked hat and white plume of feathers, to be chairman. I can see him now, going up the stairs with his sword clinking on every stair. A memorial was sent in, but was not successful. The evidence of a woman who knew him and lived in one of the cottages at the back, stated that she came home late on the Sat.u.r.day and forgot to take in her black-bird, and was woke up by its making a noise. She got up to take it in, and saw young Butler in the factory yard holding the dog by the chain and patting it. Butler had only recently been discharged for some irregularities.

The place had been robbed as well as set on fire. It was well known that others were in it, but they escaped and were never taken, as there were no police at that time, only the night watchman-a tall old soldier, who was paid by subscription by the inhabitants, and used to perambulate the streets and call out the hour and state of the weather-such as "Half-past two and a stormy night," and would eke out his livelihood by calling up the riverside labourers and lightermen at such times as the tide served.

I well recollect the first policeman coming on duty in Chelsea. Nearly all the school boys, nurse girls, and children turned out to see him.

His beat when I saw him was along Green's Row by the dead wall of Burton's Court. He was a tall, ungainly-looking countryman, dressed in a blue bobtailed coat with white metal b.u.t.tons, white duck trousers, heavy blucher boots, and a top hat and white gloves. For several days an admiring crowd persistently followed him up and down his beat, a little way behind like the tail of a comet, the crowd in the road and he on the path, but the novelty wore off after a time.

At that time the Swan brewery stood at the bottom of Swan Walk on the River, and between that and the Botanical Gardens was the Skinner's Company's Dock and barge wharf, where the state barge was kept. Old Captain May had charge of her, a worthy old man and quite an important character among the riverside people, as he had the engaging of the watermen to row the barge on Lord Mayor's Day and other state occasions, and when they went swan-upping. As they were well fed and well paid it was considered a desirable appointment. It took eighteen watermen to row the barge, and I think they were paid one guinea each for the day. We used to think it a grand sight to see them in their scarlet coats and badges, breeches, low shoes and silk stockings. It used to be almost a holiday when they went out, as n.o.body could stick to his work. The land between the barge house and the brewery was a rare place to catch eels, and a favourite place for us boys to lay night lines, as it was always well ground-baited by the refuse from the brewery. I have taken twenty-four eels off twenty-five hooks on a night line. There used to be a grand day's sport for us boys once a year at the brewery, on Good Friday. The drains from the brewery at their outlet on the river were stopped up by ramming bags of sand in them when the tide was down, and every boy or man that had a dog (and there were but few who had not) would arrive as the tide served inside the yard gates in readiness, and at a given signal the hot liquor from the coppers would be let down the drains, and in a few minutes out rushed the rats by the score. Away went the dogs, and as all the outlets were stopped there was a nice scrimmage, and there being a large number of barrels in the yard that the rats could get between and the dogs could not, it would last some time, for we had to move the barrels, and a good many of the rats would get away. I have seen them run up a barrel and get in the bung hole. They were quite safe then, and it would drive the dogs almost mad, and we had a job to get them away.

There were several notable characters along the waterside. One hard-featured, powerful old man, named Jamie Cator, had the reputation of being a remnant of the old press gang-and he looked it every bit. He was morose, dark-featured, heavily marked with the small-pox, and had a deep scar from the comer of his mouth to the back of his jaw, which did not add to his beauty. He was dressed in oiled canvas trousers, a shiny black sailor's hat, and an old pensioner's undress blue short coat, and was not looked upon with respect. He had a small pension of some sort from the navy, and used to eke out his living by bringing down the floats of timber from the docks to the different timber yards, and at other times to work on the sand-barges dredging in the river.

There was another well-known character, a half-witted fellow, who got his living by collecting corks and drift wood that was washed in by the eddies at high tide. He had an old boat that had been mended by tacking bits of old floor cloth over the holes in her, and when afloat had always to have someone baling out the water to keep her so. The Thames in those days was considerably more of a highway than at present. There were two watermen who went regularly up to Thames Street every day as a sort of carriers, and would fetch or take anything from a message to a house of furniture. They would frequently bring a barrel of herrings, or two or three sacks of potatoes, or anything they could buy cheap, and would go round themselves with a bell and announce that they would sell in the boat at the drawdock, at six in the evening, and in the winter they would have one or two flaring lights and sell by Dutch auction. Of course, we boys always attended these sales.

In Paradise Row, were Harrison's, the tallow melters and candle makers, who used to do the work under the shop in a cellar, reached by a flap from the outside. Charlie, the candle maker, was quite a favourite with us boys, for he would occasionally invite two or three of us to supper in the cellar. It was an understood thing that we should bring some potatoes and enough money for a pot of four half and half. We a.s.sembled as soon as the shop was closed and the master gone, about half-past six; and then such glorious suppers! I do not think I ever had such before or since. Our first operation was to wash the potatoes, place them in the furnace hole and cover them up with the ashes, and rake out some more ashes and pat them well down. Next, Charlie would go to a special fat-bin and bring forth five or six lumps of fat, each containing a kidney, which by some mistake had been left in. These were dexterously taken out, tied up separately in a piece of thin lining kept for the purpose, leaving a long loop. He would then string them on a dipping rod, used for dipping the candles, place the rod across the coppers and plunge them in the boiling fat. In about twenty minutes they were done, and taken out, and the potatoes, beautifully baked, divided between us.

At times we were short of plates, but that did not trouble us, for an inverted saucepan lid answered every purpose. We would then sit and tell stories till we were obliged to go home. Charlie used to work all night Tuesday and Friday, as on those days they got the fresh fat in from the butchers.

In the summer there was the gra.s.s-boat, owned by an old man and his wife and a grown-up daughter. It had been an old ship's jolly-boat, and had a roughly-built half deck cabin about the size of a four-wheeled cab. The three of them lived in it, and came twice a week to the draw-dock with bundles of coa.r.s.e rush gra.s.s cut in the marshes on the river's bank, to sell to the local tradesmen to feed their horses, at three half-pence a bundle; and all they had left was taken by the cowkeepers at a penny a bundle. When there was no gra.s.s they would go sand-dredging, getting the sand by a pole with a leather bag on an iron frame at the end, with a rope to a block rigged up and attached to a windla.s.s. The old man would let down gradually the pole, and the wife and daughter would wind it up.

They were a terribly drunken lot; but the temptation to drink in those days in Chelsea was very much greater than at present, for since I can recollect, in that one road not much over a mile, from Battersea Bridge to Ebury Bridge on the ca.n.a.l, there have been eighteen public houses closed, and only one new license granted, and that is to the "Chelsea Pensioner." The names of the thirteen houses that I alluded to were the "Green Man" at the bottom of Beaufort Street, at the back of Luke Flood's house, the "Adam and Eve," the "Cricketers," the "Magpie and Stump," the "Don Saltero," the "Yorkshire Grey," the "King's Head," the "Old Swan,"

the "Fox and Hounds," the "Snow Shoes," the "General Elliott," the "Duke of York" (that was the house in Wilkie's picture of the reading of the news of the Battle of Waterloo), the "Rose and Crown," the "Cheshire Cheese," the "Nell Gwynn," the "Marquess of Granby," and the "Waterworks," and several beerhouses. All of these houses have been closed or pulled down.

At the corner of Smith Street was the house where Tommy Faulkner, who wrote the history of Chelsea, carried on his business of bookseller, library keeper, stationer and printer. There were some rich people at that end of Paradise Row, several of them Quaker families, keeping two or three servants. Near the corner of the alley leading into Durham Mews, lived a doctor, a celebrated anatomist, and at the bottom of his garden in the Mews stood a building with no window that could be seen. That had the reputation of being the dissecting room. None of us boys would pa.s.s it after dark, as it was reported that the body s.n.a.t.c.hers who robbed the grave yards, would bring the bodies in a sack to sell to the doctor.

The present Children's Hospital was Miss Pemberton's ladies' school, Gough House, with a lozenge-shaped gra.s.s plot and a carriage drive; an avenue of elm trees led on each side to the house from the iron entrance gates, by the side of which stood the coachhouse and stables.

A trip to Clapham was quite an undertaking, as there were no means of getting there but by walking. Once a year I used to go with the mother to pay the ground rent. We had to start after an early dinner and walk over Battersea Bridge along the road, with fields on each side to the top of Surrey Lane, pa.s.s Weller's Farm, and strike off to the left by a pathway through cornfields to Long Hedge Farm-where the Chatham and Dover works now stand-and pa.s.s through some water meadows with bridges of planks across the dikes and penstocks, and up the hill by the side of some old cottages that brought you out in the Wandsworth Road; across a narrow footpath, a steep hill with steps cut in the gravel, called Matrimony Hill, and through the old churchyard. A few doors to the left was a ladies' school,-our destination. The lady we were to see was a Miss Hart, a parlour boarder there. We were regaled with biscuits and a gla.s.s of currant wine, which we quite appreciated, to help us on our way home.

CHAPTER 2.-Schoolboy Escapades.

In Smith Street, at the corner of Durham Mews, stood Durham House School, a large, square, rambling old building, without any pretence to architectural design, apparently built at different times. It contained over forty rooms and dormitories, with a large playground at the back extending the whole length of the mews. It was strictly a boarding school, and must have had nearly one hundred boys training for Eton and Harrow and the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, mostly the sons of the aristocracy and the leading families. Some of our most eminent men were trained there. Some of the younger boys on the fourth form were allowed out with the usher on the Wednesday afternoons in the summer time, from two till six, to wander in the fields and lanes to gather wild flowers and to receive instruction in botany. I became acquainted with them at the tuck shop in Queen Street, kept by an old crippled shoemaker, where we used to gamble for sweets by an apparatus called a "doley." You dropped a marble down a spiral column on to a tray at the bottom with a lot of indents for the marble to lodge in, all numbered, and the highest number took the prize.

There were two ushers to the fourth form who took duty in turns. One a stout, sombre-looking man, whose sole enjoyment appeared to be to sit out on the riverside of the Thames and smoke, drink beer, and read. I think I became rather useful to the boys as I could always find them bait, and knew where the best fishing was to be had, and would get them white mice.

The other usher was a very much younger man, and better liked, as he would bring the boys to certain places and leave us to ourselves, with strict instructions to meet him at six. Usually the place of meeting was the Monster Tavern, at the end of the Willow Walk. We very soon found out that he was courting a young lady at a tavern in the Vauxhall Bridge Road. I recollect one Wednesday before Palm Sunday we had been left at the ferry to go over to Battersea fields for the afternoon. We wandered about amusing ourselves till we got to Latchmere, at the bottom of Pig Hill. They were then building the South Western Railway, and the land was all open so we wandered along by the side of the stream, about six feet wide, that bounded the long gardens of the large houses in the Wandsworth Road. It had willow trees on the banks on each side, and we began to gather palm, when we came to one tree on the opposite bank that had some exceptionally fine bits, but out of our reach. So we tied our handkerchiefs together, placed a large stone in the end and threw them as a la.s.so over the end of the branch and drew it to us. Four or five of us pulled it over and held it while the others were to gather. I was at the end pulling with all my strength, when all at once I found myself lying on my face on the other side of the stream in the garden, with the old gardener standing over me. I was tolerably scared. He collared me and took me up the garden into a sort of paved yard, and placed me between a dog kennel, occupied by a tremendous mastiff, and a pump, just outside the reach of the dog's chain. The dog seemed to treat me with the most utter contempt. I do not think he would have hurt me, as he simply walked up and down and sniffed a bit, and then laid down and went to sleep. As I stood on one side I had a view of the kitchen or scullery with the servants, and on the other side through an open doorway in the wall, I had a view of the lawn and flower garden, and the gla.s.s cas.e.m.e.nts of the dining room.

I was kept standing there for more than two hours, when my captor, the old gardener, came and had a look at me, and went into the house and returned with a stout red-faced man, with no hat and a white handkerchief round his neck, who went into the house. It had got dark by this time, and the lights were lit; he presently returned, and the cowardly old brute, took me by the collar and almost choked me, and pressed his great coa.r.s.e knuckles into my neck, and tried to hurt me as much as he could.

I should have liked to have had him to myself for a little time. I know his poor old shins would have known it. He fairly dragged me into the house and through a gla.s.s door into the dining room, where there were at least ten or twelve ladies and gentlemen at dessert. I was taken to the end of the table, where a tall, white-haired old gentleman sat who was very deaf, and I was questioned by two or three of them, and one gentleman who looked like a clergyman, began to lecture me and said how wicked it was to come into a gentleman's garden to steal the fruit. One young lady said, "Oh, Pa, that cannot be, there is no fruit now." From questions by one and the other I had to tell them everything; the usher's going courting seemed to rather amuse the young people. After being seriously talked to I was allowed to go, and was taken out into the front hall, when one of the young ladies came out with a bunch of grapes and some figs and thrust into my hand, and at the side door by the stables I was met by one of the maid servants with a lump of pudding. I very soon made my way down Falcon Lane to the High Street and turned into Church Street, and as I pa.s.sed old Battersea Church I knew it was nine o'clock, as the bells began to ring-as they did every evening at that time. I think that was about the last of our Wednesday afternoon outings alone, as it came to the knowledge of the usher, and he was afraid it might get to the school authorities.

CHAPTER 3.-Entertainments and Sports.

Entertainment or amus.e.m.e.nt in Chelsea was very poor, as there was no room or place for the purpose. The only one I can recollect was when a professor of mesmerism and clairvoyance came down and took the skittle ground at the back of the "George and Dragon." He was a thin, shabby old man, dressed in black with very dirty linen. With him were his wife, and two girls-his daughters, he informed us-one about twelve and the other about fourteen, with ringlets, shabbily dressed and closely covered up in old cloaks. They did all the advertising and canva.s.sing themselves, by taking round the bills and trying to sell tickets at sixpence each. The sides of the skittle ground were decorated by the hanging of table covers, curtains, pieces of carpet, sheets, or anything else that would cover over the walls. The platform at the end was composed of the taproom tables with some boards across, an old square piano belonging to the house stood on the floor; the lighting was effected by double tin sconces hung on the wall with two tallow dips in each. The seating accommodation for the ticket holders consisted of chairs; those who paid threepence at the doors had forms or planks to sit on with a gangway down the middle. The performance commenced about seven by one of the young ladies playing the piano, and the other a triangle, the old lady being engaged in taking the money at the entrance. The professor mounted the platform and addressed his audience, commenting upon the wonderful and mysterious scene he was about to enact. He commenced with the usual conjuring tricks of borrowing a hat and making a pudding in it and bringing a live pigeon and a large cabbage out of it, and then returning the hat undamaged to its owner, which to us children was a great wonder.

Then came the card tricks, and the ventriloquial dialogue with the puppets, with a handkerchief over each hand to form the figures, and then the grand event of the evening. The table was removed from the platform and replaced by two chairs, and the two girls, dressed in white frocks and yellow sashes, came on. After addressing the audience, he proceeded to throw the elder one into a trance, which he appeared to succeed in doing, for she stood perfectly upright and still. He then placed the two chairs a certain distance apart, back to back, and taking the girl up in his arms, laid her on her back with her head resting on the back of one chair and her feet on the other, and she remained so for some minutes.

Next he lifted up the other girl and placed her standing with one foot on her sister's chest, and the other at her knees, and she remained so for some minutes, when she was taken down and placed with her back to the company for the usual thought-reading performance. At the end, as an extra, a pale, sickly youth was introduced, and sang "Wapping Old Stairs," and "Sally in our Alley," the young lady playing the accompaniment, much to the satisfaction of the company. At the conclusion a plate was sent round to collect for the benefit of the artist.

Chelsea Regatta was a grand day, usually about Whitsuntide, when rowing took place for various prizes, subscribed for by the inhabitants, the publicans being the most active promoters, and the leading gentry patrons and liberal subscribers; first among them the Bayfords and the Owens, great rowing men and very liberal to the watermen. I think one of the Bayfords was the first winner of the silver sculls. The amount collected at a time would be as much as fifty or sixty pounds. There was a grand prize, a boat to cost twenty pounds, and various money prizes. The limit of entries was twelve, to be drawn by lot by Chelsea watermen, with certain restrictions. The race was in two heats, six in a heat, the first and second in the two heats to row in the final; the course from a point opposite the "Yorkshire Grey" stairs, round a boat moored opposite the "Adam and Eve," back and round a boat moored opposite the Brunswick Tea Gardens at Nine Elms, and back to the starting point. The waterside on a regatta day was like a fair, as there were always two or three mountebanks, a circus and a dancing booth on the various pieces of vacant ground in the neighbourhood of the river. Some of the performers, dressed as clowns, played a kind of river tournament, sitting straddle-legged on beer barrels afloat, tilting at each other with long poles; the fun was to see them tumble each other into the water. Then there was the old woman drawn in a washing tub by four geese. After each display the performers would march with a band to their different places of entertainment. From out of the fund provided, there were prizes given for running in sacks, and climbing the greasy pole for a leg of mutton fixed at the top, and a prize for running along a greased pole placed horizontally from the stem of a coal barge, and extending over the water some twenty feet. On a barge moored opposite the end of the pole were four spars radiating with a basket at the end of each from a capstan that revolved, containing a prize, and just within reach of the end of the greased pole. One was usually a small live pig, others a fat goose or a live duck with its wings cut. The "running the pole" was most difficult, for as soon as you got near the prize at the end of the pole it would be dipped by the weight and slip you off into the water; while if you got to the end of the pole and touched the basket as it revolved it would fly away from you. The live prize was the most difficult to contend with, for you had to fight with it to get it on sh.o.r.e. The proceedings all finished up with a grand display of fireworks. On the following day the boat decked with flags, in a van, would be drawn round the princ.i.p.al streets with the watermen who had been engaged in the contest, singing some doggerel verses composed for the occasion, and thanking the people for their liberal subscriptions.

CHAPTER 4.-Chelsea Notabilities.

There were some notable people living in Cheyne Walk in those days. At number three lived Mr. Goss, organist at St. Luke's, afterwards at St.

Paul's Cathedral, who was subsequently knighted. At number five lived Justice Neild, an eccentric old bachelor, who left half a million of money to the Queen, and next door lived Doctor Butler, curator of the British Museum, and at Gothic House lived Mr. Moore, a man seven feet high, and stout in proportion, dressed in a long drab coat, breeches and Hessian boots with large ta.s.sels. He had been a contractor for the stores and accoutrements for Wellington's army in the Peninsular campaign. A constant visitor was the Countess of Harrington, in a splendid carriage with two tall footmen behind in a quaint brown livery trimmed with gold lace, breeches and silk stockings. Then there were the Owens and the Bayfords, very charitable people. Then there was "Don Saltero's" tavern, kept by a tall Scotchman and his factotum, a little short fat man, a sort of "Joe Willett of the Maypole," who was barman, cellarman, and waiter in one. There used to be a goodly company of an evening in the coffee room of retired officers and well-to-do people in the neighbourhood, to play whist and chess, and sometimes all-fours.

There was an ordinary on Sunday at two o'clock, when they gave you a rare good dinner for two-and-sixpence, including beer.

I well recollect the Kingsleys coming to Chelsea, I think it was about the year 1832. I know it was near about the "cholera year." The first time I saw Charles and Henry they were boys about twelve and fourteen. I met them in the rectory garden at the giving of prizes to the St. Luke's National School boys, when they were regaled with buns and milk. The rector and the boys were great favourites with the parishioners as they were courteous and very free with everybody. I can recognize many of the characters in "The Hillyars and the Burtons" as old Chelsea inhabitants, and the description of the mounds and tablets in old Chelsea Church and the Churchyard, and the outlook over the river is as correct as it well can be.

Opposite the Church in the corner by the Church draw-dock stood the cage, and by the side of it the stocks, then came Lombard Street, and the archway with shops and wharfs all along the riverside up to Battersea Bridge. At that time there were fishing boats, and fishermen got a living by catching roach, dace, dabs and flounders, and setting pots for eels all along Chelsea Reach, and between Battersea Bridge and Putney, and they would hawk them through the streets of a morning. The eels were carried in little tubs, as many as eight or ten, one on top of the other, on the man's head, and sold by the lot in each tub at about sixpence or eightpence each.

The favourite promenade, especially on a Sunday, was the River Terrace at the back of Chelsea Hospital. It was thrown open to the public, and you gained access to it from the gate of the private gardens opposite King Charles' statue. It consisted of a gravelled terrace and a dwarf wall on the river side, with two rows of immense elms commencing at the outlet of Ranelagh Ditch to the river, and ending at the Round House. On the corner by Ranelagh Ditch stood the College Water Works, with the old machinery going to decay, that had been used to pump water for the use of the hospital. This was a grand place, and considered extremely fashionable, where most of the courting and flirting by the young people was carried on. The Ranelagh Ditch was the boundary of the hospital grounds at that tune, and was an open stream about nine feet wide; while its banks were supported by planks and struts across it. It was open right up to the end of Eaton Place. It was crossed by two bridges, one called Ranelagh, in the Pimlico Road, by the side of the "Nell Gwynn"

tavern, the other called b.l.o.o.d.y Bridge, in the King's Road, between Sloane Square and Westbourne Street. On the banks of this foul and offensive stream there was no better than a common sewer. Between the two bridges at the back of George Street and overlooking it, were crowded together a lot of old two and three-roomed cottages that periodically at high tide were flooded by the offensive matter. The district was known as Frog's Island, and suffered terribly in the outbreak of cholera in 1832. It was inhabited by a cla.s.s that was always in a chronic state of poverty, and as there had been a very severe winter, that had a great deal to do with it. I think this stream is now covered over. It had its rise from the overflow in the Serpentine, in Hyde Park, and crossed under the road at Knightsbridge, about where Albert Gate now stands, into the Park. {32}