COLNEY HATCHINGS

BY OUR OWN

PRIVATE LUNATIC

We learn from a local contemporary that recently, in Lower Edmonton, "the offhind wheel of a four-wheel vehicle gave way." When very little, nurse informed us in pretty verse, that the cow gave the pleasant milk to soak our bread; but even our spectacled governess never told us that off-hind wheels of vehicles ever gave whey. We are sorry the accident a-curd.

I have just had a reminder that my subscription to the Free and Open Church Association "has not yet been received." (Of course 'ere this reaches your million or so of readers' hands, that debt will have been discharged.) But what delighted me more than the foregoing intimation was that

"The Council at their meeting on the 14th ult. had the satisfaction of acknowledging the receipt of a contribution of £103 128 5d from a 'Subscriber,' to clear off the remainder of the debt which has for some time past crippled the work of the Association. The 'Subscriber' accompanies the donation with the expression of a hope, that as the Association is now becoming so much more widely known,' the effect of his gift will be to enable it to proceed in its work, and pay its way as it goes.""

I hope so too:-further, I hope that this Magazine will become" widely known," and that it will "pay its way as it goes." A Free Press has done much for this country, and a Free Church can do vastly more!

HIGHGATE.

We are told that the Cuckoo is partial to the woods of this neighbourhood. A young long-haired manling has written in laudatory poetic phraseology about the "Cuckoo that harbinger of Spring," &c., &c., &c., (our limited space alone prevents the insertion of the paragraph in extenso.) That paragraph seems to have aroused the "green-eyed monster of a member of the local police force to such an extent that he has addressed to me the following effusion, written upon thick blue official-headed paper (for which we had to pay two-pence

postage by-the-bye) :

The Society formed to "prevent sparrows and others of the feathered tribe warbling their week-day tunes on Sundays," has collapsed. Some members of the acting Committee became so depressed at the slight prospect of carrying their mission to a successful issue, that they retired in alphabetical order, leaving the paid Sec. and Treasurer master of the position. These latter gentlemen. in a moment of excitement, divided between themselves the funds which had been collected towards defraying the preliminary expenses of this Society, and journeyed to the gay city of Paris, where on Sunday afternoon, to their astonishment, they found the Prince and Princess of Wales, with suite, enjoying the frivolities of a Parisian race-course. Entre nous, some people assert that the Prince, who is the future head of the Established Church, has much to answer for. A friend of mine who is intimate with a friend of one of the Prince's grooms, says-the favourite song of H.R.H., is "Oh, would I were a bird," he would so much like to do as he pleases on a Sunday. Some day I shall give that Prince a bit of my mind.

By the politeness of the owner of the prize horse recently exhibited at the Alexandra Palace, we are enabled to give the above beautiful illustration. It is from a photograph by Mr. Williams, Crouch End. The horse is a nobull creature, and horses have, as Mr. McCullagh Torrens said of men the other evening, at St. Barnabas' School-" a perfect right to follow their own course."

ISLINGTON.

I was walking to church the other morning, and loitered along the High-street to disport my new hat and gloves, blue surtout, light unmentionables, and patent leather boots. I was pointing out to the monied widow at my side,-the object of my second love and riper years, the polished brass nameplates of my lawyer, my physician, my wine-merchant, my pawnbroker, no, not my pawnbroker, my veterinary surgeon, when we neared a shop with perforated shutters, extending in front of which was a long rod of iron-with clustering hooks. The door of that shop suddenly opened, out stepped my butcher attired in his Sunday best, with a modest peony in his button-hole! We both said "good morning," together, I turned with my new affluent love into the broader way. The butcher followed side by side: he said.

"You are a great reader?"

1 replied, "I am."

Do you know who wrote these lines," said he :"Let us meet

And question this most bloody piece of work!"

I answered, patronisingly, "Yes, the bard of Avon." Then," said he, "the bard of Havon don't know how to spell meat."

"How do you spell meet ?" said I, politely.

He walked from beside my elbow-round to the side of the monied widow, who was then between us; and shaking at me his fist, in front of that charming lady, said in a menacing manner :

"If you'll jist look at any o' them hunpaid bills, as I've been a sending to your lodgings for the last twelve months, you can very soon see how I spells 'meat,' yer can!" P.S. Some one else married that widow.

No wonder that the Masonic Hall was not filled on wet Whit-Tuesday. When we saw on the programme that a lady was to sing "Riding on a load of hay," we were greatly astonished, because we could not imagine how a load of hay could be got through the door of the Masonic Hall. Even had it been removed piece-meal to the stage, we question whether the sight would have been a graceful one, especially if the horses had taken fright at the applause. We like plucky maidens, but when one says, or rather sings," Nothing troubles Loo," we are inclined to suppose she has not yet seen any young man as handsome as-ahem!

THE new Yankee cure for drunkenness. The Hon. J. W. Leigh, Vicar of Leamington, has tried it successfully in the cases of two drunken women, one of whom for a period of seven years was never sober for a fortnight at a time. By dosing her well, however, with Peruvian bark, he succeeded-first in making her quite ill, and then restoring her not only to sobriety, but to a condition of mind which revolted at the very thought of drink. This patient as been going on soberly for nine weeks, and a perfect cure appears to have been achieved.

A GREAT CONVENIENCE.

A gas stove may be said to be a "grate convenience," by journals of the flippancy of Mr. Punch and his satellites, but the great convenience to which I refer is the opening of a shop, in College-street, for the sale of coffee at five o'clock in the morning! This has been done by a risingan early-rising, in fact-tobacconist, and will doubtless be a boon to all the Auroraists and working population of that neighbourhood. Fond as I am of the morning dues, I doubt whether I shall ever rise in time to review the aromatic beverage of Mocha, as dispensed by that early bird of Camden Town. If the cigars are as choice as the coffee at this establishment, I might sit up late some night, and, with the editor's permission, review a bundle of his "Frederic Clays." Surely one good puff deserves another! [The editor permits the insertion of this par. simply for the purpose of showing what a selfish correspondent he has to deal with.]

NICOTINISTS.

SMOKERS, it is said, are invariably polite to each other, wheresoever they be-on the penny steamboat, the two-penny tramcar, the three-penny bus, and elsewhere. I was in one of those "elsewheres,' -a railway carriage, and heard a languid long-whiskered and moustacheoed swell say, "Beg pardon, I Have a cigar, will any gentleman oblige me with a light?" Whereupon each smoker proffered the use of his tools of incendiarism, and the swell left that carriage, to say the least, not un-matched.

Being fond of a change.-even to that of linen, and beyond-I ventured, observing the open-handedness of smokers, to repeat that question with a slight variation, as follows:-I said, "Beg pardon, I have a box of lights, has any gentleman a cigar?" In that carriage, which was. full-including the smoke it was very full-every man was silent; silent as the drums at the funeral of the late military Moore, Esq.! So silent, indeed, that I thought the open-handed smokers had misunderstood my question. At this juncture, we were waiting in a tunnel for the signal, and all was quiet as a tomb. With my back firmly pressed against the blue-cloth-cushioned carriage, until my figure was scarcely observable, I repeated, in a railwayportery sort of voice, my question :-"Beg pardon, I have a box of lights, has any gentleman a cigar?" The occupants of that carriage glared at me; one in particular who sat in the extreme corner, fixed his glassy eyes upon mine. With optics still fixed, he pulled from his pocket a well-stored Morocco cigar-case, and, by the way in which he was using his thumb and finger upon a choice cigar, I thought he intended to present it for my dainty pleasure. I stretched my hand across the carriage towards where he was sitting, while my face wore the alluring smile of a deacon on a sermon-day, with the hope of receiving the weed, whereupon it was suddenly placed back again in the case. said, "You see, I have a cigar, and I intend to smoke it myself." Reader, what you would have done under such a circumstance, I don't know; but this I do know, that although I was not at all in the humour to sing just then, I looked at that corner man like a hungry boa-constrictor at a frivolous sausage, lit up a cigar from out my own case and as its wreaths curled and haloed round my head, I gave out aloud, my friend George Grossmith's song-" Oh, you are a careful man!" We laughed heartily, we shook hands, and have been fast friends ever since, even to the extent of lending money to each other.

To Correspondents.

He

FULL STOP.-You must be chaffing us. Surely the G.N.R. never intend to let the spaces between the tunnel on their metropolitan line to the Coffee Palace Company. We know the trains frequently stop there, but only when necessary-often as that may appear to be. GREEN-GROCER.-Vegetables are not usually reviewed in well-conducted magazines. What the other locals do will not influence us. We are much obliged to you for the cucumber. Call at the office for the basket.

COLNEY HATCH-INGS.

BY OUR EGGSPERIENCED LUNATIC.

ITHIN Fourpence-halfpenny worth of the Great

W Northern Railway terminus at King's Cross, in a

valley of sylvan seclusion, through which the Nuriva rolls rippingly over its well-made bed, the once truly rural, and many times toora-looral, village of Hornsey lies. I know many a Christian who lies in the same valley; and one especially who lies not in bed only. When I shave in a morning, I see him in the looking-glass. On one occasion when his "cutter" would not "go," I saw him in something else; nor was it in his best suit-for that was out visiting at the time-at least it was not at home! That which I saw him in was, I believe, a temper. But let me not frivol. Let me again focus the historic lorgnette, and indulge in the simple pleasantry of endeavouring to discover what Hornsey was before it was Hornsey.

Long ago, never mind exactly how much, but certainly many feet, if Time's ravages could be measured by an inch tape,-Hornsey was called "Haringea," "Haringhea," or "Haringey." About Queen Elizabeth's time it was called "Harnsey," then "Hornsey,"-of late "Ornsey." But what's in a name? as the poet saith:

"Call me this or call me that,

Say I'm lean or say I'm fat;
Think me young or think me old,
Call me modest, call me bold;
What care I, saith poet Tupper,

If I'm called in time for supper."

Hornsey is a favourite resort of Cockneys. They like saying "Ornsey" so much. They are as fond of 'Ornsey, 'Olloway 'Ampstead 'Eath, 'Ighgate, 'Ighgate 'Ill and 'Endon, as they are of the aitch(H)bone of beef.

Although Hornsey is much nearer London than it was a few years ago, there has been no reduction in the price of the railway tickets-or the hire of the adagio fourwheeler.

In Cassell's" Old and New London," [Advt.] it is stated that "The opening of the Alexandra Palace doubtless tended strongly to stretch London considerably in the direction of Hornsey." It may be reasonably supposed, therefore, that if the Palace of the North had not been quickly re-built after the disastrous fire, London would have stretched back again at an early opportunity.

In "Crosby's Gazetteer," 1816, it is stated that "The Hornsey Wood House" is a famous house of entertainment. I am not going to tell where I spend my evenings in the neighbourhood, but, judging from the excellent quality of the Old Tom (I speak authoritatively), there still exists several excellent hostelries.-[See Advertising Columns.]

The Manor of Hornsey has belonged to the Bishops of London from a time antecedent to the Norman Conquest (I regret very much that it does not belong to yours truly.) Some of those Normans are still in the neighbourhood; and one I know can paint oak so well, that on a dark night you cannot tell it from mahogany without a light.

In the year 1386, the Duke of Gloucester, who was suffering from a severe attack of Richard the 2th-ache, the Earls of Arundel and Warwick, together with other noblemen, assembled in a hostile manner at Hornsey Park, and marched thence to oppose the King. Robert Bruce was concealed at Lodge Hill, in Hornsey Park, in the garb of a Tram-Carmelite, when the Duke of Gloucester sent to him a pair of spurs, as an intimation that he mus depart with all spur-eed. Some historians do not mention these facts, and if they had done so, other persons would not care to commit them to memory. For in the language of poor dear Artemus Ward-"how can we sigh over a relation who died 300 years ago?" I don't know. I never felt the feeling, and I hope that I never may, at this late hour of my life.

Hone in his " Every-day Book," says that

"The Old Hornsey Wood House was kept by two sisters, who were very ancient women, large in size, and usually sat before their door on a seat fixed between venerable oaks, wherein swarms of bees hived themselves. There the venerable and cheerful dames tasted many a refreshing cup with their good natured customers, and told tales of bygone days, till, in very old age, one of them passed to her grave, and the other followed in a few months afterwards."

Of course Mr. Hone had a right to write and express himself penwise in his hone way; but is it not more probable that the two Sisters,who were doubtless of the family of the notable local Seven, were kept by the Old Wood House. To describe ladies as "ancient and large in size," recalls to my mind the account of the Pyramids given by Mr. Cook, upon his personally-conducted tour. Again, Mr. Hone, there is nothing very remarkable in ladies sitting on a seat. Seats are intended to be so used-and the sitting posture of the human species admits of very little variety in polite society. Now, had the ladies chosen to stand upon the seat, there would have been more reason for putting their whims on record. Fie, Mr. Hone, to make mention of "Swarms of b-s." Cleanly Londoners who are troubled in that respect, generally use "Ryan's Insect Powder!" For "Ancient dames to tell of bygone days," would not "girlgone" have been the more appropriate word? One of the sisters passes away (with a sort of Hey, presto, quick, change, pass," &c.,) and the other followed in a few month's afterwards. How unsisterly was the living one in her attention. One would naturally have expected that having "lived and loved together through many a change of years" she would have mourned the loss of her sister in a becoming manner, at the time of the funeral, instead of following her to the grave several months afterwards.

We are told in the "Life of Crabbe," that "Hornsey was one of his favourite haunts." So much impressed was he with the scenic beauties of the neighbourhood, that he literally went "off his head," about Hornsey. Being" off his head," of course put him on his feet. His legs then had it all their own way-and belonging as they did to a Crabbe-they went it sideways. Consequently at "nightfall," doubtless to his great astonishment, he found himself many miles from home, footsore and weary to such a degree, that he sheltered himself on a haymow, where after beguiling the evening with Tibullus (a Roman Knight celebrated for his poetic compositions), he slept till morning. Reader, listen to the poet :

"You'll live to repent it, as eggs sure is eggs,
If ever you lose the controul of your legs."

WITHIN the space of a few weeks three important marriages have taken place, the last being that of Miss Clementina Elder, youngest daughter of Henry Weston Elder, Esq., of Topsfield-hall, Crouch End, to Frank May, Esq., of Elstree, and the Bank of England. The wedding was one characterised by much display, the marriage being solemnised at St. Mary's parish Church by the rector, the Rev. Canon Harvey, assisted by the Rev. W. Powell, vicar of Holy Innocent's, Tottenham-lane. The six bridesmaids and the groomsmen were selected from the families of neighbours and friends, and the dresses were all that could be desired. The wedding breakfast took place on the lawn at Topsfield-hall, and was a sumptuous one; from fifty to sixty guests being present. The wedding-gifts were numerous and diversified.

JULY, 1879.]

17

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.-Shakespeare.

AM a Manchester man of business, and the last person

I in the world to write a story with anything sporting

I have

about it. In fact, I detest sport in all its forms. always noticed that when the young men in my office take in Bell's Life or the Field, their heads become full of cricket "averages," of dribbling at football ("drivelling," I call it), and of running a mile in something and a nonsensical fraction. In my opinion a youngster ought to or whatever his think of nothing but "mule twists,' I business may be, till he's made his fortune. That's the old-fashioned notion of business, and the proper one. mention this in order to explain that, if my story appears to be of a sporting character, it is a mere accident.

And yet, in one way, I do sympathise with sportsmen. What with their live-baiting, their fox-hunting, and their pigeon-shooting, they are obliged for the most part to fight Bah! that's the very shy of modern humanitarianism. word-humanitarianism—and a humbugging word too! I hate it, and all who profess it.

Let me put a simple question ;-Why should I, a man worth his fifty thousand pounds, and formerly much respected, for I cannot disguise from myself that the neighbours do not look on me with as much reverence as they once did-I say, why should I have my character and my reputation ruined, and my life rendered miserable on account of two or three dirty barn-door cocks whose

nected. But-not to mention that I was recently Chairman of the School Board in our district-such a paper might be regarded as a literary experiment, and not looked on with favour. A friend, who pretends to know a great deal about such things, informs me that the reading public are always afraid of any downright novelty; and that Paradise Lost itself was at first disregarded, because Milton insisted on For my part, I only wished to writing it in blank verse. write in blank prose; but as I am desirous of being appreciated by my contemporaries, and do not care about posterity, I will endeavour to tell my story in drawingroom language. The reader will, however, please to bear in mind, that, if I could have my own way, there should be a series of little lines from here to Finis. And

he might make the best he could of those little lines. All the help I would have given him would have been to ask him to imagine himself a London cabman, who had just driven an unprotected female with a little girl and a bandbox, and who had been offered his exact fare.

I LIVE a little way out of Manchester, at No. 1, Norfolk Villas, Howard Lane. My house is a very handsome one, and fitted with all the latest improvements-gas in all the rooms, hot water laid on everywhere (and cold, too, when the pipes burst during a frost), and electric bells. It's true that the house is damp, owing to the builders having forgotten the concrete for the foundations; that there is a bad smell, because the workman (who struck about that time) omitted to connect the drain-pipes; and that I have to shore up the gable end with long beams. Still, I repeat, for a modern house, it's a first-rater. There is a very pretty garden at the back, with a nice view, and a streamwhich once held trout-running at the bottom. When you catch the sunlight slanting on the stream it looks quite like water; and when you don't, why then I tell my friends that it's an evidence of our material prosperity and our commercial greatness, and they mostly agree with me.

This garden was one of the principal inducements which made me take the house. I had dabbled a little in horticulture in a small back yard in Oxford Road, and I wished to work out my experiments on a more extended scale. In particular I wished to find out why, when you spend sixpence on mustard and cress seed, you never get more than a hap'orth of produce-not to reckon the value of the time you have spent in making the bed, and in standing by the side of it on fine evenings with your thumbs in the armholes of your waistcoat in pursuance of the proverb about “the value of a master's eye." Accordingly I took much pains with my new garden, and kept a strict debtor and creditor account of my expenses with regard to it in a book labelled Gardening Account."

66

(To be continued.)