There was a grand walk, or mall, from Blackfriars Bridge to London Bridge, that was appropriately named _The City Road_, and lined on each side with booths of all descriptions. Several printing presses were erected, and at one of these an orange-coloured standard was hoisted, with “_Orange Boven_” printed in large characters. There were E O and Rouge et Noir tables, tee-totums and skittles; concerts of rough music, viz. salt-boxes and rolling-pins, gridirons and tongs, horns, and marrow-bones and cleavers. The carousing booths were filled with merry parties, some dancing to the sound of the fiddle, others sitting round blazing fires smoking and drinking. A printer's devil bawled out to the spectators, Now is your time, ladies and gentlemen,--now is your time to support the freedom of the press! * Can the press enjoy greater liberty? Here you find it working in the middle of the Thames!” And calling upon his operatical powers to second his eloquence, he, with “vocal voice most vociferous,” thus out-vociferated e'en sound itself,-- Siste Viator! if sooner or later You travel as far as from here to Jerusalem, Or live to the ages of Parr or Methusalem,-- On the word of old Wynkyn, And Caxton, I'm thinking, Tho' I don't wear a clothes-- Brush under my nose, Or sweep my room With my beard, like a broom, I prophecy truly as wise Erra Pater, You won't see again sick a wonder of Natur!” A “Swan of Thames,” too--an Irish swan!--whose abdominal regions looked as if they were stuffed with halfpenny doggrel, * The following is one among many specimens of Frost Fair verse in 1813-14:--“Printed on the River Thames. Behold the River Thames is frozen o'er, Which lately ships of mighty burden bore; Now different arts and pastimes here you see, But printing claims the superiority.” entertained a half-frozen audience, who gave him shake for shake with THE METRICAL, MUSICAL, COLD, AND COMICAL HUMOURS OF FROST FAIR. Open the door to me, my love, Prithee open the door,-- Lift the latch of your h'gant thatch, Your pleasant room, attic! or what a rheumatic And cold I shall catch! And then, Miss Clark, between you and your spark 'Twill be never a match! I've been singing and ringing, and rapping and tapping, And coughing and sneezing, and wheezing and freezing, While you have been napping, Miss Clark, by the Clock of St. Mark, Twenty minutes and more! Little Jack Frost the Thames has cross'd In a surtout of frieze, as smart as you please!-- There's a Bartlemy Fair and a thorough--