did two more, that they might be in condition to swim for their lives. This extremely terrify'd the passengers, who, having a cloth or tilt over them, were in no condition to save their lives, so that there was a dreadful cry among them, and some of the men were making way to come at the steersman to make him by force let fly the sail and stand back for the shore; but before they could get to him the waves broke in upon the boat and carried them all to the bottom, none escaping but the three watermen that were prepar'd to swim.

"It was but poor satisfaction for the loss of so many lives, to say the steersman was drown'd with them, who ought, indeed, to have died at the gallows, or on the wheel, for he was certainly the murtherer of all the rest.

"I have many times pass'd between London and Gravesend with these fellows in their smaller boats, when I have seen them, in spite of the shrieks and cries of the women and the persuasions of the men passengers, and, indeed, as if they were the more bold by how much the passengers were the more afraid; I say, I have seen them run needless hazards, and go, as it were, within an inch of death, when they have been under no necessity of it, and, if not in contempt of the passengers, it has been in meer laziness to avoid their rowing; and I have been sometimes oblig'd, especially when there has been more men in the boat of the same mind, so that we have been strong enough for them, to threaten to cut their throats to make them hand their sails and keep under shore, not to fright as well as hazard the passengers when there was no need of it.

"One time, being in one of these boats all alone, coming from London to Gravesend, the wind freshen'd and it begun to blow very hard after I was come about three or four mile of the way; and as I said above, that I always thought those fellows were the more venturous when their passengers were the most fearful, I resolved I would let this fellow alone to himself; so I lay down in the boat as if I was asleep, as is usual.

"Just when I lay down, I called to the waterman, 'It blows hard, waterman,' said I; 'can you swim?' 'No, Sir,' says he. 'Nor can't your man swim neither?' said I. 'No, Sir,' says the servant. 'Well then,' says I, 'take care of yourselves, I shall shift as well as you, I suppose:' and so down I lay. However, I was not much disposed to sleep; I kept the tilt which they cover their passengers with open in one place, so that I could see how things went.

"The wind was fair, but over-blow'd so much, that in those reaches of the river which turn'd crossway, and where the wind by consequence was thwart the stream, the water went very high, and we took so much into the boat, that I began to feel the straw which lay under me at the bottom was wet, so I call'd to the waterman, and jesting told him, they must go all hands to the pump; he answered, he hoped I should not be wet; 'But it's bad weather, master,' says he, 'we can't help it.' 'No, no,' says I, ''tis pretty well yet, go on.'

"By and by I heard him say to himself, 'It blows very hard,' and every now and then he repeated it, and sometimes thus: ''Twill be a dirty night, 'twill be a terrible night,' and the like; still I lay still and said nothing.

"After some time, and his bringing out several such speeches as above, I rous'd as if I had but just wak'd; 'Well, waterman,' says I, 'how d'ye go on?' 'Very indifferently,' says he; 'it blows very hard.' 'Ay, so it does,' says I; 'where are we?' 'A little above Erith,' says he; so down I lay again, and said no more for that time.

"By and by he was at it again, 'It blows a frett of wind,' and 'It blows very hard,' and the like; but still I said nothing. At last we ship'd a dash of water over the boat's head, and the spry of it wetted me a little, and I started up again as if I had been asleep; 'Waterman,' says I, 'what are you doing? what, did you ship a sea?' 'Ay,' says the waterman, 'and a great one too; why it blows a frett of wind.' 'Well, well,' says I, 'come, have a good heart; where are we now?' 'Almost in Gallions,' says he, 'that's a reach below Woolwich.'

"Well, when we got into the Gallions reach, there the water was very rough, and I heard him say to his man, 'Jack, we'll keep the weather-shore aboard, for it grows dark and it blows a storm.' Ay, thought I, had I desir'd you to stand in under shore, you would have kept off in meer bravado; but I said nothing. By and by his mast broke, and gave a great crack, and the fellow cry'd out, 'Lord have mercy upon us!' I started up again, but still spoke cheerfully; 'What's the matter now?' says I. 'L—d, Sir,' say's he, 'how can you sleep? why my mast is come by the board.' 'Well, well,' says I, 'then you must take a goose-wing.' 'A goose-wing! why,' says he, 'I can't carry a knot of sail, it blows a storm.' 'Well,' says I, 'if you can't carry any sail, you must drive up under shore then, you have the tide under foot:' and with that I lay down again. The man did as I said. A piece of his mast being yet standing, he made what they call a goose-wing sail, that is, a little piece of the sail out, just to keep the boat steddy, and with this we got up as high as Blackwall; the night being then come on and very dark, and the storm increasing, I suffer'd myself to be persuaded to put in there, though five or six mile short of London; whereas, indeed, I was resolv'd to venture no farther if the waterman would have done it.

"When I was on shore, the man said to me, 'Master, you have been us'd to the sea, I don't doubt; why you can sleep in a storm without any concern, as if you did not value your life; I never carry'd one in my life that did so; why, 'twas a wonder we had not founder'd.' 'Why,' says I, 'friend, for that you know I left it all to you; I did not doubt but you would take care of yourself;' but after that I told him my other reason for it, the fellow smil'd, but own'd the thing was true, and that he was the more cautious a great deal, for that I took no thought about it; and I am still of opinion, that the less frighted and timorous their passengers are, the more cautious and careful the watermen are, and the least apt to run into danger; whereas, if their passengers appear frighted, then the watermen grow sawcy and audacious, show themselves vent'rous, and contemn the dangers which they are really exposed to."—p. 130.

We are not bound to suppose that this is plain relation of matter of fact, any more than the History of Robinson Crusoe; but it is a graphic sketch of life and manners worth the notice of those who study such things. It forms at least a little contribution to the history of travelling in England. A passenger who had just landed from a Gravesend boat, to pursue his journey by land, might well be thankful to "be received in a coach" like that which had been started at York near half a century before.

Alpha.

NOTES ON THE SECOND EDITION OF MR. CUNNINGHAM'S HANDBOOK OF LONDON.

Mr. Cunningham's work on London is a book of such general interest, that the additions and corrections, which I shall continue from time to time to offer to your readers, will not, I think, be deemed impertinent or trifling. Let it not be imagined, for one single instant, that I wish to depreciate Mr. Cunningham's labours. On the contrary, his book is one of the most delightful publications relative to our great city which we possess. And let me candidly say, if I were to select only half-a-dozen volumes for my own reading, Cunningham's Handbook of London would most assuredly be one of that number.

The quaint and learned old Fuller, in his address to the Worthies of England, says:

"The bare skeleton of time, place, and person, must be fleshed with some pleasant passages; and to this intent I have purposely interlaced (not as meat but as condiment) many stories, so that the reader,