Read Ebook: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature Science and Art fifth series no. 127 vol. III June 5 1886 by Various

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The fountain's low singing is heard on the wind, Like a melody bringing sweet fancies to mind: Some to grieve, some to gladden; around them they cast The hopes of the morrow, the dreams of the past. Away in the distance is heard the vast sound From the streets of the city that compass it round, Like the echo of fountain's or ocean's deep call; Yet the fountain's low singing is heard over all.

At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, Hangs a thrush that sings loud--it has sung for three years; Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the bird.

'Tis a note of enchantment. What ails her? She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees; Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside.

To the account of the trees and gardens mentioned above may be added a short statement of many others existing in out-of-the-way nooks and corners within the boundary of the city of London. Many of the small open patches where these trees are found were once undoubtedly burial-grounds of churches, or the sites of churches long since taken down. After the beautiful grounds of the Temple, the only other large open spaces within the boundaries of the City are Finsbury Square, Finsbury Circus, Charterhouse Square, and Trinity Square. All these are well laid out with grass, shrubs, trees, and flowers, and are used as promenading places by the inhabitants. It should be here mentioned that the trees referred to in this notice are all young, or at most middle-aged, and that no such thing as a really 'old' tree exists anywhere within the City of London.

We will now continue our ramble, or tour of inspection; and starting from Temple Bar, we proceed eastward down Fleet Street. Here the first trees we notice are two or three small and sickly specimens growing in the churchyard of St Bride, Fleet Street; they are not very ornamental, or much to look at. Passing on up Ludgate Hill, St Paul's Cathedral is reached. The grounds round the church are prettily laid out, and contain many trees, but all young, small, and weedy. Just to the east of St Paul's, in Watling Street, is a little inclosure very neatly planted with shrubs only, and having in its midst a large square altar-tomb of some departed City worthy. This spot was once a burying-ground, or the site of a church long since removed. Proceeding eastward, and turning down Queen Street, just out of Cannon Street, two tall and rather fine plane-trees are observed growing in the front of a grand old mansion, once, of course, the residence of a City magnate, but now cut up and let out as offices. These planes are worthy of remark as affording one of the few instances now occurring of trees found in private grounds inside the City.

We now pass up Queen Street into Cheapside, and thence into Aldersgate Street. Here we find the ground, once the churchyard of St Botolph, Aldersgate, has been beautifully laid out as a garden, planted with trees, flowers, and shrubs, and furnished with numerous seats, and affording a delightful promenade or resting-place in summer-time, and is much enjoyed by the immediate neighbourhood. Another plot of ground, lying on the west, but belonging to Christ Church, Newgate Street, has also been planted and laid out; but, because it belongs to another parish, it is separated from the St Botolph's garden by a low wall and railing, although the two grounds actually adjoin.

Continuing our walk northward, we arrive at Charterhouse, once celebrated for its high-class school, which has now been removed into the country. Adjoining, is Charterhouse Square, laid out with trees, shrubs, and grass like an ordinary London square, and surrounded by private dwellings. Returning south, and then going east, we reach St Alban's, Wood Street, which has a little ground round it, decorated with four trees and shrubs. Close by is St Mary-the-Virgin, Aldermanbury, with four trees round it. Just beyond is a small churchyard that once belonged to St Mary, Staining, containing two trees and shrubs; and a little farther is St Olave, Jewry, with six trees and shrubs, all weedy and sickly.

Passing on into Cannon Street, we turn down Lawrence Poultney Hill, where we discover a disused burial-ground, with a public passage-way passing through the midst of it. The plot is planted with eighteen sickly-looking, weedy trees, large and small, as well as some stunted shrubs. Passing over King William Street, we reach the top of Lombard Street, where one little sickly-looking tree is seen in front of the church of St Mary Woolnoth. Continuing down Lombard Street, and turning to the right, we come upon the disused burial-ground of St Nicholas Acon, situated in Nicholas Lane. This little plot is very neatly laid out with shrubs, and planted with three small trees. Passing on into King William Street, we ultimately reach London Bridge, where, close by in Thames Street, we find the large church of St Magnus-the-Martyr, with its tall and peculiar tower and spire, near the Monument. It has no churchyard, but a small inclosed space round it contains a dozen unhealthy-looking young trees. A little beyond this, close to the church of St Mary-at-Hill, three trees are observed growing in what is apparently the private ground or garden in the rear of a dwelling-house. A few minutes farther east, we come to the fine church of St Dunstan-in-the-East, standing in the midst of a well-kept churchyard, and having ten goodly young trees, of fair height and girth, which always have a very agreeable appearance in the summer-time. Still farther on east, we come to St Olave, Hart Street, with its little churchyard, planted with ten small trees; and close by we see the church of Allhallows , Tower Street. This fine old church is one of the few which escaped the great fire of 1666. It stands in a roomy churchyard, decorated with twenty-four trees, and having somewhat the appearance of a village church and churchyard.

We now emerge into one of the most interesting spots in all London, interesting not only in an historical sense, but peculiarly so from the terrible tragedies of which it was so constantly the theatre--namely, Tower Hill. This vast space, extending from the Tower gates northward to the Trinity House, was once entirely open; but now a small portion of its northern extremity is inclosed and neatly planted with grass, shrubs, and trees. As the Tower itself is situated outside the City boundaries, we must not include its trees and plantations in this notice, which strictly applies to trees in the City only. We therefore turn our steps westward; and in a little court, leading from Mark Lane to Fenchurch Street, called Star Alley, we come on a curious relic of the past, a gray medieval church tower, square in shape, with its stair turret at one corner, which once belonged to the church of Allhallows , Mark Lane. The nave of the church has long since been removed, and the small plot of ground round the old tower is now prettily laid out with six young trees, many shrubs, yuccas, and other ornamental plants.

Threading our way to Bishopsgate Street, we find the churchyard of St Botolph, through which a public footway leads to a neighbouring street. The ground, right and left, is tastefully laid out as a garden with pretty shrubs and trees, the effect being pleasing and agreeable, especially in summer. Nearly opposite is the ancient church of St Ethelburga, hidden behind the houses, with a small confined space at the back, in which are fine trees. Two or three more trees are found in a small inclosure in the vicinity at the back of this church. Close by is also the curious and interesting church of St Helen, Bishopsgate, and in the ground round it are four ill-looking, scraggy trees.

Returning southward, and reaching Cornhill, we find a little burial-ground in the rear of the fine church of St Michael, Cornhill, neatly laid out, and planted with three small trees. Close by is another large church, St Peter-upon-Cornhill, with its small confined churchyard, also neatly laid out, and planted with two small unhealthy-looking trees.

In conclusion, it may perhaps be worthy of remark that nearly all the places referred to are very small indeed, mere 'garden nooks;' some are churchyards surrounding churches; and for these reasons, apparently, none of them are open for the use of the public as places of recreation, except the cultivated churchyards of St Paul's Cathedral, and St Botolph, Aldersgate, close by; and the squares of Finsbury, Trinity, and Charterhouse, which are open to the immediate residents. St Botolph, Bishopsgate, has, as already stated, a footway through its prettily laid out churchyard.

It is at least remarkable how trees will suddenly appear in the City in the most out-of-the-way corners, where a green leaf would be about the last thing looked for; yet such is the case, as it has already been shown. There are two sickly, scraggy, young trees in a little court, up a narrow dirty lane, on the south side of St Paul's Cathedral, and at Stationers' Hall, where no one would dream of looking for vegetation; and two or three more in Barnard's Inn, Holborn, an inn devoted to law and lawyers. The peculiar character of 'City trees,' in nearly all cases, is that they are lanky, thin, and generally poor and unhealthy looking. It is rare, indeed, to find a tall, well-grown tree in any of these odd nooks and corners of the old City; perhaps the three finest in size and height are two plane-trees in front of a private house--now used as offices--in Queen Street, Cheapside; and the well-known single tree at the corner of Wood Street, Cheapside; but these instances are few and far between.

TREASURE TROVE.

Saint Quinians--that quaint little town which nestles in a valley close by the cruel, tumbling North Sea--looked forward, sixty years ago, to market-day as the one weekly break in the monotony of its existence, just as it does now. On Wednesdays, Saint Quinians became the centre to which active life converged from a score of villages and hamlets that regarded it as their metropolis. Wednesday was a point in the calendar upon which hinged all arrangements, and by which all events were calculated: people met upon Wednesday who never saw each other at any other time; and the news of Wednesday was the latest obtainable by many folk even at an epoch when forty coaches left London every evening. And if Saint Quinians' shopkeepers looked forward to Wednesday as their busy day--if the farmers looked forward to it as the link which bound them with the outer world--if the local youth saved up their money and their spirits, and let them both out on Wednesday, Bertha West, who lived with her father in a solitary house on the shore, some four miles from the town, looked forward to it as the day when she met her sweetheart, Harry Symonds, and spent the happiest hours of her week. Every Wednesday, Harry Symonds met her at the old South Gate--the only one remaining to tell of days when Saint Quinians was a port of some fame, and contributed its quota of ships and men to the national navy--and if she was prevented from coming, a very miserable week was in store for the young man, as John West, the father of Bertha, did not approve of the attachment, for the rather selfish reason, that if his daughter married, he was left alone in the world.

They had been sweethearting in this semi-clandestine manner for more than a year, and Harry Symonds was beginning to face mentally the awkward problem of what was to be done, should the old man persist in his opposition to the match. Not only this; but the young man was aware that the pretty girl whom he had learned to regard as his own inalienable private property was the object of very marked attention on the part of a certain Jasper Rodley, a youth who bore no very high character in the town, who had suddenly disappeared from it for three years, and had as unexpectedly returned; and although Harry trusted Bertha implicitly, he thought that a settlement of affairs would be an advisable step. And so when, one bright spring Wednesday morning, he met the girl coming with her market baskets on her arm along the path over the sandhills, she observed that his face was serious, and very naturally jumped at the conclusion that something was wrong.

'Why, Harry,' she exclaimed, 'there's a face for a lover to make who sees his sweetheart only once a week! There's nothing wrong, is there?'

'No, dear,' replied the young man, his face instantly brightening at the sound of her voice; 'there's nothing wrong. I've been thinking, that's all. And how are matters at home? How's the father?'

'Just as usual, Harry. Father's been depressed all the week; but I've got him to set to work on his flagstaff and battery with two real guns, so that he'll be all right.'

'I wonder what depresses him?' asked Harry. 'You've always described him as such a jovial old seadog.'

'And Mr Rodley--has he been annoying you with any of his attentions lately?' asked Harry.

'No. But I've seen him more than once about our house.'

'How did he find out where you lived? And what is he doing there?'

Bertha shook her head, and said: 'I don't know. I seem to think that there has been some acquaintance formed between father and him. He has never been inside the house, to my knowledge; but I fancy they meet now and then.'

The young man was silent for a few moments; then he continued: 'Well, never mind, Bertha. So long as we are true to each other, he cannot come between us. He's a queer fellow, and people say odd things about him. If you remember, he disappeared from Saint Quinians about the same time that my sad business with the bank took place.'

'Culpable negligence, my dear.'

'Yes, that was it; and a great shame it was!' cried the girl warmly. 'I wonder where the sovereigns went to?'

'Ah! where indeed?' asked Harry. 'They were never traced. But old Cusack, our cashier, who disappeared with them, took good care that they never should be traced. It's my belief that they went to sea, for three thousand pounds in sovereigns are not carried away so easily. However, after all, it did me no harm. Every one agreed that I was cruelly treated. I got a new berth immediately; and I'm much better off now than I should have been if I'd remained in the bank's service; so well off, in fact, Bertha, that I'm beginning to think it almost time for us to come to some decision as to what we shall do.'

'O Harry! there's plenty of time to think about that; and it's--it's so pleasant making love; and besides, I must break it gently to father, for he has no idea of parting with me yet.'

'But he surely can't expect that you should spend your life in that tumble-down old smuggler's cottage.--Hillo! there's Rodley, skulking about like a whipped cur. We'll go on.'

So the happy pair proceeded into the market, Harry holding the girl's baskets whilst she made her usual purchases, until the clock striking ten warned the young man that he was due at his office. He saw Bertha on her road home as far as the South Gate, and was hurrying across the market-place, when he caught sight of Jasper Rodley walking swiftly in the direction taken by Bertha. He stopped and watched. He saw Rodley catch the girl up just as she was disappearing beneath the archway, raise his hat, and continue by her side in spite of Bertha's evident annoyance. Harry Symonds retraced his steps so far that he could watch the progress of the pair out of the town. Suddenly, he observed Mr Rodley attempt to put his arms round Bertha's waist, whereupon the girl struggled, got free, and ran on.

This was too much for Harry. He ran out by the gate, and, coming up to Bertha and her tormentor, said to him: 'Mr Rodley, what do you mean by daring to force your attentions where they are not wanted?'

Jasper Rodley, a tall, well-built young fellow, of about Harry's age and size, started at first; but, shoving his hands into his pockets, surveyed his questioner for a moment with disdain, and asked: 'And what has that to do with you, Mr Dismissed Bank-clerk?'

Harry was itching to thrash him on the spot; but respect for Bertha's presence induced him to bottle up his wrath as best he could, and reply: 'You've no right to bother any girl if she doesn't want to have anything to do with you. And look here--your character hereabouts isn't so high that you can afford to call other people names, so I warn you to keep a civil tongue in your head, or something might be done that you wouldn't like, and something might be said that would make you look a little small.'

This last bit was added at random, but it seemed to have a strange effect upon Rodley, who turned pale for a moment, but recovered himself and retorted: 'Done and said, indeed! You couldn't do much that I'm afraid of, and at anyrate people couldn't say of me what they do of you. How about these sovereigns, eh?'

'Look here, Rodley. If I did my duty, I should give you a thrashing on the spot. Just be off.--Miss West is betrothed to me. That's enough. Do you hear?'

Jasper Rodley walked off, with a savage scowl on his face and an imprecation on his lips.

'O Harry dear!' cried the girl, who was trembling with fright, 'I'm so glad you didn't fight.'

'Fight with a cur like that!' exclaimed Harry. 'Men of his kidney don't fight.--What has he been saying to you, my darling?'

'Oh, such terrible things, Harry! He says that he will marry me whether I like it or not--that father is in his power, and has consented; and that I had better make up my mind to give you up before it is too late.'

'Why, what on earth can he mean? Your father in the power of a rascal like that--to consent to your marrying him! He's only trying to frighten you. And yet you say that you have seen him with your father. I think I shall tackle Mr Jasper at once and make him explain his dark speeches. There's one thing--I'm not going to have him continue his tormenting of you, whether your father is in his power or not.--And now, good-bye, dearest; you're safe now.'

So the girl pursued her homeward road; and Harry Symonds walked rapidly back into the town. Just within the gate, he came up with Jasper Rodley. 'Rodley,' he said, 'I'm going to the office to give an excuse for my absence. Kindly wait here until I come back, as I want to speak to you.'

'If you want to speak to me, you'd better do so at once; I've other things to attend to, and I'm not going to hang about here waiting for you.'

'Very well, then,' said Harry; 'let's go where people can't remark us. Here, we'll turn on to the ramparts.'

So they went along the pleasant walk which ran upon what had been, in old, stirring times, the walls of Saint Quinians, a broad path, bounded by shrubs and trees on one side, and by the deep stony ditch on the other.

'I want an explanation from you,' said Harry, 'about what you have just said to Miss West concerning her father being in your power and your determination to marry her.'

'Miss West, if you please.'

'I said "Bertha," and I repeat it,' continued Rodley. 'I'm as much in love with her as you are, and I intend to marry her. If I can't marry her, I ruin her father.'

'How can you ruin him?'

'It's very likely I should tell you--isn't it?' answered Rodley with a sneer.

'I intend to find out.'

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