THE BUTCHER.


Wolsey, they tell us, was a butcher. An alliterative couplet too was
made upon him to that import:--

"By butchers born, by bishops bred,
How high his honour holds his haughty head."

Notwithstanding which, however, and other similar allusions, there have
arisen many disputes touching the veracity of the assertion; yet,
doubtless, those who first promulgated the idea, were keen observers of
men and manners; and, probably, in the critical examination of the
Cardinal's character, discovered a particular trait which indubitably
satisfied them of his origin.

Be this as it may, I am inclined to think there is certainly something
peculiarly characteristic in the butcher.

The pursuit of his calling appears to have an influence upon his
manners, speech, and dress. Of all the days in the week, Saturday is the
choicest for seeing him to the best advantage. His hatless head, shining
with grease, his cheeks as ruddy as his mutton-chops, his sky-blue frock
and dark-blue apron, his dangling steel and sharp-set knife, which ever
and anon play an accompaniment to his quick, short--"Buy! buy!" are all
in good keeping with the surrounding objects. And although this be not
_killing_ day with him, he is particularly winning and gracious with the
serving-maids; who (whirling the large street-door key about their right