William Hicks, who died in the year 1740, was one of the most remarkable Brewers of the last century. He was brewer to the Royal household, and left behind him a well-earned reputation for honesty and loyalty. A striking proof of his loyalty may be seen to this day in the statue of George I., which he set up on the summit of Bloomsbury steeple, and of which a facetious person wrote:—
The King of Great Britain was reckon’d before The head of the Church by all good Christian people, But his brewer has added still one title more To the rest, and has made him the head of the steeple.
Another celebrated brewer of last century was Humphrey Parsons, twice Lord Mayor of London. This gentleman, when upon a hunting party with Louis XV., happened to be exceedingly well mounted, and, contrary to the etiquette observed in the French Court, outstripped the rest of the company, and was first in at the death. On the King asking the name of the stranger, he was indignantly informed that he “was un chevalier de malte.” The King entered into conversation with Mr. Parsons, and asked the price of his horse. The Chevalier, bowing in the most courtly style, replied that the horse was beyond any price other than his Majesty’s acceptance. The horse was delivered, and from thenceforward the chevalier Parsons had the exclusive privilege of supplying the French Court and people with his far-famed “black champagne.”
It has been the sad reflection of many an one, on wandering in a churchyard and reading the epitaphs of the departed, that certainly the most virtuous and highly-gifted of mankind have already passed {150} away—that is, if the epitaphs are absolutely to be relied on. Mr. Tipper, the Newhaven brewer, who died in 1785, and lies buried in Newhaven Churchyard, is an instance in point. Surely none but himself could have been Mr. Tipper’s parallel. His epitaph runs thus:—
Reader! with kind regards this grave survey, Nor heedless pass where Tipper’s ashes lay. Honest he was, ingenuous, blunt and kind, And dared do, what few dare do—speak his mind. Philosophy and History well he knew, Was versed in Physick and in Surgery too. The best old Stingo he both brewed and sold, Nor did one knavish trick to get his gold. He played thro’ life a varied comic part, And knew immortal Hudibras by heart. Reader, in real truth, such was the man, Be better, wiser, laugh more if you can.
The last resting place of Mr. Pepper, sometime brewer of Stamford, in Lincolnshire, bears these lines:—
Though hot my name, yet mild my nature, I bore good will to every creature; I brew’d good ale and sold it too, And unto each I gave his due.
The following lines were composed on a brewer who, becoming too big a man for his trade, retired from business—and died:—
Ne’er quarrel with your craft, Nor with your shop dis’gree. He turned his nose up at his Tub And the bucket kicked he.
And so the old Brewers are dead and gone, with their virtues and their faults, their troubles and their successes, and the modern Brewers reign in their stead.