Club Life of London Volume I Part 12

Mr. Williamson.

Lord Sandwich.

Prince of Wales.

Mr. Havard.

Chas. Price.

In 1805 the members were--

Sir J. Boyd.

Estcourt.

J. Travanion, jun.

Earl of Suffolk.

Crossdill.

J. Kemble, expelled for his mode of conduct.

Prince of Wales.

Charles Howard, Duke of Norfolk.

Mingay.

Johnson.

Scudamore.

Haworth.

November 6th, 1814:--

Stephenson.

Cobb.

Richards.

Sir J. Scott, Bart.

Foley.

Arnold.

Braddyll.

Nettles.h.i.+pp.

Middleton.

Denison.

Johnson.

Scudamore.

Nixon.

T. Scott.

Wilson.

Ellis.

Walsh.

Linley.

Duke of Norfolk.

Mayo.

Duke of Suss.e.x.

Morrice.

Bolland.

Lord Grantley.

Peter Moore.

Dunn, Treasurer of Drury Lane Theatre.

When the Club dined at the Shakspeare, in the room with the Lion's head over the mantelpiece, these popular actors were members:--

Lewis.

Irish Johnson.

Munden.

Fawcett.

Pope.

Holman.

Simmonds.

Formerly, the table-cloths had gridirons in damask on them; their drinking-gla.s.ses bore gridirons; as did the plates also. Among the presents made to the Society are a punch-ladle, from Barrington Bradshaw; Sir John Boyd, six spoons; mustard pot, by John Trevanion, M.P.; two dozen water-plates and eight dishes, given by the Duke of Suss.e.x; cruet-stand, given by W. Bolland; vinegar-gla.s.ses, by Thomas Scott. Lord Suffolk gave a silver cheese-toaster; toasted or stewed cheese being the wind-up of the dinner.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] At the sale of the curiosities belonging to Mr. Harley, the comedian, at Gower-street, in November, 1858, a silver gridiron, worn by a member of the Steaks, was sold for 1_l._ 3_s._

[13] This and the subsequent lists have been printed by Mr. John Green.

CAPTAIN MORRIS,

THE BARD OF THE BEEF-STEAK SOCIETY.

Hitherto we have mentioned but incidentally Charles Morris, the Nestor and the laureate of the Steaks; but he merits fuller record. "Alas!

poor Yorick! we knew him well;" we remember his "political vest," to which he addressed a sweet lyric--"The Old Whig Poet to his Old Buff Waistcoat."[14] Nor can we forget his courteous manner and his gentlemanly pleasantry, and his unflagging cheerfulness, long after he had retired to enjoy the delights of rural life, despite the early prayer of his racy verse:--

"In town let me live then, in town let me die; For in truth I can't relish the country, not I.

If one must have a villa in summer to dwell, Oh! give me the sweet shady side of Pall Mall."

This "sweet shady side" has almost disappeared; and of the palace whereat he was wont to s.h.i.+ne, not a trace remains, save the name.

Charles Morris was born of good family, in 1745, and appears to have inherited a taste for lyric composition; for his father composed the popular song of _Kitty Crowder_. For half a century, Morris moved in the first circles of rank and gaiety: he was the "Sun of the table,"

at Carlton House, as well as at Norfolk House; and attaching himself politically as well as convivially to his table companions, he composed the celebrated ballads of "Billy's too young to drive us,"

and "Billy Pitt and the Farmer," which were clever satires upon the ascendant politics of their day. His humorous ridicule of the Tories was, however, but ill repaid by the Whigs; at least, if we may trust the Ode to the Buff Waistcoat, written in 1815. His 'Songs Political and Convivial,' many of which were sung at the Steaks' board, became very popular. In 1830, we possessed a copy of the 24th edition, with a portrait of the author, half-masked; one of the ditties was described to have been "sung by the Prince of Wales to a certain lady," to the air of "There's a difference between a Beggar and a Queen;" some of the early songs were condemned for their pruriency, and were omitted in subsequent editions. His best Anacreontic is the song _Ad Poculum_, for which Morris received the Gold Cup from the Harmonic Society:

"Come, thou soul-reviving cup; Try thy healing art; Stir the fancy's visions up, And warm my wasted heart.

Touch with freshening tints of bliss Memory's fading dream.

Give me, while thy lip I kiss, The heaven that's in thy stream.

As the witching fires of wine Pierce through Time's past reign, Gleams of joy that once were mine, Glimpse back on life again.

And if boding terrors rise O'er my melting mind, Hope still starts to clear my eyes, And drinks the tear behind.

Then life's wintry shades new drest, Fair as summer seem; Flowers I gather from my breast, And suns.h.i.+ne from the stream.

As the cheering goblets pa.s.s, Memory culls her store; Scatters sweets around my gla.s.s, And prompts my thirst for more.

Far from toils the great and grave To proud ambition give, My little world kind Nature gave, And simply bade me live.

On me she fix'd an humble art, To deck the Muse's groves, And on the nerve that twines my heart The touch of deathless love.