the arms of the society. The coat I cannot rightly blazon, but I
remember the supporters were on one side, a woman with a whip in
her hand, besides that of her tongue, with a menacing look, and
underneath the motto, _Ut volo, sic jubeo_; on the other side, a man
in a woeful plight, and underneath him, _Patientia patimur_." In this
order they marched, attended by multitudes of people. This club, as
the tract informs us, used to meet in Chequer Yard, in Whitechapel,
their president being arrayed in a crimson satin gown and a furred
cap, surmounted by a pair of antlers; and on a cushion lay a cornuted
sceptre and crown; the brethren drank out of horn cups, and were sworn
on admission, upon a blank horn-book. They met twice a-week, "to solace
themselves with harmless merriment and promote good fellowship among
their neighbours."
Busby's Folly was afterwards called "Penny's Folly." Here Zucker, a
high German, who had performed before their Majesties and the Royal
Family, exhibited his Learned Little Horse from Cowland, who was
to be seen looking out of the windows up two pair of stairs every
evening before the performance began. Curious deceptions, "Comus's
philosophical performances," and the musical glasses, were also
exhibited here.
Old Islington Taverns.
Less than half a century ago, the Old Red Lion Tavern, in St. John
Street Road, the existence of which dates as far back as 1415, stood
almost alone: it is shown in the centre distance of Hogarth's picture
of _Evening_. Several eminent persons frequented this house: among
others, Thomson, the author of _The Seasons_, Dr. Johnson, and Oliver
Goldsmith. In a room here Thomas Paine wrote his infamous book, _The
Rights of Man_, which Burke and Bishop Watson demolished. The parlour
is hung with choice impressions of Hogarth's plates. The house has been
almost entirely rebuilt.
Opposite the Red Lion, and surrounded by pens for holding cattle on
their way to Smithfield, was an old building, called "Goose Farm:"
it was let in suites of rooms; here lived Cawse, the painter; and in
another suite, the mother and sister of Charles and Thomas Dibdin: the
mother, a short and squab figure, came on among villagers and mobs
at Sadler's Wells Theatre; but, failing to get engaged, she died in
Clerkenwell Poorhouse. Vincent de Cleve, nicknamed Polly de Cleve,
for his prying qualities, who was treasurer of Sadler's Wells for
many years, occupied the second-floor rooms above the Dibdins. "Goose
Yard," on the west of the road, serves to determine the site of the old
farmhouse.
The public-house facing the iron gates leading to Sadler's Wells
Theatre, with the sign of "The Clown," in honour of Grimaldi, who
frequented the house, was, in his day, known as the King of Prussia,
prior to which its sign had been that of the Queen of Hungary. It is
to this tavern, or rather to an old one, upon the same site, that
Goldsmith alludes in his _Essay on the Versitility of Popular Favour_.
"An alehouse-keeper," says he, "near Islington, who had long lived at
the sign of the French King, upon the commencement of the late war
with France, pulled down his own sign, and put up that of the Queen
of Hungary. Under the influence of her red race and golden sceptre,
he continued to sell ale till she was no longer the favourite of his
customers; he changed her, therefore, some time ago for the King of
Prussia, which may probably change in turn for the man that shall be
set up for vulgar admiration." The oldest sign by which this house has
been distinguished was that of the Turk's Head.
At the Golden Ball, near Sadler's Wells, were sold by auction, in 1732,
"The valuable curiosities, living creatures, &c., collected by the
ingenious Mons. Boyle, of Islington;" including "a most strange living
creature bearing a near resemblance of the human shape; he can utter
some few sentences and give pertinant answers to many questions. There
is likewise an Oriental oystershell of a prodigious weight and size,
it measures from one extreme part to the other above three feet two
inches over. The other curiosity is called the Philosopher's Stone,
and is about the size of a pullet's egg, the colour of it is blue,
and more beautiful than that of the ultramarine, which together with
being finely polished is a most delightful entertainment to the eye.
This unparalleled curiosity was clandestinely stolen out of the late
Great Mogul's closet; this irreparable loss had so great an effect upon
him that in a few months after he pined himself to death: there is a
peculiar virtue in this precious stone, that principally relates to the
fair sex, and will effectually signify, in the variation of its colour,
by touching it, whether any of them have lost their virginity."
Of the Rising Sun, in the Islington Road, in _Mist's Journal_, February
9th, 1726, we read that for the ensuing Shrove Tuesday "will be a fine
hog, barbyqu'd--_i.e._ roasted whole, with spice, and basted with
Madeira wine, at the house where the ox was roasted whole at Christmas
last."
In the Islington Road, too, near to Sadler's Wells, was Stokes's
Amphitheatre, a low place, though resorted to by the nobility and
gentry. It was devoted to bull and bear-baiting, dog-fighting, boxing,
and sword-fighting; and in these terrible encounters, with naked
swords, not blunted, women engaged each other to "a trial of skill;"
they fought _à la mode_, in close fighting jackets, short petticoats,
Holland drawers, white thread stockings and pumps; the stakes were
from 10_l._ to 20_l._ Then we read of a day's diversion--a mad bull,
dressed up with fireworks, to be baited; cudgel-playing for a silver
cup, wrestling for a pair of leather breeches, &c.; a noble, large, and
savage, incomparable Russian bear, baited to death by dogs; a bull,
illuminated with fireworks turned loose; eating one hundred farthing
pies, and drinking half a gallon of October beer, in less than eight
minutes, &c.[45]
[45] Selected and abridged from Pinks's _History of Clerkenwell_, 1865.
The Oyster and Parched-Pea Club.
The ancient town of "Proud Preston," in Lancashire, from the year 1771
to 1841, a period of seventy years, boasted its "Oyster and Parched-Pea
Club." It was at first limited to a dozen of the leading inhabitants,
all of the same political party, and who now and then drank a Jacobite
toast with a bumper. Its President was styled the Speaker. Among its
staff of officers was one named _Oystericus_, whose duty it was to
order and look after the oysters, which then came "by fleet" from
London. There were also a Secretary, an Auditor, a Deputy Auditor, and
a Poet Laureate or Rhymesmith, as he was generally termed; also the
Cellarius, who had to provide port of the first quality; the Chaplain;
the Surgeon-General, the Master of the Rolls (to look to the provision
of bread-and-butter); the _Swig_-Master, whose title expresses his
duty; Clerk of the Peas; a Minstrel, a Master of the Jewels, a
Physician-in-Ordinary, &c. Among the Rules and Articles of the Club,
were, "That _a barrel of oysters_ be provided every Monday night during
the winter season, at the equal expense of the members; to be opened
exactly at half-past seven o'clock." "Every member on having a son
born, shall pay a gallon--for a daughter half-a-gallon--of port, to his
brethren of the club, within a month of the birth of such child, at any
public-house he shall choose." Amongst the archives of the club is the
following curious entry, which is _not_ in a lady's hand:--
"The ladies of the Toughey [? Toffy] Club were rather disappointed at
not receiving, by the hands of the respectable messenger, dispatched by
the still more respectable members of the Oyster Club, a few oysters.
They are just sitting down, after the fatigues of the evening, and take
the liberty of reminding the worthy members of the Oyster Club, that
oysters were _not made for man alone_. The ladies have sent to the
venerable president a small quantity of sweets [? pieces of Everton
toffy] to be distributed, as he in his wisdom, shall think fit."
In 1795 the club was threatened with a difficulty, owing, as stated by
"Mr. Oystericus," to the day of the wagon--laden with oysters--leaving
London, having changed. Sometimes, owing to a long frost, or other
accident, no oysters arrived, and then the club must have solaced
itself with "parched peas" and "particular port." Amongst the regalia
of the club was a silver snuff-box, in the lid of which was set a
piece of oak, part of the quarter-deck of Nelson's ship _Victory_. The
Rhymesmith's effusions were laughable, as:--
"A something monastic appears among oysters,
For gregarious they live, yet they sleep in their cloisters;
'Tis observed, too, that oysters, when placed in their barrel,
Will never presume with their stations to quarrel.
From this let us learn what an oyster can tell us,
And we all shall be better and happier fellows.
Acquiesce in your stations, wherever you've got 'em;
Be not proud at the top, nor repine at the bottom;
But happiest they in the middle who live,
And have something to lend, and to spend, and to give."
"The bard would fain exchange, alack!
For precious gold, his crown of laurel;
His sackbut for a butt of sack;
His vocal skill for oyster barrel!"
These lines are from an Ode in 1806:--
"Nelson has made the seas our own,
Then gulp your well-fed oysters down,
And give the French the _shell_."
A Manchester Punch-House.
About the middle of the last century, a man named John Shaw, who
had served in the army as a dragoon, having lost his wife and four
or five children, solaced himself by opening a public-house in the
Old Shambles, Manchester, in conducting which he was supported by a
sturdy woman-servant, "Molly." John Shaw, having been much abroad,
had acquired a knack of brewing punch, then a favourite beverage; and
from this attraction, his house soon began to be frequented by the
principal merchants and manufacturers of the town, and to be known
as "John Shaw's Punch-house;" sign it had none. As Dr. Aikin says in
1795 that Shaw had then kept the house more than fifty years, we have
here an institution dating prior to the memorable '45. Having made a
comfortable competence, John Shaw, who was a lover of early hours,
and, probably from his military training, a martinet in discipline,
instituted the singular rule of closing his house to customers at eight
o'clock in the evening. As soon as the clock struck the hour, John
walked into the one public room of the house, and in a loud voice and
imperative tone, proclaimed "Eight o'clock, gentlemen; eight o'clock."
After this no entreaties for more liquor, however urgent or suppliant,
could prevail over the inexorable landlord. If the announcement of the
hour did not at once produce the desired effect, John had two modes of
summary ejectment. He would call to Molly to bring his horsewhip, and
crack it in the ears and near the persons of his guests; and should
this fail, Molly was ordered to bring her pail, with which she speedily
flooded the floor, and drove the guests out wet-shod. Tradition says
that the punch brewed by John Shaw was something very delicious. In
mixing it, he used a long-shanked silver table-spoon, like a modern
gravy-spoon, which, for convenience, he carried in a side pocket,
like that in which a carpenter carries his two-foot rule. Punch was
usually served in small bowls (that is, less than the "crown bowls"
of later days) of two sizes and prices; a shilling bowl being termed
"a P of punch"--"a Q of punch" denoting a sixpenny bowl. The origin
of these slang names is unknown. Can it have any reference to the old
saying--"Mind your P's and Q's?" If a gentleman came alone and found
none to join him, he called for "a Q." If two or more joined, they
called for "a P;" but seldom more was spent than about sixpence per
head. Though eccentric and austere, John won the respect and esteem of
his customers, by his strict integrity and steadfast adherence to his
rules.
For his excellent regulation as to the hour of closing, he is said
to have frequently received the thanks of the ladies of Manchester,
whose male friends were thus induced to return home early and sober.
At length this nightly meeting of friends and acquaintances at John
Shaw's grew into an organised club of a convivial character, bearing
his name. Its objects were not political; yet, John and his guests
being all of the same political party, there was sufficient unanimity
among them to preserve harmony and concord. John's roof sheltered none
but stout, thorough-going Tories of the old school, genuine "Church and
King" men; nay, even "rank Jacobites." If, perchance, from ignorance of
the character of the house, any unhappy Whig, any unfortunate partisan
of the house of Hanover, any known member of a dissenting conventicle,
strayed into John Shaw's, he found himself in a worse condition than
that of a solitary wasp in a beehive.
The war played the mischief with John's inimitable brew: limes became
scarce; lemons were substituted; at length of these too, and of the
old pine-apple rum of Jamaica, the supplies were so frequently cut
off by French privateers, that a few years before John Shaw's death,
the innovation of "grog" in place of punch struck a heavy blow at the
old man's heart. Even autocrats must die, and at length, on the 26th
January, 1796, John Shaw was gathered to his fathers, at the ripe old
age of eighty-three, having ruled his house upwards of fifty-eight
years; namely, from the year 1738. But though John Shaw ceased to rule,
the club still lived and flourished. His successor in the house carried
on the same "early-closing movement," with the aid of the same old
servant Molly. At length the house was pulled down, and the club was
very migratory for some years. It finally settled down in 1852, in the
"Spread Eagle" Hotel, Corporation Street, where it still prospers and
flourishes.
In 1834, John Shaw's absorbed into its venerable bosom another club of
similar character, entitled "The Sociable Club." The society possesses
among its relics oil-paintings of John Shaw and his maid Molly, and
of several presidents of past years. A few years ago, a singular old
china punchbowl, which had been the property of John Shaw himself, was
restored to the club as its rightful property by the descendant of a
trustee. It is a barrel-shaped vessel, suspended on a stillage, with
a metal tap at one end, whence to draw the liquor, which it received
through a large opening or bung-hole. Besides assembling every evening,
winter and summer, between five and eight o'clock, a few of the members
dine together every Saturday at 2 P.M.; and they have still an annual
dinner, when old friends and members drink old wine, toast old toasts,
tell old stories, or "fight their battles o'er again." Such is John
Shaw's club--nearly a century and a quarter old.--_Abridged from the
Book of Days._
"The Blue Key."
Some fifty years since, there was at Bolton a little club of
manufacturers, all of them old men, who met regularly in the forenoon
at the "Millstone Inn," to drink their single glass of ale and compare
notes on the news of the day. They established this curious custom
among themselves. There was no great number of clerks and assistants
in those days, and when a manufacturer left his counting-room, or
warehouse, he locked the door and carried off the key, generally a
pretty large one. Now, this Millstone Club preferred in cold weather
to have their ale _with the chill off_. To effect this, each member
put the bow of his warehouse-key into the fire, and when sufficiently
warm, plunged it into his glass of ale. A long continuance of this
custom caused the handle of each key to acquire a dark blue colour,
and this "blue key" became a kind of emblem or talisman of the club
friends.--_French's Life of Samuel Crompton._
Brandy in Tea.
Miss Berry relates, among her earliest Brighton reminiscences, the
following odd story of old Lady Clermont, who was a frequent guest
at the Pavilion. "Her physician had recommended a moderate use of
stimulants to supply that energy which was deficient in her system, and
brandy had been suggested in a prescribed quantity, to be mixed with
her tea. I remember well having my curiosity excited by this, to me,
novel form of taking medicine, and holding on by the back of a chair to
watch the _modus operandi_. Very much to my astonishment, the patient
held a liqueur bottle over a cup of tea and began to pour out its
contents, with a peculiar purblind look, upon the back of a teaspoon.
Presently she seemed suddenly to become aware of what she was about,
turned up the spoon the right way, and carefully measured and added the
quantity to which she had been restricted. The tea so strongly "laced"
she then drank with great apparent gusto. Of course it was no longer
"the cup that cheers but not inebriates;" but what seemed inexplicable
to my ingenuous mind was the unvarying recurrence of the same mistake
of presenting the back of the spoon instead of the front. I was aware
that it did not arise from defect of sight. Lady Clermont could see
almost as distinctly as myself. Nevertheless, the cordial was permitted
to accumulate in the tea till the old lady chose to adopt a better
measurer, and then she most conscientiously took care not to exceed the
number of teaspoonfuls the obliging doctor had prescribed. I was not
then aware that this was a case in which the remedy was the reverse of
worse than the disease. Lady Clermont liked brandy as a medicine, and
made this bungle in measuring it by way of innocent device for securing
a much larger dose than she had been ordered. The gravity with which
she noticed her apparent mistake, without attempting to correct it, and
her little exclamation of surprise, so invariably uttered, amused me
so much that when she quitted the Pavilion, the best part of my day's
entertainment seemed to have departed with her."
"The Wooden Spoon."
The ludicrous sobriquet of the Ministerial Wooden Spoon originated as
follows:--Towards the close of each Session of Parliament, a list of
the votes of those Members of the Government who are in the House of
Commons is produced at the Fish Dinner then given; and he who is lowest
on the list is probably regarded by his Cambridge friends, at least, as
the _wooden spoon_. During the administration of Sir Robert Peel, on
one of these anniversaries, when the ministerial party was starting for
Greenwich, one of them, in passing through Hungerford Market, bought a
child's penny mug and a wooden spoon. After dinner, when the list of
votes was read out, the penny mug, on which was painted "James," or
"For a good boy," was presented, with all due solemnity, to Sir James
Graham, and the wooden spoon to Sir William Follet. This is thought to
be the origin of the above strange custom.
A Tipsy Village.
Livingston, in a recent journey in Africa, fell in with the Manganja
savages, as low as any he had ever met with, except Bushmen; yet they
cultivate large tracts of land for grain, which they convert into
_beer_! It is not very intoxicating, but when they consume large
quantities, they do become a little elevated. When a family brews, a
large number of friends and neighbours are invited to drink, and bring
their hoes with them; and they let off the excitement by hoeing their
friend's field. At other times they consume large quantities of beer,
like regular topers, at home. Dr. Livingston _in one village found all
the people tipsy together_: the men tried to induce the women to run
away for shame, but the ladies, too, were "a little overcome," and
laughed at the idea of their running. The village-doctor, however,
arranged matters by bringing a large pot of the liquid, with the
intention of reducing the travellers to the general level.
* * * * *
Odd things have been said of Gin. Burke, in one of his _spirituel_
flights, exclaimed, "Let the thunders of the pulpit descend upon
drunkenness, I for one stand up for gin." This is a sort of paraphrase
on Pope's couplet:
"This calls the church to deprecate our sin,
And hurls the thunder of our laws on gin."
What an Epicure Eats in his Life-Time.
In a life of sixty-five years' duration, with a moderate daily
allowance of mutton, for instance, an epicure will have consumed a
flock of 350 sheep; and altogether for dinner alone, adding to his
mutton a reasonable allowance of potatoes and other vegetables, with a
pint of wine daily for thirty years of this period, above thirty tons
of solids and liquids must have passed through his stomach. Soyer, in
his practical work, _The Modern Housewife_, says:--
Take seventy years of the life of an epicure, beyond which age of that
class of _bon vivants_ arrive, and even above eighty, still in the full
enjoyment of degustation, &c. (for example, Talleyrand, Cambacères,
Lord Sefton, &c.); if the first of the said epicures, when entering on
the tenth spring of his extraordinary career, had been placed on an
eminence--say the top of Primrose Hill--and had had exhibited before
his infantine eyes the enormous quantity of food his then insignificant
person would destroy before he attained his seventy-first year--first,
he would believe it must be a delusion: then, secondly, he would
inquire where the money could come from to purchase so much luxurious
extravagance?
Imagine on the top of the above-mentioned hill, a rushlight of a
boy just entering his tenth year, surrounded with the _recherché_
provision and delicacies claimed by his rank and wealth, taking merely
the consumption of his daily meals. By close calculating, he would
be surrounded and gazed at by the following number of quadrupeds,
birds, fishes, &c.:--By no less than 30 oxen, 200 sheep, 100 calves,
200 lambs, 50 pigs; in poultry, 1,200 fowls, 300 turkeys, 150 geese,
400 ducklings, 263 pigeons, 1,400 partridges, pheasants, and grouse;
600 woodcocks and snipes; 600 wild ducks, widgeon, and teal; 450
plovers, ruffes, and reeves; 800 quails, ortolans, and dotterels,
and a few guillemots, and other foreign birds; also, 500 hares and
rabbits, 40 deer, 120 guinea fowl, 10 peacocks, and 360 wild fowl.
In the way of fish, 120 turbot, 140 salmon, 120 cod, 260 trout, 400
mackerel, 300 whitings, 800 soles and slips, and 400 flounders; 400
red mullet, 200 eels, 150 haddocks, 400 herrings, 5,000 smelts, and
some 100,000 of those delicious silvery whitebait, besides a few
hundred species of fresh-water fishes. In shell-fish, 20 turtles,
30,000 oysters, 1,500 lobsters or crabs, 300,000 prawns, shrimps,
sardines, and anchovies. In the way of fruit, about 500lb. of grapes,
360lb. of pine-apples, 600 peaches, 1,400 apricots, 240 melons, and
some 100,000 plums, greengages, apples, pears, and some millions
of cherries, strawberries, raspberries, currants, mulberries, and
an abundance of other small fruit, _viz._ walnuts, chestnuts, dry
figs, and plums. In vegetables of all kinds, 5,475lb. weight; about
2,434-3/4lb. of butter, 684lb. of cheese, 21,000 eggs, 100 ditto of
plovers. Of bread, 4-1/2 tons, half-a-ton of salt and pepper, near
2-1/8 tons of sugar; and if he had happened to be a bibacious boy, he
could have formed a fortification or moat round the said hill with the
liquids he would have to partake of to facilitate the digestion of the
above-named provisions, which would amount to no less than 11,673-3/4
gallons which may be taken as below:--49 hogsheads of wine, 1,368-3/4
gallons of beer, 584 gallons of spirits, 342 ditto of liqueur, 2,394
ditto of coffee, cocoa, tea, &c., 304 gallons of milk, 2,736 gallons
of water--all of which would actually protect him and his anticipated
property from any young thief or fellow-schoolboy. This calculation
has for its basis the medium scale of the regular meals of the day,
which, in sixty years, amounts to no less than 33-3/4 tons weight of
meat, farinaceous food, and vegetables, &c.; out of which the above
are in detail the probable delicacies that would be selected by an
epicure through life.
Epitaph on Dr. William Maginn.
Dr. Maginn, it is to be regretted, died at an early age, of
consumption. The following epitaph, written for him by his friend, John
G. Lockhart, conveys a tolerably correct idea of his habits:--
WALTON-ON-THAMES, AUGUST, 1842.