We were now driving along the city side of the Fleet Market, that side on which stands the prison. The market was crowded with buyers and sellers, the smell of the meat, the poultry, and the fruit, all together, being strong rather than delicate. "This," said Mrs. Gambit, "is not quite like the smell of the honeysuckle in the Kentish hedges." The houses on our right seemed to consist of nothing but taverns, where signs where hoisted up before the doors. At the corner, close to the ditch was the Rainbow, and four doors higher up was the Hand and Pen, next to that the Bull and Garter, then another Hand and Pen, then the Bishop Blaize, a third Hand and Pen, the Fighting Cocks, and the Naked Boy. One called the White Horse had a verse written up under the sign: "My White Horse shall beat the Bear, And make the Angel fly; Turn the Ship with its bottom up, And drink the Three Cups dry." But what was more remarkable was that of the repetition in every window of a singular announcement. Two hands were painted, or drawn rudely, clasping each other, and below them was written, printed, or scrawled, some such remarkable legend as the following: "Weddings Performed Here." "A Church of England Clergyman always on the Premises." "Weddings performed Cheap." "The Only Safe House." "The Old and True Register." "Marriage by Church Service and Ordained Clergymen." "Safety and Cheapness." "The Licensed Clergyman of the Fleet." "Weddings by a late Chaplain to a Nobleman--one familiar with the Quality." "No Imposition." "Not a Common Fleet Parson;" with other statements which puzzled me exceedingly.