A Mohammedan Chief
Mohammedan Sword and Shield
Knight of the Order of St. Iago
The Cid
Count Alvaro Nuñez de Lara
Queen Berengaria, Spain
A Spanish King of the Fifteenth Century
Pedro the Cruel
A Royal Attendant, Spain
Blanche of Castile
Spanish Nobleman, Fifteenth Century
Henry of Castile
Don Juan II
Henry IV
Queen Isabella
A Spanish Noblewoman of the Fifteenth Century
A Spanish Nobleman of the Fifteenth Century
A Spanish Merchant, Fifteenth Century
A Man of Granada
Spanish Cavalier of the Fifteenth Century
Isabella
Armour of Isabella
Isabella’s Crown
A Spanish Gentleman, early Sixteenth Century
A Spanish Cavalier of the Sixteenth Century
A Spanish Gentlewoman of the Sixteenth Century
A Spanish Penitent of the Sixteenth Century
A Spanish Captain of the Sixteenth Century
A Spanish Captain, Time of Philip II
A Spanish Gentleman, time of Philip II
A Spaniard of the Seventeenth Century
Costume of a Young Spanish Woman, early Seventeenth Century
A Spanish Captain
Spanish Noblewoman
Charles IV
Divider - The time of moslem domination
The Alhambra
A Spanish Flagellant
Gallo-Roman Sword and Horn
Gallo-Roman Weapons
The Romans, either alarmed by the progress of Hannibal, or becoming aware of the value of such allies as the Spaniards, now sent larger armies to their assistance, headed by their ablest generals.
A Gallo-Roman
A Gallo-Roman Woman
'Britain's Sure Shield'
House in Stoke Newington in which Edgar Allan Poe Lived
Stoke Newington is connected with the name of Edgar Allan Poe. It was here that he was at school, where he was brought over by the Allans as a child. The house still stands; it is at the corner of Edward’s Lane, which runs out of Church Street. Let us hope that the eccentricities of this wayward poet were not due to the influences of Nonconformist Newington.
The Shooting-Gallery
On Margate Sands
The August bank-holiday is a repetition of Whit-Monday, without the freshness of that early summer day. By the end 304of July the foliage of the trees has become dark and heavy; the best of the flowers are over in field as well as garden; the sadness of autumn is beginning. All through the summer, especially on Saturdays and Sundays, the excursion trains are running in all directions, but especially to the seaside; the excursion steamers run to Southend, Walton, Margate, and Ramsgate. For those who stay at home there are the East-End parks, Victoria Park, West Ham Park, Finsbury Park, Clissold Park, Wanstead Park. They are thronged with people strolling or sitting quietly along the walks. All these parks are alike in their main features; they are laid out in walks and avenues planted with trees; they contain broad tracts of green turf; there is an inclosure for cricket; sometimes there is a gymnasium, and there is an ornamental water, generally very pretty, with rustic bridges, swans, and boats let out for hire. Where there is no park, as at Wapping and Poplar by the riverside, there are recreation grounds. In all of them a band of music plays on stated evenings.
Toynbee Hall and St. Jude’s Church
The New Whitechapel Art Gallery
(The building to the right is a free library.) Some of the people, but not many, go off westward and wander about the halls of the British Museum. I do not know why they go there, because ancient Egypt is to them no more than modern Mexico, and the Etruscan vases are no more interesting than the “Souvenir of Margate,” which costs a penny. But they do go; they roam from room to room with listless indifference, seeing nothing. In the same spirit of curiosity, baffled yet satisfied, they go to the South Kensington Museum and gaze upon its treasures of art; or they go to the National Portrait Gallery, finding in Queen Anne Boleyn a striking likeness to their own Maria, but otherwise not profiting in any discoverable manner by the contents of the gallery. And some of them go to the National Gallery, where there are pictures which tell stories.
The East London Mission
The New Model Dwellings
Dr. Barnardo’s Home, Stepney Causeway
Those who have read Defoe’s “Colonel Jack” will remember the wonderful picture which he presents of the London street boy. That boy has never ceased to live in and about the streets. Sometimes he sleeps in the single room rented by his father, but the livelong day he spends in the streets; he picks up, literally, his food; he picks it up from the coster’s barrow, from the baker’s counter, from the fishmonger’s stall, when nobody is looking. For such boys as these there are Barnardo’s Homes, where waifs and strays to any number are admitted, brought up, trained to a trade, and then sent out to the colonies. Five thousand children are in these homes. The history is very simple. Dr. Barnardo, a young Irish medical student, came to London with the intention of giving up his own profession and becoming a preacher. He began by preaching in the streets; he picked up a child, wandering, homeless and destitute, and took it home to his lodgings; he found another and another, and took them home too. So it began; the children became too many for his own resources; they still kept dropping in; he took a house for them, and let it be known that he wanted support. The rest was easy. He has always received as much support as he wanted, and he has already trained and sent out to the colonies nearly ten thousand children.
Mile End Almshouses
Homes and schools for the boys and girls, hospitals for the adult, there remain the aged. Dotted about all over London there are about a hundred and fifty almshouses; of these about half are situated in and about East London. Not that the people of East London have been more philanthropic in their endowments than those of the west, but, before there was any city of East London, almshouses were planted here on account of the salubrity and freshness of the air and the cheapness of the ground. Some of these have been moved farther afield, their original sites being built over. The People’s Palace, for instance, is built upon the site of the Bancroft almshouses, founded in 1728 for the maintenance and education of one hundred poor. Their original house has gone, but the charity is still maintained.
The Bridge of Hope
“The Bridge of Hope,” a Well-known East End Night Refuge.
Brother Brushes
First R.A. (who hates to be interrupted in his hobby but is doing his best to be polite).—“Done any work to-day?” Second R.A.—“No, confound it. That stupid ass Brown came to the studio and talked all the afternoon,—couldn’t do a stroke of work. What do you do when some idiot comes and interrupts your work?” First R.A.—“Oh, I go on weeding.”
Brother Brushes
“Do you want a Muddle. Sir.”
Costers and Cockneys
“Ow I s’y, look at ’er frills. Got ’erself hup like a bloomin’ ’am bone!”
Costers and Cockneys
Fat Party (after a war of words).—“If you come down our court to-morrer and bring a bit o’ fat with yer, I’ll bloomin’ well eat yer.”
Costers and Cockneys
“What price this for Margit.”
Costers and Cockneys
One Easter Monday. ’Arriet (watching the funeral of ’Liza).—“Nice sort of a Bank ’Oliday for ’er, poor dear.”
Costers and Cockneys
“Wot’s th’ row up the Court, Bill?” “Bob Smith was kissing my missus, and ’is old woman caught ’im.