Part 42

The ancient town of "Proud Preston," in Lancashire, from the year 1771 to 1841, a period of seventy years, boasted its "Oyster and Parched-Pea Club." It was at first limited to a dozen of the leading inhabitants, all of the same political party, and who now and then drank a Jacobite toast with a bumper. Its President was styled the Speaker. Among its staff of officers was one named _Oystericus_, whose duty it was to order and look after the oysters, which then came "by fleet" from London. There were also a Secretary, an Auditor, a Deputy Auditor, and a Poet Laureate or Rhymesmith, as he was generally termed; also the Cellarius, who had to provide port of the first quality; the Chaplain; the Surgeon-General, the Master of the Rolls (to look to the provision of bread-and-butter); the _Swig_-Master, whose title expresses his duty; Clerk of the Peas; a Minstrel, a Master of the Jewels, a Physician-in-Ordinary, &c. Among the Rules and Articles of the Club, were, "That _a barrel of oysters_ be provided every Monday night during the winter season, at the equal expense of the members; to be opened exactly at half-past seven o'clock." "Every member on having a son born, shall pay a gallon--for a daughter half-a-gallon--of port, to his brethren of the club, within a month of the birth of such child, at any public-house he shall choose." Amongst the archives of the club is the following curious entry, which is _not_ in a lady's hand:--

"The ladies of the Toughey [? Toffy] Club were rather disappointed at not receiving, by the hands of the respectable messenger, dispatched by the still more respectable members of the Oyster Club, a few oysters. They are just sitting down, after the fatigues of the evening, and take the liberty of reminding the worthy members of the Oyster Club, that oysters were _not made for man alone_. The ladies have sent to the venerable president a small quantity of sweets [? pieces of Everton toffy] to be distributed, as he in his wisdom, shall think fit."

In 1795 the club was threatened with a difficulty, owing, as stated by "Mr. Oystericus," to the day of the wagon--laden with oysters--leaving London, having changed. Sometimes, owing to a long frost, or other accident, no oysters arrived, and then the club must have solaced itself with "parched peas" and "particular port." Amongst the regalia of the club was a silver snuff-box, in the lid of which was set a piece of oak, part of the quarter-deck of Nelson's ship _Victory_. The Rhymesmith's effusions were laughable, as:--

"A something monastic appears among oysters, For gregarious they live, yet they sleep in their cloisters; 'Tis observed, too, that oysters, when placed in their barrel, Will never presume with their stations to quarrel. From this let us learn what an oyster can tell us, And we all shall be better and happier fellows. Acquiesce in your stations, wherever you've got 'em; Be not proud at the top, nor repine at the bottom; But happiest they in the middle who live, And have something to lend, and to spend, and to give."

"The bard would fain exchange, alack! For precious gold, his crown of laurel; His sackbut for a butt of sack; His vocal skill for oyster barrel!"

These lines are from an Ode in 1806:--

"Nelson has made the seas our own, Then gulp your well-fed oysters down, And give the French the _shell_."

A Manchester Punch-House.

About the middle of the last century, a man named John Shaw, who had served in the army as a dragoon, having lost his wife and four or five children, solaced himself by opening a public-house in the Old Shambles, Manchester, in conducting which he was supported by a sturdy woman-servant, "Molly." John Shaw, having been much abroad, had acquired a knack of brewing punch, then a favourite beverage; and from this attraction, his house soon began to be frequented by the principal merchants and manufacturers of the town, and to be known as "John Shaw's Punch-house;" sign it had none. As Dr. Aikin says in 1795 that Shaw had then kept the house more than fifty years, we have here an institution dating prior to the memorable '45. Having made a comfortable competence, John Shaw, who was a lover of early hours, and, probably from his military training, a martinet in discipline, instituted the singular rule of closing his house to customers at eight o'clock in the evening. As soon as the clock struck the hour, John walked into the one public room of the house, and in a loud voice and imperative tone, proclaimed "Eight o'clock, gentlemen; eight o'clock." After this no entreaties for more liquor, however urgent or suppliant, could prevail over the inexorable landlord. If the announcement of the hour did not at once produce the desired effect, John had two modes of summary ejectment. He would call to Molly to bring his horsewhip, and crack it in the ears and near the persons of his guests; and should this fail, Molly was ordered to bring her pail, with which she speedily flooded the floor, and drove the guests out wet-shod. Tradition says that the punch brewed by John Shaw was something very delicious. In mixing it, he used a long-shanked silver table-spoon, like a modern gravy-spoon, which, for convenience, he carried in a side pocket, like that in which a carpenter carries his two-foot rule. Punch was usually served in small bowls (that is, less than the "crown bowls" of later days) of two sizes and prices; a shilling bowl being termed "a P of punch"--"a Q of punch" denoting a sixpenny bowl. The origin of these slang names is unknown. Can it have any reference to the old saying--"Mind your P's and Q's?" If a gentleman came alone and found none to join him, he called for "a Q." If two or more joined, they called for "a P;" but seldom more was spent than about sixpence per head. Though eccentric and austere, John won the respect and esteem of his customers, by his strict integrity and steadfast adherence to his rules.

For his excellent regulation as to the hour of closing, he is said to have frequently received the thanks of the ladies of Manchester, whose male friends were thus induced to return home early and sober. At length this nightly meeting of friends and acquaintances at John Shaw's grew into an organised club of a convivial character, bearing his name. Its objects were not political; yet, John and his guests being all of the same political party, there was sufficient unanimity among them to preserve harmony and concord. John's roof sheltered none but stout, thorough-going Tories of the old school, genuine "Church and King" men; nay, even "rank Jacobites." If, perchance, from ignorance of the character of the house, any unhappy Whig, any unfortunate partisan of the house of Hanover, any known member of a dissenting conventicle, strayed into John Shaw's, he found himself in a worse condition than that of a solitary wasp in a beehive.

The war played the mischief with John's inimitable brew: limes became scarce; lemons were substituted; at length of these too, and of the old pine-apple rum of Jamaica, the supplies were so frequently cut off by French privateers, that a few years before John Shaw's death, the innovation of "grog" in place of punch struck a heavy blow at the old man's heart. Even autocrats must die, and at length, on the 26th January, 1796, John Shaw was gathered to his fathers, at the ripe old age of eighty-three, having ruled his house upwards of fifty-eight years; namely, from the year 1738. But though John Shaw ceased to rule, the club still lived and flourished. His successor in the house carried on the same "early-closing movement," with the aid of the same old servant Molly. At length the house was pulled down, and the club was very migratory for some years. It finally settled down in 1852, in the "Spread Eagle" Hotel, Corporation Street, where it still prospers and flourishes.

In 1834, John Shaw's absorbed into its venerable bosom another club of similar character, entitled "The Sociable Club." The society possesses among its relics oil-paintings of John Shaw and his maid Molly, and of several presidents of past years. A few years ago, a singular old china punchbowl, which had been the property of John Shaw himself, was restored to the club as its rightful property by the descendant of a trustee. It is a barrel-shaped vessel, suspended on a stillage, with a metal tap at one end, whence to draw the liquor, which it received through a large opening or bung-hole. Besides assembling every evening, winter and summer, between five and eight o'clock, a few of the members dine together every Saturday at 2 P.M.; and they have still an annual dinner, when old friends and members drink old wine, toast old toasts, tell old stories, or "fight their battles o'er again." Such is John Shaw's club--nearly a century and a quarter old.--_Abridged from the Book of Days._

"The Blue Key."

Some fifty years since, there was at Bolton a little club of manufacturers, all of them old men, who met regularly in the forenoon at the "Millstone Inn," to drink their single glass of ale and compare notes on the news of the day. They established this curious custom among themselves. There was no great number of clerks and assistants in those days, and when a manufacturer left his counting-room, or warehouse, he locked the door and carried off the key, generally a pretty large one. Now, this Millstone Club preferred in cold weather to have their ale _with the chill off_. To effect this, each member put the bow of his warehouse-key into the fire, and when sufficiently warm, plunged it into his glass of ale. A long continuance of this custom caused the handle of each key to acquire a dark blue colour, and this "blue key" became a kind of emblem or talisman of the club friends.--_French's Life of Samuel Crompton._

Brandy in Tea.

Miss Berry relates, among her earliest Brighton reminiscences, the following odd story of old Lady Clermont, who was a frequent guest at the Pavilion. "Her physician had recommended a moderate use of stimulants to supply that energy which was deficient in her system, and brandy had been suggested in a prescribed quantity, to be mixed with her tea. I remember well having my curiosity excited by this, to me, novel form of taking medicine, and holding on by the back of a chair to watch the _modus operandi_. Very much to my astonishment, the patient held a liqueur bottle over a cup of tea and began to pour out its contents, with a peculiar purblind look, upon the back of a teaspoon. Presently she seemed suddenly to become aware of what she was about, turned up the spoon the right way, and carefully measured and added the quantity to which she had been restricted. The tea so strongly "laced" she then drank with great apparent gusto. Of course it was no longer "the cup that cheers but not inebriates;" but what seemed inexplicable to my ingenuous mind was the unvarying recurrence of the same mistake of presenting the back of the spoon instead of the front. I was aware that it did not arise from defect of sight. Lady Clermont could see almost as distinctly as myself. Nevertheless, the cordial was permitted to accumulate in the tea till the old lady chose to adopt a better measurer, and then she most conscientiously took care not to exceed the number of teaspoonfuls the obliging doctor had prescribed. I was not then aware that this was a case in which the remedy was the reverse of worse than the disease. Lady Clermont liked brandy as a medicine, and made this bungle in measuring it by way of innocent device for securing a much larger dose than she had been ordered. The gravity with which she noticed her apparent mistake, without attempting to correct it, and her little exclamation of surprise, so invariably uttered, amused me so much that when she quitted the Pavilion, the best part of my day's entertainment seemed to have departed with her."

"The Wooden Spoon."

The ludicrous sobriquet of the Ministerial Wooden Spoon originated as follows:--Towards the close of each Session of Parliament, a list of the votes of those Members of the Government who are in the House of Commons is produced at the Fish Dinner then given; and he who is lowest on the list is probably regarded by his Cambridge friends, at least, as the _wooden spoon_. During the administration of Sir Robert Peel, on one of these anniversaries, when the ministerial party was starting for Greenwich, one of them, in passing through Hungerford Market, bought a child's penny mug and a wooden spoon. After dinner, when the list of votes was read out, the penny mug, on which was painted "James," or "For a good boy," was presented, with all due solemnity, to Sir James Graham, and the wooden spoon to Sir William Follet. This is thought to be the origin of the above strange custom.

A Tipsy Village.

Livingston, in a recent journey in Africa, fell in with the Manganja savages, as low as any he had ever met with, except Bushmen; yet they cultivate large tracts of land for grain, which they convert into _beer_! It is not very intoxicating, but when they consume large quantities, they do become a little elevated. When a family brews, a large number of friends and neighbours are invited to drink, and bring their hoes with them; and they let off the excitement by hoeing their friend's field. At other times they consume large quantities of beer, like regular topers, at home. Dr. Livingston _in one village found all the people tipsy together_: the men tried to induce the women to run away for shame, but the ladies, too, were "a little overcome," and laughed at the idea of their running. The village-doctor, however, arranged matters by bringing a large pot of the liquid, with the intention of reducing the travellers to the general level.

* * * * *

Odd things have been said of Gin. Burke, in one of his _spirituel_ flights, exclaimed, "Let the thunders of the pulpit descend upon drunkenness, I for one stand up for gin." This is a sort of paraphrase on Pope's couplet:

"This calls the church to deprecate our sin, And hurls the thunder of our laws on gin."

What an Epicure Eats in his Life-Time.

In a life of sixty-five years' duration, with a moderate daily allowance of mutton, for instance, an epicure will have consumed a flock of 350 sheep; and altogether for dinner alone, adding to his mutton a reasonable allowance of potatoes and other vegetables, with a pint of wine daily for thirty years of this period, above thirty tons of solids and liquids must have passed through his stomach. Soyer, in his practical work, _The Modern Housewife_, says:--

Take seventy years of the life of an epicure, beyond which age of that class of _bon vivants_ arrive, and even above eighty, still in the full enjoyment of degustation, &c. (for example, Talleyrand, Cambacères, Lord Sefton, &c.); if the first of the said epicures, when entering on the tenth spring of his extraordinary career, had been placed on an eminence--say the top of Primrose Hill--and had had exhibited before his infantine eyes the enormous quantity of food his then insignificant person would destroy before he attained his seventy-first year--first, he would believe it must be a delusion: then, secondly, he would inquire where the money could come from to purchase so much luxurious extravagance?

Imagine on the top of the above-mentioned hill, a rushlight of a boy just entering his tenth year, surrounded with the _recherché_ provision and delicacies claimed by his rank and wealth, taking merely the consumption of his daily meals. By close calculating, he would be surrounded and gazed at by the following number of quadrupeds, birds, fishes, &c.:--By no less than 30 oxen, 200 sheep, 100 calves, 200 lambs, 50 pigs; in poultry, 1,200 fowls, 300 turkeys, 150 geese, 400 ducklings, 263 pigeons, 1,400 partridges, pheasants, and grouse; 600 woodcocks and snipes; 600 wild ducks, widgeon, and teal; 450 plovers, ruffes, and reeves; 800 quails, ortolans, and dotterels, and a few guillemots, and other foreign birds; also, 500 hares and rabbits, 40 deer, 120 guinea fowl, 10 peacocks, and 360 wild fowl. In the way of fish, 120 turbot, 140 salmon, 120 cod, 260 trout, 400 mackerel, 300 whitings, 800 soles and slips, and 400 flounders; 400 red mullet, 200 eels, 150 haddocks, 400 herrings, 5,000 smelts, and some 100,000 of those delicious silvery whitebait, besides a few hundred species of fresh-water fishes. In shell-fish, 20 turtles, 30,000 oysters, 1,500 lobsters or crabs, 300,000 prawns, shrimps, sardines, and anchovies. In the way of fruit, about 500lb. of grapes, 360lb. of pine-apples, 600 peaches, 1,400 apricots, 240 melons, and some 100,000 plums, greengages, apples, pears, and some millions of cherries, strawberries, raspberries, currants, mulberries, and an abundance of other small fruit, _viz._ walnuts, chestnuts, dry figs, and plums. In vegetables of all kinds, 5,475lb. weight; about 2,434-3/4lb. of butter, 684lb. of cheese, 21,000 eggs, 100 ditto of plovers. Of bread, 4-1/2 tons, half-a-ton of salt and pepper, near 2-1/8 tons of sugar; and if he had happened to be a bibacious boy, he could have formed a fortification or moat round the said hill with the liquids he would have to partake of to facilitate the digestion of the above-named provisions, which would amount to no less than 11,673-3/4 gallons which may be taken as below:--49 hogsheads of wine, 1,368-3/4 gallons of beer, 584 gallons of spirits, 342 ditto of liqueur, 2,394 ditto of coffee, cocoa, tea, &c., 304 gallons of milk, 2,736 gallons of water--all of which would actually protect him and his anticipated property from any young thief or fellow-schoolboy. This calculation has for its basis the medium scale of the regular meals of the day, which, in sixty years, amounts to no less than 33-3/4 tons weight of meat, farinaceous food, and vegetables, &c.; out of which the above are in detail the probable delicacies that would be selected by an epicure through life.

Epitaph on Dr. William Maginn.

Dr. Maginn, it is to be regretted, died at an early age, of consumption. The following epitaph, written for him by his friend, John G. Lockhart, conveys a tolerably correct idea of his habits:--

WALTON-ON-THAMES, AUGUST, 1842.

Here, early to bed, lies kind William Maginn, Who, with genius, wit, learning, life's trophies to win, Had neither great lord nor rich cit of his kin, Nor discretion to set himself up as to tin; So, his portion soon spent, like the poor heir of Lynn-- He turned author ere yet there was beard on his chin, And, whoever was out, or whoever was in, For your Tories his fine Irish brains he would spin; Who received prose and rhyme with a promising grin-- "Go a-head, you queer fish, and more power to your fin," But to save from starvation stirred never a pin. Light for long was his heart, though his breeches were thin, Else his acting for certain was equal to Quin; But at last he was beat, and sought help of the bin (All the same to the doctor, from claret to gin), Which led swiftly to jail, and consumption therein. It was much, when the bones rattled loose in the skin, He got leave to die here, out of Babylon's din. Barring drink and the girls, I ne'er heard a sin: Many worse, better few, than bright, broken Maginn.

It is not generally known that Dr. Maginn wrote for Knight and Lacey, the publishers, in Paternoster Row, a novel embodying the strange story of the Polstead murder, in 1828, under the title of the _Red Barn_. The work was published anonymously, in numbers, and by its sale the publishers cleared many hundreds of pounds. Dr. Maginn's learned and witty essays, in verse and prose, scattered over our monthly magazines during nearly a quarter of a century, merit collective republication.

Talking of odd epitaphs, that upon Beazeley, the architect and dramatist, was written, or rather spoken, by Theodore Hook, as follows:--

"Here lies Sam Beazeley, Who lived hard and died easily."

Greenwich Dinners.

The Hon. Grantley Berkeley, in his _Life and Recollections_, relates some amusing anecdotes of these pleasant gatherings:--

"On two occasions," he says, "I remember that the late Lord Rokeby went to Greenwich behind a pair of posters, and that in coming back the postboy, excessively drunk, upset him on the road. He was much too good-natured to insist on the man's discharge, and, perhaps because he liked a glass of wine himself, he was inclined to forgive a lad overcome by porter; so the carriage was righted and no notice taken of the matter. It so happened that some time after, Lord Rokeby had again to go to Greenwich, and when his carriage and pair of posters came to the door, he saw in the saddle the same postboy who had brought him to grief.

"'Oh, you're there, are you?' he said, in that dear, good-natured way he had of speaking. 'Now mind, my good fellow, you had your jollification last time; it's my turn now, so I shall get drunk, and you must keep sober.'

"The postboy touched his hat in acquiescence with this reasonable proposition; he brought back my friend in safety, at all events, and, I dare say, in a very happy state of mind."

The writer also remembers a dinner at the Ship, where there were a good many ladies, and when D'Orsay was of the party, during which his attention was directed to a centre pane of glass in the bay window over the Thames, where some one had written in large letters with a diamond, D'Orsay's name in improper conjunction with a celebrated German _danseuse_ then fulfilling an engagement at the Opera. With characteristic readiness and _sang-froid_, he took an orange from a dish near him, and making some trifling remark on the excellence of the fruit, tossed it up once or twice, catching it in his hand again. Presently, as if by accident, he gave it a wider cant, and sent it through the window, knocking the offensive words out of sight into the Thames.

Lord Pembroke's Port Wine.

Lord Palmerston (who, when in office, was accustomed to employ his pleasantries as _paratonnerres_ for troublesome visitors), one day related the following anecdote to a deputation of gentlemen who waited upon him to urge the reduction of the Wine-duties. Referring to the question of adulterations, "I remember," said his lordship, "my grandfather, Lord Pembroke, when he placed wine before his guests, said--'There, gentlemen, is my champagne, my claret, &c. I am no great judge, and I give you this on the authority of my wine-merchant; but I can answer for my port, for I made it myself.' I still have his receipt, which I look on as a curiosity; but I confess I have never ventured to try it."

The following is Lord Pembroke's veritable receipt:--Eight gallons of genuine port wine, forty gallons of cider, brandy to fill the hogsheads. Elder-tops will give it the roughness, and cochineal whatever strength of colouring you please. The quantity made should not be less than a hogshead: it should be kept fully two years in wood, and as long in bottle before it is used.

A tremendous Bowl of Punch.

We find the following recorded upon the sober authority of the veteran _Gentleman's Magazine_:--

On the 25th of October, 1694, a bowl of punch was made at the Right Hon. Edward Russell's house, when he was Captain-General Commander-in-Chief of his Majesty's forces in the Mediterranean Sea. It was made in a fountain in a garden in the middle of four walks, all covered overhead with orange and lemon-trees; and in every walk was a table, the whole length of it covered with cold collations, &c. In the said fountain were the following ingredients, namely:--

4 hogsheads brandy. 25,000 lemons. 20 gallons lime-juice. 1,300 weight of fine white Lisbon sugar. 5lbs. grated nutmegs. 300 toasted biscuits. One pipe of dry mountain Malaga.