Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II.

dinner a discussion took place between the Premier and Lord Chancellor, as to the comparative merits of the Latin and English languages. Mr. Pitt gave the preference to the former, the Chancellor! to the latter; and the arguments on both sides were carried on with equal pertinacity.--The Premier would not yield a jot in opinion. Becoming at last impatient of opposition, “Why,” said he, “the English language is an ambiguity--two negatives make an affirmative; but in the Latin, two negatives make a positive.”--“Then,” said the Chancellor, “your father and mother must have been two negatives, to make such a positive fellow as you are!”{1} 1 Lord Chancellor Thurlow, although a very eccentric character, was yet a man of uncommon benevolence. A vacancy having occurred in a valuable living of which he had the presentation, numerous were the candidates for the benefice; and amongst others, one, recommended by several of the nobility, friends of the ministry, who made himself sure of the appointment, although, directly or indirectly, the Chancellor had not given any promise. In the meanwhile, it was one morning announced to his Lordship, that a gentleman, apparently a clergyman, waited the honour of an interview. The servant was ordered to shew the stranger into the library, whither the Chancellor shortly repaired, and inquired the object of the visit. “My Lord,” said the other, “I served the office of Curate under the deceased Rector, and understanding that the presentation is in your Lordship's gift”--“You want the living,” exclaimed the Chancellor, gruffly. “No, my Lord; my humble pretensions soar not so high; but I presume, most respectfully, to entreat your Lordship's influence with the new Incumbent, that I may be continued in the Curacy.” Surprised and pleased by the singular modesty of the applicant, who had served the same parish as Curate above twenty years, and now produced the most ample testimonials of character, his Lordship entered into conversation with him, and found him of extensive erudition, and orthodox principles. He ascertained, besides, that this poor Curate had a wife with six children entirely dependent on his exertions for support; and that the remuneration allowed for the faithful discharge of arduous duties, had been only thirty pounds per annum. The Chancellor now promised his influence in behalf of the Curate, with the person who probably might succeed to the living. “I shall see him,” added his Lordship, “this very day; attend me to-morrow, and you shall know the result.” The Curate took bis leave, and in the course of the morning the would-be Rector made his appearance. “O!” exclaimed his Lordship, entering directly into the business, “I have had a humble suitor with me to-day,--the Curate of the late incumbent whom you are desirous of succeeding; he wishes to continue in the Curacy; the poor man is burthened with a large family, and hitherto has been very inadequately rewarded for his labour in the productive vineyard of which you anticipate the possession and emolument. Suppose that you constitute the happiness of this worthy man, by giving him a salary of one hundred pounds per annum; he will have all the duties to perform, and you will pocket a surplus, even then, of seven hundred a year, for in fact doing nothing!” This would-be was astonished; he had never before heard of a Curate in the receipt of one hundred pounds per annum; besides, he had already engaged a person to do the duty for twenty-five pounds. Fired with indignation at the inhumanity and arrogant presumption of this callous-hearted Clergyman,--“What!” exclaimed his Lordship, “and so you would turn the poor Curate out of doors, and abridge the miserable pittance of his successor, and all this before you've got the living! John, shew this fellmo down stairs!” Gladly would this Incumbent, by anticipation, have conceded every point required; but it was too late; the die was cast, and he found himself in the street, unknowing how he got there, whether on his hands or his lucls! Next day the Curate was announced. “I have not been able to succeed,” said his Lordship,--“the new Incumbent has engaged a person who will do the duty for twenty-five pounds per annum.” His Lordship paused, and the unfortunate Curate looked the personification of Despondency. “Cheer up, man!” exclaimed his Lordship, “If I have not influence sufficient to continue you in possession of the Curacy, I can, at least, give you the Living!” putting into the hands, at the same time, of the amazed Curate, the presentation to a Rectory worth eight hundred pounds per annum!! Here we must draw the Grecian painter's veil,--the gratification on either side may be conceived, but cannot be expressed. ~~278~~~ Sir Felix laughed heartily at this anecdote, and inquired of his aunt whether she knew any of the Positive family in the North of Ireland. “Perfectly well,” retorted the lady, “they are allied to the _Wrongheads_ of the province of Munster!” This reproof, which was hailed with applause by Tom and Bob, dumb-foundered the Baronet, who became suddenly taciturn; but his habitual good humour predominated, and conscious that he had brought on himself the inflicted castigation, he resolved on a cessation of hostilities for the remainder of the evening. The invitation by Dashall having been without formal ceremony, and unhesitatingly accepted by Miss Macgilligan and her nephew, they now, in turn, claimed the like privilege of freedom, by soliciting the company of the two Cousins to supper; a request which Tom and Bob cheerfully acquiesced in; and the party immediately set out for the Baronet's lodgings, preferring to walk the short distance, that they might view, more leisurely, the accustomed illuminations on the anniversary of his Majesty's birth-day. The variegated lamps were tastefully arranged; but this effusion of loyalty was rather of an interested than interesting description, being confined wholly to the public-offices, the theatres, and the different houses of his Majesty's tradesmen; no other habitation in this immense metropolis bearing any external indication of attachment, on the part of its occupant, to the Sovereign of the British Empire! “Here comes a set of jolly fellows,” exclaimed the Baronet, as the party of friends turned into Bow-street from Covent-Garden, “who are at least determined to honour the anniversary of St. George and their Sovereign,” the clang of marrow bones and cleavers resounding with harsh and stunning dissonance. “Rather,” said Dashall, “fellows determined to levy contributions on the public, caring as little for the actual George the King, as they do for the fabulous George the Champion.” Now loud and yet louder the grating din grew, And near and more near still the butcher-gang drew; Rapacious, obstrep'rous, a turbulent set, And bent on annoyance of all whom they met. ~~279~~~ It was in vain that our party attempted to avoid them by crossing the street. The intention was quickly thwarted by these self-licensed prowlers, who intercepting our associates in the carriage-way, encircled them in such a manner, as to preclude the possibility of extrication; and raised, at the same time, a discoid of sounds, compared with which the vocal minstrelsy of the long-eared braying fraternity would have been the music of the spheres! Sir Felix, in chastisement of their arrogance, would singly have encountered the whole group, had he not been restrained by Tom and Bob, who rather than engage in a street brawl with a host of pertinacious adversaries, chose to yield to circumstances, and purchase freedom at the expense of a trifling pecuniary consideration, with which the collectors departed well satisfied. Our observers having thus obtained their liberty, renewed their walk, and reached the lodgings of the Baronet without farther interruption. During their perambulation, the following article was put into the hands of the Squire, with which we shall conclude our Chapter of Incidents;-- THE KING AND THE LAUREAT. A LOYAL BIRTH-DAY EFFUSION. Hail! mighty Monarch of a mighty People!-- While tuneful peals resound from tower and steeple, And thundering cannons gratulations roar, Fright'ning old Father Thames from shore to shore;-- For King or etiquette while nobles caring, To Buckingham-house by hundreds are repairing, With gorgeous Dames, to whom this day a bliss is; Accompanied by smiling lovely misses Of eager appetite, who long to gorge And batten on the favours of King George; While London's Mayor and Aldermen set out In Civic state, to grace the royal rout; While strut the Guards in black straps and white gaiters In honour of their Patron and Creators;{1}-- While General Birnie musters all his forces Of foot Police, and spavin'd Police horses, To guard St. James's Park from innovation, And cheque the daringness of depredation;-- While for those partizans who mind their manners The cabinet ministers prepare grand dinners, And I, and others of my kindred trumpery, Dine with the vision'ry 'yclept Duke Humphrey:{2} I whom the Muses sometimes deign to greet, Though perch'd in “garret vile” in White-cross street, 1 In honour of their Patron and Creators.--The poet, we presume, means to draw a line of distinction between the Military and Civic community; the one being the work of God, the other the creation of man. 2 Duke Humphrey.--An ideal personage, with whom the un- fortunate wight is said to dine who has not got a dinner to eat. _Sans_ viands, drink, or necessary clothing, Reckless of fate, and even existence loathing; Great King amidst each various passing matter On this auspicious day, I will not flatter; Not that I cannot; aye, as well as any Of heretofore or present lauréat Zany!-- But lack of payment, Sir, and lack of zeal; Could I your gracious bounty hope to feel, Invention then, on eagles wings should rise, And laud your nameless virtues to the skies!-- But as it is,--all hail the King!-- With shouts let now the welkin ring, And hence all doubts and fears; May ages yet to come obey The Fourth King George's lenient sway, Even for a thousand years!{1} Methinks his portly form I see, Encircled at this grand Levee By courtly lords and ladies; Returning every bow with smiles, Where selfish adulation's wiles A profitable trade is. But where, amid this grand display, Is Soutkey, on each natal day Who charm'd with Ode delicious? Why absent now the tuneful lore, Why sing not, as in days of yore,-- Has Roy'lty grown capricious? Or barren is the courtly verse Of genuine subject, to rehearse The mighty monarch's fame; His public virtues, private worth, To chant in grateful measure forth, And o'er the world proclaim?