IT was one of the conclusions arrived at by Adelung, that the same language would not maintain itself beyond the limit of a hundred and fifty thousand square miles; but by means of books the limits of the world alone are the limits within which language and the enjoyment of it can be confined. Letters waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole, and printed volumes carry thoughts that breathe and words that burn over the great oceans from one quarter of the world to another.
Such a volume is the one now in the hand of the reader. It is freighted with a dozen pleasant papers or essays, the subjects of which are not confined to America exclusively. They furnish us with text, and afford opportunity for illustrative comment.
Profiting by this opportunity, let me commence by observing, in reference to the opening essay, that the inns and taverns of London underwent a great change after the death of James the First. The rights of honest topers were suppressed by his son King Charles, who, for the poor[Pg 2] fee of an annual three pounds sterling, granted licences to tavern-keepers to sell wines at what prices they pleased, in spite of all statutes to the contrary! You may fancy how flushed the face of a thirsty Cockney might become, who, on putting down his eightpence for a quart of claret, was told by Francis, the drawer, that the price was a full quarter noble, or ‘one-and-eightpence’!
Lord Goring, who issued these licences, pocketed a respectable amount of fees in return. By statute, London had authority only for the establishment of forty taverns. But what did roystering George Goring care for statute, since the king gave him licence to ride over it? Taverns multiplied accordingly, not only in the city but in those ‘suburbs,’ as they were once called, fragrant Drury Lane and refined ‘Convent Garden.’ With competition came lower prices, however, and the throats of the Londoners were refreshed, while their purses were not so speedily lightened.
Jolly places they became again; but when they not only increased all over the town, but took to ‘victualling,’ as it was termed, as well as ‘liquoring,’ the authorities began to inquire into the matter. With the claret that was drunk, a corresponding amount of venison was eaten. At the same time the king’s bucks began to disappear, and suspicion arose that gentlemen in taverns dined off his sacred majesty’s deer! A watch was set to prevent such felonious fare being carried into London from any of the royal parks, chases, or forests. Still haunches smoked on the boards of those naughty victualling taverns, and haughty Cockneys, ‘greatly daring, dined’! The stolen bucks were smuggled in over Bow Bridge; and not till that passage was occupied by representatives of legal[Pg 3] authority did the venison intended for the court cease to find its way into the city.
The drama at this time lingered about Blackfriars and the Bankside. Bacchus emigrated westward, before Thespis. In 1633, in ‘Convent Garden’ and the ‘little lane’ adjacent, which had then just begun to be called Russell Street, there were not less than eight taverns and twenty alehouses. This was thought to be so much beyond the requirements of the public thirst, that an order was issued to reduce the number of taverns to two and the alehouses to four. The suburban public cried out against the drinking privileges of the city, where claret was tapped in taverns and ale ran from the spigot from before breakfast till after supper-time. The Council directed the attention of the Lord Mayor thereto, and in 1633 inquiry was made as to how many taverns had been newly opened since the year 1612. The reply was, ‘sixty and one.’ In the return it is pleasant to read of the ‘Boar’s Head,’ as ‘an ancient tavern.’ Teetotallers will, perhaps, entertain due regard for ‘Bagsishaw Ward,’ as being the only one in the city described as having ‘never a tavern within that ward.’ But, then, Basing Hall, or Bagsishaw Ward, was of such small extent as to be rather contemptuously spoken of by Stowe himself, who calls it ‘a small thing consisting of one street.’
An inhabitant of this ward had, therefore, only to step into the next street if he wanted a stoup of Bordeaux or a flagon of ale. If he swore over his liquor he was liable to the penalty of a shilling; and if he went on his way home noisily, with more claret under his belt than he well knew how to carry, he might be mulcted of a crown. These fines were distributed among the poor, so that the more[Pg 4] drinking and profanity abounded, the better for those poor. To be blasphemous was to be on one of the blessed paths of charity.
1009068645
Such a volume is the one now in the hand of the reader. It is freighted with a dozen pleasant papers or essays, the subjects of which are not confined to America exclusively. They furnish us with text, and afford opportunity for illustrative comment.
Profiting by this opportunity, let me commence by observing, in reference to the opening essay, that the inns and taverns of London underwent a great change after the death of James the First. The rights of honest topers were suppressed by his son King Charles, who, for the poor[Pg 2] fee of an annual three pounds sterling, granted licences to tavern-keepers to sell wines at what prices they pleased, in spite of all statutes to the contrary! You may fancy how flushed the face of a thirsty Cockney might become, who, on putting down his eightpence for a quart of claret, was told by Francis, the drawer, that the price was a full quarter noble, or ‘one-and-eightpence’!
Lord Goring, who issued these licences, pocketed a respectable amount of fees in return. By statute, London had authority only for the establishment of forty taverns. But what did roystering George Goring care for statute, since the king gave him licence to ride over it? Taverns multiplied accordingly, not only in the city but in those ‘suburbs,’ as they were once called, fragrant Drury Lane and refined ‘Convent Garden.’ With competition came lower prices, however, and the throats of the Londoners were refreshed, while their purses were not so speedily lightened.
Jolly places they became again; but when they not only increased all over the town, but took to ‘victualling,’ as it was termed, as well as ‘liquoring,’ the authorities began to inquire into the matter. With the claret that was drunk, a corresponding amount of venison was eaten. At the same time the king’s bucks began to disappear, and suspicion arose that gentlemen in taverns dined off his sacred majesty’s deer! A watch was set to prevent such felonious fare being carried into London from any of the royal parks, chases, or forests. Still haunches smoked on the boards of those naughty victualling taverns, and haughty Cockneys, ‘greatly daring, dined’! The stolen bucks were smuggled in over Bow Bridge; and not till that passage was occupied by representatives of legal[Pg 3] authority did the venison intended for the court cease to find its way into the city.
The drama at this time lingered about Blackfriars and the Bankside. Bacchus emigrated westward, before Thespis. In 1633, in ‘Convent Garden’ and the ‘little lane’ adjacent, which had then just begun to be called Russell Street, there were not less than eight taverns and twenty alehouses. This was thought to be so much beyond the requirements of the public thirst, that an order was issued to reduce the number of taverns to two and the alehouses to four. The suburban public cried out against the drinking privileges of the city, where claret was tapped in taverns and ale ran from the spigot from before breakfast till after supper-time. The Council directed the attention of the Lord Mayor thereto, and in 1633 inquiry was made as to how many taverns had been newly opened since the year 1612. The reply was, ‘sixty and one.’ In the return it is pleasant to read of the ‘Boar’s Head,’ as ‘an ancient tavern.’ Teetotallers will, perhaps, entertain due regard for ‘Bagsishaw Ward,’ as being the only one in the city described as having ‘never a tavern within that ward.’ But, then, Basing Hall, or Bagsishaw Ward, was of such small extent as to be rather contemptuously spoken of by Stowe himself, who calls it ‘a small thing consisting of one street.’
An inhabitant of this ward had, therefore, only to step into the next street if he wanted a stoup of Bordeaux or a flagon of ale. If he swore over his liquor he was liable to the penalty of a shilling; and if he went on his way home noisily, with more claret under his belt than he well knew how to carry, he might be mulcted of a crown. These fines were distributed among the poor, so that the more[Pg 4] drinking and profanity abounded, the better for those poor. To be blasphemous was to be on one of the blessed paths of charity.
The Collector (Illustrated)
IT was one of the conclusions arrived at by Adelung, that the same language would not maintain itself beyond the limit of a hundred and fifty thousand square miles; but by means of books the limits of the world alone are the limits within which language and the enjoyment of it can be confined. Letters waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole, and printed volumes carry thoughts that breathe and words that burn over the great oceans from one quarter of the world to another.
Such a volume is the one now in the hand of the reader. It is freighted with a dozen pleasant papers or essays, the subjects of which are not confined to America exclusively. They furnish us with text, and afford opportunity for illustrative comment.
Profiting by this opportunity, let me commence by observing, in reference to the opening essay, that the inns and taverns of London underwent a great change after the death of James the First. The rights of honest topers were suppressed by his son King Charles, who, for the poor[Pg 2] fee of an annual three pounds sterling, granted licences to tavern-keepers to sell wines at what prices they pleased, in spite of all statutes to the contrary! You may fancy how flushed the face of a thirsty Cockney might become, who, on putting down his eightpence for a quart of claret, was told by Francis, the drawer, that the price was a full quarter noble, or ‘one-and-eightpence’!
Lord Goring, who issued these licences, pocketed a respectable amount of fees in return. By statute, London had authority only for the establishment of forty taverns. But what did roystering George Goring care for statute, since the king gave him licence to ride over it? Taverns multiplied accordingly, not only in the city but in those ‘suburbs,’ as they were once called, fragrant Drury Lane and refined ‘Convent Garden.’ With competition came lower prices, however, and the throats of the Londoners were refreshed, while their purses were not so speedily lightened.
Jolly places they became again; but when they not only increased all over the town, but took to ‘victualling,’ as it was termed, as well as ‘liquoring,’ the authorities began to inquire into the matter. With the claret that was drunk, a corresponding amount of venison was eaten. At the same time the king’s bucks began to disappear, and suspicion arose that gentlemen in taverns dined off his sacred majesty’s deer! A watch was set to prevent such felonious fare being carried into London from any of the royal parks, chases, or forests. Still haunches smoked on the boards of those naughty victualling taverns, and haughty Cockneys, ‘greatly daring, dined’! The stolen bucks were smuggled in over Bow Bridge; and not till that passage was occupied by representatives of legal[Pg 3] authority did the venison intended for the court cease to find its way into the city.
The drama at this time lingered about Blackfriars and the Bankside. Bacchus emigrated westward, before Thespis. In 1633, in ‘Convent Garden’ and the ‘little lane’ adjacent, which had then just begun to be called Russell Street, there were not less than eight taverns and twenty alehouses. This was thought to be so much beyond the requirements of the public thirst, that an order was issued to reduce the number of taverns to two and the alehouses to four. The suburban public cried out against the drinking privileges of the city, where claret was tapped in taverns and ale ran from the spigot from before breakfast till after supper-time. The Council directed the attention of the Lord Mayor thereto, and in 1633 inquiry was made as to how many taverns had been newly opened since the year 1612. The reply was, ‘sixty and one.’ In the return it is pleasant to read of the ‘Boar’s Head,’ as ‘an ancient tavern.’ Teetotallers will, perhaps, entertain due regard for ‘Bagsishaw Ward,’ as being the only one in the city described as having ‘never a tavern within that ward.’ But, then, Basing Hall, or Bagsishaw Ward, was of such small extent as to be rather contemptuously spoken of by Stowe himself, who calls it ‘a small thing consisting of one street.’
An inhabitant of this ward had, therefore, only to step into the next street if he wanted a stoup of Bordeaux or a flagon of ale. If he swore over his liquor he was liable to the penalty of a shilling; and if he went on his way home noisily, with more claret under his belt than he well knew how to carry, he might be mulcted of a crown. These fines were distributed among the poor, so that the more[Pg 4] drinking and profanity abounded, the better for those poor. To be blasphemous was to be on one of the blessed paths of charity.
Such a volume is the one now in the hand of the reader. It is freighted with a dozen pleasant papers or essays, the subjects of which are not confined to America exclusively. They furnish us with text, and afford opportunity for illustrative comment.
Profiting by this opportunity, let me commence by observing, in reference to the opening essay, that the inns and taverns of London underwent a great change after the death of James the First. The rights of honest topers were suppressed by his son King Charles, who, for the poor[Pg 2] fee of an annual three pounds sterling, granted licences to tavern-keepers to sell wines at what prices they pleased, in spite of all statutes to the contrary! You may fancy how flushed the face of a thirsty Cockney might become, who, on putting down his eightpence for a quart of claret, was told by Francis, the drawer, that the price was a full quarter noble, or ‘one-and-eightpence’!
Lord Goring, who issued these licences, pocketed a respectable amount of fees in return. By statute, London had authority only for the establishment of forty taverns. But what did roystering George Goring care for statute, since the king gave him licence to ride over it? Taverns multiplied accordingly, not only in the city but in those ‘suburbs,’ as they were once called, fragrant Drury Lane and refined ‘Convent Garden.’ With competition came lower prices, however, and the throats of the Londoners were refreshed, while their purses were not so speedily lightened.
Jolly places they became again; but when they not only increased all over the town, but took to ‘victualling,’ as it was termed, as well as ‘liquoring,’ the authorities began to inquire into the matter. With the claret that was drunk, a corresponding amount of venison was eaten. At the same time the king’s bucks began to disappear, and suspicion arose that gentlemen in taverns dined off his sacred majesty’s deer! A watch was set to prevent such felonious fare being carried into London from any of the royal parks, chases, or forests. Still haunches smoked on the boards of those naughty victualling taverns, and haughty Cockneys, ‘greatly daring, dined’! The stolen bucks were smuggled in over Bow Bridge; and not till that passage was occupied by representatives of legal[Pg 3] authority did the venison intended for the court cease to find its way into the city.
The drama at this time lingered about Blackfriars and the Bankside. Bacchus emigrated westward, before Thespis. In 1633, in ‘Convent Garden’ and the ‘little lane’ adjacent, which had then just begun to be called Russell Street, there were not less than eight taverns and twenty alehouses. This was thought to be so much beyond the requirements of the public thirst, that an order was issued to reduce the number of taverns to two and the alehouses to four. The suburban public cried out against the drinking privileges of the city, where claret was tapped in taverns and ale ran from the spigot from before breakfast till after supper-time. The Council directed the attention of the Lord Mayor thereto, and in 1633 inquiry was made as to how many taverns had been newly opened since the year 1612. The reply was, ‘sixty and one.’ In the return it is pleasant to read of the ‘Boar’s Head,’ as ‘an ancient tavern.’ Teetotallers will, perhaps, entertain due regard for ‘Bagsishaw Ward,’ as being the only one in the city described as having ‘never a tavern within that ward.’ But, then, Basing Hall, or Bagsishaw Ward, was of such small extent as to be rather contemptuously spoken of by Stowe himself, who calls it ‘a small thing consisting of one street.’
An inhabitant of this ward had, therefore, only to step into the next street if he wanted a stoup of Bordeaux or a flagon of ale. If he swore over his liquor he was liable to the penalty of a shilling; and if he went on his way home noisily, with more claret under his belt than he well knew how to carry, he might be mulcted of a crown. These fines were distributed among the poor, so that the more[Pg 4] drinking and profanity abounded, the better for those poor. To be blasphemous was to be on one of the blessed paths of charity.
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The Collector (Illustrated)
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Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940149106677 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Lost Leaf Publications |
| Publication date: | 10/18/2013 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 2 MB |
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