"With all thy gettings, get understanding. Exalt her; and she
shall promote thee; she shall bring thee to honour, when thou
dost embrace her."--PROVERBS IV. 7, 8.
[Illustration: INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS, PLATE VIII.]
From industry become opulent, from integrity and punctuality
respectable, our young merchant is now Sheriff of London, and dining
with the different companies in Guildhall. A group on the left side
are admirably characteristic; their whole souls seem absorbed in the
pleasures of the table. A divine,[161] true to his cloth, swallows
his soup with the highest _goût_. Not less gratified is the gentleman
palating a glass of wine. The man in a black wig is a positive
representative of famine; and the portly and oily citizen, with a
napkin tucked in his button-hole,[162] has evidently burnt his mouth
by extreme eagerness.
The backs of those in the distance, behung with bags, major perukes,
pinners, etc., are most laughably ludicrous. Every person present is
so attentive to business, that one may fairly conclude "they live to
eat, rather than eat to live."
But though this must be admitted to be the case with this party
here exhibited, the following recent instance of city temperance
proves that there are now some exceptions:--
When the Lord Mayor, Sheriffs, Aldermen, Chamberlain, etc. of the
city of London were once seated round the table at a public and
splendid dinner at Guildhall, Mr. Chamberlain Wilkes lisped out, "Mr.
Alderman B--ll, shall I help you to a plate of turtle or a slice
of the haunch,--I am within reach of both, sir?" "Neither one nor
t'other, I thank you, sir," replied the Alderman; "I think I shall
dine on the beans and bacon which are at this end of the table." "Mr.
Alderman A----n," continued the Chamberlain, "which would you choose,
sir?" "Sir, I will not trouble you for either, for I believe I shall
follow the example of my Brother B--ll, and dine on beans and bacon,"
was the reply. On this second refusal the old Chamberlain rose from
his seat, and with every mark of astonishment in his countenance,
curled up the corners of his mouth, cast his eyes round the table,
and in a voice as loud and articulate as he was able, called
"Silence!" which being obtained, he thus addressed the prætorian
magistrate, who sat in the chair: "My Lord Mayor, the wicked have
accused us of intemperance, and branded us with the imputation of
gluttony. That they may be put to open shame, and their profane
tongues be from this day utterly silenced, I humbly move that your
lordship command the proper officer to record in our annals, that
'two Aldermen of the city of London prefer beans and bacon to either
turtle-soup or venison.'"
Notwithstanding all this, there are men who, looking on the dark
side, and perhaps rendered splenetic, and soured by not being invited
to these sumptuous entertainments, have affected to fear that their
frequent repetition would have a tendency to produce a famine, or at
least to check the increase, if not extirpate the species of those
birds, beasts, and fish with which the tables of the rich are now
so plentifully supplied.[163] But these half-reasoners do not take
into their calculation the number of gentlemen so laudably associated
for encouraging cattle being fed so fat that there is no lean
left; or that more ancient association, sanctioned and supported by
severe Acts of Parliament, for the preservation of the game. From
the exertions of these and similar societies, we may reasonably hope
there is no occasion to dread any such calamity taking place; though
the Guildhall tables, often groaning under such hecatombs as are
recorded in the following account, may make a man of weak nerves and
strong digestion shake his head, and shudder a little:--
"On the 29th October 1727, when George II. and Queen Caroline
honoured the city with their presence at Guildhall, there were
nineteen tables covered with 1075 dishes. The whole expense of this
entertainment to the city was £4889, 4s."
To return to the print! A self-sufficient and consequential beadle,
reading the direction of a letter to Francis Goodchild, Esq., Sheriff
of London, has all the insolence of office. The important and
overbearing air of this dignified personage is well contrasted by the
humble simplicity of the straight-haired messenger behind the bar.
The gallery is well furnished with musicians busily employed in their
vocation.
"Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast,
And therefore proper at a sheriff's feast."
Besides a portrait of William III. and a judge, the hall is
ornamented with a full length of that illustrious hero Sir William
Walworth; in commemoration of whose valour, the weapon with which he
slew Wat Tyler was introduced into the city arms.