296^ The London- Bridge Lion'. [^Sept. 



only.remaining straw at which his eloquence could catcTi ; unless, in- 

 deed, as a List and desperate resource, he had leaned forward and un- 

 burthened his spirit to the coachman — whose incessant interruptions of 

 "Down the road, sir?" " Pentonville, ma'am?" would have been 

 scarcely less annoying than the " hear, hears !" and " a laugh," that so 

 courteously confound the perorations of another class of talkers. 



Towards me he of course moved, by immediately seizing upon the 

 vacated place. Little time was lost in flourishes ; he knew the value of 

 a moment too well. With a polite salutation of the head, he began — • 

 " I believe. Sir, this rather otld, but not absolutely ugly pile before us, 

 in the middle of the road, is called King's-Cross?" This was a propo- 

 sition easily disposed of. " Do you know what this spot was originally 

 called. Sir?" — " Battle-bridge," answered I, innocently and laconically. 

 " Battle-bridge ' — you're right. Sir — it was Battle-bridge. By the by> 

 talking of bridges, did yoxi see the ceremony of opening London 

 Bridge ?" — I started — and involuntarily moved to the utmost extremity 

 of the cushion. There was nothing unusual in the question — Heaven 

 knows I liad been asked it before — but that was only a stronger reason 

 why I should flinch from it now. Here then was the key to his orato- 

 rical designs— here was a simple edition of Mystery made Easy. He 

 was evidently a London Bridge chronicler ; an experimentalist who 

 had paid a guinea for a seat, or had perhaps dined with the committee 

 at the city festival, in order to see how many people he could destroy 

 with the story in the course of a fortnight. I felt the full peril of my 

 situation, but I wanted to ride on to the Angel, and scorned therefore 

 to retreat, even before the Dutch forces of my companion's prolixity. 

 The question was repeated. I said something about the wind running 

 away with a part of his observation, and leaving me only a syllable 

 here and there. Deafness I could not assume, for my curiosity (what 

 a moral was now appended to it !) had seduced me to listen in the first 

 instance. A third time he put the question, and in that particular tone 

 which there is ?!o evading, which you mu.il hear. " Did you see the cere- 

 mony of opening London Bridge?" — "Why, really, Sir," I stammered^ 

 " I can'l absolutely say that I satv it ; but — " His eye glistened — ^liis 

 fingers were making a rapid movement towards my button — he was 

 about to pounce upon me like an eagle ; the words were on his lips — 

 '' But, but," I interrupted, with equal ardour and impressiveness, " I 

 have heard — " " Heard ! oh, my dear Sir — " Avas bursting like a torrent 

 from his tongue, but I succeeded in stemming it — " Yes, yes, I have heard 

 — besides I take in a newspaper morning and evening, I purchased two 

 Sunday papers, one with an engraving — and I give you my word of 

 honour, as a gentleman, that I have read every line that has been 

 written upon tiie subject." — " Newspapers ! heavens ! why, my good 

 fellow, you don't trust to the newspapers? Never was any thing so 

 incorrect in this world — never — or in any other. It was nothing like it. 

 Really, I beg your pardon for saying so to a stranger, but I'm afraid 

 you've been exceedingly culpable — yes, my dear Sir, I'm sure you've 

 been vvofully deceh'ed in this affair. Now pray let me — " I despaired 

 of further resistance, gave up the contest, submitted myself to his de- 

 scription, and he inflicted not less than two hundred and fifty lines, 

 almost a column (small print) upon nie. " But the grand feature of 

 the ceremony," continued he, " was the Balloon. The accounts given 

 in the papers — " and here the coach stopped ! I lamented the provok- 



