The place, indeed, was humble, but everything had that look of
order and neatness which bespeaks the superintendence of a
notable English housewife. A group of amphibious-looking beings,
who might be either fishermen or sailors, were regaling
themselves in one of the boxes. As I was a visitor of rather
higher pretensions, I was ushered into a little misshapen back
room, having at least nine corners. It was lighted by a
sky-light, furnished with antiquated leathern chairs, and
ornamented with the portrait of a fat pig. It was evidently
appropriated to particular customers, and I found a shabby
gentleman in a red nose and oil-cloth hat seated in one corner
meditating on a half empty pot of porter.
The old sexton had taken the landlady aside, and with an air of
profound importance imparted to her my errand. Dame Honeyball was
a likely, plump, bustling little woman, and no bad substitute for
that paragon of hostesses, Dame Quickly. She seemed delighted
with an opportunity to oblige, and, hurrying upstairs to the
archives of her house, where the precious vessels of the parish
club were deposited, she returned, smiling and courtesying, with
them in her hands.
The first she presented me was a japanned iron tobacco-box of
gigantic size, out of which, I was told, the vestry had smoked at
their stated meetings since time immemorial, and which was never
suffered to be profaned by vulgar hands, or used on common
occasions, I received it with becoming reverence, but what was my
delight at beholding on its cover the identical painting of which
I was in quest! There was displayed the outside of the Boar's
Head Tavern, and before the door was to be seen the whole
convivial group at table, in full revel, pictured with that
wonderful fidelity and force with which the portraits of renowned
generals and commodores are illustrated on tobacco-boxes, for the
benefit of posterity.
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