KIDD^S OWN JOURNAL. 



211 



" A PALPABLE HIT 1 ' 



AT 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



The following " skit" upon Westminster 

 Abbey is from Matthew Ward's "English 

 Items," a book full of "hits" at the people 

 of England — not over and above good- 

 naturedly bestowed, but many of them fully 

 merited. 



We all know how visitors are fleeced at 

 St. Paul's — perhaps, too, our knowledge 

 extends to the same extortions practised at 

 the Abbey. Yet is it amusing to hear what 

 our American author says of us. We have 

 thrown many stones at his country; it is 

 only fair to receive his fire at us. 



A SCENE IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



The accumulated expectations pent up since 

 his boyhood become oppressive by delay, and the 

 visitor grows warm and fidgety in his anxiety to 

 be admitted to the holier places of the church. 

 This intensely vivified excitement never becomes 

 dangerous however, as, by a charitably conside- 

 rate arrangement of the English Government, it 

 is always allowed ample time to cool. The 

 numerous gentlemen in black, whom the Govern- 

 ment compels the old church to pay for so shab- 

 bily doing its honors, being of sedentary habits 

 and a literary turn of mind, are unwilling to be 

 Interrupted to convey a single visitor through the 

 interior chapels. It requires a party of seven 

 curious individuals, each one provided with a 

 talisman in the shape of a sixpence, to interrupt 

 the comfortable repose of a pompous official. And 

 as most people have ceased to consider a show, 

 composed of mouldy monuments and tattered 

 flags, a very lively one, even when it happens to 

 be a great bargain, a stranger will usually incur 

 the risk of remaining some time in the ante- 

 chamber. 



During the painful period of his probation, he 

 is subjected to the impositions of another class of 

 hucksters. Watching with the liveliest interest 

 the various stages of his impatience, they rapidly 

 advance upon him from every nook and corner 

 the instant they perceive him arrived at the ex- 

 treme point of desperation. With unblushing 

 assurance, they poke at the bewildered gentle- 

 man descriptions of the Abbey, plans of the 

 building, pictures of the monuments, and armfuls 

 of other plausible stuff, which they feel very confi- 

 dent he has not the courage in his exhausted con- 

 dition to refuse. Of course he buys everything 

 without much examining the contents ; for in his 

 melancholy frame of mind, the advertisements of 

 the Times a week old would prove a refreshing- 

 literary treat. 



At length, however, the mystical number of 

 seven is made up. The stately keeper slowly rises, 

 unlocks the door, passes us in one by one — that 

 being the most convenient mode of collecting the 

 sixpences ; enters himself, and then turns the 

 key. An extraordinary metamorphosis instantly 

 occurs. Our guide assumes an alacrity quite 

 startling, when contrasted with his former torpi- 

 dity. The man appears to be worked by steam. 

 In his mumbled routine of names, dates, and non- 



sense, the only distinguishable feature is its 

 haste. He rushes us through chapels, over monu- 

 ments, and along aisles, without ever pausing for 

 breath, till he has put us out at a gate on the 

 other side, with the satisfied sigh of a man who 

 has just accomplished a very irksome task. 



This is a visit to Westminster ! This it is to hold 

 communion with the illustrious dead ! This is 

 the intellectual enjoyment which the English 

 Government have considered too delicious to offer 

 to the public gratis ! 



We heartily wish that some more of our 

 neighbors would come forward, and expose 

 the various extortions practised in England 

 on the sight-seeing public. We are really 

 amazed when we think how quietly John 

 Bull bows down to his endless burdens I 



HUMAN MISERY 



IN 



THE STREETS OF LONDON. 



What passes in the course of twenty- 

 four hours within the precincts of London, 

 would, if known and reflected on, cause 

 millions to marvel, thousands to sigh, and 

 hundreds to weep. 



Much human sorrow is there amongst us, 

 carefully veiled from sight by timidity and a 

 sense of shame. The deserving mix among the 

 undeserving, — the latter getting fat on their 

 apparent misfortunes ; whilst the former die 

 from sheer starvation, being unable to 

 " sham " sorrow, or ask for aid from the 

 passer-by. How many a wan and eloquently- 

 speaking countenance meets our eye daily ; 

 telling us more than we dare to inquire into, 

 knowing our inability to play the part of a 

 Good Samaritan. With a bleeding heart we 

 often deplore the little discernment there is 

 amongst those who are well off, and the 

 apathy with which they turn aside from the 

 stricken heart, fast falling into the grave for 

 the want of only the common necessaries of 

 life. On this subject, our pen would run riot ; 

 but we know how impossible it is to work 

 on hearts of iron and brass, and therefore 

 study brevity. 



The subjoined paper is slightly abridged 

 from an article in " Bentley's Miscellany." 

 We let the humane writer speak in our 

 stead ; cordially echoing his sentiments, and 

 hoping that his labor may not be altogether 

 in vain : — 



A poor man falls down in a fit, or the weakness 

 of hunger overpowers him ; he sinks against the 

 wall of some splendid mansion ; his features are 

 compressed, his brow clammy cold, his lips livid ; 

 you saw him sink, not fall upon the ground with 

 a squash, as the professional gentlemen, with 

 artificial blood in their noses, do the trick ; it is a 

 clear case of famine, and no mistake. Now is 

 your time to see what human nature is made of. 

 The master of the house, or the lady, comes to the 



