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Last Thursday the Fishmongers gave a banquet in their hall to the
Duke of BEAUFORT and other Masters of Hounds. But why should the
Fishmongers thus publicly advertise themselves as "going to the dogs."
What fishly a-fin-ity is there between hounds and herrings, except in
the running of a drag? However, the Lord MAYOR improved the occasion,
which we dare say judging from the liberal hospitality, or, in this
instance hoss-pitality, of the Fishmongering Corporation, scarcely
required improvement, to inform His Grace of BEAUFORT and other noble
sportsmen that he too was a hunting man, and that Lord Mayors of
London ought as a rule to he hunting men if they would keep up the
ancient traditions of their office. Why doesn't his sporting and
equestrian Lordship revive the "Lord Mayor's Hounds" of the time of
GEORGE THE FIRST? The meet might be in Leadenhall Market, or in a
still meater place, Smithfield, and a bag fox being turned out, they
might, on a good scenting day, have a fine burst of a good forty
minutes, taking Houndsditch in their stride away across Goodman's
Fields then away across Bethnal Green, tally-hoing down Cambridge
Road, and then with a merry burst, into Commercial Road East, gaily
along Radcliff Highway, and running into sly Reynard in Limehouse
Basin. Stepney! Yoicks! On hunting days there would be a placard on
the Mansion House door with the words, "Gone Away!" And of course
there would be a list of the meets appended to all the usual notices.
Let the present Lord MAYOR start this, and his Mayoralty will indeed
be a memorable one.
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