Punch (93.1887)

228

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [Novbmhbh 12, 1887.

MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE CITY OF LONDON.

{A Contribution toioards a Future History, by Macaulay Stiggins, C. 0.)

The Loed Matoe was the first Privy Councillor created, and has
remained so ever since that auspicious event. On the death of the
Monarch, he presides at the meeting that is immediately summoned,
and appoints the new Cabinet, generally from the members of the

late Government,
„ Q but on one memor-

(QirT^, able occasion he
$rJxs&£) appointed all the
/^Itsllil^! members of the
Court of Aldermen
who had passed the
Chair, and al-
though they were
afterwards induced
to resign, it was
noticed that during
their short admi-
nistration matters
went on much as
usual. This was
called the Cabinet
of Absolute "Wis-
dom, after Alder-
man Wood, the
Prime Minister,
who' was the First Lord of the Treasury who ever left more
in it than he found there. His beautiful daughter, Mahia, was
the reigning Toast of those hard-drinking days, and gave her
well-known name to the magnificent City Barge that periodically
conveys the City Fathers, together with the City Mothers, on their
several important inspections of the Silver Thames, in the neighbour-
hood of Richmond and,Twiokenham. The matters they have to discuss
on these occasions are of so weighty a nature that they are compelled
to have five or six horses to draw them. On one occasion, and one
only, they managed to get as far as Oxford, an account of which
celebrated voyage was written by the Lord Mayor's Chaplain of the
time, under the title of ", Alderman Wenables' Woyage to Hoxf ord,"
a copy of which is still preserved in the Bodleian, among their most
cherished treasures, and can only be seen on special application, as
fabulous sums have been offered by the Court of Aldermen for its
destruction, it being the only copy that escaped when the whole
edition was ordered to_ be bought up and destroyed. This unique
volume is said.to contain such astounding revelations as must be seen
to be believed, and would possibly not be believed even then.

Before the newly-elected Lord Mayor is sworn in, he has to pro-
duce a Certificate from a Wine Merchant, "residinge in ye Cittye,"
and a Freeman of the Vintners' Company, that he has placed in the
capacious Cellar at the Mansion House, provided for that purpose,
ten Tuns, or one thousand dozen of good wine, for the year's con-
sumption, and whatever is left, if any, is distributed among the
Boyal Hospitals, the quantity being carefully recorded by the learned
Becorder, which record is placed under the control of the equally
learned Comptroller, and remains for all time, as a witness to the
liberality or stinginess of the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor of
that particular year.

The Sheriffs are the most ancient officers of the Corporation, having
been first elected in the reign of King Nebtjchadnezzae. A singular
custom still prevails, originating, it is said, in their association with
the grass-eating monarch. They are entitled, by virtue of their
office, to the first six bundles of sparrow-grass—as it was originally
spelt, and is still called by Members of the Corporation—that are
brought into Covent Garden Market: and his Grace the Duke of
Bedfobd is always courteously invited to partake of it, at a sump-
tuous banquet called "the Grass Festival." {Vide Stow, cap. 23 of
Bell's ed.)

The City Marshal was formerly a personage of great importance,
being in fact of the same rank as a Field Marshal, the only difference
being that one acted in the City and the other in the Field, whence
their names. The City Marshal was the City Champion, and always
rode into Guildhall, fully armed, on Lord Mayor's Lay, at the com-
mencement of the Banquet, and, throwing down a glove, dared any-
one to mortal combat who disputed the rights of the Lord Mayor.
If no one accepted his challenge, he quaffed a flagon of sack to his
Lordship's health, and then cleverly and gracefully backed out of
the Hall. It is recorded that on one occasion his challenge was
accepted by a gallant Common Councilman who had been fulfilling
the important duties of Wine-taster, and who, when called upon to
name time and place for the deadly encounter, said, in the memo-
rable words of the great Alfeed, "Here and now!" which so
astonished the Champion that he pleaded sudden indisposition, and
withdrew. The custom has since been discontinued. The gallant
Common Councilman was made Deputy of the Ward of Port-soaken.

In ancient times the Loed Matoe. as every one knows, had a Fool
all to himself, and he was the only Fool permitted in the City. The
appointment was open to all by competitive examination. On the
occasion of a Loed Mayob making a Fool of himself the office was
abolished by the Common Council from motives of economy. In
memory of this ancient privilege the Loed Matoe once in the season
has a fool—a gooseberry fool—all to himself.

A NAPPY HOLIDAY.

Any Time in August.—Just been reading capital article in Nine-
teenth Century, by Dr. James Mute Howie, on the "Nerve Best-
Cure," which says—" For those who cannot get a sufficient holiday,
the best substitute is an occasional day in
bed." Why not several days in bed? In
fact one's whole summer holiday ? " Better
than climbing toilsome mountains," he re-
marks. Quite so—and much better than
toilsome trip to Bamsgate with one's whole
family in tow. (Think of the Old Woman
who lived in a Shoe. She had all her
family in toe. Laugh feebly at my own
joke. Beally my nerves must be very bad.)
Best feature of new holiday plan, however,
is its cheapness. Was quite at a loss how
to afford our annual trip till Howie came borng .Nap.

to rescue with his " (y)early to bed" cure. Announce to family
that I intend following Dr. Howie's advice. Family seems too
stupefied to say anything.

Evening.—Family has found its voice. Protests unanimously and
quite fiercely against new holiday plan. Wife "sure I can afford
trip to sea-side." If not, where does my money go to? Argument
forcible, but unpleasant.

First Day.—Holiday begins. Sleep till 11 a.m. Scrumpshous!
Should have slept longer, but two hurdy-gurdies stop outside, play-
ing different airs. Not only murder the tunes, but " murder sleep "
as well. Listen for ten minutes—nerves terribly shaky. Oughtn't
to get out of bed, Howie says, but must. See my eldest boy, Heney,
giving Italian fiends money! What does this unwonted generosity
mean ?

Afternoon.—Dinner in bed not a success. Everything underdone.
Tell wife. She says, " Cook and servants in bad tempers ; thought
we were all going to Bamsgate, and they would have rest." Best
means clandestine kitchen parties. Feel angry—bad for nerves, but
can't help it. Sleep impossible, as bed full of crumbs. Wonder
Howie didn't think of this. Send Henet for evening paper—per-
haps it will soothe me.

It doesn't. He brings back one three days old. Says shopman
gave it him! Send him again, and shop closed for night. Nerves
actually worse than ever.

Second Day,—Had disturbed night, owing to lack of my usual
exercise yesterday. Still must stick to Howie's prescription. Ter-
rific row in house. Wife comes up after breakfast (in tears) to say
children, deprived of sea-side trip, are ungovernable ; pretend to be
buffaloes and Cowboys in drawing-room! Already two valuable
vases wrecked. Hang the children! Hang Colonel Cody too ! Still
even paying for new vases cheaper than Bamsgate lodgings. Bead
morning paper. Just dropping off to sleep over somebody's important
speech on Ireland, when-

Three hurdy-gurdies outside! Bush to window, open it, and bid
men avaunt. They won't avaunt. Say "they've been ordered to
come every morning for a month by the young gent." This must be
Henby's "Plan of Campaign." Send for him. and find he has
prudently gone out. Nothing for it but to stuff cotton-wool into
ears till men go. Cotton-wool in ears for a whole hour shatters nerves.

Third Day.—Much worse. Though I've given strict orders that
no letters or bills are to be sent up to my bed-room, find Tax-
Collector's little " Demand-Note" wrapped in fold of morning
paper 1 Annoyed. Perhaps, after all, Howie wrong. Hullo!
what's that? Somebody on my window-sill! Burglars? No,
can't be. How bad all this is for my nerves. Spring up in time to
see Henet disappearing down rope-ladder, which he and his brothers
have let down from roof. How horribly dangerous ! Ring violently.
Hear heavy thud in garden. Talk of " Nerve Best-Cure "—rest of
my nerves gone long ago, none left to be cured.

Wife (in tears again—awfully bad for nerves this) says the thud
was not Henet falling ; boys have pulled down part of chimney,
which has smashed the front steps—that's all. She suggests that
perhaps, after all, this holiday plan in bed is not so good as-

Five hurdy-gurdies to-day ! Maddening! Hired by Henet,
wife says. Send him to bed for whole day; we '11 see how he likes
" Best-Cure" for his nerves. Get up gloomily, dress, and go down-
stairs. Pitch Nineteenth Century into waste-paper basket. Feel
nerves better after it. Decide on Bamsgate, as usual, and so ends
my holiday in bed—my " Sleepy Hollow " day!

KOTIkE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether BIS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will
in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamned and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or V/rapper. 'Io this rule
there will be no exception.