All About Coffee Part 112

"I intend to publish once every week the roarings of the Lion, and hope to make him roar so loud as to be heard over all the British nation. I have, I know not how, been drawn into tattle of myself, more majorum, almost the length of a whole _Guardian_. I shall therefore fill up the remaining part of it with what still relates to my own person, and my correspondents. Now I would have them all know that on the 20th instant, it is my intention to erect a Lion's Head, in imitation of those I have described in Venice, through which all the private commonwealth is said to pa.s.s. This head is to open a most wide and voracious mouth, which shall take in such letters and papers as are conveyed to me by my correspondents, it being my resolution to have a particular regard to all such matters as come to my hands through the mouth of the Lion. There will be under it a box, of which the key will be in my own custody, to receive such papers as are dropped into it. Whatever the Lion swallows I shall digest for the use of the publick. This head requires some time to finish, the workmen being resolved to give it several masterly touches, and to represent it as ravenous as possible. It will be set up in b.u.t.ton's Coffee-house, in Covent Garden, who is directed to show the way to the Lion's Head, and to instruct any young author how to convey his works into the mouth of it with safety and secrecy."

"I think myself obliged to acquaint the publick, that the Lion's Head, of which I advertised them about a fortnight ago, is now erected at b.u.t.ton's Coffee-house, in Russell-street, Covent Garden, where it opens its mouth at all hours for the reception of such intelligence as shall be thrown into it. It is reckoned an excellent piece of workmans.h.i.+p, and was designed by a great hand in imitation of the antique Egyptian lion, the face of it being compounded out of that of a lion and a wizard. The features are strong and well furrowed. The whiskers are admired by all that have seen them. It is planted on the western side of the Coffee-house, holding its paws under the chin, upon a box, which contains everything that he swallows. He is, indeed, a proper emblem of knowledge and action, being all head and paws."

"Being obliged, at present, to attend a particular affair of my own, I do empower my printer to look into the arcana of the Lion, and select out of them such as may be of publick utility; and Mr.

b.u.t.ton is hereby authorized and commanded to give my said printer free ingress and egress to the lion, without any hindrance, let, or molestation whatsoever, until such time as he shall receive orders to the contrary. And, for so doing, this shall be his warrant."

"My Lion, whose jaws are at all times open to intelligence, informs me that there are a few enormous weapons still in being; but that they are to be met with only in gaming houses and some of the obscure retreats of lovers, in and about Drury-lane and Covent Garden."

This memorable Lion's Head was tolerably well carved: through the mouth the letters were dropped into a till at b.u.t.ton's; and beneath were inscribed these two lines from Martial:

_Cervantur magnis isti Cervicibus ungues; Non nisi delicta pascitur ille fera._

The head was designed by Hogarth, and is etched in Ireland's "Ill.u.s.trations." Lord Chesterfield is said to have once offered for the Head fifty guineas. From b.u.t.ton's it was removed to the Shakspeare's Head Tavern, under the Piazza, kept by a person named Tomkyns; and in 1751, was, for a short time, placed in the Bedford Coffee-house immediately adjoining the Shakspeare, and there employed as a letter-box by Dr. John Hill, for his _Inspector_. In 1769, Tomkyns was succeeded by his waiter, Campbell, as proprietor of the tavern and lion's head, and by him the latter was retained until November 8, 1804, when it was purchased by Mr. Charles Richardson, of Richardson's Hotel, for 17 10s., who also possessed the original sign of the Shakspeare's Head. After Mr. Richardson's death in 1827, the Lion's Head devolved to his son, of whom it was bought by the Duke of Bedford, and deposited at Woburn Abbey, where it still remains.

Pope was subjected to much annoyance and insult at b.u.t.ton's. Sir Samuel Garth wrote to Gay, that everybody was pleased with Pope's Translation, "but a few at b.u.t.ton's;" to which Gay adds, to Pope, "I am confirmed that at b.u.t.ton's your character is made very free with, as to morals, etc."

[Ill.u.s.tration: ALEXANDER POPE AT b.u.t.tON'S COFFEE HOUSE--1730

From a drawing by Hogarth. The man opposite the seated figure is thought to be Pope]

Cibber, in a letter to Pope, says: "When you used to pa.s.s your hours at b.u.t.ton's, you were even there remarkable for your satirical itch of provocation; scarce was there a gentleman of any pretension to wit, whom your unguarded temper had not fallen upon in some biting epigram, among which you once caught a pastoral Tartar, whose resentment, that your punishment might be proportionate to the smart of your poetry, had stuck up a birchen rod in the room, to be ready whenever you might come within reach of it; and at this rate you writ and rallied and writ on, till you rhymed yourself quite out of the coffee-house." The "pastoral Tartar" was Ambrose Philips, who, says Johnson, "hung up a rod at b.u.t.ton's, with which he threatened to chastise Pope."

Pope, in a letter to Crags, thus explains the affair: "Mr. Philips did express himself with much indignation against me one evening at b.u.t.ton's Coffee-house (as I was told), saying that I was entered into a cabal with Dean Swift and others, to write against the Whig interest, and in particular to undermine his own reputation and that of his friends, Steele and Addison; but Mr. Philips never opened his lips to my face, on this or any like occasion, though I was almost every night in the same room with him, nor ever offered me any indecorum. Mr. Addison came to me a night or two after Philips had talked in this idle manner, and a.s.sured me of his disbelief of what had been said, of the friends.h.i.+p we should always maintain, and desired I would say nothing further of it. My Lord Halifax did me the honour to stir in this matter, by speaking to several people to obviate a false aspersion, which might have done me no small prejudice with one party. However, Philips did all he could secretly to continue to report with the Hanover Club, and kept in his hands the subscriptions paid for me to him, as secretary to that Club. The heads of it have since given him to understand, that they take it ill; but (upon the terms I ought to be with such a man) I would not ask him for this money, but commissioned one of the players, his equals, to receive it. This is the whole matter; but as to the secret grounds of this malignity, they will make a very pleasant history when we meet."

Another account says that the rod was hung up at the bar of b.u.t.ton's, and that Pope avoided it by remaining at home--"his usual custom." Philips was known for his courage and superior dexterity with the sword; he afterwards became justice of the peace, and used to mention Pope, whenever he could get a man in authority to listen to him, as an enemy to the Government.

At b.u.t.ton's the leading company, particularly Addison and Steele, met in large flowing flaxen wigs. Sir G.o.dfrey Kneller, too, was a frequenter.

The master died in 1731, when in the _Daily Advertiser_, October 5 appeared the following:

"On Sunday morning, died, after three days' illness, Mr. b.u.t.ton, who formerly kept b.u.t.ton's Coffee-house, in Russell-street, Covent Garden: a very noted house for wits, being the place where the Lyon produced the famous _Tatlers_ and _Spectators_, written by the late Mr. Secretary Addison and Sir Richard Steele, Knt., which works will transmit their names with honour to posterity."

Among other wits who frequented b.u.t.ton's were Swift, Arbuthnot, Savage, Budgell, Martin Folkes, and Drs. Garth and Armstrong. In 1720, Hogarth mentions "four drawings in Indian ink" of the characters at b.u.t.ton's Coffee-house. In these were sketches of Arbuthnot, Addison, Pope (as it is conjectured) and a certain Count Viviani, identified years afterwards by Horace Walpole, when the drawings came under his notice. They subsequently came into Ireland's possession.

Jemmy Maclaine, or M'Clean, the fas.h.i.+onable highwayman, was a frequent visitor at b.u.t.ton's. Mr. John Taylor, of the _Sun_ newspaper, describes Maclaine as a tall, showy, good-looking man. A Mr. Donaldson told Taylor that, observing Maclaine paid particular attention to the barmaid of the Coffee-house, the daughter of the landlord, he gave a hint to the father of Maclaine's dubious character. The father cautioned the daughter against the highwayman's addresses, and imprudently told her by whose advice he put her on her guard; she as imprudently told Maclaine. The next time Donaldson visited the coffee-room, and sitting in one of the boxes, Maclaine entered, and in a loud tone said, "Mr. Donaldson, I wish to _spake_ to you in a private room." Mr. D. being unarmed, and naturally afraid of being alone with such a man, said, in answer, that as nothing could pa.s.s between them that he did not wish the whole world to know, he begged leave to decline the invitation. "Very well," said Maclaine, as he left the room, "we shall meet again." A day or two after, as Mr. Donaldson was walking near Richmond, in the evening, he saw Maclaine on horseback; but fortunately, at that moment, a gentleman's carriage appeared in view, when Maclaine immediately turned his horse towards the carriage, and Donaldson hurried into the protection of Richmond as fast as he could. But for the appearance of the carriage, which presented better prey, it is possible that Maclaine would have shot Mr. Donaldson immediately.

Maclaine's father was an Irish Dean; his brother was a Calvinist minister in great esteem at the Hague. Maclaine himself had been a grocer in Welbeck-street, but losing a wife that he loved extremely, and by whom he had one little girl, he quitted his business with two hundred pounds in his pockets which he soon spent, and then took to the road with only one companion, Plunket, a journeyman apothecary.

Maclaine was taken in the autumn of 1750, by selling a laced waistcoat to a p.a.w.nbroker in Monmouth-street, who happened to carry it to the very man who had just sold the lace. Maclaine impeached his companion, Plunket, but he was not taken. The former got into verse: Gray, in his "Long Story," sings:

A sudden fit of ague shook him; He stood as mute as poor M'Lean.

b.u.t.ton's subsequently became a private house, and here Mrs.

Inchbald lodged, probably, after the death of her sister, for whose support she practised such n.o.ble and generous self-denial. Mrs.

Inchbald's income was now 172 a year, and we are told that she now went to reside in a boarding-house, where she enjoyed more of the comforts of life. Phillips, the publisher, offered her a thousand pounds for her Memoirs, which she declined. She died in a boarding-house at Kensington, on the 1st of August, 1821, leaving about 6,000 judiciously divided amongst her relatives. Her simple and parsimonious habits were very strange. "Last Thursday," she writes, "I finished scouring my bedroom, while a coach with a coronet and two footmen waited at my door to take me an airing."

"One of the most agreeable memories connected with b.u.t.ton's," says Leigh Hunt, "is that of Garth, a man whom, for the sprightliness and generosity of his nature, it is a pleasure to name. He was one of the most amiable and intelligent of a most amiable and intelligent cla.s.s of men--the physicians."

It was just after Queen Anne's accession that Swift made acquaintance with the leaders of the wits at b.u.t.ton's. Ambrose Philips refers to him as the strange clergyman whom the frequenters of the Coffee-house had observed for some days. He knew no one, no one knew him. He would lay his hat down on a table, and walk up and down at a brisk pace for half an hour without speaking to any one, or seeming to pay attention to anything that was going forward.

Then he would s.n.a.t.c.h up his hat, pay his money at the bar, and walk off, without having opened his lips. The frequenters of the room had christened him "the mad parson." One evening, as Mr. Addison and the rest were observing him, they saw him cast his eyes several times upon a gentleman in boots, who seemed to be just come out of the country. At last, Swift advanced towards this bucolic gentleman, as if intending to address him. They were all eager to hear what the dumb parson had to say, and immediately quitted their seats to get near him. Swift went up to the country gentleman, and in a very abrupt manner, without any previous salute, asked him, "Pray, Sir, do you know any good weather in the world?" After staring a little at the singularity of Swift's manner and the oddity of the question, the gentleman answered, "Yes, Sir, I thank G.o.d I remember a great deal of good weather in my time."--"That is more," replied Swift, "than I can say; I never remember any weather that was not too hot or too cold, too wet or too dry; but, however G.o.d Almighty contrives it, at the end of the year 'tis all very well."

Sir Walter Scott gives, upon the authority of Dr. Wall, of Worcester, who had it from Dr. Arbuthnot himself, the following anecdote--less coa.r.s.e than the version generally told. Swift was seated by the fire at b.u.t.ton's; there was sand on the floor of the coffee-room, and Arbuthnot, with a design to play upon this original figure, offered him a letter, which he had been just addressing, saying at the same time, "There--sand that"--"I have got no sand," answered Swift, "but I can help you to a little _gravel_." This he said so significantly, that Arbuthnot hastily s.n.a.t.c.hed back his letter, to save it from the fate of the capital of Lilliput.

Tom's Coffee-house in Birchin-lane, Cornhill, though in the main a mercantile resort, acquired some celebrity from its having been frequented by Garrick, who, to keep up an interest in the City, appeared here about twice in a winter at 'Change time, when it was the rendezvous of young merchants.

Hawkins says: "After all that has been said of Mr. Garrick, envy must own that he owed his celebrity to his merit; and yet, of that himself so diffident, that he practiced sundry little but innocent arts, to insure the favour of the public:" yet, he did more. When a rising actor complained to Mrs. Garrick that the newspapers abused him, the widow replied, "You should write your own criticisms; David always did."

One evening, Murphy was at Tom's, when Colley Cibber was playing at whist, with an old general for his partner. As the cards were dealt to him, he took up every one in turn, and expressed his disappointment at each indifferent one. In the progress of the game he did not follow suit, and his partner said, "What! have you not a spade, Mr. Cibber?" The latter, looking at his cards, answered, "Oh yes, a thousand;" which drew a very peevish comment from the general. On which, Cibber, who was shockingly addicted to swearing, replied, "Don't be angry, for--I can play ten times worse if I like."

The celebrated Bedford Coffee-house, in Covent Garden, once attracted so much attention as to have published, "Memoirs of the Bedford Coffee-house," two editions, 1751 and 1763. It stood "under the Piazza, in Covent Garden," in the northwest corner, near the entrance to the theatre, and has long ceased to exist.

In the _Connoisseur_, No. 1, 1754, we are a.s.sured that "this Coffee-house is every night crowded with men of parts. Almost every one you meet is a polite scholar and a wit. Jokes and bon-mots are echoed from box to box: every branch of literature is critically examined, and the merit of every production of the press, or performance of the theatres, weighed and determined."

And in the above-named "Memoirs" we read that "this spot has been signalized for many years as the emporium of wit, the seat of criticism, and the standard of taste.--Names of those who frequented the house: Foote, Mr. Fielding, Mr. Woodward, Mr. Leone, Mr. Murphy, Mopsy, Dr. Arne. Dr. Arne was the only man in a suit of velvet in the dog-days."

Stacie kept the Bedford when John and Henry Fielding, Hogarth, Churchill, Woodward, Lloyd, Dr. Goldsmith and many others met there and held a gossiping s.h.i.+lling rubber club. Henry Fielding was a very smart fellow.

The _Inspector_ appears to have given rise to this reign of the Bedford, when there was placed here the Lion from b.u.t.ton's, which proved so serviceable to Steele, and once more fixed the dominion of wit in Covent Garden.

The reign of wit and pleasantry did not, however, cease at the Bedford at the demise of the _Inspector_. A race of punsters next succeeded. A particular box was allotted to this occasion, out of hearing of the lady of the bar, that the _double entendres_, which were sometimes very indelicate, might not offend her.

The Bedford was beset with scandalous nuisances, of which the following letter, from Arthur Murphy to Garrick, April 10, 1768, presents a pretty picture:

"Tiger Roach (who used to bully at the Bedford Coffee-house because his name was Roach) is set up by Wilke's friends to burlesque Luttrel and his pretensions. I own I do not know a more ridiculous circ.u.mstance than to be a joint candidate with the Tiger. O'Brien used to take him off very pleasantly, and perhaps you may, from his representation, have some idea of this important wight. He used to sit with a half-starved look, a black patch upon his cheek, pale with the idea of murder, or with rank cowardice, a quivering lip, and a downcast eye. In that manner he used to sit at a table all alone, and his soliloquy, interrupted now and then with faint attempts to throw off a little saliva, was to the following effect:--'Hut! hut! a mercer's 'prentice with a bag-wig;--d---- n my s---- l, if I would not skiver a dozen of them like larks! Hut!

hut! I don't understand such airs!--I'd cudgel him back, breast and belly, for three skips of a louse!--How do you do, Pat? Hut! hut!

G.o.d's blood--Larry, I'm glad to see you; 'Prentices! a fine thing indeed!--Hut! hut! How do you do, Dominick!--D---- n my s---- l, what's here to do!' These were the meditations of this agreeable youth. From one of these reveries he started up one night, when I was there, called a Mr. Bagnell out of the room, and most heroically stabbed him in the dark, the other having no weapon to defend himself with. In this career, the Tiger persisted, till at length a Mr. Lennard brandished a whip over his head, and stood in a menacing att.i.tude, commanding him to ask pardon directly. The Tiger shrank from the danger, and with a faint voice p.r.o.nounced--'Hut! what signifies it between you and me? Well! well!