The dinner of the Licensed Victuallers is better to them than the wisdom
of Solomon, or the ore of lore: it is their feast of literature, for
they consider it in the light of a splendid annual—magnificently bound
in calf for society—with the _cloth_ edition especially reserved for
themselves. It is a pleasure to behold their spread, the chairman
soaring into Epicurean sublimity, like the _spread eagle_, or feasting
like the golden vulture upon quid _vult_. See, they have gathered in the
strength of their conviviality. Every one of them is a landlord, if not
a lord of the land; how they labour at their vocation of cram! Their
festive board has become a board of works; and they are all busy about
the pleasantest half of the trade of _carver_ and gilder. Every man,
like a tailor, is taking his full measure; their whole vision is given
to the pro-vision; and they are now, more than doctors and lawyers,
among the _feed_. Pollok's "Course of Time" is nothing to the course of
victuals now produced. All the creatures that figure on their
sign-boards have been brought up and dressed for the nonce. Rarities are
here, which it must have required a new edition of "Cook's Voyages" to
procure. The _Goose with_ the _Gridiron_, the Magpie _without_ the
_Stump_, the _Swan with two Necks_, and the throttle of some youthful
Boniface acting _Lad-lane_ for the luxury: a joint from the Pig in the
Pound; the Blue Boar done thoroughly brown; the meek Lamb sent saucey
from the Mint; the Dolphin, by off-slicing process, changing its size
and not its dyes; the "Cock" with exquisite stuffing, so that it
emulates a firm of city silversmiths, and becomes "Cock Savoury;" the
Hen and Chickens, quite a gentle brood, roasted for food; "the Salmon,"
accustomed to swim, now beginning in consequence to sink; and last, not
least, the Peacock assisting at the spread! Sure here is food for
reflection, and the _great body_ of Licensed Victuallers may rejoice in
the victuals thereof.
Dinner is now over. The "Queen" is disposed of; the "Royal Family" are
settled; the "Army and Navy" are dispatched. Although it is not an
ordinary, they have gone through the ordinary toasts: the business of
the evening is about to be commenced; the Chairman is on his mettle, and
on his legs. He is a wit and a wittler; a patriot on the side of the
public-houses and the public. Bodily, as well as oratorically, he is a
great speaker, and his eloquence is now let loose. He informs the
company before him of the great importance of the humane and
intoxicating society to which he belongs. He tells them that the
Licensed Victuallers are connected with all that is elevating (spirits
for instance), civilizing, and admirable, in town and country. They are
identified equally with the lush and the literature of the land; for he
is prepared to contend that whatever has been great in literature is
deducible from lush. Every author of eminence has been more or less
inspired from the tap, the bin, the cellar, or the bar. The Edinburgh
Castle has never been a Castle of Indolence; and taverns must be
regarded as the fountains of the mind. Vehement cries of "bravo!" and
"draw it mild!" here interrupt the speaker; but he declares he cannot
draw it any milder, and that it would be stale, flat, and unprofitable
if he did. He would prove his case. The poet who quaffs British brandy
is filled with patriotic spirit, and writes nobly for native land. The
wit confines himself to what is rum. The nautical novelist sticks to
port. Gin inspires the great delineators of human life. What, for
instance, but gin-twist could have brought Oliver Twist to light? He
would repeat—that lush and literature were indissolubly connected, and
that the press and the punch-bowl were one. Yes, the very press was
nothing but a great punch-bowl. Its thunder, devilism, and vituperation,
were the spirit; its bland praises were the sweets; its sarcastic truths
and stings were the blended bitter and acid; its pleasant news was the
aroma from the lemon-peel; its quarrels were the hot water; its sneers
were the cold: it sometimes created a terrible stir; but then punch was
nothing without that; and, finally, the newsmen were the glasses, and
when all was done, the editors were the ladles—he said ladles
emphatically, lest they should be taken for _spoons_—that doled it out
to the eager-swallowing community. (Loud cries of "capital," and
incessant cheering.) All these things incontestably proved that the
kings of the lush were the kings of the literature of the land; and,
therefore, the Licensed Victuallers were at the head of the civilization
of the empire. It was said that "knowledge is power;" very well—then the
public had to thank them and their brewers. They might talk of their
cheap periodicals, but, he would ask, would there be any circulation of
instruction in this kingdom if it was not for the respectable firm of
_Read_ and Co.? Another gentleman was a _Whitbread_—he might say, a
wit-bred and born: but there was no end of illustration; and, if
knowledge was power, it was a brewer's dray-horse power; it passed to
the public through the cellars of the publicans, and all he could say
was, if it came up "_heavy_," it went down light. "He should,
_therefore_, give—Prosperity to the Licensed Victuallers' Institution."
The toast is drunk with applause—the Chairman shortly after follows its
example, and by two in the morning the company have got under the table
over their wine.