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LUDGATE HILL.

"A SCRAP about Ludgate-hill! Very scrappy it must be," say some of our readers. "What can be found worthy of notice there ?" A few lines will describe it. It is a steep, narrow, inconvenient causeway, with a double row of ugly houses, tumbled or rather jammed together, with an apparent determination to make a site fit for a dozen dwellings receive twenty or thirty; the pavement disagreeably narrow, the road perpetually crowded with every conceivable form of horse-drawn vehicle-advertising vans, carts, waggons, omnibuses, imperilling each other at every turn; private carriages, cabs, and occasionally a donkey fish or vegetable stage-boards on wheels-all sorely in danger of being pounded into one shapeless mass; here and there some luckless pedestrian, sorely pressed for time, and bobbing, at the risk of life or limb, between the triple row of lumbering locomotives, in order to effect a passage from side to side. Not unfrequently, especially about noon, a dead lock, in spite of Daniel Whittle Harvey's myrmidons; blinding clouds of dust rising in dry weather, and in wet or dirty weather (nine months of the year) mud and slush ancle deep, notwithstanding every stone was clean swept a few hours before. We own that all these allegations are true, but there is a sort of moral alchymy which is able to extract "good out of things evil," and we are counsel for the defendant.

For several years we resided within earshot of that monstrous bell at the hill top, and we readily own to a species of affection for the whole neighbourhood, from Stationers' Hall, hard by where the inscription may yet be read,

"When you have sought the City round,
Yet still this is the highest ground,"

down to Farringdon-street, with all the countless turnings and windings towards Playhouse-yard and the Old Bailey. I have traversed Ludgate-hill in every hour of the four-andtwenty—at midnight, in foggy or dark seasons, groping my way from door to door, and jostling late pedestrians, some "swollen with insolence and wine," others staggering under the load of age or poverty-half-naked children with no homes, miserable girls prematurely old, worn by vice and want. Few scenes are more terrible than those presented by the streets of a great town at midnight. At this hour, however, when the atmosphere is light, as in brilliant summer seasons, or when winter's frost rarefies the air, and scatters diamond-dust over the heavens-when the moon is at the full, or crescent-shaped, sailing amidst clouds of fleecy brightness, and wooing its sister stars, until they grow pale in the flood of ethereal beauty, the commonplaces of Ludgate vanish, and it assumes a wonderful air of mystery and grandeur.

As you begin to ascend the hill, suddenly the marvellous dome of St. Paul's breaks on the eye, high over all other buildings-a vast globe, towering majestically amidst the moon's mellow radiance, as if the fabled Atlas stood before us, supporting the earth on his broad shoulders. The opening towards the Cathedral is comparatively narrow, and does not permit a free view of the campanile towers; only one can be fully commanded at the same time. Yet the feeling that all is not grasped rather enhances the effect on the mind; for

our admiration is increased when we consider that a mere section of the building has thus riveted our attention. How impressive, too, are the black tower and spire of St. Martin! What a noble architectural combination it forms with the south campanile! We cannot do justice to these effects during the noontide roar; but when nocturnal shadows loom around-when the tall, ghostly-looking houses seem sunk into a dead sleep, and every doorway and puzzling recess may harbour phantoms of the old City-then, as we look up, man's works mingle with the glories of nature, and put on a sublimity heightened by their indefiniteness of outline. I have trod these flags also in the early grey morning. Once I had just left the churchyard, when the clock struck four. I fancied the tower rocked, and standing still for several minutes, listened to the echoes till they gradually melted away into silence-how deep! That bell, with its heavy sound, was a voice from the past-a prophecy of the future.

And now imagine yourself standing on Ludgate-hill at two o'clock a.m. Hark to the noises of wheels and footsteps, the shout of labour, the buzz of business, the tormenting eagerness of captive mammonites-toiling and triumphing, occupied with endless cares and anxieties, eating their own hearts, and perishing when they are just grasping their imaginary reward.

Nor must we omit some fragmental spoils from the chronicles anent this spot. Ludgate was demolished in 1760. It was one of four very ancient entrances to the City. It stood near the present church, and was named Ludgate after King Lud, by whom (so it is affirmed, on a traditional dream) it was erected, sixty-six years before the birth of our Lord. There is something like evidence to prove that it was rebuilt in 1215, when King John's barons destroyed the dwellings of the Jews, and used the materials to restore London walls. In confirmation of

This new

this, Stow states that when Queen Elizabeth rebuilt the gate, a slab, with a Hebrew inscription, signifying "Rabbi Moses, the son of Rabbi Isaac," was found. gate was adorned with effigies of Lud and his sons; and on the west side was a statue of the Queen. The gate was seriously damaged in the Great Fire, and when finally removed, King Lud was cast into the parish bone-house; but Her Majesty was set up at St. Dunstan's Church, where the statue still occupies an honourable niche.

Connected with this gate, there was a prison (in the days of Richard II.) set apart for freemen and persons in orders-a strange distinction. It soon became infamous for the cruelties exercised within its walls. Rowley's comedy, "A Woman never Vext; or, the Widow of Cornhill," refers to a story relative to the handsome Stephen Foster, Lord Mayor in 1454, begging at the gate of Ludgate (as prisoners within a very few years used to do at the Fleet Prison), and gaining the sympathy of a rich lady, who paid his debts, and ultimately married him. I remember the play being revived at Drury-lane Theatre, with Charles Young for the hero. The plot describes the widow as always fortunate, and even when she married a profligate spendthrift, winning him from his follies, and raising him to the chief magistracy of London. Here is a passage from the drama :—

Mrs. S. Foster.-Why remove the prisone from Ludgate ?
Stephen Foster.-To take the prison down and build it new,
With leads to walk on, chambers large and fair;
For when myself lay there, the noxious air

Choked up my spirits. None but captives, wife,
Can know what captives feel.

The prison was enlarged by Agnes Foster, Stephen's relict, in 1454. A chapel was built, a flat roof laid down for the prisoners' convenience, and water and lodging pro

vided for them without cost. This gift was recorded on a brass plate let into the wall:

"Devout souls that pass this way,

For Stephen Foster, late mayor, heartily pray;
And Dame Agnes, his spouse, to God consecrate,

That of pity this house made, for Londoners in Ludgate;
So that for lodging and water prisoners here nought pay,
As their keepers shall all answer at dreadful doomsday!"

Stow informs us that formerly poor citizens took refuge here from their creditors. When King Philip, 1554, came through London, these captives, thirty in number, who were broken merchants, owing £10,000, presented his Highness a Latin petition, that he would deliver them, as they were not villains, but unfortunate men. The petition was written by Roger Ascham. In 1659, Marmaduke Johnson, a prisoner here, drew up an account of the place. The exactions of the keeper were dreadful. Prisoners were forced to buy everything but water. They did not benefit a farthing by the gifts to the prison. The master took all, even the gate alms They had no food but broken victuals from the Lord Mayor's table, and small, unsaleable fish from Billingsgate. There exists also a quarto tract, "Prison Thoughts, by Thomas Browning, in Ludgate, where poore prisoners are confined and starved." It was printed in 1682, and probably suggested Dr. Dodd's "Prison Thoughts."

Mr. Collier possesses a printed handbill, 1664, called "The humble petition of the poor distressed prisoners in Ludgate, being a hundred and four score against the time of the birth of our blessed Lord." “We most humbly beseech you, even for God's cause, to relieve us with your charitable benevolence."

In the "Spectator," No. 82, we read, "Passing under Ludgate the other day, I heard a voice bawling for charity,