“He is become already a very promising miller.”—Bell’s Life in London.

I WAS walking very leisurely one evening down Cripplegate, when I overtook—who could help overtaking him?—a lame elderly gentleman, who, by the nature of his gait, appeared to represent the Ward. Like certain lots at auctions, he seemed always going, but never gone: it was that kind of march that, from its slowness, is emphatically called halting. Gout, in fact, had got him into a sad hobble, and, like terror, made his flesh creep.

There was, notwithstanding, a lurking humorousness in his face, in spite of pace, that reminded you of Quick or Liston in Old Rapid. You saw that he was not slow, at least, at a quirk or quip,—not backward at repartee,—not behind-hand with his jest, in short, that he was a great wit though he could not jump.

There was something, besides, in his physiognomy, as well as his dress and figure, that strongly indicated his locality. He was palpably a dweller, if not a native, of that clime distinguished equally by “the rage of the vulture and the love of the turtle,”—the good old City of London. But an accident soon confirmed my surmises.

In plucking out his handkerchief from one of his capacious coat pockets, the Bandana tumbled out with it a large roll of manuscript; and as he proceeded a good hundred yards before he discovered the loss, I had ample time before he struggled back, in his Crawly Common pace, to the spot, to give the paper a hasty perusal, and even to make a few random extracts. The MS. purported to be a Collection of Civic FacetiÆ, from the Mayoralty of Alderman * * * * up to the present time: and, from certain hints scattered up and down, the Recorder evidently considered himself to have been, for wise saws or witty, the Top Sawyer. Not to forestal the pleasure of self-publication, I shall avoid all that are, or may be, his own sayings, and give only such jeux de mots as have a distinct parentage.

EXTRACTS FROM THE MS.

“Alderman F. was very hard of hearing, and Alderman B. was very hard on his infirmity. One day, a dumb man was brought to the Justice-room charged with passing bad notes. B. declined to enter upon the case. ‘Go to Alderman F.,’ he said: ‘when a dumb man utters, a deaf one ought to hear it.’”

“B. was equally hard on Alderman V.’s linen-drapery. One day he came late into Court. ‘I have just come,’ said he, ‘from V.’s villa. He had family prayers last night, and began thus—Now let us read the Psalm Nunc Dimities.’”

“Old S., the tobacconist of Holborn Hill, wore his own hair tied behind in a queue, and had a favourite seat in the shop, with his back to the window. Alderman B. pointed him out once to me. ‘Look! there he is, as usual, advertising his pigtail.’”

“Alderman A. was never very remarkable for his skill in orthography. A note of his writing is still extant, requesting a brother magistrate to preside for him, and giving, literatim, the following reason for his own absence:—‘Jackson the painter is to take me off in my Rob of Office, and I am gone to give him a cit.’ His pronunciation was equally original. I remember his asking Alderman C., just before the 9th of November, whether he should have any men in armour in his shew.”

“Guildhall and its images were always uppermost with Alderman A. It was he who so misquoted Shakspeare—‘A Parish Beadle, when he’s trod upon, feels as much corporal suffering as Gog and Magog.’”

“A well-known editor of a morning paper enquired of Alderman B., one day, what he thought of his journal. ‘I like it all,’ said the Alderman, ‘but its Broken English.’ The editor stared and asked for an explanation. ‘Why, the List of Bankrupts, to be sure!’”

“When Alderman B. was elected Mayor, to give greater Éclat to his banquet, he sent for Dobbs, the most celebrated cook of that time, to take the command of the kitchen. Dobbs was quite an enthusiast in his art, and some culinary deficiencies on the part of the ordinary Mansion-House professors driving him at least to desperation, he leapt upon one of the dressers, and began an oration to them, by this energetic apostrophe,—‘Gentlemen! do you call yourselves cooks!’”

“One of the present Household titles in the Mansion-House establishment was of singular origin. When the celebrated men in armour were first exhibited, Alderman P., who happened to be with his Lordship previous to the procession, was extremely curious in examining the suits of mail, &c., expressing, at the same time, an eager desire to try on one of the helmets. The Mayor, with his usual consideration, insisted on first sending it down to the kitchen to be aired, after which process the ambition of the Alderman met with its gratification. For some little time he did not perceive any inconvenience from his new beaver, but by degrees the enclosure became first uncomfortably, and then intolerably warm; the confined heat being aggravated by his violent but vain struggles to undo the unaccustomed fastenings. An armourer was obliged to be sent for before his face could be let out, red and rampant as a Brentford Lion from its iron cage. It appeared, that in the hurry of the Pageant, the chief Cook had clapped the casque upon the fire, and thus found out a recipe for stewing an Alderman’s head in its own steam, and for which feat he has retained the title of the Head-Cook, ever since!”

“G. the Common-council-man, was a Warden of his own Company, the Merchant Tailors’. At one of their frequent Festivals, he took with him, to the dinner, a relation, an officer of the tenth foot. By some blunder, the soldier was taken for one of the fraternity, but G. hastened to correct the mistake:—‘Gentlemen, this isn’t one of the Ninth parts of a man—he’s one of the Tenth!’”

“One day there was a dispute, as to the difficulty of Catch-Singing, Alderman B. struck in, ‘Go to Cheshire the Hangman—he’ll prove to you there’s a good deal of Execution in a Catch.’”