The baffled chief must now forget his name, I OLD Q.'s TOKAY. TO THE EDITOR OF THE PUBLIC LEDGER, &c, SIR, 10 KNOW few in which the spare part ways of your paper is better employed, than in giving us those little anecdotes and traits of manners which describe a class, at least, if they do not a nation. One would not wish that every folly you record were considered as characteristic of the people of England; but in as far as the manners of the people of fashion are depicted, something is gained to the stock of useful information; and, perhaps, some reasonable check administered. The information you gave us, a few days ago, of the sale of the late Duke of Queensberry's Tokay, at seven pounds sterling per bottle, has no doubt amazed the little people, who have been for some years brooding over the hardness of the times, lamenting over the price of butcher's meat, and bewailing the rising state of the quartern loaf. They cannot conceive how such things are: finding some difficulty in procuring a glass of port wine for cases of sickness, they have no con. ception of a race of beings, who will give seven pounds for a bottle of Tokay, which is to be drank for plea **Massena has been called the Spoiled Child of Fortune. sure. OLD Q.'S TOKAY, 161 sure. Others again, who profess to be political calculators, and who see our once eminent merchants and manufacturers applying to Parliament for relief, begin to doubt the validity of their calculations, and to question whether, after all, there is not a great deal of money somewhere in this kingdom. But I know not, Sir, that the speculations of the one or the other party, on such subjects, will deserve the attention of persons of fashion; and I would rather, therefore, suggest to the latter, that they should endeavour to study a consistency in their expenses; and, when they can place wine on their tables at eighty-four pounds per dozen, take care that every thing else is in proportion. For want of attention to this rule, I have often witnessed, at the tables of the great, a heterogeneous mixture of cheap and dear ingredients, as absurd, in my humble opinion, as a party of nobility and vulgar placed at the same table. I own, however, that there is some difficulty in this. I have not the honour of knowing any of the gentles men who have purchased the Duke of Queensberry's Tokay, but I humbly conceive they will find it rather difficult to bring the other articles, either of the dinner or dessert, up to the standard of his Grace's wine. I am afraid that the markets of this metropolis, the owners of which are by no means deficient in charging, nor even the landlords of our taverns, who are privileged to make many comfortable additions to the expense of a dinner say, Sir, I am afraid that all these put together, and with the kind aid of the Covent Garden fruiterers, will never be able to bring a mouthful up to the price of a glass-full of his Grace's Tokay. On the contrary, the inferiority of price must be in most cases so striking as to discompose that uni formity of extravagance which constitutes the eclat of a feast. We have no reason to complain of the cheapness of turtle and venison, of green peas in January, or or strawberries and cherries in April; yet these, with all their enormity of price, are scarcely fit to keep company with wine at seven pounds per bottle. As to butcher's meat and poultry, I trust no person of taste and fashion would ever think of disgracing their wine in such low company. Fish, indeed, may do something. There are times when that article, one would think, was almost fit to swim in his Grace's Tokay. Last Christmas, for example, we were told of four guineas and a half being given for a single cod-fish. This was pretty well, as it served only about six persons; and had the old Duke's sale then taken place, these guests might have quenched their thirst in a most consistent manner. Another little anecdote of later date convinces me that we may occasionally place an implicit reliance on the conscience of a fishmonger. A Lady of fashion, in a village near London, wished to entertain an illustrious young personage with a dish of fish. Unfortunately for her, the day happened to be what is called a great fish-day, and the fish she wanted was procured at a price too vulgar for me to notice, and not perhaps above twice the sum it would have cost a London citizen. What was to be done? She luckily thought of Smelts, and no smelts were at market! But that was no objection-Smelts must be got; and her fishmonger, no doubt with an infinite deal of pains, and travelling twice to town upon this important mission, procured a dozen of these favourite little fishes; for which he charged at the rate of only seven shillings each!-And here I think, for once, we have an instance of an article fit to be on our plates while the Duke's Tokay is going round and I hope that this anecdote will illustrate what I term the consistency and uniformity of expenses, and for which I earnestly contend. I am, Sir, yours, ( 163 ).. LINES " N THE SPLENDIDLY PRINTED, BUT DISGRACEFUL BRAINLESS PRODUCTION, ENTITLED THE WONDERS OF A WEEK IN BATH." [Original.] SEE, bursting forth from Valpy's classic press, On skull-thick a libel most pernicious, As This "Wondrous Week," in hot-press'd robe attir'd, PARIS IN AN UPROAR! [From the General Evening Post, April 2.3 PARIS convuls'd!!! Rebellion? No, you fool; FUN-DUNGUS. EPIGRAM: ON THE REported deATH OF THE CHILD OF BONAPARTE. [From the General Evening Post, April 4.] SOON as the Royal Infant came to light, BUGGYBO. REGIMENTAL SONG, FOR THE 87TH REGIMENT, CALLED THE PRINCE BY CAPTAIN MORRICE. [From the Morning Post, April 4.] [The following account is given of the origin of this song:-His Royal Highness the Prince, Patron of the See Critical Review, March 18:1. regiment, regiment, on presenting its Colours, intimated to the celebrated Capt. Morrice his royal wish for an appropriate Song to be sung at all festivities of the corps His Royal Highness's command was obeyed by Capt. Morrice, with a fervour which produced the happy thoughts combined in this little piece. The Song is preserved in the regiment as a most precious treasure, and is sung on every festive occasion with an exultation which those who have ever witnessed its effect have forcibly felt, yet can but faintly describe.] COM OME on, brother Soldiers! the field is now ended; We sprang into arms, to give strength to her sway ; t For our blest Constitution our, Colours, we rear: We're the Prince's own lads, from the land of potatoes, And no sound, but of glory, has charms for our ear. Our Colours his own royal arm hath supported; The charge of their fame to our honour he gave; And we trust in the field, where true glory is courted, They'll shine, like himself, the great hope of the brave. May union and concord for ever then bind us; Through honour's bright field with one heart may we roam! Abroad, in all danger the foe ever find us; And Friendship and Love ever meet us at home! save ! EPIGRAM. |