Little Britain | Page 3

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Prepared by: Anthony J. Adam email [email protected]

Little Britain
by Washington Irving

What I write is most true...I have a whole booke of cases lying by me
which if I should sette foorth, some grave auntients (within the hearing
of Bow bell) would be out of charity with me.
NASHE.

IN the centre of the great city of London lies a small neighborhood,
consisting of a cluster of narrow streets and courts, of very venerable
and debilitated houses, which goes by the name of LITTLE BRITAIN.

Christ Church School and St. Bartholomew's Hospital bound it on the
west; Smithfield and Long Lane on the north; Aldersgate Street, like an
arm of the sea, divides it from the eastern part of the city; whilst the
yawning gulf of Bull-and-Mouth Street separates it from Butcher Lane,
and the regions of Newgate. Over this little territory, thus bounded and
designated, the great dome of St. Paul's, swelling above the intervening
houses of Paternoster Row, Amen Corner, and Ave Maria Lane, looks
down with an air of motherly protection.
This quarter derives its appellation from having been, in ancient times,
the residence of the Dukes of Brittany. As London increased, however,
rank and fashion rolled off to the west, and trade, creeping on at their
heels, took possession of their deserted abodes. For some time Little
Britain became the great mart of learning, and was peopled by the busy
and prolific race of booksellers; these also gradually deserted it, and,
emigrating beyond the great strait of Newgate Street, settled down in
Paternoster Row and St. Paul's Churchyard, where they continue to
increase and multiply even at the present day.
But though thus falling into decline, Little Britain still bears traces of
its former splendor. There are several houses ready to tumble down, the
fronts of which are magnificently enriched with old oaken carvings of
hideous faces, unknown birds, beasts, and fishes; and fruits and flowers
which it would perplex a naturalist to classify. There are also, in
Aldersgate Street, certain remains of what were once spacious and
lordly family mansions, but which have in latter days been subdivided
into several tenements. Here may often be found the family of a petty
tradesman, with its trumpery furniture, burrowing among the relics of
antiquated finery, in great, rambling, time- stained apartments, with
fretted ceilings, gilded cornices, and enormous marble fireplaces. The
lanes and courts also contain many smaller houses, not on so grand a
scale, but, like your small ancient gentry, sturdily maintaining their
claims to equal antiquity. These have their gable ends to the street;
great bow- windows, with diamond panes set in lead, grotesque
carvings, and low arched door-ways.
In this most venerable and sheltered little nest have I passed several

quiet years of existence, comfortably lodged in the second floor of one
of the smallest but oldest edifices. My sitting-room is an old
wainscoted chamber, with small panels, and set off with a
miscellaneous array of furniture. I have a particular respect for three or
four high-backed claw-footed chairs, covered with tarnished brocade,
which bear the marks of having seen better days, and have doubtless
figured in some of the old palaces of Little Britain. They seem to me to
keep together, and to look down with sovereign contempt upon their
leathern-bottomed neighbors: as I have seen decayed gentry carry a
high head among the plebeian society with which they were reduced to
associate. The whole front of my sitting- room is taken up with a
bow-window, on the panes of which are recorded the names of
previous occupants for many generations, mingled with scraps of very
indifferent gentlemanlike poetry, written in characters which I can
scarcely decipher, and which extol the charms of many a beauty of
Little Britain who has long, long since bloomed, faded, and passed
away. As I am an idle personage, with no apparent