University of Virginia Library

A Strand Eclogue.

Scene—An upstairs room in Somerset House. The Antiquarian Society assembied in full fig. At the upper end of a long table a President's chair vacant, in front of which Mr. Martin, the Librarian, is occupied in placing a large cocked hat on a velvet cushion. The clock striketh eight—a short pause, which is at length broken by sundry fidgettings, hemm-ings, and other signs of impatience. Mr. Amyott, the Treasurer, riseth, and preludizeth.
(Treas.)
The clock has struck; 'tis waxing late!
See, full three minutes after eight!
I move then, since my Lord's not here,
That Mister Gurney take the chair!

(Cries of “Hear! hear!” “Chair!” “Mr. Gurney in the Chair,” etc. Hudson Gurney, Esq. ascendeth the vacant Throne, sitteth down, getteth up again, bloweth his nose, tum loquitur.)
(Pres.)
Now, Gentlemen, since time is precious,
While they get ready, to refresh us,
The tea, the buttered toast, and muffin,
With other requisites for stuffing,
That cheer our hearts, and fill our bellies,
Let us to business!—Mr. Ellis!

(The Junior Secretary riseth, bland, and rubicund, taketh out his spectacles, wipeth carefully, and placeth them on their proper supporter, cleareth his throat, boweth to the Chair, and proceedeth.)
(Jun. Sec.)
Sir—Gentlemen—ere we proceed
Farther; permit me now to read
My worthy colleague's minutes, treating
Of what was said and done last meeting!

(Mr. Senior Secretary Carlile handeth the minute book across, the Junior Sec. receiveth it with a gracious smile, openeth it, and readeth.)
(Jun. Sec.)
Presented—first, a Bow and Arrow,
Supposed the same with which the Sparrow
Cock Robin's bosom did transfix;
(See Mother Goose, vol. I, page 6).
Discovered underneath a hay-rick
In Herefordshire—by Dr. Meyrick, (Hear! hear!)

Much like another in the dwelling
Of Dr. Meyrick's son, Llewellyn.
Read—The accompanying essay,
Some forty folios as I guess, a
Brief statement, luminous, and clear,
Of how 'twas found, and when, and where,
With arguments of greatest nicety,
In favour of its authenticity.

(Mr. Caley riseth and walketh up and down, with his hands behind his back, to keep himself awake. Mr. Hallam offereth him snuff, which he declineth, and reseateth himself. The Junior Sec. goeth on.)
(Jun. Sec.)
Read—by the Secretary (me, Sir,)
A paper touching Julius Cæsar,
Tracing his progress all through Cantium
To London, then called Trinovantium,
Proving the Tower he founded in 't
Was not that building near the Mint,
Stained so by foul and midnight slaughter,
But one on t'other side the water,
Converted now, its source forgot,
T' a Manufactory of Shot. (Mr. Caley falleth asleep.)

Presented—by the Junior Sec.,
(Myself again) a Royal wreck,
An antique Thimble, that, with which,
In seventeen hundred forty-six,
Flora Macdonald drove her stitches,
While mending Prince Charles Edward's breeches,
When, from Culloden forc'd to fly,
He tore them in the Isle of Sky.

(A portly Member, at the lower end of the table, riseth abruptly.)
(Memb.)
The Young Pretender wore a kilt,
He had no breeches.—
(Jun. Sec. aside and frowning)
Hang that Gwilt—
(aloud and smiling)
Sir, pardon me, my paper shows
That Prince Charles Edward wore the Trews
Even before he passed the border,
And tore the seat—

(Mr. J. B. Nicholls)
Chair!

(Sir Ev. Home)
Order! Order!

(Jun. Sec.)
Sir—really—may I never stir,
If I—

(Mr. Crofton Croker)
I rise to order, Sir,
The learned Secretary knows
All precedent against him goes,
He can't forget when Mr. Caley
(Perhaps for him a thought too gaily,)
Expended much deep erudition
Upon a certain “deposition”
Of witnesses i' the fifteenth century,
Touching how Queen Anne Boleyn went awry,
The reading, in that very case, he
Opposed, himself, from delicacy.

(Jun. Sec.)
Sir, I assure you, not one particle—

Pres.
Proceed, Sir, to the following article.
We'll not discuss that matter now!

(Jun. Sec.)
To your decision, Sir, I bow—
These interruptions— (Mr. Caley snoreth.)

—Mr. Brayley,
Pray give a jog to Mr. Caley.

Mr. B— shaketh the Keeper of the Augmentation Office by the shoulder; Mr. Crofton Croker singeth the end of a pen in the candle, and applieth it to his nose at the same time. Mr. Caley sneezeth, and openeth his eyes.)
(Jun. Sec.)
Elected—on certificate written
By our prime Counsellor, John Britton,
John Day, Esquire, of Great St. Mary
Axe, a most learned Antiquary,
Whose well-known name requires no gilder,
Foreman to Mister Rennie, Builder,
And sole constructor of the palings
I' the Park, with sundry other railings
In Essex, Sussex, and in Kent,
And of a foot-bridge 'cross the Brent!
—That's all, Sir, and, the minutes ended,
A name, which has been now suspended
The usual time, for ballot calls;
Produce the—

(Sen. Sec.)
Here's the box and balls!
(Chairman readeth aloud the name of the Candidate.)
“Charles Hyson, Bookseller and 'Squire,
Of High Street, Bristol, Somersetshire,”
His Testimonials signed and written
By our prime Counsellor, John Britton.

(The ballot box is passed round by Mr. Martin. Mr. Crofton Croker waggishly secreteth seventeen black balls, and depositeth them slily within the cavity. The box is handed up to the President, who stretcheth forth his right hand towards the cocked hat, while he openeth the drawer with his left. A start—President withdraweth his right hand as if it had touched a red-hot poker; great consternation in his countenance on viewing sable intermixture in drawer. Much temporary confusion in the assembly. On counting balls the “joke” is discovered; President gravely rebuketh ill-timed pleasantry on the part of Member unknown—box passed round again; Candidate declared unanimously elected on A.S.S.—C. Hyson. Esq., led to the table by J. Britton, Fsq. [proposer and seconder]—President riseth, putteth on cocked hat, hind side before.)
(Pres.)
Sir, We, the President and Fellows
Of this most grave Society, jealous
Of our own fame and reputation,
Have made due search and inquiration
Into your merits, and discerning
Your genius, deep research, and learning,
Finding you qualified, no less
Than we, to be A double S,
We do admit you 'mongst our fellows,
(That fire's out, Martin, fetch the bellows),
Not doubting but we've gain'd to-night
An ornament, and Shining Light.

(The newly-elected Fellow puffeth his cheeks as about to return thanks, but words are wanting; Mr. Martin puffeth the fire; Mr. Fohn Britton puffeth himself and friend, as follows:—)
(Mr. J. Britton)
I rise, Sir, as I always do,
Not that I've much to say that's new,
But were I not my powers to try,
You'd wonder what was come to I;
Besides, I've got a thing to show,
An article of great virtu,
A piece of antique crockery ware,
Dug up not far from Brunswick Square,
The fragment of an earthen pot,
With a handle—whether it had not
Another once, is all a guess,
The letters S P, or P S,
Are plain, which stand for Publius Spurius,
Or Spurius Publius—

(Mr. Hoffman)
—Dear! how curious!
Permit me, sir, to feel the handle—
Pray, Mr. Caley, snuff the candle!

(Mr. Crofton Croker)
Allow me, sir (what precious muffs!)
You know friend Caley never snuffs.
(Mr. Crofton Croker snuffeth the candle—out;;—a little bustle until it is relighted.)

(Mr. Britton proceedeth)
Now, sir, before my speech I close
I've one more member to propose.
The Gentleman I'm going to mention,
Is famous for a grand Invention;
Revival, I should rather say,
The greatest far of this our day,
Which some may think a mere absurdity,
Or rank among the hearty purdity.
You've heard of Nimrod, Prince of Greece,
The same that stole the Golden Fleece,
And founded, after many a year,
The Melton hunt in Leicestershire?
A “mighty Hunter” he, you know,
God knows how many years ago;
Though his receipt has long been lacking,
'Tis known he used most famous Blacking,
Which became lost unto the trade
Somewhere about the third Crusade,
And this my friend has found again! (Hear, hear.)

I needn't say no more, 'tis plain
You all anticipate me, and
When I name Warren of the Strand,
I cannot entertain a doubt
You'll hail him with a general shout;
So move, as now my speech I've ended,
That he “as usual, be suspended.”

(Hear, hear!” “Bravo!” etc., from the Brittonites; “No! No!” “Stuff!” “Puff!” and other expletives from the refractory. The President, with his cocked-hat en echelon, at length announceth that Robert Warren, Esq., is elected Fellow by acclamation.)
(Mr. J. Britton)
Now our Society may boast—

(Sir Ev. Home)
Pooh! Gammon! here's the tea and toast!

The tray is brought in—a simultaneous rush at the muffins—Mr. Martin is scalded by a cup of coffee upset on his inexpressibles, and, in the confusion, our Reporter quitteth the room.