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diff --git a/14921-h/14921-h.htm b/14921-h/14921-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..943e739 --- /dev/null +++ b/14921-h/14921-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2527 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta name="generator" content= +"HTML Tidy for Mac OS X (vers 1st August 2004), see www.w3.org" /> +<meta http-equiv="content-type" content= +"text/html; charset=us-ascii" /> +<title>Punch, or the London Charivari. July 31, 1841.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[*/ + +<!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 15%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + blockquote {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} + html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} + ul {list-style-type:none;} + .note {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + + span.pagenum + {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt;} + + .poem + {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem p.i8 {margin-left:4em;} + .poem p.i10 {margin-left:5em;} + p.cen {text-align:center;} + +.figure, .figcenter, .figright, .figleft {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} +.figure img, .figcenter img, .figright img, .figleft img {border: none;} +.figure p, .figcenter p, .figright p, .figleft p {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} +.figcenter>p {text-align:center;} +.figcenter {margin: auto;} +.figright {float: right; width:25%;} +.figleft, .dropcap {float: left;width:25%;} + span.sidenote {position: absolute; right: 1%; left: 87%; font-size: .7em;text-align:left;text-indent:0em;} + sup{font-size:.7em;} + a:link{text-decoration:none;} +.hide {display: none;} + --> +/*]]>*/ +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari. Vol. 1, +July 31, 1841, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Punch, or the London Charivari. Vol. 1, July 31, 1841 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: February 7, 2005 [EBook #14921] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + + + + +Produced by Syamanta Saikia, Jon Ingram, Barbara Tozier and the PG +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> +<h2>VOL. 1.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page25" name="page25"></a>[pg +25]</span> +<h2>JULY 31, 1841.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>POETRY ON AN IMPROVED PRINCIPLE.</h2> +<p>Let me earnestly implore you, good Mr. PUNCH, to give publicity +to a new invention in the art of poetry, which I desire only to +claim the merit of having discovered. I am perfectly willing to +permit others to improve upon it, and to bring it to that +perfection of which I am delightedly aware, it is susceptible.</p> +<p>It is sometimes lamented that the taste for poetry is on the +decline—that it is no longer relished—that the public +will never again purchase it as a luxury. But it must be some +consolation to our modern poets to know (as no doubt they do, for +it is by this time notorious) that their productions really do a +vast deal of service—that they are of a value for which they +were never designed. They—I mean many of them—have +found their way into the pharmacopoeia, and are constantly +prescribed by physicians as soporifics of rare potency. For +instance—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“—— not poppy, nor mandragora,</p> +<p>Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world.</p> +<p>Shall ever usher thee to that sweet sleep”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>to which a man shall be conducted by a few doses of Robert +Montgomery’s Devil’s Elixir, called +“Satan,” or by a portion, or rather a potion, of +“Oxford.” Apollo, we know, was the god of medicine as +well as of poetry. Behold, in this our bard, his two divine +functions equally mingled!</p> +<p>But waiving this, of which it was not my intention to speak, let +me remark, that the reason why poetry will no longer go down with +the public, <em>as poetry</em>, is, that the whole frame-work is +worn out. No new rhymes can be got at. When we come to a +“mountain,” we are tolerably sure that a +“fountain” is not very far off; when we see +“sadness,” it leads at once to +“madness”—to “borrow” is sure to be +followed by “sorrow;” and although it is said, +“<em>when</em> poverty comes in at the door, love flies out +of the window,”—a saying which seems to imply that +poverty <em>may</em> sometimes enter at the chimney or +elsewhere—yet I assure you, in poetry, “the poor” +<em>always</em> come in, and always go out at “the +door.”</p> +<p>My new invention has closed the “door,” for the +future, against the vulgar crew of versifiers. A man <em>must</em> +be original. He must write common-sense too—hard exactions I +know, but it cannot be helped.</p> +<p>I transmit you a specimen. Like all great discoveries, the chief +merit of my invention is its simplicity. Lest, however, “the +meanest capacity” (which cannot, by the way, be supposed to +be addicted to PUNCH) should boggle at it, it may be as well to +explain that every letter of the final word of each alternate line +must be pronounced as though Dilworth himself presided at the +perusal; and that the last letter (or letters) placed in +<em>italics</em> will be found to constitute the rhyme. Here, then, +we have</p> +<h3>A RENCONTRE WITH A TEA-TOTALLER.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>On going forth last night, a friend to see,</p> +<p>I met a man by trade a s-n-o-<em>b</em>;</p> +<p>Reeling along the path he held his way.</p> +<p>“Ho! ho!” quoth I, “he’s +d-r-u-n-<em>k</em>.”</p> +<p>Then thus to him—“Were it not better, far,</p> +<p>You were a little s-o-b-e-<em>r</em>?</p> +<p>’Twere happier for your family, I guess,</p> +<p>Than playing off such rum r-i-g-<em>s</em>.</p> +<p>Besides, all drunkards, when policemen see ’em,</p> +<p>Are taken up at once by t-h-<em>e</em>-<em>m</em>.”</p> +<p>“Me drunk!” the cobbler cried, “the devil +trouble you!</p> +<p>You want to kick up a blest r-o-<em>w</em>.</p> +<p>Now, may I never wish to work for Hoby,</p> +<p>If drain I’ve had!” (the lying +s-n-o-<em>b</em>!)</p> +<p>I’ve just return’d from a tee-total party,</p> +<p>Twelve on us jamm’d in a spring +c-a-<em>r</em>-<em>t</em>.</p> +<p>The man as lectured, now, <em>was</em> drunk; why, bless ye,</p> +<p>He’s sent home in a c-h-a-i-<em>s</em>-<em>e</em>.</p> +<p>He’d taken so much lush into his belly,</p> +<p>I’m blest if he could t-o-dd-<em>l</em>-<em>e</em>.</p> +<p>A pair on ’em—hisself and his good lady;—</p> +<p>The gin had got into her h-e-<em>a</em>-<em>d</em>.</p> +<p>(My eye and Betty! what weak mortals <em>we</em> are;</p> +<p>They said they took but ginger b-e-<em>e</em>-<em>r</em>!)</p> +<p>But as for me, I’ve stuck (’twas rather ropy)</p> +<p>All day to weak imperial p-o-<em>p</em>.</p> +<p>And now we’ve had this little bit +o’sparrin’,</p> +<p>Just stand a q-u-a-r-t-e-<em>r</em>-<em>n</em>!”</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<p>A man in New-York enjoys such very <em>excellent spirits</em> +that he has only to drink water to intoxicate himself.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>TO JOBBING PATRIOTS.</h2> +<hr class="short" /> +<h3>MR. GEORGE ROBINS.</h3> +<p class="cen">with unparalleled gratification, begs to state that +he has it in</p> +<h3 style="font-family:fantasy">Command</h3> +<p>to announce, that in consequence of</p> +<h4>LORD JOHN RUSSELL’S LETTER</h4> +<p>to the citizens of London having satisfactorily convinced +her</p> +<h4>MOST GRACIOUS MAJESTY</h4> +<p class="cen">that a change of ministry</p> +<h4>CANNOT</h4> +<p>be productive of a corresponding transformation of measures, and +that the late</p> +<h4>POLITICO-GLADIATORIAL STRUGGLE</h4> +<p>for the guerdon of office could only have emanated from a highly +commendatory desire on the part of the disinterested and patriotic +belligerents</p> +<h4>TO SERVE THEMSELVES</h4> +<p class="cen">or their country,</p> +<h3>HIS ROYAL MISTRESS,</h3> +<p>ever solicitous to enchain the hearts of her devoted subjects, +by an impartial exercise of her prerogative, has determined to +submit to the</p> +<h4>ARBITRATION OF HIS HUMBLE HAMMER,</h4> +<p>some of those desirable <em>places</em>, so long known as the +<em>stimuli</em> to the</p> +<h4>LACTANT LYCURGI</h4> +<p>of the nineteenth century.</p> +<h3>LOT 1.</h3> +<h4>FIRST LORD OF THE TREASURY,</h4> +<p>at present in possession of Lord Melbourne. This will be found a +most eligible investment, as it embraces a considerable extent of +female patronage, comprising the appointments of those valuable +legislative adjuncts,</p> +<h3>THE LADIES OF THE BEDCHAMBER,</h3> +<h4>AND THE ROYAL NURSES, WET AND DRY;</h4> +<p>together with those household desiderata,</p> +<h4>COALS AND CANDLES,</h4> +<p>and an unlimited</p> +<h4>RUN OF THE ROYAL KITCHEN.</h4> +<h3>LOT 2.</h3> +<h4>SECRETARY OF STATE FOR THE COLONIAL DEPARTMENT,</h4> +<p>at present occupied by Lord John Russell. This lot must possess +considerable attraction for a gastronomical experimentalist, as its +present proprietor has for a long time been engaged in the +discovery of how few pinches of oatmeal and spoonsful of gruel are +sufficient for a human pauper, and will be happy to transfer his +data to the next fortunate proprietor. Any gentleman desirous of +embarking in the manufacture of</p> +<h4>SUGAR CANDY, MATCHES, OR CHEAP BREAD,</h4> +<p>would find this a desirable investment, more particularly should +he wish to form either</p> +<h4>A PAROCHIAL OR MATRIMONIAL UNION,</h4> +<p>as there are plans for the one, and hints for the other, which +will be thrown into the bargain, being of no further use to the +present noble incumbent.</p> +<h3>LOT 3.</h3> +<h4>SECRETARY OF STATE FOR THE HOME DEPARTMENT,</h4> +<p>at present the property of Lord Normanby. Is admirably +calculated for any one of a literary turn of mind, offering +resources peculiarly adapted for a proper cultivation of the Jack +Sheppard and James Hatfield “men-of-elegant-crimes” +school of novel-writing—the archives of Newgate and +Horsemonger-lane being open at all times to the inspection of the +favoured purchaser.</p> +<h4>“YES” OR “NO”</h4> +<p>will determine the sale of this desirable lot in a few days.</p> +<h3>LOT 4.</h3> +<h4>SECRETARY OF STATE FOR FOREIGN AFFAIRS,</h4> +<p>now in the occupancy of Lord Palmerston. Possesses advantages +rarely to be met with. From its connexion with the continental +powers, Eau de Cologne, bear’s grease, and cosmetics of +unrivalled excellence, can be procured at all times, thus insuring +the favour of the divine sex,</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“From the rich peasant-cheek of bronze,</p> +<p class="i2">And large black eyes that flash on you a volley</p> +<p>Of rays, that say a thousand things at once,</p> +<p class="i2">To the high dama’s brow more +melancholy.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>The only requisite (besides money) for this desirable lot is, +that the purchaser must write a bold round hand for</p> +<h4>PROTOCOLS,</h4> +<p>understand French and Chinese, and be an</p> +<h4>EXPERT TURNER.</h4> +<h3>LOT 5.</h3> +<h4>SEVERAL UNDER SECRETARYSHIPS,</h4> +<p>admirably adapted for younger sons and poor relatives.</p> +<p>The whole of the proceeds (by the advice of her Majesty’s +Cabinet Council) will be devoted to the erection of a</p> +<h4>UNION FOR DECAYED MINISTERS.</h4> +<p>Cards to view may be had at the Treasury any day after the +meeting of Parliament.</p> +<hr /> +<p>“Very like a whale!” as the schoolmaster said when +he examined the boy’s back after severely flogging him.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page26" name="page26"></a>[pg +26]</span> +<h2>THE DIARY OF A LORD MAYOR.</h2> +<p>All the world is familiar with the “Diary of a +Physician,” the “Diary of an Ennuyée,” the +“Diary of a Lady of Rank,” and Heaven knows how many +other diaries besides! but who has ever heard of, or saw, the +“<em>Diary of a Lord Mayor</em>,—that day-book, or +blotter, as it may be commercially termed, of a gigantic mind? Who +has ever perused the autobiography of the Lama of Guildhall, Cham +of Cripplegate, Admiral of Fleet Ditch, Great Turtle-hunter and +Herod of Michaelmas geese? We will take upon ourselves to +answer—not one! It was reserved for PUNCH to give to his dear +friends, the public, the first and only extract which has ever been +made from the genuine diary of a <em>late</em> Lord Mayor of +London, or, as that august individual was wont, when in Paris, to +designate himself on his visiting tickets—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="cen">“Mr. ——</p> +<p class="cen">“FEU LORD MAYOR DE LONDRES.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>How the precious MS. came into our possession matters little to +the reader; suffice it to say, it is a secret which must ever +remain confined to the bosoms of PUNCH and his cheesemonger.</p> +<h4>DIARY.</h4> +<p><em>Nov. 10, eight o’clock.</em>—Dreamed a horrid +dream—thought that I was stretched in Guildhall with the two +giants sitting on my chest, and drinking rum toddy out of +firemen’s buckets—fancied the Board of Aldermen were +transformed into skittle-pins, and the police force into bottles of +<em>Harvey’s sauce</em>. Tried to squeak, but couldn’t. +Then I imagined that I was changed into the devil, and that +Alderman Harmer was St. Dunstan, tweaking my nose with a pair of +red-hot tongs. This time, I think, I <em>did</em> shout lustily. +Awoke with the fright, and found my wife pulling my nose +vigorously, and calling me “My Lord!” Pulled off my +nightcap, and began to have an idea I was somebody, but could not +tell exactly who. Suddenly my eye rested upon the civic gown and +chain, which lay upon a chair by my bed-side:—the truth +flashed upon my mind—I felt I was a <em>real</em> Lord Mayor. +I remembered clearly that yesterday I had been sworn into office. I +had a perfect recollection of the glass-coach, and the sheriffs, +and the men in armour, and the band playing “Jim along +Josey,” as we passed the Fleet Prison, and the glories of the +city barge at Blackfriars-bridge, and the enthusiastic delight with +which the assembled multitude witnessed—</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/003-01.png"><img src= +"images/003-01.png" alt= +"A fellow falling into the water while crossing a (broken) plank into a boat" +id="img003-01" name="img003-01" width="50%" /></a> +<p>THE LORD MAYOR TAKING WATER.</p> +</div> +<p>I could also call to mind the dinner—the turtle, venison, +and turbot—and the popping of the corks from the throats of +the champagne bottles. I was conscious, too, that I had made a +speech; but, beyond this point, all the events of the night were +lost in chaotic confusion. One thing, however, was certain—I +was a <em>bonâ fide</em> Lord Mayor—and being aware of +the arduous duties I had to perform, I resolved to enter upon them +at once. Accordingly I arose, and as some poet says—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Commenced sacrificing to the Graces,</p> +<p>By putting on my breeches.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Sent for a barber, and authorised him to remove the superfluous +hair from my chin—at the same time made him aware of the high +honour I had conferred upon him by placing the head of the city +under his razor—thought I detected the fellow’s tongue +in his cheek, but couldn’t be certain. <em>Mem.</em> Never +employ the rascal again.</p> +<p><em>9 o’clock.</em>—Dressed in full fig—sword +very troublesome—getting continually between my legs. Sat +down to breakfast—her ladyship complimented me on my +appearance—said I looked the <em>beau ideal</em> of a +mayor—took a side glance at myself in the mirror—her +ladyship was perfectly right. Trotter the shoemaker +announced—walked in with as much freedom as he used to do +into my shop in Coleman-street—smelt awfully of “best +calf” and “heavy sole”—shook me familiarly +by the hand, and actually called me “Bob.” The +indignation of the Mayor was roused, and I hinted to him that I did +not understand such liberties, upon which the fellow had the +insolence to laugh in my face—couldn’t stand his +audacity, so quitted the room with strong marks of disgust.</p> +<p><em>10 o’clock.</em>—Heard that a vagabond was +singing “Jim Crow” on Tower-hill—proceeded with a +large body of the civic authorities to arrest him, but after an +arduous chase of half-an-hour we unfortunately lost him in +Houndsditch. Suppressed two illegal apple-stalls in the Minories, +and took up a couple of young black-legs, whom I detected playing +at chuck-farthing on Saffron-hill. Issued a proclamation against +mad dogs, cautioning all well-disposed persons to avoid their +society.</p> +<p><em>12 o’clock.</em>—Waited upon by the secretary of +the New River Company with a sample of the water they supply to the +City—found that it was much improved by compounding it with +an equal portion of cognac—gave a certificate accordingly. +Lunched, and took a short nap in my cocked hat.</p> +<p><em>1 o’clock.</em>—Police-court. Disposed of +several cases summarily—everybody in court amazed at the +extraordinary acuteness I displayed, and the rapidity with which I +gave my decisions—they did not know that I always privately +tossed up—heads, complainant wins, and tails, +defendant—this is the fairest way after all—no being +humbugged by hard swearing or innocent looks—no sifting of +witnesses—no weighing of evidence—no +deliberating—no hesitating—the thing is done in an +instant—and, if the guilty should escape, why the fault lies +with fortune, and not with justice.</p> +<p><em>3 o’clock.</em>—Visited the Thames +Tunnel—found Brunel a devilish <em>deep</em> fellow—he +explained to me the means by which he worked, and said he had got +nearly over all his difficulties—I suppose he meant to say he +had nearly got <em>under</em> them—at all events the tunnel, +when completed, will be a vast convenience to the metropolis, +particularly to the <em>lower</em> classes. From the Tunnel went to +Billingsgate-market—confiscated a basket of suspicious +shrimps, and ordered them to be conveyed to the Mansion-house. +<em>Mem.</em> Have them for breakfast to-morrow. Return to dress +for dinner, having promised to take the chair at the Grand Annual +Metropolitan Anti-Hydro-without-gin-drinking Association.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Here a hiatus occurs in the MS.; but from cotemporary +authorities we are enabled to state that his lordship was conveyed +home at two o’clock on the following morning, by some jolly +companions.</p> +<p>“Slowly and sadly they smoothed his bed, And they told his +wife and daughter To give him, next day, a couple of red- Herrings +and soda-water.”</p> +<hr /> +<h3>THE LOVES OF THE PLANTS.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The gay <em>Daffodilly</em>, an amorous blade,</p> +<p class="i2">Stole out of his bed in the dark,</p> +<p>And calling his brother, <em>Jon-Quil</em>, forth he +stray’d</p> +<p>To breathe his love vows to a <em>Violet</em> maid</p> +<p class="i2">Who dwelt in a neighbouring park.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>A spiteful old <em>Nettle-aunt</em> frown’d on their +love;</p> +<p class="i2">But <em>Daffy</em>, who laugh’d at her +power,</p> +<p>A <em>Shepherd’s-purse</em> slipp’d in the +nurse’s <em>Fox-glove</em>,</p> +<p>Then up <em>Jacob’s-ladder</em> he crept to his love,</p> +<p class="i2">And stole to the young +<em>Virgin’s-bower</em>.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The <em>Maiden’s-blush Rose</em>—and she +seem’d all dismay’d,</p> +<p class="i2">Array’d in her white +<em>Lady’s-smock</em>,</p> +<p>She call’d <em>Mignonette</em>—but the sly little +jade,</p> +<p>That instant was hearing a sweet serenade</p> +<p class="i2">From the lips of a tall <em>Hollyhock</em>.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The <em>Pheasant’s eye</em>, always a mischievous +wight,</p> +<p class="i2">For prying out something not good,</p> +<p>Avow’d that he peep’d through the keyhole that +night;</p> +<p>And clearly discern’d, by a glow-worm’s pale +light,</p> +<p class="i2">Their <em>Two-faces-under-a-hood</em>.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Old Dowager <em>Peony</em>, deaf as a door,</p> +<p class="i2">Who wish’d to know more of the facts,</p> +<p>Invited Dame <em>Mustard</em> and Miss <em>Hellebore</em>,</p> +<p>With Miss <em>Periwinkle</em>, and many friends more,</p> +<p class="i2">One evening to tea and to tracts.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The <em>Butter-cups</em> ranged, defamation ran high,</p> +<p class="i2">While every tongue join’d the debate;</p> +<p>Miss <em>Sensitive</em> said, ‘twixt a groan and a +sigh,</p> +<p>Though she felt much concern’d—yet she thought her +dear <em>Vi</em>—</p> +<p class="i2">Had grown rather bulbous of late.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Thus the tale spread about through the busy parterre:</p> +<p class="i2">Miss <em>Columbine</em> turn'd up her nose,</p> +<p>And the prude Lady <em>Lavender</em> said, with a stare,</p> +<p>That her friend, <em>Mary-gold</em>, had been heard to +declare,</p> +<p class="i2">The creature had toy’d with the +<em>Rose</em>.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Each <em>Sage</em> look’d severe, and each +<em>Cocks-comb</em> look’d gay,</p> +<p class="i2">When <em>Daffy</em> to make their mind easy,</p> +<p>Miss <em>Violet</em> married one morning in May,</p> +<p>And, as sure as you live, before next Lady-day,</p> +<p class="i2">She brought him a <em>Michaelmas-daisy</em>.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>NOTHING WONDERFUL.</h3> +<p>The Duke of Normandie accounts for the non-explosion of his +percussion-shells, by the fact of having incautiously used some of +M’Culloch’s pamphlets on the corn laws. If this be the +case, no person can be surprised at their <em>not going +off</em>.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>MODERN WAT TYLERS.</h3> +<p>The anxiety of the Whigs to repeal the timber duties is quite +pardonable, for, with their <em>wooden heads</em>, they doubtlessly +look upon it in the light of a <em>poll-tax</em>.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page27" name="page27"></a>[pg +27]</span> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/003-02.png"><img src= +"images/003-02.png" alt="A young dark-skinned boy." id= +"img003-02" name="img003-02" width="50%" /></a> +<p>Head of a Botecudo previous to disfigurement.</p> +<a href="images/003-03.png"><img src="images/003-03.png" alt= +"A young dark-skinned man with chin and ear pendants." id= +"img003-03" name="img003-03" width="50%" /></a> +<p>Head of a Butecudo disfigured by chin and ear pendants.</p> +<a href="images/003-04.png"><img src="images/003-04.png" alt= +"A dark-skinned man with drooping ear lobes, wearing English clothes and a monocle." +id="img003-04" name="img003-04" width="50%" /></a> +<p>Head of a Botecudo disfigured by civilisation.</p> +</div> +<h2>CIVILISATION.</h2> +<p>“If an European,” says Sir Joshua Reynolds, in one +of his Discourses, “when he has cut off his beard, and put +false hair on his head, or bound up his own hair in formal, hard +knots, as unlike nature as he can make it, and after having +rendered them immoveable by the help of the fat of hogs, has +covered the whole with flour, laid on by a machine with the utmost +regularity—if, when thus attired, he issues forth and meets a +Cherokee Indian who has bestowed as much time at his toilet, and +laid with equal care and attention his yellow and red ochre on such +parts of his forehead and cheeks as he judges most becoming, +whichever of these two despises the other for this attention to the +fashion of his country, whichever first feels himself provoked to +laugh, is the barbarian.”</p> +<p>Granting this, the popular advocates of civilisation certainly +are not the most civilised of individuals. They appear to consider +yellow ochre and peacocks’ feathers the climax of +barbarism—marabouts and kalydor the acme of refinement. A +ring through the nose calls forth their deepest pity—a +diamond drop to the ear commands their highest respect. To them, +nothing can show a more degraded state of nature than a New Zealand +chief, with his distinctive coat of arms emblazoned on the skin of +his face; nor anything of greater social elevation than an English +peer, with the glittering label of his “nobility” +tacked to his breast. To a rational mind, the one is not a whit +more barbarous than the other; they being, as Sir Joshua observes, +the real barbarians who, like these <em>soi-disant</em> civilisers, +would look upon their own monstrosities as the sole standard of +excellence.</p> +<p>The philosophy of the present age, however, is peculiarly the +philosophy of outsides. Few dive deeper into the human breast than +the bosom of the shirt. Who could doubt the heart that beats +beneath a cambric front? or who imagine that hand accustomed to +dirty work which is enveloped in white kid? What Prometheus was to +the physical, Stultz is to the moral man—the one made human +beings out of clay, the other cuts characters out of broad-cloth. +Gentility is, with us, a thing of the goose and shears; and +nobility an attribute—not of the mind, but (supreme +civilisation!) of <em>a garter</em>!</p> +<p>Certain modern advocates appear to be devout believers in this +external philosophy. They are touchingly eloquent upon the savage +state of those who indulge in yellow ochre, but conveniently mute +upon the condition of those who prefer carmine. They are +beautifully alive to the degradation of that race of people which +crushes the feet of its children, but wonderfully dead to the +barbarism of that race, nearer home, which performs a like +operation upon the ribs of its females. By them, also, we are told +that “words would manifestly fail in portraying <em>so low a +state of morals as is pictured in the lineaments of an Australian +chief</em>,”—a stretch of the outside philosophy which +we certainly were not prepared to meet with; for little did we +dream that this noble science could ever have attained such +eminence, that men of intellect would be able to discover +immorality in particular noses, and crime in a certain conformation +of the chin.</p> +<p>That an over-attention to the adornment of the person is a +barbarism all must allow; but that the pride which prompts the +Esquimaux to stuff bits of stone through a hole in his cheek, is a +jot less refined than that which urges the dowager-duchess to +thrust coloured crystals through a hole in her ear, certainly +requires a peculiar kind of mental squint to perceive. Surely there +is as great a want of refinement among us, in this respect, as +among the natives of New Zealand. Why rush for subjects for +civilisation to the back woods of America, when thousands may be +found, any fine afternoon, in Regent-street? Why fly to Biddy +Salamander and Bulkabra, when the Queen of Beauty and Count +D’Orsay have equally urgent claims on the attention and +sympathies of the civiliser?</p> +<p>On the subject of civilisation, two questions naturally present +themselves—the one, what <em>is</em> civilisation?—the +other, have we such a superabundance of that commodity among us, +that we should think about exporting it? To the former question, +the journal especially devoted to the subject has, to the best of +our belief, never condescended a reply; although, like the +celebrated argument on the colour of the chameleon, no two persons, +perhaps, have the same idea of it. In what then, does civilisation +consist, and how is it to be generally promoted? Does it, as Sir +E.L. B—— would doubtlessly assure us, does it lie in a +strict adherence to the last month’s fashions; and is it to +be propagated throughout the world only by missionaries from +Nugee’s, and by the universal dissemination of curling-tongs +and Macassar—patent leather boots and opera hats—white +cambric pocket-handkerchiefs and lavender-water? Or, does it +consist, as the Countess of B—— would endeavour to +convince us, in abstaining from partaking twice of fish, and from +eating peas with the knife? and is it to be made common among +mankind only by distributing silver forks and finger-glasses to +barbarians, and printing the Book of Etiquette for gratuitous +circulation among them? Or, is it, as the mild and humane Judge +P—— would prove to us, a necessary result of the +Statutes at Large; and can it be rendered universal only by sending +out Jack Ketch as a missionary—by the introduction of +rope-walks in foreign parts, and the erection of gallows all over +the world? Or, is it, as the Archbishop of Canterbury contests, to +be achieved solely by the dissemination of bishops, and by +diffusing among the poor benighted negroes the blessings of +sermons, tithes, and church rates? Christianity, it has, on the +other hand, been asserted, is the only practical system of +civilisation; but this is manifestly the idea of a visionary. For +ourselves, we must confess we incline to the opposite opinion; and +think either the bishops or Jack Ketch (we hardly know which we +prefer) by far the more rational means. Indeed, when we consider +the high state of civilisation which this country has attained, and +imagine for an instant the awful amount of distress which would +necessarily accrue from the general practice of Christianity among +us, even for a week, it is clear that the idea never could be +entertained by any moral or religious, mind. A week’s +Christianity in England! What <em>would</em> become of the lawyer, +and parsons? It is too terrible to contemplate.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page28" name="page28"></a>[pg +28]</span> +<h2>NOUVEAU MANUEL DU VOYAGEUR.</h2> +<p>These are the continental-trip days. All the world will be now +a-<em>tour</em>ing. But every one is not a Dr. Bowring, and it is +rather convenient to be able to edge in a word now and then, when +these rascally foreigners will chatter in their own beastly jargon. +Ignorant pigs, not to accustom themselves to talk decent English! +Il Signor Marchese Cantini, the learned and illustrious author of +“Hi, diddlo-diddlino! Il gutto e’l violino!”, has +just rendered immense service to the trip-loving natives of these +lovely isles, by preparing a “Guide to Conversation,” +that for utility and correctness of idiom surpasses all previous +attempts of the same kind. With it in one hand, and a bagful of +Napoléons or Zecchini in the other, the biggest dunce in +London—nay, even a schoolmaster—may travel from +Boulogne to Naples and back, with the utmost satisfaction to +himself, and with substantial profit to the people of these +barbarous climes. The following is a specimen of the way in which +Il Signor has accomplished his undertaking. It will be seen at a +glance how well he has united the classical with the utilitarian +principle, clothing both in the purest dialect; ex. gr.:—</p> +<table summary="Language Comparison" style= +"margin-left:5%;margin-right:5%;font-size:.9em;"> +<tr> +<td>THIS IS ENGLISH.</td> +<td>THIS IS FRENCH.</td> +<td>THIS IS ITALIAN.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Does your mother know you’re out?</td> +<td>Madame, votre maman, sait-elle que vous n’êtes pas +chez vous?</td> +<td>La vostra signora madre sa che siete uscito di casa?</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>It won’t do, Mr. Ferguson.</td> +<td>Cela nese passera, Monsieur Ferguson, jamais!</td> +<td>Questo non fara cosi, il Signore Fergusoni!</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Who are you?</td> +<td>Est-ce que vous aviez jamais un père?</td> +<td>Chi è vossignoria?</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>All round my hat.</td> +<td>Tout autour mon chapeau.</td> +<td>Tutto all’ interno del mio capello!</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Go it, ye cripples!</td> +<td>C’est ça! Battez-vous bien—boiteux; +cr-r-r-r-matin!</td> +<td>Bravo! bravo, stroppiati! Ancora-ancora!</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Such a getting up-stairs!</td> +<td>Diantre! comme on monte l’escalier!</td> +<td>Come si ha salito— è maraviglioso!</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Jump, Jim Crow.</td> +<td>Sautez, Monsiuer Jaques Corbeau!</td> +<td>Salti, pergrazia, Signor Giamomo Corvo!</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>It would not be fair to rob the Signor of any more of his +labour. It will be seen that, on the principle of the Painter and +his Cow, we have distinctly written above each sentence the +language it belongs to. It is always better to obviate the +possibility of mistakes.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>THE OMNIBUS</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The horrors of an omnibus,</p> +<p class="i2">Indeed, I’ve cause to curse;</p> +<p>And if I ride in one again,</p> +<p class="i2">I hope ‘twill be my hearse.</p> +<p>If you a journey have to go,</p> +<p class="i2">And they make no delay,</p> +<p>’Tis ten to one you’re serv’d like +<em>curds</em>,</p> +<p class="i2">They <em>spill you on the</em> WHEY.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>A short time since my wife and I</p> +<p class="i2">A short call had to make,</p> +<p>And giving me a <em>kiss</em>, she said—</p> +<p class="i2">“A <em>buss</em> you’d better +take!”</p> +<p>We journey’d on—two lively cads,</p> +<p class="i2">Were for our custom triers;</p> +<p>And in a twinkling we were fix’d</p> +<p class="i2">Fast by this <em>pair of pliers</em>!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>My wife’s arm I had lock’d in mine,</p> +<p class="i2">But soon they forced her from it;</p> +<p>And she was lugg’d into the <em>Sun</em>,</p> +<p class="i2">And I into the <em>Comet</em>!</p> +<p>Jamm’d to a jelly, there I sat,</p> +<p class="i2">Each one against me pushing;</p> +<p>And my poor gouty legs seem’d made</p> +<p class="i2">For each one’s <em>pins—a +cushion</em>!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>My wife some time had gone before:</p> +<p class="i2">I urged the jarvey's speed,</p> +<p>When all at once the bus set off</p> +<p class="i2">At fearful pace, indeed!</p> +<p>I ask’d the coachee what caused this?</p> +<p class="i2">When thus his story ran:—</p> +<p>“Vy, <em>a man shied at an oss</em>, and so</p> +<p class="i2"><em>An oss shied at a man</em>!”</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Oh, fearful crash! oh, fearful smash!</p> +<p class="i2">At such a rate we run,</p> +<p>That presently the <em>Comet</em> came</p> +<p class="i2">In contact with the <em>Sun</em>.</p> +<p>At that sad time each body felt,</p> +<p class="i2">As parting with its soul,</p> +<p>We were, indeed, <em>a little whirl’d</em>,</p> +<p class="i2">And shook from <em>pole to pole</em>!</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<p>Dunn, the miller of Wimbledon, has recently given his infant the +<em>Christian</em> name of Cardigan. If there is truth in the adage +of “<em>give a dog a bad name and hang him</em>,” the +poor child has little else in perspective than the gallows.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>PRAY DON’T TELL THE GOVERNOR.</h3> +<h4>A SONG OF TON.</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Why, y-e-s—‘twas rather late last night;</p> +<p class="i2">In fact, past six this morning.</p> +<p>My rascal valet, in a fright,</p> +<p class="i2">Awoke, and gave me warning.</p> +<p>But what of that?—I’m very young.</p> +<p class="i2">And you’ve “been in the Oven,” +or,</p> +<p>Like me, you’re wrong’d by rumour’s +tongue,</p> +<p class="i2">So—pray don’t tell the +Governor.<sup>1</sup> <span class="sidenote">1. The author is aware +there exists a legitimate rhyme for <em>Porringer</em>, but +believes a match for governor lies still in the <em>terra +incognita</em> of allowable rhythm.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I dined a quarter after seven,</p> +<p class="i2">With Dashall of the Lancers;</p> +<p>Went to the opera at eleven,</p> +<p class="i2">To see the ballet-dancers.</p> +<p>From thence I saunter’d to the club—</p> +<p class="i2">Fortune to me’s a sloven—or,</p> +<p>I surely must have won one rub,</p> +<p class="i2">But—mind! don’t tell the Governor!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I went to Ascot t’other day,</p> +<p class="i2">Drove Kitty in a tandem;</p> +<p>Upset it ’gainst a brewer’s dray—</p> +<p class="i2">I’d dined, so drove at random.</p> +<p>I betted high—an “outside” won—</p> +<p class="i2">I’d swear its hoofs were cloven, or</p> +<p>It ne’er the favourite horse had done,</p> +<p class="i2">But—don’t you tell the Governor.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>My cottage ornée down at Kew,</p> +<p class="i2">So picturesque and pretty,</p> +<p>Cost me of thousands not a few,</p> +<p class="i2">To fit it up for Kitty.</p> +<p>She said it charm’d her fancy quite,</p> +<p class="i2">But (still I can’t help loving her)</p> +<p>She bolted with the plate one night—</p> +<p class="i2">You needn’t tell the Governor.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>My creditors are growing queer,</p> +<p class="i2">Nay, threaten to be furious;</p> +<p>I’ll scan their paltry bills next year,</p> +<p class="i2">At present I’m not curious.</p> +<p>Such fellows are a monstrous bore,</p> +<p class="i2">So I and Harry Grosvenor</p> +<p>To-morrow start for Gallia’s shore,</p> +<p class="i2">And leave duns—to the Governor.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>THE EXPLOSIVE BOX.</h3> +<p>Sir Hussey Vivian was relating to Sir Robert Peel the failure of +the Duke of Normandie’s experiment with a terrible +self-explosive box, which he had buried in a mound at Woolwich, in +the expectation that it would shortly blow up, but which still +remains there, to the great terror of the neighbourhood, who are +afraid to approach the spot where this destructive engine is +interred. Sir Robert, on hearing the circumstance, declared that +Lord John Russell had served him the same trick, by burying the +corn-law question under the Treasury bench. No one knew at what +moment it might explode, and blow them to ——. +“The question,” he added, “now is—who will +dig it out?”</p> +<hr /> +<h3>EXCLUSIVE INTELLIGENCE.</h3> +<h4>(<em>From</em> OUR <em>West-end and “The +Observer’s” Correspondent.</em>)</h4> +<p>We have every reason to believe, unless a very respectable +authority, on whom we are in the habit of relying, has grievously +imposed upon us, that a very illustrious personage has consulted a +certain exalted individual as to whether a certain other person, no +less exalted than the latter, but not so illustrious as the former, +shall be employed in a certain approaching event, which at present +is involved in the greatest uncertainty. Another individual, who is +more dignified than the third personage above alluded to, but not +nearly so illustrious as the first, and not half so exalted as the +second, has nothing whatever to do with the matter above hinted at, +and it is not at all probable that he will be ever in the smallest +way mixed up with it. For this purpose we have cautiously abstained +from giving his name, and indeed only allude to him that there may +be no misapprehension on this very delicate subject.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>ANIMAL MAGNETISM.</h3> +<p>The <em>Times</em> gives a horrible description of some mesmeric +experiments by a M. Delafontaine, by which a boy was deprived of +<em>all sensation</em>. We suspect that some one has been operating +upon the Poor Law Commissioners, for their <em>total want of +feeling</em> is a mesmeric phenomenon.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>ON SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER, BART., <em>not</em> M.P. FOR +LINCOLN.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>That Bulwer’s from fair Lincoln bann’d,</p> +<p class="i2">Doth threaten evil days;</p> +<p>For, having much waste time on hand,</p> +<p class="i2">Alas! he’ll scribble plays.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page29" name="page29"></a>[pg +29]</span> +<h2>THE NEW HOUSE.</h2> +<h3>“This is the House that Jack (Bull) built.”</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Once there lived, as old histories learnedly show, a</p> +<p>Great sailor and shipbuilder, named MISTER NOAH,</p> +<p>Who a hulk put together, so wondrous—no doubt of +it—</p> +<p>That all sorts of creatures could creep in and out of it.</p> +<p>Things with heads, and without heads, things dumb, things +loquacious,</p> +<p>Things with tails, and things tail-less, things tame, and things +pugnacious;</p> +<p>Rats, lions, curs, geese, pigeons, toadies and donkeys,</p> +<p>Bears, dormice, and snakes, tigers, jackals, and monkeys:</p> +<p>In short, a collection so curious, that no man</p> +<p>E’er since could with NOAH compare as a show-man</p> +<p>At length, JOHNNY BULL, with that clever fat head of his,</p> +<p>Design’d a much stranger and comical edifice,</p> +<p>To be call’d his “NEW HOUSE”—a queer +sort of menagerie</p> +<p>To hold all his beasts—with an eye to the Treasury.</p> +<p>Into this he has cramm’d such uncommon monstrosities,</p> +<p>Such animals rare, such unique curiosities,</p> +<p>That we wager a CROWN—not to speak it uncivil—</p> +<p>This HOUSE of BULL’S beats Noah’s Ark to the +devil.</p> +<p>Lest you think that we bounce—the great fault, we confess, +of men—</p> +<p>We proceed to detail some few things, as a specimen</p> +<p>Of what are to be found in this novel museum;</p> +<p>As it opens next month, you may all go and see ‘em.</p> +<p>Five <em>Woods</em>, of five shades, grain, and polish, and +gilding,</p> +<p>Are used this diversified chamber in building.</p> +<p>Not a nail, bolt, or screw, you’ll discover to lurk in +it,</p> +<p>Though six <em>Smiths</em> you will find every evening at work +in it.</p> +<p>A <em>Forman</em> and <em>Master</em> you’ll see there +appended too,</p> +<p>Whose words or instructions are never attended to.</p> +<p>A <em>Leader</em>, whom nobody follows; a pair o’ +<em>Knights</em>,</p> +<p>With courage at ninety degrees of old Fahrenheit’s;</p> +<p>Full a hundred “Jim Crows,” wheeling round +about—round about,</p> +<p>Yet only one <em>Turner</em>’s this House to be found +about.</p> +<p>Of hogs-heads, Lord knows, there are plenty to spare of +them,</p> +<p>But only one <em>Cooper</em> is kept to take care of them.</p> +<p>A <em>Ryder’s</em> maintain’d, but he’s no +horse to get upon;</p> +<p>There’s a <em>Packe</em> too, and only one <em>Pusey</em> +to set upon.</p> +<p>Two <em>Palmers</em> are kept, holy men, in this ill, grim +age,</p> +<p>To make every night their Conservative pilgrimage.</p> +<p>A <em>Fuller</em>, for scouring old coats and redressing +them;</p> +<p>A <em>Taylor</em> to fashion; and <em>Mangles</em> for pressing +them.</p> +<p>Two <em>Stewarts</em>, two <em>Fellowes</em>, a <em>Clerk</em>, +and a <em>Baillie</em>,</p> +<p>To keep order, yet each call’d to order are, daily.</p> +<p>A <em>Duke</em>, without dukedom—a matter +uncommon—</p> +<p>And <em>Bowes</em>, the delight, the enchantment of woman.</p> +<p>This house has a <em>Tennent</em>, but ask for the rent of +it,</p> +<p>He’d laugh at, and send you to Brussels or Ghent for +it.</p> +<p>Of the animals properly call’d so, a sample</p> +<p>We’ll give to you gentlefolks now, for example:—</p> +<p>There are <em>bores</em> beyond count, of all ages and +sizes,</p> +<p>Yet only one <em>Hogg</em>, who both learned and wise is.</p> +<p>There’s a <em>Buck</em> and a <em>Roebuck</em>, the latter +a wicked one,</p> +<p>Whom few like to play with—he makes such a kick at +one.</p> +<p>There are <em>Hawkes</em> and a <em>Heron</em>, with wings +trimm’d to fly upon,</p> +<p>And claws to stick into what prey they set eye upon.</p> +<p>There’s a <em>Fox</em>, a smart cove, but, poor fellow, no +tail he has;</p> +<p>And a <em>Bruen</em>—good tusks for a feed we’ll be +bail he has.</p> +<p>There’s a <em>Seale</em>, and four <em>Martens</em>, with +skins to our wishes;</p> +<p>There’s a <em>Rae</em> and two <em>Roches</em>, and all +sorts of fishes;</p> +<p>There’s no sheep, but a <em>Sheppard</em>—“the +last of the pigtails”—</p> +<p>And a <em>Ramsbottom</em>—chip of the old famous big +tails.</p> +<p>Now to mention in brief a few trifles extraneous,</p> +<p>By connoisseurs class’d, “odds and ends +miscellaneous:”—</p> +<p>There’s a couple of +<em>Bells</em>—frights—nay, Hottentots real!</p> +<p>A <em>Trollope</em>, of elegance <em>le beau ideal</em>.</p> +<p>Of <em>Browne</em>, <em>Green</em>, and <em>Scarlett</em> men, +surely a sack or more,</p> +<p>Besides three whole <em>White</em> men, preserved with a +<em>Blakemore</em>.</p> +<p>There’s a <em>Hill</em>, and a <em>Hutt</em>, and a +<em>Kirk</em>, and—astounding!</p> +<p>The entire of old <em>Holland</em> this house to be found +in.</p> +<p>There’s a <em>Flower</em>, with a perfume so strong +‘twould upset ye all;</p> +<p>And the beauty of <em>Somers</em> is here found perpetual.</p> +<p>There’s a <em>Bodkin</em>, a <em>Patten</em>, a +<em>Rose</em>, and a <em>Currie</em>,</p> +<p>And a man that’s still <em>Hastie</em>, though ne’er +in a hurry.</p> +<p>There is <em>Cole</em> without smoke, a +“sou’-<em>West</em>” without danger;</p> +<p>And a <em>Grey</em>, that to place is at present a stranger.</p> +<p>There’s a <em>Peel</em>,—but enough! if you’re +a virtuoso</p> +<p>You’ll see for yourself, and next month you may do so;</p> +<p>When, if you don’t say this <em>New House</em> is a +wonder,</p> +<p>We’re Dutchmen—that’s all!—and at once +knuckle under.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>WATERFORD ELECTION.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The Tories at Waterford carried the day,</p> +<p class="i2">And the reign of the Rads is for ever now past;</p> +<p>For one who was <em>Wyse</em> he got out of the way,</p> +<p class="i2">And the hopes of the other proved <em>Barron</em> at +last.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>STATE OF TRADE.</h3> +<p>We are sorry to perceive that trade was never in a more alarming +state than at present. A general <em>strike</em> for wages has +taken place amongst the smiths. The carpenters have been dreadfully +<em>cut up</em>; and the shoemakers find, at the <em>last</em>, +that it is impossible to make both <em>ends</em> meet. The bakers +complain that the pressure of the times is so great, that they +cannot get the bread to <em>rise</em>. The bricklayers swear that +the monopolists ought to be brought to the <em>scaffold</em>. The +glaziers, having taken some <em>pains</em> to discover the cause of +the distress, declare that they can <em>see through</em> the whole +affair. The gardeners wish to get at the <em>root</em> of the evil, +and consequently have become <em>radical</em> reformers. The +laundresses have <em>washed</em> their hands clean of the business. +The dyers protest that things never looked so <em>blue</em> in +their memory, as there is but a slow demand for</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/003-05.png"><img src= +"images/003-05.png" alt= +"A man carrying a flag, running from soldiers with swords bared" +id="img003-05" name="img003-05" width="50%" /></a> +<p>FAST COLOURS.</p> +</div> +<p>The butchers are reduced to their last <em>stake</em>. The +weavers say their lives hang by a single <em>thread</em>. The +booksellers protest we must <em>turn over a new leaf</em>. The +ironmongers declare that the times are very <em>hard</em> indeed. +The cabmen say business is completely at a <em>stand</em>. The +watermen are all <em>aground</em>. The tailors object to the +government <em>measures</em>;—and the undertakers think that +affairs are assuming a <em>grave</em> aspect. Public credit, too, +is tottering;—nobody will take doctors’ +<em>draughts</em>, and it is difficult to obtain cash for the best +bills (of the play). An extensive brandy-ball merchant in the +neighbourhood of Oxford-street has called a meeting of his +creditors; and serious apprehensions are entertained that a large +manufacturer of lollypops in the Haymarket will be unable to meet +his heavy liabilities. Two watchmakers in the city have stopped +this morning, and what is more extraordinary, their watches have +“<em>stopped</em>” too.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>THE NORMANDIE “NO GO.”</h3> +<p>The figure, stuffed with shavings, of a French grenadier, +constructed by the Duke of Normandie, and exhibited by him recently +at Woolwich, which he stated would explode if fired at by bullets +of his own construction, possitively objected to being blown up in +such a ridiculous manner; and though several balls were discharged +at the man of shavings, he showed no disposition to move. The Duke +waxed exceedingly wroth at the coolness of his soldier, and swore, +if he had been a true Frenchman, he would have <em>gone off</em> at +the first fire.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>A CONUNDRUM BY COL. SIBTHORP.</h3> +<p>“What’s the difference between the top of a mountain +and a person afflicted with any +disorder?”—“One’s a <em>summit of a +hill</em>, and the other’s <em>ill of a +summut</em>.”</p> +<hr /> +<h3>A CLASSICAL INSCRIPTION FOR A CIGAR CASE.</h3> +<p class="cen">Τὸ +βακχικὸν +δώρημα λαβὲ, +σὲ +γὰρ Φιλω̑.—EURIPIDES.</p> +<h3>FREE TRANSLATION.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Accept this gift of To-<em>Baccha</em>—cigar +fellow.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>FASHIONS FOR THE PRESENT WEEK.</h3> +<p>Though the dog-days have not yet commenced, <em>muzzlin</em> is +very general, and a new sort of <em>shally</em>, called +<em>shilly-shally</em>, is getting remarkably prevalent. +<em>Shots</em> are still considered the greatest hits, for those +who are anxious to make a good impression; flounces are +<em>out</em> in the morning, and <em>tucks in</em> at +dinner-parties, the latter being excessively full, and much sought +after. At <em>conversaziones</em>, puffs are very usual, and +sleeves are not so tight as before, to allow of their being laughed +in; jewels are not now to be met with in the head, which is left +<em>au naturel</em>—that is to say, as vacant as +possible.</p> +<hr /> +<p>“Why is the <em>Gazette</em> like a Frenchman’s +letter?”—“Because it is full of <em>broken +English</em>.”</p> +<hr /> +<h3>BREACH OF PRIVILEGE.</h3> +<p>In the strangers’ gallery in the American house of +representatives, the following notice is posted +up:—“Gentlemen will be pleased not to place their feet +on the boards in front of the gallery, <em>as the dirt from them +falls down on the senators’ heads</em>.” In our English +House of Commons, this pleasant <em>penchant</em> for dirt-throwing +is practised by the members instead of the strangers. It is quite +amusing to see with what energy O’Connell and Lord Stanley +are wont to bespatter and heap dirt on each other’s heads in +their legislative squabbles!</p> +<hr /> +<h3>SHOCKING WANT OF SYMPATHY.</h3> +<p>Sir Peter Laurie has made a sad complaint to the Lord Mayor, of +the slippery state of the wooden pavement in the Poultry, and +strongly recommended the immediate removal of the <em>blocks</em>. +This is most barbarous conduct on the part of Sir Peter. Has he +lost all natural affection for his kindred, that he should seek to +injure them in public estimation? Has he no secret sympathy for the +poor blocks whom he has traduced? Let him lay his hand upon his +<em>head</em> and confess that—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“A fellow feeling; makes us wondrous kind.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page30" name="page30"></a>[pg +30]</span> +<h2>PUNCH AND PEEL</h2> +<h3>THE NEW CABINET.</h3> +<p>PUNCH.—Well, Sir Robert, have you yet picked your men? +Come, no mystery between friends. Besides, consider your +obligations to your old crony, Punch. Do you forget how I stood by +you on the Catholic question? Come, name, name! Who are to pluck +the golden pippins—who are to smack lips at the golden +fish—who are to chew the fine manchet loaves of +Downing-street?</p> +<p>PEEL.—The truth is, my dear Punch—</p> +<p>PUNCH.—Stop. You may put on that demure look, expand your +right-hand fingers across the region where the courtesy of anatomy +awards to politicians a heart, and talk about truth as a certain +old lady with a paper lanthorn before her door may talk of +chastity—you may do all this on the hustings; but this is not +Tamworth: besides, you are now elected; so take one of these +cigars—they were smuggled for me by my revered friend Colonel +Sibthorp—fill your glass, and out with the list.</p> +<p>PEEL.—(<em>Rises and goes to the door, which he double +locks; returns to his seat, and takes from his waistcoat pocket a +small piece of ass’s skin.</em>) I have jotted down a few +names.</p> +<p>PUNCH.—And, I see, on very proper material. Read, Robert, +read.</p> +<p>PEEL.—(<em>In a mild voice and with a slight +blush.</em>)—“First Lord of the Treasury, and +Chancellor of the Exchequer, Sir Robert Peel!”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—Of course. Well?</p> +<p>PEEL.—“First Lord of the Admiralty—Duke of +Buckingham.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—An excellent man for the Admiralty. He has been at +sea in politics all his life.</p> +<p>PEEL.—“Secretary for Foreign Affairs—Earl of +Aberdeen.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—An admirable person for Foreign Affairs, especially +if he transacted ’em in Sierra Leone. Proceed.</p> +<p>PEEL.—“Lord Lieutenant of Ireland—Lord +Wharncliffe.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—Nothing could be better. Wharncliffe in Ireland! +You might as well appoint a red-hot poker to guard a powder +magazine. Go on.</p> +<p>PEEL.—“Secretary for Home +Department—Goulburn.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—A most domestic gentleman; will take care of home, +I am sure. Go on.</p> +<p>PEEL.—“Lord Chancellor—Sir William +Follett.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—A capital appointment: Sir William loves the law as +a spider loves his spinning; and for the same reason Chancery +cobwebs will be at a premium.</p> +<p>PEEL.—“Secretary for the Colonies—Lord +Stanley.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—Would make a better Governor of Macquarrie Harbour; +but go on.</p> +<p>PEEL.—“President of the Council—Duke of +Wellington.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—Think twice there.—The Duke will be a great +check upon you. The Duke is now a little too old a mouser to enjoy +Tory tricks. He has unfortunately a large amount of common sense; +and how fatal must that quality be to the genius of the +Wharncliffes, the Goulburns, and the Stanleys! Besides, the Duke +has another grievous weakness—he won’t lie.</p> +<p>PEEL.—“Secretary for Ireland—Sir H. +Hardinge.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—Come, that will do. Wharncliffe, the flaming torch +of Toryism, and Hardinge the small lucifer. How Ireland will be +enlightened, and how oranges will go up!</p> +<p>PEEL.—“Lord Chamberlain—Duke of +Beaufort.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—Capital! The very politician for a Court carpet. +Besides, he knows the etiquette of every green-room from the +Pavilion to the Haymarket. He is, moreover, a member of the Garrick +Club; and what, if possible, speaks more for his State +abilities—he used to drive the Brighton coach!</p> +<p>PEEL.—“Ambassador at Paris—Lord +Lyndhurst.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—That’s something like. How the graces of the +Palais Royal will rejoice! There is a peculiar fitness in this +appointment; for is not his Lordship son-in-law to old Goldsmid, +whilom editor of the <em>Anti-Galliean</em>, and for many years an +honoured and withal notorious resident of Paris! Of course BEN +D’ISRAELI, his Lordship’s friend, will get a slice of +secretaryship—may be allowed to nib a state quill, if he must +not use one. Well, go on.</p> +<p>PEEL.—That’s all at present. How d’ye think +they read?</p> +<p>PUNCH.—Very glibly—like the summary of a Newgate +Calendar. But the truth is, I think we want a little new blood in +the next Cabinet.</p> +<p>PEEL.—New blood! Explain, dear Punch.</p> +<p>PUNCH.—Why, most of your people are, unfortunately, tried +men. Hence, the people, knowing them as well as they know the +contents of their own breeches’ pockets, may not be gulled so +long as if governed by those whose tricks—I mean, whose +capabilities—have not been so strongly marked. With new men +we have always the benefit of hope; and with hope much swindling +may be perpetrated.</p> +<p>PEEL.—But my Cabinet contains known men.</p> +<p>PUNCH.—That’s it; knowing <em>them</em>, hope is out +of the question. Now, with Ministers less notorious, the Cabinet +farce might last a little longer. I have put down a few names; here +they are on a blank leaf of <em>Jack Sheppard</em>.</p> +<p>PEEL.—A presentation copy, I perceive.</p> +<p>PUNCH.—-Why, it isn’t generally known; but all the +morality, the wit, and the pathos, of that work I wrote myself.</p> +<p>PEEL.—And I must say they’re quite worthy of +you.</p> +<p>PUNCH.—I know it; but read—read Punch’s +Cabinet.</p> +<p>PEEL (<em>reads</em>).—“First Lord of the Treasury, +and Chancellor of the Exchequer—the <em>Wizard of the +North</em>.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—And, wizard as he is, he’ll have his work to +do. He, however, promises that every four-pound loaf shall +henceforth go as far as eight, so that no alteration of the Corn +Laws shall be necessary. He furthermore promises to plant +Blackheath and Government waste grounds with sugar-cane, and to +raise the penny post stamp to fourpence, in so delicate a manner +that nobody shall feel the extra expense. As for the opposition, +what will a man care for even the speeches of a Sibthorp—who +can catch any number of bullets, any weight of lead, in his teeth? +Go on.</p> +<p>PEEL.—“First Lord of the Admiralty—<em>T.P. +Cooke</em>.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—Is he not the very man? Who knows more about the +true interests of the navy? Who has beaten so many Frenchmen? Then +think of his hornpipe—the very shuffling for a minister.</p> +<p>PEEL.—“Secretary for Foreign Affairs—<em>Gold +dust Solomons</em>.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—Show me a better man. Consider the many dear +relations he has abroad; and then his admirable knowledge of the +rates of exchange? Think of his crucible. Why, he’d melt down +all the crowns of Europe into a coffee service for our gracious +Queen, and turn the Pope’s tiara into coral bells for the +little Princess! And I ask you if such feats ain’t the +practical philosophy of all foreign policy? Go on.</p> +<p>PEEL.—“Lord Lieutenant of Ireland—<em>Henry +Moreton Dyer</em>.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—An admirable person. As Ireland is the hotbed of +all crimes, do we not want a Lord Lieutenant who shall be able to +assess the true value of every indiscretion, from simple murder to +compound larceny? As every Irishman may in a few months be in +prison, I want a Lord Lieutenant who shall be emphatically the +prisoner’s friend. Go on.</p> +<p>PEEL.—“Secretary for Home +Department—<em>George Robins</em>.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—A man so intimately connected with the domestic +affairs of the influential classes of the country. Go on.</p> +<p>PEEL.—“Lord Chancellor—<em>Mr. Dunn, +barrister</em>.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—As it appears to me, the best protector of rich +heiresses and orphans. Go on.</p> +<p>PEEL.—“Secretary for the Colonies—<em>Money +Moses</em>.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—A man, you will allow, with a great stake, in fact, +with all he has, in one of our colonial possessions. Go on.</p> +<p>PEEL.—“President of the Council—<em>Mrs. +Fry</em>.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—A lady whose individual respectability may give a +convenient cloak to any policy. Go on.</p> +<p>PEEL.—“Secretary for Ireland—<em>Henry Moreton +Dyer’s footman</em>.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—On the venerable adage of “like master like +man.” Go on.</p> +<p>PEEL.—“Lord Chamberlain—<em>The boy +Jones</em>.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—As one best knowing all the intricacies, from the +Royal bed-chamber to the scullery, of Buckingham Palace. Besides he +will drive a donkey-cart. Go on.</p> +<p>PEEL.—“Ambassador at Paris—<em>Alfred Bunn, or +any other translator of French Operas</em>.”</p> +<p>PUNCH.—A person who will have a continual sense of the +necessities of his country at home; and therefore, by his position, +be enabled to send us the earliest copies of M. Scribe’s +printed dramas; or, in cases of exigency, the manuscripts +themselves. And now, Bobby, what think you of Punch’s +Cabinet?</p> +<p>PEEL.—Why, really, I did not think the country contained +so much state talent.</p> +<p>PUNCH.—That’s the narrowness of your philosophy; if +you were to look with an enlarged, a thinking mind, you’d +soon perceive that the distance was not so great from St. +James’s to St. Giles’s—from the House of Commons +to the House of Correction. Well, do you accept my list?</p> +<p>PEEL.—Excuse me, my dear Punch, I must first try my own; +when if that fails—</p> +<p>PUNCH.—You’ll try mine? That’s a bargain.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page31" name="page31"></a>[pg +31]</span> +<h2>PUNCH'S PENCILLINGS.--No. III.</h2> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/003-06.png"><img src= +"images/003-06.png" alt= +"Scenes of a matron and a young woman preparing for a party." id= +"img003-06" name="img003-06" width="100%" /></a> +<p>THE EVENING PARTY.</p> +<p>PREPARATION. DECORATION.</p> +<p>REALIZATION. TERMINATION.</p> +</div> +<p class="hide">[pg 31]</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page33" name="page33"></a>[pg +33]</span> +<h2>A FAIR OFFER</h2> +<p>In compliance with my usual practice, I send you this letter, +containing a trifling biographical sketch, and an offer of my +literary services. I don’t suppose you will accept them, +treating me as for forty-three years past all the journals of this +empire have done; for I have offered my contributions to them +all—all. It was in the year 1798, that escaping from a French +prison (that of Toulon, where I had been condemned to the hulks for +forgery)—I say, from a French prison, but to find myself +incarcerated in an English dungeon (fraudulent bankruptcy, +implicated in swindling transactions, falsification of accounts, +and contempt of court), I began to amuse my hours of imprisonment +by literary composition.</p> +<p>I sent in that year my “Apology for the Corsican,” +relative to die murder of Captain Wright, to the late Mr. Perry, of +the <em>Morning Chronicle</em>, preparing an answer to the same in +the <em>Times</em> journal; but as the apology was not accepted +(though the argument of it was quite clear, and much to my credit), +so neither was the answer received—a sublime piece, Mr. +PUNCH, an unanswerable answer.</p> +<p>In the year 1799, I made an attempt on the journal of the late +Reverend Mr. Thomas Hill, then fast sinking in years; but he had +ill-treated my father, pursuing him before Mr. Justice Fielding for +robbing him of a snuff-box, in the year 1740; and he continued his +resentment towards my father’s unoffending son. I was cruelly +rebuffed by Mr. Hill, as indeed I have been by every other +newspaper proprietor.</p> +<p>No; there is not a single periodical print which has appeared +for forty-three years since, to which I did not make some +application. I have by me essays and fugitive pieces in fourteen +trunks, seven carpet bags of trifles in verse, and a portmanteau +with best part of an epic poem, which it does not become me to +praise. I have no less than four hundred and ninety-five acts of +dramatic composition, which have been rejected even by the +Syncretic Association.</p> +<p>Such is the set that for forty-three years has been made against +a man of genius by an envious literary world! Are you going to +follow in its wake? Ha, ha, ha! no less than seven thousand three +hundred times (the exact number of my applications) have I asked +that question. Think well before you reject me, Mr. +PUNCH—think well, and at least listen to what I have to +say.</p> +<p>It is this: I am not wishing any longer to come forward with +tragedies, epics, essays, or original compositions. I am old +now—morose in temper, troubled with poverty, jaundice, +imprisonment, and habitual indigestion. I hate everybody, and, with +the exception of gin-and-water, everything. I know every language, +both in the known and unknown worlds; I am profoundly ignorant of +history, or indeed of any other useful science, but have a +smattering of all. I am excellently qualified to judge and lash the +vices of the age, having experienced, I may almost say, every one +of them in my own person. The immortal and immoral Goethe, that +celebrated sage of Germany, has made exactly the same +confession.</p> +<p>I have a few and curious collection of Latin and Greek +quotations.</p> +<p>And what is the result I draw from this? This simple +one—that, of all men living, I am the most qualified to be a +CRITIC, and hereby offer myself to your notice in that +capacity.</p> +<p>Recollect, I am always at Home—Fleet Prison, Letter L, +fourth staircase, paupers’-ward—for a guinea, and a +bottle of Hodges’ Cordial, I will do anything. I will, for +that sum, cheerfully abuse my own father or mother. I can smash +Shakspeare; I can prove Milton to be a driveller, or the contrary: +but, for preference, take, as I have said, the abusive line.</p> +<p>Send me over then, Mr. P., any person’s works whose +sacrifice you may require. I will cut him up, sir; I will flay +him—flagellate him—finish him! You had better not send +me (unless you have a private grudge against the authors, when I am +of course at your service)—you had better not send me any +works of real merit; for I am infallibly prepared to show that +there is not any merit in them. I have not been one of the great +unread for forty-three years, without turning my misfortunes to +some account. Sir, I know how to make use of my adversity. I have +been accused, and rightfully too, of swindling, forgery, and +slander. I have been many times kicked down stairs. I am totally +deficient in personal courage; but, though I can’t fight, I +can rail, ay, and well. Send me somebody’s works, and +you’ll see how I will treat them.</p> +<p>Will you have personal scandal? I am your man. I will swear away +the character, not only of an author, but of his whole +family—the female members of it especially. Do you suppose I +care for being beaten? Bah! I no more care for a flogging than a +boy does at Eton: and only let the flogger beware—I will be a +match for him, I warrant you. The man who beats me is a coward; for +he knows I won’t resist. Let the dastard strike me then, or +leave me, as he likes; but, for a choice, I prefer abusing women, +who have no brothers or guardians; for, regarding a thrashing with +indifference, I am not such a ninny as to prefer it. And here you +have an accurate account of my habits, history, and +disposition.</p> +<p>Farewell, sir; if I can be useful to you, command me. If you +insert this letter, you will, of course, pay for it, upon my order +to that effect. I say this, lest an unprincipled wife and children +should apply to you for money. They are in a state of starvation, +and will scruple at no dastardly stratagem to procure money. I +spent every shilling of Mrs. Jenkinson’s property forty-five +years ago.</p> +<p>I am, sir, your humble servant,<br /> +DIOGENES JENKINSON,</p> +<p>Son of the late Ephraim Jenkinson, well known to Dr. O. +Goldsmith; the Rev. — Primrose, D.D., Vicar of Wakefield; +Doctor Johnson, of Dictionary celebrity; and other literary +gentlemen of the last century.</p> +<blockquote class="note">[We gratefully accept the offer of Mr. +Diogenes Jenkinson, whose qualifications render him admirably +adapted to fill a situation which Mr. John Ketch has most +unhandsomely resigned, doubtlessly stimulated thereto by the +probable accession to power of his old friends the Tories. We like +a man who dares to own himself—a +Jenkinson.—ED.]</blockquote> +<hr /> +<h3>FINE ARTS.</h3> +<p>His Royal Highness Prince Albert, who has occasionally displayed +a knowledge and much liking for the Fine Arts, some time since +expressed an intimation to display his ability in sketching +landscape from nature. The Royal Academicians immediately assembled +<em>en masse</em>; and as they wisely imagined that it would be +impolitic in them to let an opportunity slip of not being the very +foremost in the direction of matters connected with royalty and +their profession, offered, or rather thrust forward, their services +to arrange the landscape according to the established rules of art +laid down by this self-elected body of the professors of the +beauties of nature. St. James’s-park, within the enclosure, +having been hinted as the nearest and most suitable spot for the +royal essay, the Academicians were in active service at an early +hour of the appointed day: some busied themselves in making +foreground objects, by pulling down trees and heaping stones +together from the neighbouring macadamized stores; others were most +fancifully spotting the trees with whitewash and other mixtures, in +imitation of moss and lichens. The classical Howard was awfully +industrious in grouping some swans, together with several +kind-hearted ladies from the adjoining purlieus of Tothill-street, +who had been most willingly secured as models for water-nymphs. The +most rabidly-engaged gentleman was Turner, who, despite the +remonstrances of his colleagues upon the expense attendant upon his +whimsical notions, would persist in making the grass more natural +by emptying large buckets of treacle and mustard about the ground. +Another old gentleman, whose name we cannot at this moment call to +recollection, spent the whole of his time in placing “a +little man a-fishing,” that having been for many years his +fixed belief as the only illustration of the pastoral and +picturesque. In the meantime, to their utter disappointment, +however, his Royal Highness quietly strolled with his sketch-book +into another quarter.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>A BARRISTER’S CARD.</h3> +<p>Mr. Briefless begs to inform the public and his friends in +general, that he has opened chambers in Pump-court.—N.B. +Please to go down the area steps.</p> +<p>In consequence of the general pressure for money, Mr. Briefless +has determined to do business at the following very reduced scale +of prices; and flatters himself, that having been very long a +member of a celebrated debating society, he will be found to +possess the qualities so essential to a legal advocate.</p> +<blockquote class="note"> +<p>Motions of cause, 6<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em>—Usual charge, +10<em>s.</em> 5<em>d.</em><br /> +Undefended actions, (from) 15<em>s.</em>—Usually (from) +2<em>l.</em> 2<em>s.</em><br /> +Actions for breach of promise (from) 1<em>l.</em> +1<em>s.</em>—Usually (from) 5<em>l.</em> 5<em>s.</em> to +500<em>l.</em><br /> +Ditto, with appeals to the feelings, (from) 3<em>l.</em> +3<em>s.</em><br /> +Ditto, ditto, very superior, 5<em>l.</em> 5<em>s.</em><br /> +Ditto, with tirades against the law (a highly approved mixture), +3<em>l.</em> 3<em>s.</em></p> +</blockquote> +<p>N.B. To the three last items there is an addition of five +shillings for a reply, should one be rendered requisite. Mr. +Briefless begs to call attention to the fact, that feeling the +injustice that is done to the public by the system of refreshers, +he will in all cases, where he is retained, take out his refreshers +in brandy, rum, gin, ale, or porter.</p> +<p>Injured innocence carefully defended. Oppression and injustice +punctually persecuted. A liberal allowance to attorneys and +solicitors.</p> +<p>A few old briefs wanted as dummies. Any one having a second-hand +coachman’s wig to dispose of may hear of a purchaser.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page34" name="page34"></a>[pg +34]</span> +<h2>THE WIFE CATCHERS.</h2> +<h3>A LEGEND OF MY UNCLE’S BOOTS.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Ah! sure a <em>pair</em> was never seen,</p> +<p>More justly form’d—”</p> +</div> +</div> +<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> +<div class="dropcap"><a href="images/003-07.png"><img src= +"images/003-07.png" alt= +"The Letter J formed by a dog sitting up in begging position" id= +"img003-07" name="img003-07" width="100%" /></a></div> +<p><span class="hide">J</span>ack, said my uncle Ned to me one +evening, as we sat facing each other, on either side of the old oak +table, over which, for the last thirty years, my worthy +kinsman’s best stories had been told, “Jack,” +said he, “do you remember the pair of yellow-topped boots +that hung upon the peg in the hall, before you went to +college?”</p> +<p>“Certainly, uncle; they were called by every one, +‘The Wife Catchers.’”</p> +<p>“Well, Jack, many a title has been given more +undeservedly—many a rich heiress they were the means of +bringing into our family. But they are no more, Jack. I lost the +venerated relics just one week after your poor dear aunt departed +this life.”</p> +<p>My uncle drew out his bandanna handkerchief and applied it to +his eyes; but I cannot be positive to which of the family relics +this tribute of affectionate recollection was paid.</p> +<p>“Peace be with their <em>soles</em>!” said I, +solemnly. “By what fatal chance did our old friends slip off +the peg?”</p> +<p>“Alas!” replied my uncle, “it was a melancholy +accident; and as I perceive you take an interest in their fate, I +will relate it to you. But first fill your glass, Jack; you need +not be afraid of this stuff; it never saw the face of a gauger. +Come, no skylights; ’tis as mild as new milk; there’s +not a head-ache in a hogshead of it.”</p> +<p>To encourage me by his example, my uncle grasped the huge black +case-bottle which stood before him, and began to manufacture a +tumbler of punch according to Father Tom’s popular +receipt.</p> +<p>Whilst he is engaged in this pleasing task, I will give my +readers a pen-and-ink sketch of my respected relative. Fancy a man +declining from his fiftieth year, but fresh, vigorous, and with a +greenness in his age that might put to the blush some of our modern +hotbed-reared youths, with the best of whom he could cross a +country on the back of his favourite hunter, <em>Cruiskeen</em>, +and when the day’s sport was over, could put a score of them +under the aforementioned oak table—which, by the way, was +frequently the only one of the company that kept its legs upon +these occasions of Hibernian hospitality. I think I behold him now, +with his open, benevolent brow, thinly covered with grey hair, his +full blue eye and florid cheek, which glowed like the sunny side of +a golden-pippin that the winter’s frost had ripened without +shrivelling. But as he has finished the admixture of his punch, I +will leave him to speak for himself.</p> +<p>“You know, Jack,” said he, after gulping down nearly +half the newly-mixed tumbler, by way of sample, “you know +that our family can lay no claim to antiquity; in fact, our +pedigree ascends no higher, according to the most authentic +records, than Shawn Duffy, my grandfather, who rented a small patch +of ground on the sea-coast, which was such a barren, unprofitable +spot, that it was then, and is to this day, called ‘The +Devil’s Half-acre.’ And well it merited the name, for +if poor Shawn was to break his heart at it, he never could get a +better crop than thistles or ragweed off it. But though the curse +of sterility seemed to have fallen on the land, Fortune, in order +to recompense Shawn for Nature’s niggardliness, made the +caverns and creeks of that portion of the coast which bounded his +farm towards the sea the favourite resort of smugglers. Shawn, in +the true spirit of Christian benevolence, was reputed to have +favoured those enterprising traders in their industry, by assisting +to convey their cargoes into the interior of the country. It was on +one of those expeditions, about five o’clock on a +summer’s morning, that a gauger unluckily met my grandfather +carrying a bale of tobacco on his back.”</p> +<p>Here my uncle paused in his recital, and leaning across the +table till his mouth was close to my ear, said, in a confidential +whisper—</p> +<p>“Jack, do <em>you</em> consider killing a +gauger—murder?”</p> +<p>“Undoubtedly, sir.”</p> +<p>“You do?” he replied, nodding his head +significantly. “Then heaven forgive my poor grandfather. +However, it can’t be helped now. The gauger was found dead, +with an ugly fracture in his skull, the next day; and, what was +rather remarkable, Shawn Duffy began to thrive in the world from +that time forward. He was soon able to take an extensive farm, and, +in a little time, began to increase in wealth and importance. But +it is not so easy as some people imagine to shake off the +remembrance of what we have been, and it is still more difficult to +make our friends oblivious on that point, particularly if we have +ascended in the scale of respectability. Thus it was, that in spite +of my grandfather’s weighty purse, he could not succeed in +prefixing <em>Mister</em> to his name; find he continued for a long +time to be known as plain ‘Shawn Duffy, of the Devil’s +Half-acre.’ It was undoubtedly a most diabolic address; but +Shawn was a man of considerable strength of mind, as well as of +muscle, and he resolved to become a <em>juntleman</em>, despite +this damning reminiscence. Vulgarity, it is said, sticks to a man +like a limpet to a rock. Shawn knew the best way to rub it off +would be by mixing with good society. Dress, he always understood, +was the best passport he could bring for admission within the pale +of gentility; accordingly, he boldly attempted to pass the boundary +of plebeianism, by appearing one fine morning at the fair of +Ballybreesthawn in a flaming red waistcoat, an elegant +<em>oarline</em><sup>2</sup><span class="sidenote">2. A beaver +hat.</span> hat, a pair of buckskin breeches, and a new pair of +yellow-topped boots, which, with the assistance of large plated +spurs, and a heavy silver-mounted whip, took the shine out of the +smartest squireens at the fair.</p> +<p>“Fortunately for the success of my grandfather’s +invasion of the aristocratic rights, it occurred on the eve of a +general election, and as he had the command of six or eight votes +in the county, his interest was a matter of some importance to the +candidates. Be that as it may, it was with feelings little short of +absolute dismay, that the respectable inhabitants of the extensive +village of Ballybreesthawn beheld the metamorphosed tenant of +‘The Devil’s Half-acre,’ walking arm-in-arm down +the street with Sir Denis Daly, the popular candidate. At all +events, this public and familiar promenade had the effect of +establishing <em>Mister</em> John Duffy’s dubious gentility. +He was invited to dine the same day by the attorney; and on the +following night the apothecary proposed his admission as a member +of the Ballybreesthawn Liberal reading-room. It was even whispered +that Bill Costigan, who went twice a-year to Dublin for goods, was +trying to strike up a match between Shawn, who was a hale widower, +and his aunt, an ancient spinster, who was set down by report as a +fortune of seven hundred pounds. Negotiations were actually set on +foot, and several preliminary bottles of potteen had been drunk by +the parties concerned, when, unfortunately, in the high road to +happiness, my poor grandfather caught a fever, and popped off, to +the inexpressible grief of the expectant bride, who declared her +intention of dying in the virgin state; to which resolution, there +being no dissentient voice, it was carried <em>nem. con.</em></p> +<p>“Thus died the illustrious founder of our family; but +happy was it for posterity that the yellow-topped boots did not die +along with him; these, with the red waistcoat, the leather +breeches, and plated spurs, remained to raise the fortunes of our +house to a higher station. The waistcoat has been long since +numbered with the waistcoats before the flood; the buckskins, made +of ‘sterner stuff,’ stood the wear and tear of the +world for a length of time, but at last were put out of commission; +while the boots, more fortunate or tougher than their leathern +companions, endured more than forty years of actual service through +all the ramifications of our extensive family. In this time they +had suffered many dilapidations; but by the care and ingenuity of +the family cobbler, they were always kept in tolerable order, and +performed their duty with great credit to themselves, until an +unlucky accident deprived me of my old and valued +friends.”</p> +<hr /> +<h3>POOR JOHN BULL.</h3> +<p>That knowing jockey Sir Robert Peel has stated that the old +charger, John Bull, is, from over-feeding, growing restive and +unmanageable—kicking up his heels, and playing sundry tricks +extremely unbecoming in an animal of his advanced age and many +infirmities. To keep down this playful spirit, Sir Robert proposes +that a new burthen be placed upon his back in the shape of a +house-tax, pledging himself that it shall be heavy enough to effect +the desired purpose. Commend us to these Tories—they are rare +fellows for</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/003-08.png"><img src= +"images/003-08.png" alt= +"An overweight man astride a horse that is down on its knees." id= +"img003-08" name="img003-08" width="50%" /></a> +<p>BREAKING A HORSE.</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>A STRONG RESEMBLANCE.</h3> +<p>Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer has frequently been accused of +identifying himself with the heroes of his novels. His late +treatment at Lincoln leaves no doubt of his identity with</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/003-09.png"><img src= +"images/003-09.png" alt= +"A PUNCH character is warding off a large black man in colonial regalia who is presenting a white woman with a black baby." +id="img003-09" name="img003-09" width="50%" /></a> +<p>THE DISOWNED.</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>A PRUDENT CHANGE.</h3> +<p>“So Lord John Russell is married,” said one of the +Carlton Club loungers to Colonel Sibthorp the other morning. +“Yes,” replied that gallant punster; “his +Lordship is at length convinced that his talents will be better +employed in the management of the <em>Home</em> than the +<em>Colonial</em> department.”</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page35" name="page35"></a>[pg +35]</span> +<h2>THE ABOVE-BRIDGE NAVY.</h2> +<h3>AN ARTICLE INTENDED FOR THE “QUARTERLY REVIEW,” BUT +FALLEN INTO THE HANDS OF “PUNCH.”</h3> +<ol style= +"list-style-type: upper-roman;list-style-position: inside;margin-right:5%;text-indent:-1em;"> +<li>—<em>Hours of the Starting of the Boats of the Iron Steam +Boat Company</em>. London: 1841.</li> +<li>—<em>Notes of a Passenger on Board the Bachelor, during a +Voyage from Old Swan Pier, London Bridge, to the Red House, +Battersea</em>. CATNACH: 1840.</li> +<li>—<em>Rule Britannia, a Song</em>. London: 1694.</li> +<li>—<em>Two Years before the Mast</em>. CUNNINGHAM. +London.</li> +<li>—<em>Checks issued by the London and Westminster Steam +Boat Company</em>. CATTARNS AND FRY.</li> +</ol> +<p>At a time when the glory of England stands—like a door +shutting or opening either way—entirely upon a pivot; when +the hostile attitude of enemies abroad threatens not more, nor +perhaps less, than the antagonistic posture of foes at +home—at such a time there is at least a yet undug and +hitherto unexplored mine of satisfaction in the refreshing fact, +that the Thames is fostering in his bosom an entirely new navy, +calculated to bid defiance to the foe—should he ever +come—in the very heart and lungs, the very bowels and vitals, +the very liver and lungs, or, in one emphatic word, the very pluck +of the metropolis. There is not a more striking instance of the +remarkable connexion between little—very little—causes, +and great—undeniably great—effects, than the +extraordinary origin, rise, progress, germ, development, and +maturity, of the <em>above-bridge navy</em>, the bringing of which +prominently before the public, who may owe to that navy at some +future—we hope so incalculably distant as never to have a +chance of arriving—day, the salvation of their lives, the +protection of their hearths, the inviolability of their +street-doors, and the security of their properties. Sprung from a +little knot of (we wish we could say “<em>jolly +young</em>,” though truth compels us to proclaim) far from +jolly, and decidedly old, “watermen,” the +<em>above-bridge navy</em>, whose shattered and unfrequented +wherries were always “in want of a fare,” may now boast +of covering the bosom of the Thames with its fleet of steamers; +thus, as it were, bringing the substantial piers of London Bridge +within a stone’s throw—if we may be allowed to pitch it +so remarkably strong—of the once remote regions of the +Beach<sup>3</sup><span class="sidenote">3. Chelsea.</span>, and +annihilating, as it were, the distance between sombre southwark and +bloom-breathing Battersea.</p> +<p>The establishment of this little fleet may well be a proud +reflection to those shareholders who, if they have no dividend in +specie, have another species of dividend in the swelling +gratification with which the heart of every one must be inflated, +as, on seeing one of the noble craft dart with the tide through the +arches—supposing, of course, it does not strike against +them—of Westminster Bridge, he is enabled mentally to +exclaim, “There goes some of <em>my</em> capital!” But +if the pride of the proprietor—if <em>he</em> can be called a +proprietor who derives nothing from his property—be great, +what must be the feelings of the captain to whose guidance the bark +is committed! We can scarcely conceive a nobler subject of +contemplation than one of those once indigent—not to say +absolutely done up—watermen, perched proudly on the summit of +a paddle-box, and thinking—as he very likely does, +particularly when the vessel swags and sways from side to +side—of the height he stands upon.</p> +<p>It may be, and has been, urged by some, that the Thames is not +exactly the place to form the naval character; that a habit of +braving the “dangers of the deep” is hardly to be +acquired where one may walk across at low tide, on account of the +water being so confoundedly <em>shallow</em>: but these are +cavillings which the lofty and truly patriotic mind will at once +and indignantly repudiate. The humble urchin, whose sole duty +consists in throwing out a rope to each pier, and holding hard by +it while the vessel stops, may one day be destined for some higher +service: and where is the English bosom that will not beat at the +thought, that the dirty lad below, whose exclamation of “Ease +her!—stop her!—one turn ahead!”—may one day +be destined to give the word of command on the quarterdeck, and +receive, in the shape of a cannon-ball, a glorious full-stop to his +honourable services!</p> +<p>Looking as we do at the <em>above-bridge navy</em>, in a large +and national light, we are not inclined to go into critical +details, such as are to be met with, <em>passim</em>, in the shrewd +and amusing work of “The Passenger on board the +Bachelor.” There may be something in the objection, that +there is no getting comfortably into one of these boats when one +desires to go by it. It may be true, that a boy’s neglecting +“to hold” sufficiently “hard,” may keep the +steamer vibrating and Sliding about, within a yard of the pier, +without approaching it. But these are small considerations, and we +are not sure that the necessity of keeping a sharp look out, and +jumping aboard at precisely the right time, does not keep up that +national ingenuity which is not the least valuable part of the +English character. In the same light are we disposed to regard the +occasional running aground of these boats, which, at all events, is +a fine practical lesson of patience to the passengers. The +collisions are not so much to our taste, and these, we think, +though useful to a certain extent for inculcating caution, should +be resorted to as rarely as possible.</p> +<p>We have not gone into the system of signals and “<em>hand +motions</em>,” if we may be allowed to use a legal term, by +which the whole of this navy is regulated; but these, and other +details, may, perhaps, be the subject of some future article for we +are partial to</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/003-10.png"><img src= +"images/003-10.png" alt= +"A sailor picking the pocket of a man dozing at a bar table." id= +"img003-10" name="img003-10" width="50%" /></a> +<p>TAKING IT EASY.</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>CORRESPONDENCE.</h3> +<p><em>Newcastle-street, July —, 1841.</em></p> +<p>MR. PUNCH,—Little did I think wen i’ve bin a gaping +and starin’ at you in the streats, that i shud ever happli to +you for gustice. Isntet a shame that peeple puts advurtusmints in +the papers for a howsmaid for a lark, as it puts all the poor +survents out of plaice into a dredfool situashun.</p> +<p>As i alwuss gets a peep at the paper on the landin’ as i +takes it up for breckfus, i was unfoughtunite enuf to see a +para—thingem-me-bob—for a howsmaid, wanted in a +nobbleman’s fameli. On course, a young woman has a rite to +better hursef if she can; so I makes up my mind at wunce—has +i oney has sicks pouns a ear, and finds my own t and +shuggar—i makes up my mind to arsk for a day out; which, has +the cold mutting was jest enuf for mastur and missus without me, +was grarnted me. I soon clears up the kitshun, and goes up stares +to clean mysef. I puts on my silk gronin-napple gownd, and my lase +pillowrin, likewise my himitashun vermin tippit, (give me by my +cussen Harry, who keeps kumpany with me on hot-dinner days), also +my tuskin bonnit, parrersole, and blacbag; and i takes mysef orf to +South-street, but what was my felines, wen, on wringing the belle, +a boy anser’d the daw, with two roes of brarse beeds down his +jacket.</p> +<p>“Can i speek a word with the futman?” says i, in my +ingaugingist manner.</p> +<p>“i’m futman,” says he.</p> +<p>“Then the cook,” says i.</p> +<p>“We arn’t no cook,” says he.</p> +<p>“No cook!” says i, almose putrifide with surprise; +“you must be jokin’”—</p> +<p>“Jokin’,” says he; “do you no who lives +here?”</p> +<p>“Not exacly,” says i.</p> +<p>“Lord Milburn,” says he.</p> +<p>i thort i shud have dropt on the step, as a glimmerin’ of +the doo shot aX my mine.</p> +<p>“Then you don’t want no howsmaid?” says i.</p> +<p>“Howsmaid!” says the boy; “go to blazes: (What +could he mean by</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/003-11.png"><img src= +"images/003-11.png" alt= +"A cart of people carrying torches racing towards a burning building." +id="img003-11" name="img003-11" width="50%" /></a> +<p>GOING TO BLAZES?)</p> +</div> +<p>“No; i’ve toled fifty on ye so this +mornin’—it’s a oaks.”</p> +<p>“Then more shame of Lord Milborn to do it,” says i; +“he may want a place hissef some day or other,” +sayin’ of which i bounsed off the doorstep, with all tho +dignity i could command.</p> +<p>Now, what i wants to no is, wether i can’t summons his +lordship for my day out. Harry sais, should i ever come in contract +with Lord Milborn, i’m to trete him with the silent kontempt +of</p> +<p>Yours truly,</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/003-12.png"><img src= +"images/003-12.png" alt="An indignant looking woman." id= +"img003-12" name="img003-12" width="50%" /></a> +<p>AN INDIGNANT HOUSEMAID.</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>A MOVING SCENE.</h3> +<p>The present occupants of the government premises in +Downing-street, whose leases will expire in a few days, are busily +employed packing up their small affairs before the new tenants come +into possession. It is a pitiful sight to behold these poor people +taking leave of their softly-stuffed seats, their rocking-chairs, +their footstools, slippers, cushions, and all those little official +comforts of which they nave been so cruelly deprived. That man +must, indeed, be hard-hearted who would refuse to sympathise with +their sorrows, or to uplift his voice in the doleful Whig chorus, +when he hears—</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/003-13.png"><img src= +"images/003-13.png" alt= +"The Jack, King, and Queen of Hearts with tears running down their faces." +id="img003-13" name="img003-13" width="50%" /></a> +<p>THE PACK IN FULL CRY.</p> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page36" name="page36"></a>[pg +36]</span> +<h2>THE DRAMA</h2> +<h3>DUCROW AT SADLER’S WELLS.</h3> +<p>When, in a melo-drama, the bride is placing her foot upon the +first step of the altar, and Ruffi<em>aa</em>no tears her away, far from the +grasp of her lover; when a rich uncle in a farce dies to oblige a +starving author in a garret; when, two rivals duellise with +toasting-forks; when such things are plotted and acted in the +theatre, hypercritics murmur at their improbability; but compare +them with the haps of the drama off the stage, and they become the +veriest of commonplaces. This is a world of change: the French have +invaded Algiers, British arms are doing mortal damage in the +Celestial Empire, Poulett Thomson has gone over to Canada, and oh! +wonder of wonders! Astley’s has removed to Sadler’s +Wells!! The pyrotechnics of the former have gone on a visit to the +hydraulics of the latter, the red fire of Astley’s has come +in contact with the real water of the Wells, yet, marvel +superlative! the unnatural meeting has been successful—there +has not been a single <em>hiss</em>.</p> +<p>What was the use of Sir Hugh Middleton bringing the New River to +a “head,” or of King Jamie buying shares in the +speculation on purpose to supply Sadler’s Wells with real +water, if it is to be drained off from under the stage to make way +for horses? Shade of Dibdin! ghost of Grimaldi! what would you have +said in your day? To be sure ye were guilty of pony races: they +took place <em>outside</em> the theatre, but within the walls, in +the very <em>cella</em> of the aquatic temple, till now, never! We +wonder ye do not rise up and “pluck bright Honner from the +vasty deep” of his own tank.</p> +<p>Sawdust at Sadler’s Wells! What next, Mr. Merriman?</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/003-14.png"><img src= +"images/003-14.png" alt= +"A silhouette standing on the back of a horse which is running in a circus ring." +id="img003-14" name="img003-14" width="50%" /></a> +<p>A JUDGE GOING THE CIRCUIT.</p> +</div> +<p>If Macready had been engaged for Clown, and set down to sing +“hot codlins;” were Palmerston “secured” +for Pierrot, or Lord Monteagle for Jim Crow, who would have +wondered? But to saddle “The Wells” with +horses—profanity unparalleled!</p> +<p>Spitefully predicting failure from this terrible declension of +the drama, we went, in a mood intensely ill-natured, to witness how +the “Horse of the Pyrenees” would behave himself at +Sadler’s Wells. From the piece so called we anticipated no +amusement; we thought the regular company would make but sorry +equestrians, and, like the King of Westphalia’s hussars, +would prove totally inefficient, from not being habituated to mount +on horseback. Happily we were mistaken; nothing could possibly +<em>go</em> better than both the animals and the piece. The actors +acquitted themselves manfully, even including the horses. The +mysterious Arab threw no damp over the performances, for he was +personated by Mr. Dry. The little Saracen was performed so well by +<em>le petit Ducrow</em>, that we longed to see <em>more</em> of +him. The desperate battle fought by about sixteen supernumeraries +at the pass of Castle Moura, was quite as sanguinary as ever: the +combats were perfection—the glory of the red fire was nowise +dimmed! It was magic, yes, it <em>was</em> magic! Mr. Widdicomb was +there!!</p> +<p>Thinking of magic and Mr. Widdicomb (of whom dark hints of +identification with the wandering Jew have been dropped—who, +<em>we know</em>, taught Prince George of Denmark +horsemanship—who is mentioned by Addison in the +“Spectator,” by Dr. Johnson in the +“Rambler,” and helped to put out each of the three +fires that have happened at Astley’s during the last two +centuries), brought by these considerations to a train of mind +highly susceptible of supernatural agency, we visited—</p> +<h4>THE WIZARD OF THE NORTH,</h4> +<p>the illustrious professor of <em>Phœnixsistography</em>, +and other branches of the black art, the names of which are as +mysterious as their performance.</p> +<p>One only specimen of his prowess convinced us of his +supernatural talents. He politely solicited the loan of a +bank-note—he was not choice as to the amount or bank of +issue. “It may be,” saith the play-bill, “a Bank +of England or provincial note, for any sum from five pounds to one +thousand.” His is better magic than Owen Glendower’s, +for the note “did come when he did call it!” for a +confiding individual in the boxes (dress circle of course) actually +did lend him, the Wizard, a cool hundred! Conceive the power, in a +metaphysical sense, the conjuror must have had over the +lender’s mind! Was it animal magnetism?—was it terror +raised by his extraordinary performances, that spirited the cash +out of the pocket of the man? who, perhaps, thought that such +supernatural talents <em>might</em> be otherwise employed against +his very existence, thus occupying his perturbed soul with the +alternative, “Your money or your life!”</p> +<p>This subject is deeply interesting to actors out of engagements, +literary men, and people who “have seen better +days”—individuals who have brought this species of +conjuration to a high state of perfection. It is a new and +important chapter in the “art of borrowing.” We +perceive in the Wizard’s advertisements he takes pupils, and +offers to make them proficient in any of his delusions at a guinea +per trick. We intend to put ourselves under his instructions for +the bank-note trick, the moment we can borrow one-pound-one for +that purpose.</p> +<p>Besides this, the Wizard does a variety of things which made our +hair stand on end, even while reading their description in his +play-bill. We did not see him perform them. There was no +occasion—the bank-note trick convinced us—for the man +who can borrow a hundred pounds whenever he wants it can do +anything.</p> +<p>Everybody ought to go and see him. Young ladies having a taste +for sentimental-looking men, who wear their hair <em>à la +jeune France</em>; natural historians who want to see guinea-pigs +fly; gamesters who would like to be made “fly” to a +card trick or two; <em>connoisseurs</em>, who wish to see how +plum-pudding may be made in hats, will all be gratified by a visit +to the Adelphi.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>MACBETH AT THE SURREY.</h3> +<p>We heard the “Macbeth choruses” exquisitely +performed, and saw the concluding combat furiously fought at this +theatre. This was all, appertaining unto Macbeth in which we could +detect a near approach to the meaning and purpose of the text, +except the performance of the <em>Queen</em>, by Mrs. H. Vining, +who seemed to understand the purport of the words she had to speak, +and was, consequently, inoffensive—a rare merit when +Shakspere is attempted on the other side of the Thames.</p> +<p>The qualifications demanded of an actor by the usual run of +Surrey audiences are lungs of undeniable efficiency, limbs which +will admit of every variety of contortion, and a talent for +broad-sword combats. How, then, could the new Macbeth—a Mr. +Graham—think of choosing this theatre for his first +appearance? His deportment is quiet, and his voice weak. It has, +for instance, been usually thought, by most actors, that after a +gentleman has murdered his sovereign, and caused a similar +peccadillo to be committed upon his dearest friend, he would be, in +some degree, agitated, and put out of the even tenor of his way, +when the ghost of Banquo appears at the banquet. On such an +occasion, John Kemble and Edmund Kean used to think it advisable to +start with an expression of terror or horror; but Mr. Graham +indulges us with a new reading. He carefully places one foot +somewhat in advance of the other, and puts his hands together with +the utmost deliberation. Again, he says mildly—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth hide +thee!”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>in a tone which would well befit the situation, if the text ran +thus:—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Dear me, how singular! Pray go!”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>When he does attempt to vociferate, the asthmatic complaint +under which he evidently labours prevents him from delivering the +sentences in more copious instalments than the +following:—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“I’ll fight—till—from my bones—my +flesh—be hacked!”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>We may be told that Mr. Graham cannot help his physical defects; +but he can help being an actor, and, above all, choosing a part +which requires great prowess of voice. In less trying characters, +he may prove an acquisition; for he showed no lack of judgment nor +of acquaintance with the conventional rules of the stage. At the +Surrey, and in “Macbeth,” he is entirely out of his +element. Above all, let him never play with Mr. Hicks, whose energy +in the combat scene, and ranting all through <em>Macduff</em>, +brought down “<em>Brayvo, Hicks!</em>” in showers. The +contrast is really too disadvantageous.</p> +<p>But the choruses! Never were they more be<em>witch</em>ingly +performed. Leffler sings the part of <em>Hecate</em> better than +his best friends could have anticipated; and, apart from the +singing, Miss Romer’s <em>acting</em> in the <em>soprano</em> +witch, is picturesque in the extreme.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>HOP INTELLIGENCE</h3> +<p>Fanny Elsler has made an enormous fortune by her <em>trips</em> +in America. Few <em>pockets</em> are so crammed by <em>hops</em> as +hers.</p> +<p>Oscar Byrne, professor of the College Hornpipe to the London +University, had a long interview yesterday with Lord Palmerston to +give his lordship lessons in the new waltz step. The master +complains that, despite a long political life’s practice, the +pupil does not turn <em>quick enough</em>. A change was, however, +apparent at the last lesson, and his lordship is expected soon to +be able to effect a complete rota-<em>tory</em> motion.</p> +<p>Mademoiselle Taglioni has left London for Germany, her +fatherland, the country of her <em>pas</em>.</p> +<p>The society for the promotion of civilization have engaged Mr. +Tom Matthews to teach the Hottentots the minuet-de-la-Cour and +tumbling. He departs with the other missionaries when the hot +weather sets in.</p> +<hr /> +<p>Charles Kean is becoming so popular with the jokers of the day, +that we have serious thoughts of reserving a corner entirely to his +use. Amongst the many hits at the young tragedian, the two +following are not the worst:—</p> +<h3>EARLY ADVANTAGES.</h3> +<p>“Kean’s juvenile probation at Eton has done him good +service with the aristocratic patrons of the drama,” remarked +a lady to a witty friend of ours. “Yes, madam,” was the +reply, “he seems to have gained by <em>Eaton</em> what his +father lost by <em>drinking</em>.”</p> +<h3>BILL-STICKERS BEWARE.</h3> +<p>“How Webster puffs young Kean—he seems to monopolise +the walls!” said Wakley to his colleague, Tom Duncombe. +“Merely a realisation of the adage,—<em>The weakest +always goes to the wall</em>,” replied the idol of +Finsbury.</p> +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari. 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