Lord Mayor’s Banquet—Eton College—Hampton.
The Jubilee festival at Westminster Abbey was not allowed to supersede the annual sermon at St. Paul’s; and accordingly, on the 18th of June, I attended the service in the cathedral, and heard the Bishop of St. Asaph. The service was performed with the aid of “all the choicest music of the kingdom,” for the choirs of the royal palaces of Windsor and St. James’s were added, on this occasion, to the ordinary musical force of the cathedral, with very great effect. The clergy, with the Bishops, entered in procession through the nave, and the Lord Mayor in robes, and with the civic sword borne before him, figured in the pageant, and occupied his stall. The sermon was scarcely audible where I sat, within the rails of the sanctuary, but it seemed to be earnestly delivered. Then came the Hallelujah Chorus—which I certainly never before heard so impressively performed. “And He shall reign for ever and ever—King of kings, and Lord of lords!” The reverberations of the dome, and the long resounding echoes of those noble aisles prolonged the strain, and made it like the voice of many waters in the new Jerusalem.
It was Waterloo-day; and, while the Duke was supposed to be feasting his friends at Apsley House, the Lord Mayor, at the Mansion-house, gave a city feast to the Clergy of London, with others, among whom I had the honour of being numbered. It was, in fact, a dinner given to the S. P. G., in honour of its Jubilee; and I owed my invitation to the kind offices of the Bishop of Oxford. The Mansion-house is the official residence of the Lord Mayor, and it is a conspicuous object in Lombard-street, near the Bank of England. On arriving, we were shown into an ante-room, where the Lord Mayor received us, and we were presented to the Lady Mayoress. The room was filled with company, and here I met several distinguished personages whom I had not seen before. I was particularly pleased with being introduced, by Dean Milman, to Dr. Croly, for whose genius and productions I have a high regard. The dinner was served in the Egyptian Hall, so called from its original resemblance to a hall described by Vitruvius. It is a spacious banquet-room, and looks very well when lighted, although destitute of such specimens of art as would best furnish its nudity of wall, and its many “coignes of vantage.” The chief table crossed the hall at one end, and at right angles with this, four long tables stretched through the apartment. The Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress sat in state at the head, the former wearing his glittering collar and jewel, as well as his robes, with the city mace, sword, and other splendid insignia displayed before him. The Archbishop, with the Bishops, were seated on his right and left, dressed in their silk gowns and cassocks, in which costume all the clergy present were attired. The ladies made a very superb appearance, and I should suppose the whole company numbered about two hundred persons. The display of plate, and the general show of splendour, was sumptuous, in all respects, answering to one’s ideas of a Lord Mayor’s feast. An old-fashioned civic custom, moreover, was observed with a certain degree of punctilio, which, while highly becoming, was yet to me highly amusing, and made me feel, all the time, as if I were dining with the great Whittington himself, especially when his Lordship sent me a glass, and invited me to the high honour of drinking with him. The mayor of such a metropolis is, indeed, for the time, a right worshipful personage, and in the then incumbent I saw before me a most pleasing representative of the magistracy of the greatest capital of Christendom. He is attended with a degree of state quite worthy of a sovereign. It was odd, I must own, to see his chaplain come forward, in the style described by the cynical Macaulay, and, after saying grace, retire. So, too, the presence of his post-boy, in flaming jacket and short-clothes, and glittering cap, with many other servants, in showy and old-fashioned liveries, gave an antique appearance to the magnificence of the scene. The dinner was served with like attention to ancient ceremonies, soup, venison, comfits and all. Before the dessert, instead of finger-glasses, golden ewers were borne about, filled with rose-water, and thus every body performed his abstersion most fragrantly. At the head of each table was then set an enormous golden chalice, with a cover curiously wrought, the Lord Mayor having a still more magnificent one placed before him. What next? The toast-master appeared behind his lordship’s chair, and began—“My Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, my Lord Bishop of London”—and so on through the roll of Bishops—“my Lords, Ladies and gentlemen! the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress greet you in a loving cup, and give you a hearty welcome.” The Mayor and Mayoress then rose, and taking the loving cup in hand, she uncovered it for him, with a graceful courtesy, to which he returned a bow, and then drank, wiped the chalice with his napkin, allowed it to be covered, and then sat down, while the lady, turning to the Archbishop, who rose accordingly, repeated the ceremony, save that he uncovered the cup, and it was her turn to taste the draught. Thus the cup went round. It was my duty to begin the rite at the table at which I sat, and happily I received the kindest instructions beforehand from my partner, so that I did my duty well enough for a novice: but a more beautiful ceremony, as the pairs successively rose and sat, along the splendid room, I never beheld. I thought of Vortigern and Rowena: but the origin of the custom is said to have been even before the days—
When they carved at the meal
In their gloves of steel,
And drank the red wine thro’ the helmet barr’d;
and when, as one lifted his arm to drink, it was deemed a necessary precaution that one should stand up to guard him from a fifth-rib. With less ceremony, the custom still obtains in the halls of Oxford; but where the ladies take a part in it, it is certainly a most graceful embellishment of feasting.
Instead of the usual grace after meat, a party of male and female singers appeared at the foot of the hall, and reverently sang a little hymn, all the company rising. His Lordship then informed the company that “on occasion of receiving his friends at the Mansion-house, it was his privilege to dispense with all rules save those which governed the ancient entertainments of the city of London, one of which enabled him to request the ladies to remain at the table, and to hope for the continued honour of their company during the evening.” After this velvety preface, he pronounced the first toast, with a similar softness, and then the toast-master shouted—“My lords, ladies and gentlemen, the Lord Mayor has given the Queen.” All rose, and drank loyally, and then came “God save the Queen,” which was heartily sung. “Please to charge your glasses for the next toast,” was the perpetual cry of the toast-master for the next hour, and always the toast was announced with like formality, the speeches and the music, that followed, being all that could be desired. The venerable Archbishop, whose wig gave him a reverend air of the last century, was peculiarly happy in replying to the usual compliments to their right reverend lordships, who all stood while he spoke in their name. The Bishop of Winchester, his younger brother, who wore his jewel as prelate of the order of the Garter, made a very fine appearance. The Bishop of Oxford also wore his decoration as chancellor of that order; and I observed that, on such occasions, he always wore it with the rosette face displayed, while, in divine service, over his Episcopal costume, the other face was exhibited; and very appropriately, as it consists of a pearl ground, with a simple cross, as in an armorial shield. A trifling fact! and yet where one is closely observing the peculiarities of a Church, thus intimately working in with all the civil and social institutions of a mighty empire, the man is a fool who would not be willing to note it. It is with a view to a just delineation of these workings, as they are, that I often refer to incidents, of little account in themselves. This dinner at the Mansion-house was especially noteworthy, as contrasted with the spirit of a civic banquet in our own great towns; and I must own, that if it be desirable that the genius of Christianity should interpenetrate, and transfuse all the forms of civilized life, the contrast is not in our favour.
The entertainment concluded at a comparatively early hour; and then I drove to another, at the residence of the estimable Miss Burdett Coutts, in Piccadilly. Here, among other celebrated men, in the most brilliant party I ever saw, I first met Lord Nelson; and yet again next morning, I met him, before breakfast, attending the daily service at Curzon chapel. The week passed delightfully, in frequent social festivities; and I cannot but particularize a pleasant breakfast party at Mr. Beresford Hope’s—and one of those admirably contrived ones, at Sir Robert Inglis’, in which everybody is so sure to meet with everybody and every thing that is agreeable. On another occasion, at his table, I sat next to Lord Glenelg, and ventured to engage him in conversation on the subject of the hymns of his brother, the late Sir Robert Grant, which are so prominent in our Church Collection, alike for their scholarly and refined taste, and their devotional fervor. He seemed pleased to learn of the value set upon them in America; and soon after, on returning to my lodgings, I found upon my table, as a present from his lordship, a beautiful copy of his brother’s poems, which I shall always highly value.
During the week, I went up to Eton—the place of places, which I had longed to see, and where I was now invited to visit an enthusiastic Etonian. This excursion involved, of course, a visit to Windsor, whose imperial towers so magnificently over-shadow the nest of the choicest progeny of England. Never did I receive such ideas of the moral grandeur of the British Constitution, as comprehending Church, State and Society, as, when, from the fields of Eton College, I surveyed the unparalleled abode of the British sovereign; and then, from the terrace of the castle, looked back upon that nursery of British youth; its studious halls, its venerable chapel, its ample fields for sport, and the crystal waters of the Thames, flowing between; fit emblem of joyous youth, passing on to the burthen of the world and the ocean of eternity.