From the series: TABLE TALK.
January 14, 1871.
IT may not be generally known that the Thames Embankment, which is now, to a certain degree, an accomplished fact, was suggested a century ago. In a letter from Mr. Harris, M.P.—author of “ Hermes”— to his son, who was then Minister Plenipotentiary at Madrid, dated March 5, 1771, he writes:—“An embankment for the river Thames is proposed, from Durham-yard to the Savoy. The undertakers are Scots; and therefore the Common Council oppose them.”
An old-established firm in Spitalfields complain, in the Times, that the managers of “The Post Office London Directory” have removed their names from the list of Archil and Cudbear Makers, in consequence of their refusal, on principle, to pay a I charge for insertion. There are many curiI ous trades in London; but few, we suspect, save the initiated, have heard of archil and cudbear makers before. Archil and cudbear are the names applied to a certain dye obtained, by the action of a weak solution of ammonia, from various lichens or mosses gathered from the rocks on the coast of Africa, Zanzibar being the chief place of export. In a liquid form it is called archil; in a dry state or powder, cudbear. The only drawback to the use of this beautiful dye—which is very little different, after all, from the all-familiar litmus—is that its fine red, crimson, and purple hues will act only upon silk and wool, the universal cotton having hitherto refused to receive its beautifying properties.
“Man the lifeboat” is a brave old English song, and must have been sung many time$ during the Christmas family festivities that have just passed. And to many a one the stirring exhortation of the song must have brought to mind the dangers and sufferings, not only of the shipwrecked mariners far out at sea, but also of the gallant men who “man the lifeboat” in the dark and stormy nights that call them forth, into a howling wilderness of raging waters, to the relief of distressed and despairing sufferers. The National Lifeboat Institution, in its report of work done in the cause of humanity during the year just elapsed, shows a grand total of 774 lives saved in that period; and, since its formation, the institution has contributed to the rescue of 19,854 persons. The association appeals to # the generous and benevolent throughout the kingdom for continued support; and there is little fear, we think, but that their appeal will be liberally responded to.
Constituencies, like maidens, require much courting; and, like maidens also, when they are slighted turn sometimes very bitter. While Mr. Cardwell has been holding forth persuasively and successfully at Oxford on our military resources, the Premier has received a billet doux from the disaffected of Greenwich, “respectfully but firmly” suggesting to him that the sooner he can find some other constituency to represent in Parliament the better for the electors of Greenwich. Truly, Mr. Gladstone, from a Greenwichian point of view, you deserve to be jilted. Did not fair Greenwich snap you up triumphantly when your old seat—to say the least of it—was far from secure? And since then you have never been near your new love. You have considered the Irish Church Bill and the Landlord and Tenant Act of more importance than the local interests of your own constituents. It is really too bad of you, Mr. Gladstone. Verily, popularity is a fleeting glory—even for the greatest amongst us!
The following letter, addressed to me by the late Albert Smith—a “ fellow of infinite jest,” too soon forgotten—may have an interest for the readers of . I was occupying a cottage at Chertsey—his native place—for my honeymoon, when I received it and, at the same time, a set of kitchen cruets, made of pewter, as a wedding present. I have, of course, suppressed names and changed initials:—