Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II.
With a hey down, down deny,
Geneva's the liquor of life.”
By this time they were at the Globe; upon entering which, they were
greeted by Mortimer and Merry well, who had arrived before them; and
dinner being served almost immediately, they were as quickly seated at
the table, to partake of an excellent repast.
1 It is a well-known fact, that a person of the name of
Tiffin announced himself to the world under this very
seductive title, which, doubtless, had the effect of
bringing him considerable custom from the loyal subjects of
his great patron.
LONDON VOL I. Part 2.
CHAPTER XVII
“Here fashion and folly still go hand in hand,
With the Blades of the East, and the Bucks of the Strand;
The Bloods of the Park, and paraders so gay,
Who are lounging in Bond Street the most of the day--
Who are foremost in all that is formed for delight,
At greeking, or wenching, or drinking all night;
For London is circled with unceasing joys:
Then, East, West, North and South, let us hunt them, my boys.”
~258~~ THE entrance to the house had attracted Tallyho's admiration as
they proceeded; but the taste and elegance of the Coffee-room, fitted up
with brilliant chandeliers, and presenting amidst a blaze of splendour
every comfort and accommodation for its visitors, struck him with
surprise; in which however he was not suffered to remain long, for
Merrywell and Mortimer had laid their plans with some degree of depth
and determination to carry into execution the proposed ramble of the
evening, and had ordered a private room for the party; besides which,
they had invited a friend to join them, who was introduced to Tom and
Bob, under the title of Frank Harry. Frank Harry was a humorous sort of
fellow, who could tell a tough story, sing a merry song, and was up to
snuff, though he frequently got snuffy, singing,
“The bottle's the Sun of our table,
His beams are rosy wine:
We, planets never are able
Without his beams to shine.
Let mirth and glee abound,
You'll soon grow bright
With borrow'd light,
And shine as he goes round.”
He was also a bit of a dabbler at Poetry, a writer of Songs, Epigrams,
Epitaphs, &c.; and having been a long resident in the East, was thought
to be a very useful guide on such an excursion, and proved himself a
very ~259~~ pleasant sort of companion: he had a dawning pleasantry
in his countenance, eradiated by an eye of vivacity, which seemed to
indicate there was nothing which gave him so much gratification as a
mirth-moving jest.
“What spirits were his, what wit and what whim, Now cracking a joke, and
now breaking a limb.”
Give him but food for laughter, and he would almost consider himself
furnished with food and raiment. There was however a pedantic manner
with him at times; an affectation of the clerical in his dress, which,
upon the whole, did not appear to be of the newest fashion, or improved
by wearing; yet he would not barter one wakeful jest for a hundred
sleepy sermons, or one laugh for a thousand sighs. If he ever sigh'd at
all, it was because he had been serious where he might have laugh'd;
if he had ever wept, it was because mankind had not laugh'd more and
mourn'd less. He appeared almost to be made up of contrarieties, turning
at times the most serious subjects into ridicule, and moralizing upon
the most ludicrous occurrences of life, never failing to conclude his
observations with some quaint or witty sentiment to excite risibility;
seeming at the same time to say,
“How I love to laugh;
Never was a weeper;
Care's a silly calf,
Joy's my casket keeper.”
During dinner time he kept the table in a roar of laughter, by declaring
it was his opinion there was a kind of puppyism in pigs that they
should wear tails--calling a great coat, a spencer folio edition with
tail-pieces--Hercules, a man-midwife in a small way of business, because
he had but twelve labours--assured them he had seen a woman that morning
who had swallowed an almanac, which he explained by adding, that her
features were so carbuncled, that the red lettered days were visible on
her face--that Horace ran away from the battle of Philippi, merely to
prove that he was no lame poet--he described Critics as the door-porters
to the Temple of Fame, whose business was to see that no persons slipped
in with holes in their stockings, or paste buckles for diamond ones, but
was much in doubt whether they always performed their duty honestly--he
called the Sun the _Yellow-hair'd Laddie_ ~260~~ --and the Prince of
Darkness, the _Black Prince_--ask'd what was the difference between a
sigh-heaver and a coal-heaver; but obtaining no answer, I will tell you,
said he--The coal-heaver has a load at his back, which he can carry--but
a sigh-heaver has one at his heart, which he can not carry. He had a
whimsical knack of quoting old proverbs, and instead of saying, the
Cobbler should stick to his last, he conceived it ought to be, the
Cobbler should stick to his wax, because he thought that the more
practicable--What is bred in the bone, said he, will not come out with
the skewer; and justified his alteration by asserting it must be plain
enough to the fat-headed comprehensions of those epicurean persons who
have the magpie-propensity of prying into marrow-bones.
Dashall having remarked, in the course of conversation, that _necessity
has no law_.
He declared he was sorry for it--it was surely a pity, considering
the number of learned Clerks she might give employ to if she had--her
Chancellor (continued he) would have no sinecure of it, I judge: hearing
the petitions of her poor, broken-fortuned and bankrupt, subjects would
take up all his terms, though every term were a year, and every year
a term. Thus he united humour with seriousness, and seriousness with
humour, to the infinite amusement of those around him.
Merrywell, who was well acquainted with, and knew his humour, took
every opportunity of what is called drawing him out, and encouraging
his propensity to punning, a species of wit at which he was particularly
happy, for puns fell as thick from him as leaves from autumn bowers; and
he further entertained them with an account of the intention he had some
short time back of petitioning for the office of pun-purveyor to his
late Majesty; but that before he could write the last line--“And your
petitioner will ever pun” it was bestowed upon a Yeoman of the Guard.
Still, however, said he, I have an idea of opening business as a
pun-wright in general to his Majesty's subjects, for the sale and
diffusion of all that is valuable in that small ware of wit, and
intend to advertise--Puns upon all subjects, wholesale, retail, and for
exportation. N B. 1. An allowance will be made to Captains and Gentlemen
going to the East and West Indies--Hooks, Peakes, Pococks,{1} supplied
on
1 Well-known dramatic authors.
~261~~ moderate terms--worn out sentiments and _clap-traps_ will be
taken in exchange. N B. 2. May be had in a large quantity, in a great
deal box, price five acts of sterling comedy per packet, or in small
quantities, in court-plaster sized boxes, price one melodrama and
an interlude per box. N B. 3. The genuine puns are sealed with a true
Munden grin--all others are counterfeits--Long live Apollo, &c. &c.
The cloth being removed, the wine was introduced, and
“As wine whets the wit, improves its native force,
And gives a pleasant flavour to discourse,”
Frank Harry became more lively at each glass--“Egad!” said he, “my
intention of petitioning to be the king's punster, puts me in mind of a
story.”
“Can't you sing it?” enquired Merrywell.
“The pipes want clearing out first,” was the reply, “and that is a sign
I can't sing at present; but signal as it may appear, and I see some
telegraphic motions are exchanging, my intention is to shew to you all
the doubtful interpretation of signs in general.”
“Let's have it then,” said Tom; “but, Mr. Chairman, I remember an old
Song which concludes with this sentiment--
“Tis hell upon earth to be wanting of wine.”
“The bottle is out, we must replenish.”
The hint was no sooner given, than the defect was remedied; and after
another glass,
“King James VI. on his arrival in London, (said he) was waited on by
a Spanish Ambassador, a man of some erudition, but who had strangely
incorporated with his learning, a whimsical notion, that every country
ought to have a school, in which a certain order of men should be taught
to interpret signs; and that the most expert in this department ought
to be dignified with the title of Professor of Signs. If this plan were
adopted, he contended, that most of the difficulties arising from the
ambiguity of language, and the imperfect acquaintance which people of
one nation had with the tongue of another, would be done away. Signs, he
argued, arose from the dictates of nature; and, as they were the same
in every country, there could be no danger of their being misunderstood.
Full of this project, the Ambassador was ~262~~ lamenting one day before
the King, that the nations of Europe were wholly destitute of this grand
desideratum; and he strongly recommended the establishment of a college
founded upon the simple principles he had suggested. The king, either
to humour this Quixotic foible, or to gratify his own ambition at the
expense of truth, observed, in reply, 'Why, Sir, I have a Professor
of Signs in one of the northernmost colleges in my dominions; but
the distance is, perhaps, six hundred miles, so that it will be
impracticable for you to have an interview with him.' Pleased with this
unexpected information, the Ambassador exclaimed--'If it had been six
hundred leagues, I would go to see him; and I am determined to set out
in the course of three or four days.' The King, who now perceived that
he had committed himself, endeavoured to divert him from his purpose;
but, finding this impossible, he immediately caused letters to be
written to the college, stating the case as it really stood, and desired
the Professors to get rid of the Ambassador in the best manner they were
able, without exposing their Sovereign. Disconcerted at this strange and
unexpected message, the Professors scarcely knew how to proceed. They,
however, at length, thought to put off their august visitant, by saying,
that the Professor of Signs was not at home, and that his return
would be very uncertain. Having thus fabricated the story, they made
preparations to receive the illustrious stranger, who, keeping his word,
in due time reached their abode. On his arrival, being introduced with
becoming solemnity, he began to enquire, who among them had the honour
of being Professor of Signs? He was told in reply, that neither of
them had that exalted honour; but the learned gentleman, after whom
he enquired, was gone into the Highlands, that they conceived his stay
would be considerable; but that no one among them could even conjecture
the period of his return. 'I will wait his coming,' replied the
Ambassador, 'if it be twelve months.'
“Finding him thus determined, and fearing, from the journey he had
already undertaken that he might be as good as his word, the learned
Professors had recourse to another stratagem. To this they found
themselves driven, by the apprehension that they must entertain him as
long as he chose to tarry; and in case he should unfortunately weary out
their patience, the whole affair must terminate ~263~~ in a discovery of
the fraud. They knew a Butcher, who had been in the habit of serving the