Club Life of London Volume I Part 13

Then, rosy G.o.d, this night let me Thy cheering magic share; Again let hope-fed Fancy see Life's picture bright and fair.

Oh! steal from care my heart away, To sip thy healing spring; And let me taste that bliss to-day To-morrow may not bring."

The friendship of the Duke of Norfolk and Charles Morris extended far beyond the Steaks meetings; and the author of the _Clubs of London_ tells us by what means the Duke's regard took a more permanent form.

It appears that John Kemble had sat very late at one of the night potations at Norfolk House. Charles Morris had just retired, and a very small party remained in the dining-room, when His Grace of Norfolk began to deplore, somewhat pathetically, the smallness of the stipend upon which poor Charles was obliged to support his family; observing, that it was a discredit to the age, that a man, who had so long gladdened the lives of so many t.i.tled and opulent a.s.sociates, should be left to struggle with the difficulties of an inadequate income at a time of life when he had no reasonable hope of augmenting it. Kemble listened with great attention to the Duke's _jeremiade_; but after a slight pause, his feelings getting the better of his deference, he broke out thus, in a tone of peculiar emphasis:--"And does your Grace sincerely lament the dest.i.tute condition of your friend, with whom you have pa.s.sed so many agreeable hours? Your Grace has described that condition most feelingly. But is it possible, that the greatest Peer of the realm, luxuriating amidst the prodigalities of fortune, should lament the distress which he does not relieve? the empty phrase of benevolence--the mere breath and vapour of generous sentiment, become no man; they certainly are unworthy of your Grace.

Providence, my Lord Duke, has placed you in a station where the wish to do good and the doing it are the same thing. An annuity from your overflowing coffers, or a small nook of land, clipped from your unbounded domains, would scarcely be felt by your Grace; but you would be repaid, my Lord, with usury;--with tears of grateful joy; with prayers warm from a bosom which your bounty will have rendered happy."

Such was the substance of Kemble's harangue. Jack Bannister used to relate the incident, by ingeniously putting the speech into blank verse, or rather the species of prose into which Kemble's phraseology naturally fell when he was highly animated. But, however expressed, it produced its effect. For though the Duke (the night was pretty far gone, and several bottles had been emptied) said nothing at the time, but stared with some astonishment at so unexpected a lecture; not a month elapsed before Charles Morris was invested with a beautiful retreat at Brockham, in Surrey, upon the bank of the river Mole, and at the foot of the n.o.ble range of which Box Hill forms the most picturesque point.

The Duke went to his rest in 1815. Morris continued to be the laureate of the Steaks until the year 1831, when he thus bade adieu to the Society in his eighty-sixth year:--

"Adieu to the world! where I gratefully own, Few men more delight or more comfort have known: To an age far beyond mortal lot have I trod The path of pure health, that best blessing of G.o.d; And so mildly devout Nature temper'd my frame, Holy patience still sooth'd when Adversity came; Thus with mind ever cheerful, and tongue never tired, I sung the gay strains these sweet blessings inspired; And by blending light mirth with a moral-mix'd stave, Won the smile of the gay and the nod of the grave.

But at length the dull languor of mortal decay Throws a weight on its spirit too light for its clay; And the fancy, subdued, as the body's opprest, Resigns the faint flights that scarce wake in the breast.

A painful memento that man's not to play A game of light folly through Life's sober day; A just admonition, though view'd with regret, Still blessedly offer'd, though thanklessly met.

Too long, I perhaps, like the many who stray, Have upheld the gay themes of the Baccha.n.a.l's day; But at length Time has brought, what it ever will bring, A shade that excites more to sigh than to sing.

In this close of Life's chapter, ye high-favour'd few, Take my Muse's last tribute--this painful adieu!

Take my wish, that your bright social circle on earth For ever may flourish in concord and mirth; For the long years of joy I have shared at your board, Take the thanks of my heart--where they long have been stored; And remember, when Time tolls my last pa.s.sing knell, The 'old bard' dropp'd a tear, and then bade ye--Farewell!"

In 1835, however, Morris revisited the Society, who then presented him with a large silver bowl, appropriately inscribed, as a testimonial of their affectionate esteem; and the venerable bard thus addressed the brotherhood:--

"Well, I'm come, my dear friends, your kind wish to obey, And drive, by light mirth, all Life's shadows away; And turn the heart's sighs to the throbbings of joy, And a grave aged man to a merry old boy.

'Tis a bold transformation, a daring design, And not past the power of Friendship and Wine; And I trust that e'en yet this warm mixture will raise A brisk spark of light o'er the shade of my days."

Shortly after this effusion, he thus alluded to the treasured gift of the Society:--

"When my spirits are low, for relief and delight, I still place your splendid Memorial in sight; And call to my Muse, when care strives to pursue, 'Bring the Steaks to my Memory and the Bowl to my view.'

When brought, at its sight all the _blue devils_ fly, And a world of gay visions rise bright to my eye; Cold Fear shuns the cup where warm Memory flows; And Grief, shamed by Joy, hides his budget of Woes.

'Tis a pure holy fount, where for ever I find A sure double charm for the Body and Mind; For I feel while I'm cheer'd by the drop that I lift, I'm Blest by the Motive that hallows the Gift."

How nicely tempered is this chorus to our Bard's "Life's a Fable:"--

"Then roll along, my lyric song; It seasons well the table, And tells a truth to Age and Youth, That Life's a fleeting fable.

Thus Mirth and Woe the brighter show From rosy wine's reflection; From first to last, this truth hath past-- 'Twas made for Care's correction.

Now what those think who water drink, Of these old rules of Horace, I sha'n't now show; but this I know, His rules do well for _Morris_.

Old Horace, when he dipp'd his pen, 'Twas wine he had resort to; He chose for use Falernian juice, As I choose old Oporto; At every bout an ode came out, Yet Bacchus kept him twinkling; As well aware more fire was there, Which wanted but the sprinkling."

At Brockham, Morris "drank the pure pleasures of the rural life" long after many a gay light of his own time had flickered out, and become almost forgotten. At length, his course ebbed away, July 11, 1838, in his ninety-third year; his illness, which was only of four days, was internal inflammation. The attainment of so great an age, and the recollection of Morris's a.s.sociations, show him to have presented a rare combination of mirth and prudence. He retained his _gaite de coeur_ to the last; so that with equal truth he remonstrated:

"When Life charms my heart, must I kindly be told, I'm too gay and too happy for one that's so old?"

The venerable Bard's remains rest near the east end of his parish church of Betchworth, in the burial-ground: the grave is simply marked by a head and foot-stone, with an inscription of three or four lines: he who had sung the praises of so many choice spirits, has not here a stanza to his own memory: such is, to some extent, the natural _sequitur_ with men who outlive their companions. Morris was staid and grave in his general deportment. Moore, in his _Diary_, has this odd note: "Linley describes Colman at the Beefsteak Club quite drunk, making extraordinary noise while Captain Morris was singing, which disconcerted the latter (who, strange to say, is a very grave, steady person) considerably." Yet, Morris could unbend, with great simplicity and feeling. We have often met him, in his patriarchal "blue and buff"

(blue coat and buff waistcoat), in his walks about the lovely country in which he resided. Coming, one day, into the bookseller's shop, at Dorking, there chanced to be deposited a pianoforte; when the old Bard having looked around him, to see there were no strangers present, sat down to the instrument, and played and sang with much spirit the air of "The girl I left behind me:" yet he was then past his eightieth year.

Morris's ancient and rightful office at the Steaks was to _make the punch_, and it was amusing to see him at his laboratory at the sideboard, stocked with the various products that enter into the composition of that nectareous mixture: then smacking an elementary gla.s.s or two, and giving a significant nod, the fiat of its excellence; and what could exceed the ecstasy with which he filled the gla.s.ses that thronged around the bowl; joying over its mantling beauties, and distributing the fascinating draught

"That flames and dances in its crystal bound"?

"Well has our laureate earned his wreath," (says the author of _The Clubs of London_, who was often a partic.i.p.ator in these delights). "At that table his best songs have been sung; for that table his best songs were written. His allegiance has been undivided. Neither hail, nor shower, nor snowstorm have kept him away: no engagement, no invitation seduced him from it. I have seen him there, 'out.w.a.tching the bear,' in his seventy-eighth year; for as yet nature had given no signal of decay in frame or faculty; but you saw him in a green and vigorous old age, tripping mirthfully along the downhill of existence, without languor, or gout, or any of the privileges exacted by time for the mournful privilege of living. His face is still resplendent with cheerfulness. 'Die when you will, Charles,' said Curran to him, 'you will die in your youth.'"

FOOTNOTES:

[14] See Century of Anecdote, vol. i. p. 321.

BEEF-STEAK CLUBS.

There are other Beef-steak Clubs to be chronicled. Pyne, in his _Wine and Walnuts_, says: "At the same time the social Club flourished in England, and about the year 1749, a Beef-steak Club was established at the Theatre Royal, Dublin, of which the celebrated Mrs. Margaret Woffington was president. It was begun by Mr. Sheridan, but on a very different plan to that in London, no theatrical performer, save one _female_, being admitted; and though called a Club, the manager alone bore all the expenses. The plan was, by making a list of about fifty or sixty persons, chiefly n.o.blemen and members of Parliament, who were invited. Usually about half that number attended, and dined in the manager's apartment in the theatre. There was no female admitted but this _Peg Woffington_, so denominated by all her contemporaries, who was seated in a great chair at the head of the table, and elected president for the season.

"'It will readily be believed,' says Mr. Victor, in his _History of the Theatres_, who was joint proprietor of the house, 'that a club where there were good accommodations, such a _lovely president_, full of wit and spirit, and _nothing to pay_, must soon grow remarkably fashionable.' It did so; but we find it subsequently caused the theatre to be pulled to pieces about the manager's head.

"Mr. Victor says of Mrs. Margaret, 'she possessed captivating charms as a jovial, witty bottle companion, but few remaining as a mere female,' We have Dr. Johnson's testimony, however, who had often gossiped with Mrs. Margaret in the green-room at old Drury, more in the lady's favour.

"This author (Victor) says, speaking of the Beef-steak Club, 'It was a club of ancient inst.i.tution in every theatre; when the princ.i.p.al performers dined one day in the week together (generally Sat.u.r.day), and authors and other geniuses were admitted members.'"

The Club in Ivy-lane, of which Dr. Johnson was a member, was originally a Beef-steak Club.

There was also a political Club, called "the Rump Steak, or Liberty Club," in existence in 1733-4. The members were in eager opposition to Sir Robert Walpole.

At the Bell Tavern, Church-row, Houndsditch, was held the Beef-steak Club, inst.i.tuted by Mr. Beard, Mr. Dunstall, Mr. Woodward, Stoppalear, Bencroft, Gifford, etc.--_See Memoirs of Charles Lee Lewis_, vol. ii.

p. 196.

CLUB AT TOM'S COFFEE-HOUSE.

Covent-Garden has lost many of its houses "studded with anecdote and history;" and the mutations among what Mr. Thackeray affectionately called its "rich cl.u.s.ter of brown taverns" are sundry and manifest.

Its coffee-houses proper have almost disappeared, even in name. Yet, in the last century, in one short street of Covent-Garden--Russell-street-- flourished three of the most celebrated coffee-houses in the metropolis: Will's, b.u.t.ton's, and Tom's. The reader need not be reminded of Will's, with Dryden, the _Tatler_ and _Spectator_, and its wits' room on the first floor; or b.u.t.ton's, with its lion's head letter-box, and the young poets in the back room. Tom's, No. 17, on the north side of Russell-street, and of somewhat later date, was taken down in 1865. The premises remained with little alteration, long after they ceased to be a coffee-house. It was named after its original proprietor, Thomas West, who, Nov. 26, 1722, threw himself, in a delirium, from the second-floor window into the street, and died immediately (_Historical Register_ for 1722). The upper portion of the premises was the coffee-house, under which lived T. Lewis, the bookseller, the original publisher, in 1711, of Pope's _Essay on Criticism_. The usual frequenters upstairs may be judged of by the following pa.s.sage in the _Journey through England_, first edit., 1714:--"After the play, the best company generally go to Tom's and Will's coffee-houses, near adjoining, where there is playing at piquet and the best conversation till midnight. Here you will see blue and green ribbons, with stars, sitting familiarly and talking with the same freedom as if they had left their quality and degrees of distance at home; and a stranger tastes with pleasure the universal liberty of speech of the English nation. And in all the coffee-houses you have not only the foreign prints, but several English ones, with the foreign occurrences, besides papers of morality and party disputes."

Such were the Augustan delights of a memorable coffee-house of the reign of Queen Anne. Of this period is a recollection of Mr. Grignon, sen., having seen the "balcony of Tom's crowded with n.o.blemen in their stars and garters, drinking their tea and coffee exposed to the people." We find an entry in Walpole's _Letters_, 1745:--"A gentleman, I don't know who, the other night at Tom's coffee-house, said, on Lord Baltimore refusing to come into the Admiralty because Lord Vere Beauclerk had the precedence, 'it put him in mind of Pinkethman's pet.i.tion in the _Spectator_, where he complains that formerly he used to act second chair in "Diocletian," but now he was reduced to dance fifth flower-pot.'"

In 1764 there appears to have been formed here, by a guinea subscription, a Club of nearly 700 members--the n.o.bility, foreign ministers, gentry, and men of genius of the age; the large front room on the first floor being the card-room. The Club flourished, so that in 1768, "having considerably enlarged itself of late," Thomas Haines, the then proprietor, took in the front room of the next house westward as a coffee-room. The front room of No. 17 was then appropriated exclusively as a card-room for the subscription club, each member paying one guinea annually; the adjoining apartment being used as a conversation-room. The subscription-books are before us, and here we find in the long list the names of Sir Thomas Robinson, Bart., who was designated "Long Sir Thomas Robinson," to distinguish him from his namesake, Sir Thomas Robinson, created Lord Grantham in 1761. "Long Tom," as the former was familiarly called, was a Commissioner of Excise and Governor of Barbadoes. He was a sad bore, especially to the Duke of Newcastle, the minister, who resided in Lincoln's Inn Fields.

However, he gave rise to some smart things. Lord Chesterfield being asked by the latter Baronet to write some verses upon him, immediately produced this epigram:--

"Unlike my subject now shall be my song, It shall be witty, and it shan't be long."

Long Sir Thomas distinguished himself in this odd manner. When our Sovereign had not dropped the folly of calling himself "King of France," and it was customary at the Coronation of an English Sovereign to have fict.i.tious Dukes of Aquitaine and Normandy to represent the va.s.salage of France, Sir Thomas was selected to fill the second mock dignity at the coronation of George III., to which Churchill alludes in his _Ghost_; but he a.s.signs a wrong dukedom to Sir Thomas:

"Could Satire not (though doubtful since Whether he plumber is or prince) Tell of a simple Knight's advance, To be a doughty peer of France?

Tell how he did a dukedom gain, And Robinson was Aquitain."