Charing-cross, that "the full tide of human life
flows there," and so it continues to flow until it
reaches Highbury Barn, or the Sluice House by
the banks of the New River, formerly and still
called the Eel-pie House, but where eel-pies are
now seldom obtainable. This kind of suburban
retreat is a most agreeable relief to the close
and confined air of a city life.

Thus we find Goldsmith, in his day, among
the habitues of White Conduit House; and we
have many pleasant stories of his doings there.
Of these one forms the subject of a picture by
Mr. A. Solomon, exhibited at the Royal Academy
in 1851, and entitled An Awkward Position.
It shows the poet seated in a tree-shaded
arbour, with three young ladies; in the centre
is a table, on which are spread a tea-service,
wine, and fruit. Outside the arbour is a waiter
in a wig, casting up the score on his fingers,
while Goldsmith, with the bill in one hand, and
the other deep in his breeches-pocket, wears a
very stern discomposed face. In front we see
an ornamental pond, and, beyond, two smart
gentlemen advancing to the spot. The background
is filled with gallant company, trees, and
an orchestra, in which are a band and a lady
vocalist. The fact thus represented is simple and
ordinary enough. Goldsmith, strolling one day
in the gardens, met three daughters of the family
of a respectable tradesman to whom he was
under some obligation. With his prompt
disposition to oblige, he conducted them about
the garden, treated them to tea, and ran up a
bill without reflecting that he had no money
in his pockets. He was, of course, perplexed,
and so was the waiter; but just at the moment
also came up some of his acquaintance whose
good opinion he was desirous of conciliating.
He could not, however, conceal his situation,
and was for a while subject to their banter.
Ultimately they enabled him to pay the waiter,
and to convey off the ladies with flying colours.

The holiday shoemaker of the present day
has to go further afield for his enjoyments,
London having grown prodigiously. This
expansion of the metropolis into the suburbs
began with the year 1666, after the great fire of
London. The houseless inhabitants fled for
shelter into the suburbs, particularly to those on
the north, and the extension of buildings became
an inevitable necessity. "The marring of the
City," says an old writer, "was the making of
the suburbs." "Time was," says Rolle, in
The Burning of London Commemorated and
Improved, "that rich citizens would almost
have held their noses if they had passed by
those places where now it may be they are
constrained to dwell." About ten years after this
Clerkenwell had become a desirable place of
residence. Numerous large gardens were
interspersed among the houses, which were
inhabited by nobility and gentry. In the northern
parts of the parish were numerous small tenements,
described as being in Islington, the
rents of which varied from two pounds to ten
pounds per annum. All these houses were
built in direct contravention of the law, which
prohibited "any new buildings of any houses
and tenements within three miles of any of the
gates of the City of London." James the
First had issued a royal proclamation containing
these words: "Our Citie of London has become
the greatest, or next greatest, citie of the
Christian world; it is more than time that there be
an utter cessation of new buildings;" adding,
"this shall be the furthest and utmost period
and end of them." The ordinance proved,
however, inoperative. Charles the First also
prohibited the erection of new buildings; but
during the Commonwealth the erection of
dwelling-houses in the suburbs rapidly advanced.
Sir William Petty, in his Political Arithmetic,
states that in 1682 London contained about
six hundred and seventy thousand persons, and
predicted that the growth of London would be
at its greatest height in the year 1800, when
its population would be eight times more than
in 1682, or five million three hundred and
sixty-nine thousand souls, and stop before
1842, when it would be double the former
number, and the population be equal to that of
the rest of England. Sir William Petty's
prophecy has not come true; London has not yet
attained a population of much more than half
the number foretold.

The bugbear that frightened Sir William
Petty still continued to disturb the peace of
mind of divers grave men, who feared "the
off-shoots would impoverish the parent stock."
In such cases a simile or some other figure
serves better than an argument. Before a brick
of Pentonville was laid, and while as yet there
were in the vicinity pleasant pasture-lands, hedgerows,
flower-gardens, and even corn-fields, it was
proposed to make what was subsequently called
the New-road the great boundary for restraining
the ruinous practice of building on the north
side of the town. An author in 1766 advises
that "proper bounds may be set to that fury
which possesses the fraternity of builders, by
imposing severe penalties. If," he remarks,
"they are permitted to proceed at their accustomed
rate, we may expect to find the hills of
Highgate and Hampstead a considerable part
of the suburbs of London." All this was
correctly predicted, but the evil involved in it has yet
to appear. The increase has indeed been rapid.

Not far from the site of the old White Conduit
House the artisan may now find the Agricultural
Hall, and may occasionally explore it not
only as a visitor but as a contributor to its
attractions. The earnest and sincere worker here
asserts the privilege of classing himself among
men of taste who are deservedly the companions
of artists. In a word, in this capacious building,
originally intended and still used for the show
of cattle, workmen themselves are now
accustomed to exhibit the results of their leisure,
the pet works of their choice, which, before or
after the day's work is done, serve to relieve
labour of its monotony by changing its form
and object. The recent "Workmen's Festival"
was rich in the variety of its materials. Merely
amateur products of leisure hours, yet were
they of high merit, nor few in number. Among
them was the work of a veritable shoemaker.