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  THE HAUNTS OF

  OLD COCKAIGNE

[Illustration: BANKSIDE IN 1648 (_FLAG FLYING OVER GLOBE THEATRE_).]




  THE HAUNTS OF
  OLD COCKAIGNE

  BY

  ALEX. M. THOMPSON
  (DANGLE)

  1898. LONDON. THE CLARION OFFICE
  72 FLEET STREET, E.C.. WALTER SCOTT
  LTD., PATERNOSTER SQUARE, E.C.




AN EPISTLE DEDICATORY


  MY DEAR WILL RANSTEAD,--

When, in our too infrequent talks, I have confessed my growing
fondness for life in London, your kindly countenance has assumed
an expression so piteous that my Conscience has turned upon what I
am pleased to call my Mind, to demand explanation of a feeling so
distressing to so excellent a friend.

My Mind, at first, was disposed to apologise. It pleaded its
notoriously easy-going character: it had never met man or woman that
it had not more or less admired, nor remained long anywhere without
coming to strike kinship with the people and to develop pride in
their activities.

In its infancy it had been as Badisch as the Grossherzog of Baden,
and had deemed lilac-scented Carlsruhe the grandest town in the
world.

In blue-and-white Lutetia, it had grown as Parisian as an English
dramatist.

When the fickle Fates moved it on to Manchester, it had learned in a
little while to ogle Gaythorn and Oldham Road as enchanted Titania
ogled her gentle joy, the loathly Bottom. It had looked with scorn
on the returned prodigals who had been to London--"to tahn," they
called it--and who came back to their more or less marble halls in
Salford with trousers turned up round the hems, shepherds' crooks
to support their elegantly languid totter, and words of withering
scorn for the streets of Peter and Oxford, which my Mind had learned
to regard as boulevards of dazzling light.

Mine had always been a pliant and affable mind. Perhaps if it lived
in Widnes it might prefer it to Heaven.

But the longer I remained in London the more convinced I became
that never again should I like Widnes, or Manchester, or Paris, or
Carlsruhe, as well as this tantalising, fascinating, baffling city
of misty light--this stately, monstrous, grey, grimy, magnificent
London.

Then I sought reason for my state, and the following papers--one or
two contributed to the _Liverpool Post_, one to the _Clarion_, and
the most part printed now for the first time--are the result of my
inquiries.

One day I found cause for liking London, another day the reverse.
As the reasons came to me I wrote them down, and with all their
inconsistencies upon their heads, you have them here collected.

I have addressed the papers to you, because:--

As you had inspired the book, it was only fair you should share the
blame.

By answering you publicly, I saved myself the trouble of separately
answering many other country friends who likewise looked upon my
love of London as a deplorable falling from grace.

Thirdly, by this means, I save postages, and may actually induce a
few adventurous moneyed persons to pay me for the work.

Lastly, and most seriously, I lay hold on this occasion to publish
the respect and gratitude I owe to you, and which I repay to the
best of my ability by this small token of my friendship.--Sincerely
yours,

  ALEX. M. THOMPSON.

_P.S._--You will naturally wonder after reading the book--should you
be spared so long--why I call it _Haunts of Old Cockaigne_.

I may say at once that you are fully entitled to wonder.

It is included in the price.




INDEX


                                        PAGE

  AN EPISTLE DEDICATORY                    7

  LONDON'S ENCHANTMENT                    15

  LONDON CHARLIE                          35

  LONDON GHOSTS                           57

  THE MERMAID TAVERN                      78

  WAS SHAKESPEARE A SC