devolved on, a situation, as I understood, always filled in a commercial
room by ~252~~the last gentleman traveller who makes it his residence,
we proceeded to business. The privilege of finding fault with the
dinner, which, by the by, was excellent, is always conceded to the
ancients of the fraternity of traders; these gentlemen who, having been
half a century upon the road, remember all the previous proprietors of
the hotel to the fifteenth or twentieth generation removed, make a point
of enumerating their gracious qualities upon such occasions, to keep the
living host and representative _up to the mark_, as they phrase it. For
instance--the old buck in the chair, who was a city tea broker, found
fault with the fish: "There vas nothing of that ere sort to be had good
but at Billingsgate, where all the best fish from all the vorld vas,
as he contended, to be bought cheaper as butcher's meat." The result of
which remark induced the young wags at the table to finish a very fine
brill, without leaving him a taste, while he was abusing it. "This soup
is not like friend Birch's," said Mr. Obadiah Pure, a gentleman in the
drug line; "it hath a watery and unchristianlike taste with it." "Ay,"
replied a youngster at the bottom of the table, with whom it appeared to
be in request, "I quake for fear while I am eating it, only I know there
can be no drugs in it, or you would not find fault with a customer."
"Thou art one of the newly imported, friend," replied Mr. Pure, "and art
yet like a young bear, with all thy troubles to come." "True," said the
wag, "thou may be right, friend; but I shall not be found a _bruin_
with thy materials for all that." This sally put down the drug merchant
for the rest of the dinner-time. "You had better take a little fish
or soup before they are cold," said the chairman, to a bluff-looking
beef-eater at his back, who was arranging his papers and samples. "Sir,
I never eat warm wittals, drink hot liquors, wear a great coat, or have
my bed warmed." "The natural heat of your ~253~~constitution, I suppose,
excuses you," said I, venturing upon a joke. "Sir, you had better heat
your natural meal, while it is hot, without attempting to heat other
people's tempers," was the reply; to which Bob retorted, by saying, "It
was quite clear the gentleman was not mealy-mouthed." "This beef smells
a little of Hounslow Heath," said a jeweller's gentleman, on my right.
"Why so, sir?" was inquired by one who knew him. "Because it has hung
rather too long to be sightly." "You should not have left out the chains
in that joke, Sam," said his friend; "they would have linked it well
together, and sealed the subject." "Who takes port?" inquired the
chairman. "I must sherry directly after dinner, gentlemen," said one.
"What," retorted the company, "boxing the wine bin! committing treason,
by making a sovereign go farther than he is required by law. Fine
him, Mr. Chairman." "Gentlemen, it is not in my power; he is a bottle
conjuror, I assure you, 'a good man and true;' he only retires to bleed
a patient, and will return instanter." "Happy to take a glass of wine
with you, sir." "What do you think of that port, sir?" "Excellent." "Ay,
I knew you would say so; the house of Barnaby Blackstrap, Brothers, and
Company, of Upper Thames Street, have always been famous for selling
wines of the choicest vintage. Do me the honour, sir, of putting a card
of ours in your pocket: I sent this wine into this house in Jennings's
time, for the grand dinner, when the first stone of the new rooms over
the way was laid, and John Kelly, the proprietor, took the chair. You
are lucky, sir, in meeting me here; they always pull out an odd bottle
from the family bin, marked A--1, when I visit them." "Yes, and some
_odd sort_ of wine at any other time," grumbled out a queer-looking
character at a side table opposite. "That's nothing but spleen, Mr.
Sable," said the knight of the ruby countenance: "you and I have met
occasionally at this house together now for three and twenty years; and
although I never ~254~~come a journey without taking an order from them,
I thank heaven, I never knew you to receive one yet: many a dead man
have we seen in this room, but none of them requiring a coffin plate
to tell their age, and very few of them that were like to receive the
benefit of resurrection." "I shall book you inside, Mr. Blackstrap,''
replied Sable, "for joking on my articles of trade, which is contrary to
the established usage of a commercial room." "Do any thing you like but
bury me," said the _bon vivant_." Gentlemen, as chairman, it is my duty
to put an end to all grave subjects. Will you be kind enough to dissect
that turkey?" "I don't see the bee's wing in this port, Mr.
Blackstrap, that you are bouncing about," said a London traveller to
a timber-merchant. "No, sir," said the humorist, "it is not to be seen
until you are a deal higher in spirits; the film of the wing is seldom
discernible in such mahogany-coloured wine as this." "Sir, I blush like
rose wood at your impertinence." "Ay, sir, and you'll soon be as red
as logwood, or as black as ebony, if you will but do justice to the
bottle," was the reply. "There is no being cross-grained with you," said
the timber-merchant. "Not unless you cut me," retorted Blackstrap, "and
you are not sap enough for that." "Gentlemen," continued the facetious
wine-merchant, "if we do not get a little fruit, I shall think we have
not met with our dessert; and although there may be some among us
whose principals are worth a plum, there are very few of their
representatives, I suspect, who will offer any objections to my
reasons." Thus pleasantly apostrophised, the fruit made its appearance,
and with it a fresh supply of the genuine Oporto, which our merry
companion, Blackstrap, called "his _old particular_." One of his
stories, relative to a joke played off upon the Bolton trotters, by
his friend Sable, the travelling undertaker, is too good to be lost. In
Lancashire the custom of hoaxing is called ~255~~_trotting_, and in
many instances, particularly at Bolton, is still continued, and has
frequently been played off upon strangers with a ruinous success. Sable
had, it would appear, taken up his quarters at a commercial inn, and,
as is usual with travellers, joined the tradesmen in the smoking room at
night to enjoy his pipe, and profit, perhaps, by introduction in the
way of business. The pursuit of the undertaker and dealer in coffin
furniture was no sooner made generally known, than it was unanimously
agreed to trot him, by giving him various orders for articles in his
line, which none of the parties had any serious intention of paying for
or receiving. With this view, one ordered a splendid coffin for himself,
and another one for his wife; a third gave instructions for an engraved
plate and gilt ornaments; and a fourth chose to order an elegant suite
of silver ornaments to decorate the last abode of frail mortality: in
this way the company were much amused with the apparent unsuspecting
manner of Sable, who carefully noted down all their orders, and pledged
himself to execute them faithfully. The Bolton people did not fail
to circulate this good joke, as they then thought it, among their
neighbours, and having given fictitious names, expected to have had
additional cause for exultation when the articles arrived; but how great
was their surprise and dismay, when in a short time every order
came, directed properly to the person who had given it! Coffins and
coffin-plates, silk shrouds and velvet palls, and all the expensive
paraphernalia of the charnel-house were to be seen carried about from
the waggon-office in Bolton, to be delivered at the residences of the
principal inhabitants. Many refused to receive these mementoes of their
terrestrial life, and others denied having ever ordered the same. Sable,
however, proved himself too _fast a trotter_ for the Bolton people; for
having, by the assistance of the waiter, obtained the true description
of his ~256~~customers on the night of the joke, and finding they were
most of them wealthy tradesmen, he very wisely determined to humour the
whim, and execute the orders given, and in due course of time insisted
upon payment for the same. Thus ended the story of the Bolton trotters,
which our merry companion concluded, by observing, that it put an end
to sporting, in that way, for some time; and by the chagrin it caused to
many of the trottees, distanced them in this life, and sent them off
the course in a galloping consumption.{1} "There's honour for you," said
Sable, "civilized a
1 _A Bolton definition_.--When the Bolton Canal was first
pro-posed, the Athenians (for that Bolton is the Athens of
Lancashire no one can doubt) could not well understand how
boats were to be raised above the level of the sea. A lock
to them was as incom-prehensible as Locke on the Human
Understanding. A celebrated member of a celebrated trotting
club was amongst the number of those who could not
comprehend the mystery. Unwilling to appear ignorant upon a
question which formed the common topic of conversation, he
applied to a scientific gentleman in the neighbourhood for
an accurate description of a lock. It happened that the man
of science had on one occasion been a _trottee_, and was
glad to have an opportunity of retaliation. "A lock," said
he, "is a quantity of sawdust congealed into boards, which,
being let down into the water in a perpendicular slope-
level, raises it to the declivity of the sea above!"--" Eh?"
said the Athenian, "what dun yo' say?" The gentleman
repeated his description, and the worthy Boltonian recorded
every word in the tablet of his memory. Sometime afterwards
he had the honour of dining with some worshipful brothers of
the quorum, men as profoundly ignorant of the law as any of
the unpaid magistracy need to be, but who, having seen
canals, knew well enough what locks were. Our Athenian took
an early opportunity of adverting to the proposed "cut," and
introduced his newly-acquired learning in the following
terms: "Ah! Measter Fletcher, it's a foine thing a lock;
yo' know'n I loike to look into them theere things; a lock
is a perpendicular slop level, which, being let into the
sea, is revealed into boards, that raises it to the
declivity of the sea above!"--As it is the province and
privilege of the ignorant to laugh at a greater degree of
ignorance than their own, it may be supposed that their
worships enjoyed a hearty laugh at the expense of their
Attic brother.
~257~~whole district of English barbarians by one action, and, what is
more, they have never ventured to trot with any one of our fraternity
since."
The conversation now took a turn relative to the affairs of trade; and
if any one had been desirous of knowing the exact degree of solvency in
which the whole population of the county of Gloucester was held by
these flying merchants and factors, they might easily have summed up the
estimate from the remarks of the company. They were, however, a jovial
party; and my friend Bob and myself had rarely found ourselves more
pleasantly circumstanced, either as regarded our social comforts, or the
continued variety of new character with which the successive speakers
presented us. As the evening approached our numbers gradually
diminished, some to pursue their journeys, and others to facilitate the
purposes of trade. The representative of the house of Blackstrap and
Co., his friend Sable, the timber merchant, our inviter the bookseller,
and the two interlopers, remained fixed as fate to the festive board,
until the chairman, and scarce any one of the company, could clearly
define, divide, and arrange the exact arithmetical proportions of the
dinner bill. After a short cessation of hostilities, during which our
commercial friends despatched their London letters, and Bob and the
English Spy, to escape the suspicion of not having any definable
pursuit, emigrated to the High Street; we returned to our quarters, and
found the whole party debating upon a proposition of the bon vivants, to
have another bottle, and make a night of it by going to the theatre
at half price; a question that was immediately carried, _nemine
contradicente_. Mr. Margin, our esteemed companion, who represented
the old established house of Sherwood and Co., was known to sing a
good stave, and what was still more attractive, was himself a child of
song--one of the inspired of the nine, who, at the Anacreontic Club,
held in Ivy Lane, would often amuse ~258~~the society with an original
chant; "whose fame," as Blackstrap expressed it, "had extended itself to
the four corners of the island, wherever the sporting works of Sherwood
and Co., or the travelled histories of the Messrs. Longmans, have found
readers and admirers." "Gentlemen," said Mr. Margin, "my songs are all
of a local nature; whims written to amuse a meeting of the trade for
a dinner at the Albion or the London, when the booksellers congregate
together to buy copyrights, or sell at a reduced price the refuse of
their stock. But, such as it is, you shall have it instanter."
ALL THE BOOKSELLERS;
A NEW SONG, BY A LONDON TRAVELLER.
Tune--Family Pride--Irish air.
First, Longmans are famous for travels,
Will Sherwood for sporting and fun,
Old Ridgway the science unravels
How politic matters are done.
The ponderous tomes of deep learning,
The heavy, profound, and the flat,
By Baldwin and Cradock's discerning,
Are cheaper by half to come at.
Baines deals out to methodist readers
Cant, piously strung into rhyme;
While Rivingtons, 'gainst the seceders,
With church and king Hatchard will chime.
John Murray's the lords' own anointed,
I mean not indeed to blaspheme,
But the peers have him solely appointed
To sell what their highnesses scheme.
~259~~
Colburn defies Day and Martin
To beat him with " Real Japan;"
If puffing will sell books, 'tis certain,
He'll rival the bookselling clan.
Catechisms for miss and for master,
For ladies who're fond oft, romance,
Sheriff Whittaker publishes faster
Than booksellers' porters can dance.
Operatives, mechanics, combiners,
Knight and Lacey will publish for you;
They'll tickle ye out of your shiners,
By teaching the power o' the screw.
An Architect looks out for Taylor,
A General Egerton seeks;
Tommy Tegg at the trade is a railer,
But yet for a slice of it sneaks.
Richardson furnishes India
With all books from Europe she buys;
Near St. Paul's, in Old Harris's window,
The juveniles look for a prize.
Cadell is Scotch Ebony's factor,
Collecting the news for Blackwood;
John Miller 's the man for an actor,
America 's done him some good.
The Newmans of fam'd Leadenhall
In very old novels abound;
While Kelly, respected by all,
As Sheriff of London is found.
Will Simpkin supplieth the trade
From his office in Stationers' Court;
And Stockdale too much cash has made
By publishing Harriette 's report.
~260~~THE ENGLISH SPY
Antiquarians seek Arch of Cornhill;
Joe Butterworth furnishes law;
And Major his pockets will fill
By giving to Walton _eclat_.
Where, with old Parson Ambrose, the legs
Once in Gothic Hall pigeons could fleece,
There, Hurst and Co. now hang on pegs
The fine arts of Rome and of Greece.
John Ebers with Opera dancers
Is too much engaged for to look
How the bookselling business answers,
And publishes only "Ude's Cook."
Hookham and Carpenter both are
As cautious as caution can be;
While Andrews, nor Chapple, a sloth are
In trade, both as lib'ral as free.
Billy Sams is a loyal believer,
And publishes prints by the score;
But his likeness, I will not deceive her,
Of Chester _is not con amore_.
If the world you are ganging to see,
Its manners and customs to note,
In the Strand, you must call upon Leigh,
Where you'll find a directory wrote.
Cincinnatus like, guiding the plough,
On Harding each farmer still looks;
Clerc Smith is the man for a bow,
And his shop is as famous for books.
_Facetiae_ collectors, give ear,
Who with Mack letter spirits would deal;
If rich in old lore you'd appear,
Pay a visit to Priestley and Weale.
~261~~
There's Ogle, and Westley, and Black,
With Mawman, and Kirby, and Cole,
And Souter, and Wilson--alack!
I cannot distinguish the whole.
For Robins, and Hunter, and Poole,
And Evans, and Scholey, and Co.
Would fill out my verse beyond rule,
And my Pegasus halts in the Bow.
The radicals all are done up;
Sedition is gone to the dogs;
And Benbow and Cobbett may sup
With their worthy relations the Hogs.
So here I will wind up my list
With Underwood, Callow, and Highley;
Who bring to the medicals grist,
By books on diseases wrote dryly.
Just one word at parting I crave--
If Italian, French, German, or Dutch,
To bother your noddle you'd have,
Send to Berthoud, or Treuttel and Wurtz,
Or Zotti, or Dulau, or Bohn,
But they're all very good in their way;
Bossange, Bothe, Boosey and Son,
All expect _Monsieur Jean_ Bull to pay.
"A right merrie conceit it is," said Blackstrap, "and an excellent
memoranda of the eminent book-sellers of the present time." "Ay, sir,"
continued the veteran; "all our old ballads had the merit of being
useful, as well as amusing. There was 'Chevy Chase, and 'King John
and his Barons,' and 'Merry Sherwood,' all of them exquisite chants;
conveying information to the mind, and relating some grand historical
fact, while they charmed the ear. But ~262~~your modern kickshaws are
all about 'No, my love, no,' or 'Sigh no more, lady,' or some such silly
stuff that nobody cares to learn the words of, or can understand if they
did. I remember composing a ballad in this town myself, some few
years since, on a very strange adventure that happened to one of our
commercial brethren. He had bought an old hunter at Bristol to finish
his journey homeward with, on account of his former horse proving lame,
and just as he was entering Cheltenham by the turnpike-gate at the end
of the town, the whole of the Berkeley Hunt were turning out for a day's
run, and having found, shot across the road in full cry. Away went the
dogs, and away went the huntsmen, and plague of any other way would
the old hunter go: so, despite of the two hundred weight of perfumery
samples contained in his saddle-bags, away went Delcroix's deputy over
hedge and ditch, and straight forward for a steeple chase up the Cleigh
Hills; but in coming down rather briskly, the courage of the old horse
gave way, and down he came as groggy before as a Chelsea pensioner,
smashing all the appendages of trade, and spilling their contents upon
the ground, besides raising such an odoriferous effluvia on the field,
that every one present smelt the joke.--But you shall have the song."
THE KNIGHT OF THE SADDLE-BAGS;
A TRUE RELATION OF A TRAVELLER'S
ADVENTURE AT CHELTENHAM.
Tune--The Priest of Kajaga.
A knight of the saddle-bags, jolly and gay,
Rode near to blithe Cheltenham's town;
His coat was a drab, and his wig iron-gray,
And the hue of his nag was a brown.
~263~~
From Bristol, through Glo'ster, the merry man came;
And jogging along in a trot,
On the road happ'd to pass him, in pursuit of game,
Of Berkeley's huntsmen a lot.
Tally-ho! tally-ho! from each voice did resound;
Hark forward! now cheer'd the loud pack;
Sir knight found his horse spring along like a hound,'
For the devil could not hold him back.
Away went sly Reynard, away went sir knight,
With the saddle-bags beating the side
Of his horse, as he gallop'd among them in fright;
'Twas in vain that the hunt did deride.
Now up the Cleigh Hills, and adown the steep vale,
Crack, crack, went the girths of his saddle;
Sir knight was dismounted, O piteous tale!
In wasjies the fishes might paddle.
As prostrate he lay, an old hound that way bent
Gave tongue as he pass'd him along;
Which attracted the pack, who thus drawn by the scent,
Would have very soon ended his song.
For O! it was strange, but, though strange, it was true!
With perfumery samples, his bags
With essences, musks, and rich odours a few,
He had joined peradventure the nag's.
The field took the joke in good-humour and jest;
Sir knight was invited to dine
At the Plough the same day, where a fine haunch was dress'd,
And Naylor gave excellent wine.
From that time, 'raong the Chelts, has a knight of the bag
Been look'd on as a man of spirit;
For who but a knight could have hunted a nag
So laden, and come off with merit?
~264~~A visit from two of the commercial gentlemen of the Fleece gave
Blackstrap another opportunity of showing off, which he did not fail
to avail himself of in no very measured paces, by ridiculing the rival
house, and extending his remarks to the taste of the frequenters. To
which one of them replied, "Mine host of the fleece is no 'wolf in
sheep's clothing,' but a right careful good shepherd, who provides well
for his flock; and although the fleece hangs over his door, it is not
symbolical of any fleecing practices within." "Ay," said the other,
defending his hotel; "then, sir, we live like farmers at a harvest-home,
and sleep on beds of down beneath coverings of lamb's wool; and our
attendant nymphs of the chamber are as beautiful and lively as Arcadian
shepherdesses, and chaste as the goddess Diana." "Very good," retorted
Blackstrap; "but you know, gentlemen, that the beaux of this house must
be better off for the belle. We will allow you of the Fleece your rustic
enjoyments, seeing that you are country gentlemen, for your hotel is
certainly out of the town." A good-natured sally that quickly restored
harmony, and called forth another song from the muse of Blackstrap.
HEALTH, COMPETENCE, AND GOOD-HUMOUR.
Let titles and fame on ambition be shed,
Or history's page of great heroes relate;
The motto I'd choose to encircle my head
Is competence, health, and good-humour elate.
~265~~
The chaplet of virtue, by friendship entwined,
Sheds a lustre that rarely encircles the great;
While health and good-humour eternally find
A competence smiling on every state.
No luxuries seeking my board to encumber,
Contented receiving what Providence sends;
Age brightens with pleasure, while virtue may number
Competence, health, and good-humour as friends.
Then, neighbours, let's smile at old Chronos and care;
Still shielded with honour, we're fearless of fate:
With the sports of the field and the joys of the fair,
We've competence, health, and good-humour elate.
At the conclusion of this fresh specimen of our chairman's original
talent, it was proposed we should adjourn to the theatre, where certain
fashionable amateurs were amusing themselves at the expense of the
public. "Sir, I dislike these half and half vagabonds," said Blackstrap,
with one of his original gestures, "who play with an author before the
public, that they may the more easily play with an actress in private.
Yon coxcomb, for instance, who buffoons Brutus, with his brothers, are
indeed capital brutes by nature, but as deficient of the art histrionic
as any biped animals well can be. I remember a very clever artist
exhibiting a picture of the colonel and his mother's son, Augustus, with
a Captain Austin, in the exhibition of the Royal Academy for the year
1823, in the characters of Brutus, Marc Antony, and Julius Caesar, which
caused more fun than anything else in the collection, and produced more
puns among the cognoscenti than any previous work of art ever gave
rise to. The Romans were such rum ones--Brutus was a black down-looking
biped, with gray whiskers, and a growl upon his lip; Marc Antony,
without the remotest mark of the ancient hero about him; and
~266~~Cassius looked as if he had been cashiered by the commander of
some strolling company of itinerants for one, whose placid face could
neither move to woe, nor yield grimace; and yet they were all accounted
excellent likenesses, perfect originals, like Wombwell's bonassus, only
not quite so natural."
During this rhapsody of Blackstrap's, Transit on the one side, and the
English Spy on the other, endeavoured to restrain the torrent of his
satire by assuring him that the very persons he was alluding to were the
amateurs on the stage before him; and that certain critical faces behind
him were paid like the painter, of whom he had previously spoken,
to produce flattering portraits in print, and might possibly make a
satirical sketch of the bon vivant at the same time; an admonition that
had not the slightest effect in abridging his strictures upon amateur
actors. But as the English Spy intends to finish his sketches on
this subject, in a visit to the national theatres, he has until then
treasured up in his mind's stores the excellent and apposite, though
somewhat racy anecdotes, with which the comical commercial critic
illustrated his discourse.
The "liquor in, the wit's out," saith the ancient proverb; and,
although my "Spirit in the Clouds" had already hinted at the dangerous
consequences likely to result from a visit to the "Oakland Cottages,"
yet such was the flexibility of my friend Transit's ethics, his penchant
for a spree, and the volatile nature of his disposition, when the ripe
Falerian set the red current mantling in his veins, that not all my
philosophy, nor the sage monitions of Blackstrap, nor thought, nor
care, nor friendly intercession could withhold the artist from making
a pilgrimage to the altar of love. For be it known to the amorous beau,
these things are not permitted to pollute the sanctity of the sainted
Chelts; but in a snug convent, situate a full mile and a half from
Cheltenham, at the extremity ~267~~of a lane where four roads meet, and
under the Cleigh Hills, the lady abbess and the fair sisters of Cytherea
perform their midnight mysteries, secure from magisterial interference,
or the rude hand of any pious parochial poacher. Start not, gentle
reader; I shall not draw aside the curtain of delicacy, or expose "the
secrets of the prison-house:" it is enough for me to note these scenes
in half tints, and leave the broad effects of light and shadow to the
pencils of those who are amorously inclined and well-practised in giving
the finishing------touch.
But to return to my friend Transit. Bright Luna tipt with silvery hue
the surrounding clouds, and o'er the face of nature spread her mystic
light; the blue concave of high heaven was illumined by a countless host
of starry meteors, and the soft note of Philomel from the grove came
upon the soul-delighted ear like the sweet breathings of the Eolian
harp, or the celestial cadences of that heart-subduing cherub, Stephens;
when we set out on our romantic excursion. Reader, you may well start at
the introduction of the plural number; but say, what man could abandon
his friend to such a dangerous enterprise? or what moralists refuse his
services where there was such a probability of there being so much need
for them? But we are poor frail mortals; so a truce with apology, or
prithee accept one in the language of Moore:
"Dear creatures! we can't live without them,
They're all that is sweet and seducing to man;
Looking, sighing, about and about them,
We dote on them, die for them, do all we can."
To be brief: we found excellent accommodation, and spent the night
pleasantly, free from the sin of single blessedness. Many a choice
anecdote did the Paphian divinities furnish us with of the _gay
well-known_ among the Chelts; stories that will be told again and again
over the friendly bottle, but must not be recorded ~268~~here. Whether
Transit, waking early from his slumbers, was paying his devotions to
Venus or the water-bottle, I know not; but I was awoke by him about
eight in the morning, and heard the loud echo of the huntsman's hallo in
my ear, summoning me to rise and away, for the sons of Nimrod had beset
the house; information which I found, upon looking through the window,
was alarmingly true, but which did not appear either to surprise or
affright the fair occupants of the cottages, who observed, it was only
some of the "Berkeley Hunt going out," (See Plate), who, if they did
not find any where else, generally came looking after a brush in that
neighbourhood.
[Illustration: page268]