spirit ran very high at one time in consequence of two rival "Burial
Societies" being set up in the place. One held its meeting at the Swan
and Horse Shoe, and was patronized by the cheesemonger; the other at the
Cock and Crown, under the auspices of the apothecary; it is needless to
say that the latter was the most flourishing. I have passed an evening
or two at each, and have acquired much valuable information, as to
the best mode of being buried, the comparative merits of churchyards,
together with divers hints on the subject of patent-iron coffins. I have
heard the question discussed in all its bearings as to the legality
of prohibiting the latter on account of their durability. The feuds
occasioned by these societies have happily died of late; but they were
for a long time prevailing themes of controversy, the people of Little
Britain being extremely solicitous of funereal honors and of lying
comfortably in their graves.

Besides these two funeral societies there is a third of quite a
different cast, which tends to throw the sunshine of good-humor over
the whole neighborhood. It meets once a week at a little old-fashioned
house, kept by a jolly publican of the name of Wagstaff, and bearing for
insignia a resplendent half-moon, with a most seductive bunch of grapes.
The old edifice is covered with inscriptions to catch the eye of the
thirsty wayfarer, such as "Truman, Hanbury, and Co.'s Entire," "Wine,
Rum, and Brandy Vaults," "Old Tom, Rum and Compounds, etc." This indeed
has been a temple of Bacchus and Momus from time immemorial. It ha
always been in the family of the Wagstaffs, so that its history is
tolerably preserved by the present landlord. It was much frequented by
the gallants and cavalieros of the reign of Elizabeth, and was looked
into now and then by the wits of Charles the Second's day. But what
Wagstaff principally prides himself upon is, that Henry the Eighth, in
one of his nocturnal rambles, broke the head of one of his ancestors