Wolsey, they tell us, was a butcher. An alliterative couplet too was
made upon him to that import:--
"By butchers born, by bishops bred,
How high his honour holds his haughty head."
Notwithstanding which, however, and other similar allusions, there have
arisen many disputes touching the veracity of the assertion; yet,
doubtless, those who first promulgated the idea, were keen observers of
men and manners; and, probably, in the critical examination of the
Cardinal's character, discovered a particular trait which indubitably
satisfied them of his origin.
Be this as it may, I am inclined to think there is certainly something
peculiarly characteristic in the butcher.
The pursuit of his calling appears to have an influence upon his
manners, speech, and dress. Of all the days in the week, Saturday is the
choicest for seeing him to the best advantage. His hatless head, shining
with grease, his cheeks as ruddy as his mutton-chops, his sky-blue frock
and dark-blue apron, his dangling steel and sharp-set knife, which ever
and anon play an accompaniment to his quick, short--"Buy! buy!" are all
in good keeping with the surrounding objects. And although this be not
_killing_ day with him, he is particularly winning and gracious with the
serving-maids; who (whirling the large street-door key about their right
thumb, and swinging their marketing basket in their left hand) view the
well-displayed joints, undecided which to select, until Mr. Butcher
recommends a leg or a loin; and then he so very politely cuts off the
fat, in which his skilful hand is guided by the high or low price of
mutton fat in the market. He is the very antipode of a fop, yet no man
knows how to show a handsome _leg_ off to better advantage, or is
prouder of his _calves_.
In his noviciate, when he shoulders the shallow tray, and whistles
cavalierly on his way in his sausage-meat-complexioned-jacket, there is
something marked as well in his character as his _habits_, he is never
_moved_ to stay, except by a brother butcher, or a fight of dogs or
boys, for such scenes fit his singular fancy. Then, in the discussion of
his bull-dog's beauties, he becomes extraordinarily eloquent. Hatiz, the
Persian, could not more warmly, or with choicer figure, describe his
mistress' charms, than he does Lion's, or Fowler's, or whatever the
brute's Christian name may be; and yet the surly, cynical, _dogged_
expression of the bepraised beast, would almost make one imagine he
understood the meaning of his master's words, and that his honest nature
despised the flattering encomiums he passes upon his pink belly and
legs, his broad chest, his ring-tail, and his tulip ears!--_Absurdities,
in Prose and Verse._
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