THE LION’S HEAD.
Because the inundation of the Nile happened during the progress of the sun in Leo, the ancients caused the water of their fountains to issue from the mouth of a lion’s head, sculptured in stone. The circumstance is pleasant to notice at this season; a few remarks will be made on fountains by-and-bye.
The Lion’s Head, at Button’s coffee-house, is well remembered in literary annals. It was a carving with an orifice at the mouth, through which communications for the “Guardian” were thrown. Button had been a servant in the countess of Warwick’s family, and by the patronage of Addison, kept a coffee-house on the south side of Russell-street, about two doors from Covent-garden, where the wits of that day used to assemble. Addison studied all the morning, dined at a tavern, and afterwards went to Button’s. “The Lion’s Head” was inscribed with two lines from Martial:—
Cervantur magnis isti Cervicibus ungues:
Non nisi delectâ pascitur ille fera.
This has been translated in the Gentleman’s Magazine thus:—
Bring here nice morceaus; be it understood
The lion vindicates his choicest food.
Button’s “Lion’s Head” was afterwards preserved at the Shakspeare Tavern, where it was sold by auction on the 8th of November, 1804, to Mr. Richardson of the Grand Hotel, the indefatigable collector and possessor of an immense mass of materials for the history of St. Paul, Covent-garden, the parish wherein he resides. The late duke of Norfolk was his ineffectual competitor at the sale: the noble peer suffered the spirited commoner to gain the prize for 17l. 10s. Subsequently the duke frequently dined at Mr. Richardson’s, whom he courted in vain to relinquish the gem. Mr. R. had the head with its inscription handsomely engraved for his “great seal,” from which he has caused delicate impressions to be presented in oak-boxes, to a few whom it has pleased him so to gratify; and among them the editor of the Every-Day Book, who thus acknowledges the acceptable civility.
In the London Magazine the “Lion’s Head,” fronts each number, greeting its correspondents, and others who expect announcements, with “short affable roars,” and inviting “communications” from all “who may have committed a particularly good action, or a particularly bad one—or said or written any thing very clever, or very stupid, during the month.” By too literal a construction of this comprehensive invitation, some got into the “head,” who, not having reach enough for the “body” of the magazine, were happy to get out with a slight scratch, and others remain without daring to say “their souls are their own”—to the reformation of themselves, and as examples to others contemplating like offences. The “Lion” of the “London” is of delicate scent, and shows high masterhood in the great forest of literature.