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<pre>
The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 1,
August 7, 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, August 7, 1841
Author: Various
Release Date: February 7, 2005 [EBook #14922]
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
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</pre>
<h1>PUNCH,<br />
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1>
<h2>VOL. 1.</h2>
<hr class="full" />
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page37" name="page37"></a>[pg
37]</span>
<h2>AUGUST 7, 1841.</h2>
<hr class="full" />
<h2>THE WIFE-CATCHERS.</h2>
<h3>A LEGEND OF MY UNCLE’S BOOTS.</h3>
<h4><em>In Four Chapters.</em></h4>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>“His name ’tis proper you should hear,</p>
<p class="i2">’Twas Timothy Thady Mulligin:</p>
<p>And whenever he finish’d his tumbler of punch,</p>
<p class="i2">He always wished it full agin.”</p>
</div>
</div>
<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3>
<div class="dropcap"><a href="images/004-01.png"><img src=
"images/004-01.png" alt=
"A pontificating man with his arms outstretched in the shape of a Y."
id="img004-001" name="img004-001" width="100%" /></a></div>
<p><span class="hide">“Y</span>ou can have no idea, Jack, how
deeply the loss of those venerated family retainers affected
me.”</p>
<p>My uncle paused. I perceived that his eyes were full, and his
tumbler empty; I therefore thought it advisable to divert his
sorrow, by reminding him of our national proverb, “<em>Iss
farr doch na skeal</em><sup>1</sup><span class="sidenote">1. A
drink is better than a story.</span>.”</p>
<p>The old man’s eyes glistened with pleasure, as he grasped
my hand, saying, “I see, Jack, you are worthy of your name. I
was afraid that school-learning and college would have spoiled your
taste for honest drinking; but the right drop is in you still, my
boy. I mentioned,” continued he, resuming the thread of his
story, “that my grandfather died, leaving to his heirs the
topped boots, spurs, buckskin-breeches, and red waistcoat; but it
is about the first-mentioned articles I mean especially to speak,
as it was mainly through their respectable appearance that so many
excellent matches and successful negotiations have been concluded
by our family. If one of our cousins was about to wait on his
landlord or his sweetheart, if he meditated taking a farm or a
wife, ‘the tops’ were instantly brushed up, and put
into requisition. Indeed, so fortunate had they been in all the
matrimonial embassies to which they had been attached, that they
acquired the name of ‘the wife-catchers,’ amongst the
young fellows of our family. Something of the favour they enjoyed
in the eyes of the fair sex should, perhaps, be attributed to the
fact, that all the Duffys were fine strapping fellows, with legs
that seemed made for setting off topped boots to the best
advantage.</p>
<p>“Well, years rolled by; the sons of mothers whose hearts
had been won by the irresistible buckism of Shawn Duffy’s
boots, grew to maturity, and, in their turn, furbished up
‘the wife-catchers,’ when intent upon invading the
affections of other rustic fair ones. At length these invaluable
relics descended to me, as the representative of our family. It was
ten years on last Lady-day since they came into my possession, and
I am proud to say, that during that time the Duffys and ‘the
wife-catchers’ lost nothing of the reputation they had
previously gained, for no less than nineteen marriages and
ninety-six christenings have occurred in our family during the
time. I had every hope, too, that another chalk would have been
added to the matrimonial tally, and that I should have the pleasure
of completing the score before Lent; for, one evening, about four
months ago, I received a note from your cousin Peter, informing me
that he intended riding over, on the following Sunday, to Miss
Peggy Haggarty’s, for the purpose of popping the question,
and requesting of me the loan of the lucky
‘wife-catchers’ for the occasion.</p>
<p>“I need not tell you I was delighted to oblige poor Peter,
who is the best fellow and surest shot in the county, and
accordingly took down the boots from their peg in the hall. Through
the negligence of the servant they have been hung up in a damp
state, and had become covered with blue mould. In order to render
them decent and comfortable for Peter, I placed them to dry inside
the fender, opposite the fire; then lighting my pipe, I threw
myself back in my chair, and as the fragrant fumes of the Indian
weed curled and wreathed around my head, with half-closed eyes
turned upon the renowned ‘wife-catchers,’ I indulged in
delightful visions of future weddings and christenings, and
recalled, with a sigh, the many pleasant ones I had witnessed in
their company.”</p>
<p>Here my uncle applied the tumbler to his face to conceal his
emotion. “I brought to mind,” he continued (ordering;
in a parenthesis, another jug of boiling water), “I brought
to mind the first time I had myself sported the envied
‘wife-catchers’ at the <em>pattron</em> of Moycullen. I
was then as wild a blade as any in Connaught, and the
‘tops’ were in the prime of their beauty. In fact, I am
not guilty of flattery or egotism in saying, that the girl who
could then turn up her nose at the boots, or their master, must
have been devilish hard to please. But though the hey-day of our
youth had passed, I consoled myself with the reflection that with
the help of the saints, and a pair of new soles, we might yet hold
out to marry and bury three generations to come.</p>
<p>“As these anticipations passed through my mind, I was
startled by a sudden rustling near me. I raised my eyes to discover
the cause, and fancy my surprise when I beheld ‘the
wife-catchers,’ by some marvellous power, suddenly become
animated, gradually elongating and altering themselves, until they
assumed the appearance of a couple of tall gentlemen clad in black,
with extremely sallow countenances; and what was still more
extraordinary, though they possessed separate bodies, their actions
seemed to be governed by a single mind. I stared, and doubtless so
would you, Jack, had you been in my place; but my astonishment was
at its height, when the partners, keeping side by side as closely
as the Siamese twins, stepped gracefully over the fender, and
taking a seat directly opposite me, addressed me in a voice broken
by an irrepressible chuckle—</p>
<p>“‘Here we are, old boy. Ugh, ugh, ugh,
hoo!’</p>
<p>“So I perceive, gentlemen,” I replied, rather
drily.</p>
<p>“‘You look a little alarmed—ugh, ugh, hoo,
hoo, hoo!’ cried the pair. ‘Excuse our
laughter—hoo! hoo! hoo! We mean no offence—none
whatever. Ugh, hoo, hoo, hoo! We know we are somewhat changed in
appearance.’</p>
<p>“I assured the transformed ‘tops’ I was
delighted in being honoured with their company, under any shape;
hoped they would make themselves quite at home, and take a glass
with me in the friendly way. The friends shook their heads
simultaneously, declining the offer; and he whom I had hitherto
known as the <em>right</em> foot, said in a grave voice:—</p>
<p>“‘We feel obliged, sir, but we never take anything
but water; moreover, our business now is to relate to you some of
the singular adventures of our life, convinced, that in your hand
they will be given to the world in three handsome
volumes.’</p>
<p>“My curiosity was instantly awakened, and I drew my chair
closer to my communicative friends, who, stretching out their legs,
prepared to commence their recital.”</p>
<p>“‘Hem!’ cried the right foot, who appeared to
be the spokesman, clearing his throat and turning to his
companion—‘hem! which of our adventures shall I relate
first, brother?’</p>
<p>“‘Why,’ replied the left foot, after a few
moments’ reflection, ‘I don’t think you can do
better than tell our friend the story of Terence Duffy and the
heiress.’</p>
<p>“‘Egad! you’re right, brother; that was a
droll affair:’ and then, addressing himself to me, he
continued, ‘You remember your Uncle Terence? A funny dog he
was, and in his young days the very devil for lovemaking and
fighting. Look here,’ said the speaker, pointing to a small
circular perforation in his side, which had been neatly patched.
‘This mark, which I shall carry with me to my grave, I
received in an affair between your uncle and Captain Donovan of the
North Cork Militia. The captain one day asserted in the public
library at Ballybreesthawn, that a certain Miss Biddy
O’Brannigan had hair red as a carrot. This calumny was not
long in reaching the ears of your Uncle Terence, who prided himself
on being the champion of the <em>sex</em> in general, and of Miss
Biddy O’Brannigan in particular. Accordingly he took the
earliest opportunity of demanding from the captain an apology, and
a confession that the lady’s locks were a beautiful auburn.
The militia hero, who was too courageous to desert his
<em>colours</em>, maintained they were red. The result was a
meeting on the daisies at four o’clock in the morning, when
the captain’s ball grazed your uncle’s leg, and in
return he received a compliment from Terence, in the hip, that
spoiled his dancing for life.</p>
<p>“‘I will not insult your penetration by telling you
what I perceive you are already aware of, that Terence Duffy was
the professed admirer of Miss Biddy. The affair with Captain
Donovan raised him materially in her estimation, and it was
whispered that the hand and fortune of the heiress were destined
for her successful champion. There’s an old saying, though,
that the best dog don’t always catch the hare, as Terence
found to his cost. He had a rival candidate for the affections of
Miss Biddy; but such a rival—however I will not
anticipate.’”</p>
<hr />
<h3>SONGS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL, NO. 3.</h3>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>I am thine in <em>my</em> gladness,</p>
<p class="i2">I’m thine in <em>thy</em> tears;</p>
<p>My love it can change not</p>
<p class="i2">With absence or years.</p>
<p>Were a dungeon thy dwelling,</p>
<p class="i2">My home it should be,</p>
<p>For its gloom would be sunshine</p>
<p class="i2">If I were with thee.</p>
<p>But the light has no beauty</p>
<p class="i2">Of thee, love bereft:</p>
<p>I am thine, and thine only!</p>
<p class="i2"><em>Thine!</em>—over the left!</p>
<p class="i10">Over the left!</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>As the wild Arab hails,</p>
<p class="i2">On his desolate way,</p>
<p>The palm-tree which tells</p>
<p class="i2">Where the cool fountains play,</p>
<p>So thy presence is ever</p>
<p class="i2">The herald of bliss,</p>
<p>For there’s love in thy smile,</p>
<p class="i2">And there’s joy in thy kiss.</p>
<p>Thou hast won me—then wear me!</p>
<p class="i2">Of thee, love, bereft,</p>
<p>I should fade like a flower,</p>
<p class="i2"><em>Yes!</em>—over the left!</p>
<p class="i10">Over the left!</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr />
<p>A gentleman in Mobile has a watch that goes so fast, he is
obliged to calculate a week back to know the time of day.</p>
<p>A new bass singer has lately appeared at New Orleans, who sings
so remarkably <em>deep</em>, it takes nine Kentucky lawyers to
understand a single bar!</p>
<hr />
<h3>A NATURAL DEDUCTION</h3>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>Why S—e is long-lived at once appears—</p>
<p>The ass was always famed for <em>length of ears</em>.</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr class="full" />
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page38" name="page38"></a>[pg
38]</span>
<h2>WIT WITHOUT MONEY;</h2>
<h3>OR, HOW TO LIVE UPON NOTHING.</h3>
<h4>BY VAMPYRE HORSELEECH, ESQ.</h4>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>“Creation’s heir—the world, the world is
mine.”—GOLDSMITH.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Philosophers, moralists, poets, in all ages, have never better
pleased themselves or satisfied their readers than when they have
descanted upon, deplored, and denounced the pernicious influence of
money upon the heart and the understanding. “Filthy
lucre”—“so much trash as may be grasped
thus”—“yellow mischief,” I know not, or
choose not, to recount how many justly injurious names have been
applied to coin by those who knew, because they had felt, its
consequences. Wherefore, I say at once, it is better to have none
on’t—to live without it. And yet, now I think better
upon that point, it is well not altogether to discourage its
approach. On the contrary, lay hold upon it, seize it, rescue it
from hands which in all probability would work ruin with it, and
resolutely refuse, when it is once got, to let it go out of your
grasp. Let no absurd talk about quittance, discharge, remuneration,
payment, induce the holder to relax from his inflexible purpose of
palm. Pay, like party, is the madness of many for the gain of a
few.</p>
<p>Unhappily, vile gold, or its representation or equivalent, has
been, during many centuries, the sole medium through which the
majority of mankind have supplied their wants, or ministered to
their luxuries. It is high time that a sage should arise to expound
how the discerning few—those who have the wit and the will
(both must concur to the great end) may live—LIVE—not
like him who buys and balances himself by the book of the groveller
who wrote “How to <em>Live</em> upon Fifty Pounds a
Year”—(O shame to manhood!)—but live, I
say—“be free and merry”—“laugh and
grow fat”—exchange the courtesies of life—be a
pattern of the “minor morals”—and yet: all this
without a doit in bank, bureau, or breeches’ pocket.</p>
<p>I am that sage. Let none deride. Haply, I shall only remind
some, but I may teach many. Those that come to scoff, may perchance
go home to prey.</p>
<p>Let no gentleman of the old school (for whom, indeed, my brief
treatise is not designed) be startled when I advance this
proposition: That more discreditable methods are daily practised by
those who live to get money, than are resorted to by those who
without money are nevertheless under the necessity of living. If
this proposition be assented to—as, in truth, I know not how
it can be gainsaid,—nothing need be urged in vindication of
my art of <em>free</em> living. Proceed I then at once.</p>
<p>Here is a youth of promise—born, like Jaffier, with
“elegant desires”—one who does not agnize a
prompt alacrity in carrying burdens—one, rather, who
recognizes a moral and physical unfitness for such, and indeed all
other dorsal and manual operations—one who has been born a
Briton, and would not, therefore, sell his birthright for a mess of
pottage; but, on the contrary, holds that his birthright entitles
him to as many messes of pottage as there may be days to his mortal
span, though time’s fingers stretched beyond the distance
allotted to extreme Parr or extremest Jenkins. “Elegant
desires” are gratified to the extent I purpose treating of
them, by handsome clothes—comfortable lodgings—good
dinners.</p>
<p>1st. <em>Of Handsome Clothes.</em>—Here, I confess, I find
myself in some difficulty. The man who knows not how to have his
name entered in the day-book of a tailor, is not one who could
derive any benefit from instruction of mine. He must be a born
natural. Why, it comes by instinct.</p>
<p>2nd. <em>Of Comfortable Lodgings.</em>—Easily obtained and
secured. The easiest thing in life. But the wit without money must
possess very little more of the former than of the latter, if he do
not, even when snugly ensconced in one splendid suite of
apartments, have his eye upon many others; for landladies are
sometimes vexatiously impertinent, and novelty is desirable.
Besides, his departure may be (nay, often is) extremely sudden.
When in quest of apartments, I have found tarnished cards in the
windows preferable. They imply a length of vacancy of the floor,
and a consequent relaxation of those narrow, worldly (some call
them prudent) scruples, which landladies are apt to nourish. Hints
of a regular income, payable four times a year, have their weight;
nay, often convert weekly into quarterly lodgings. Be sure there
are no children in your house. They are vociferous when you would
enjoy domestic retirement, and inquisitive when you take the air.
Once (<em>horresco referens!</em>) on returning from my
peripatetics, I was accosted with brutally open-mouthed clamour, by
my landlady, who, dragging me in a state of bewilderment into her
room, pointed to numerous specimens of granite, which her
“young people” had, in their unhallowed thirst for
knowledge, discovered and drawn from my trunk, which, by some
strange mischance, had been left unlocked! In vain I mumbled
something touching my love of mineralogy, and that a lapidary had
offered I knew not what for my collection. I was compelled to
“bundle,” as the idiomatic, but ignorant woman
expressed herself. To resume.</p>
<p>Let not the nervous or sensitive wit imagine that, in a vast
metropolis like London, his chance of securing an appropriate
lodging and a confiding landlady is at all doubtful. He might lodge
safe from the past, certain of the future, till the crash of doom.
I shall be met by Ferguson’s case. Ferguson I knew well, and
I respected him. But he had a most unfortunate countenance. It was
a very solemn, but by no means a solvent face; and yet he had a
manner with him too, and his language was choice, if not
persuasive. That the matter of his speech was plausible, none ever
presumed to deny. “It is all very well, Mr.
Ferguson,”—<em>that</em> was always conceded. I do not
wish to speak ill of the dead; but Ferguson never entered a lodging
without being compelled to pay a fortnight in advance, and
always</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/004-02.png"><img src=
"images/004-02.png" alt="A cat waits for a mouse." id="img004-02"
name="img004-02" width="50%" /></a>
<p>EXPECTED TO BE OUT SHORTLY.</p>
</div>
<p>3rd. <em>Of Good Dinners.</em>—Wits, like other men, are
distinguished by a variety of tastes and inclinations. Some prefer
dining at taverns and eating-houses; others, more discreet or less
daring, love the quiet security of the private house, with its
hospitable inmates, courteous guests, and no possibility of
“bill transactions.” I confess when I was young and
inexperienced, wanting that wisdom which I am now happy to impart,
I was a constant frequenter of taverns, eating-houses,
oyster-rooms, and similar places of entertainment. I am old now,
and have been persecuted by a brutal world, and am grown timid. But
I was ever a peaceable man—hated quarrels—never came to
words if I could help it. <em>I do not recommend the tavern,
eating-house, oyster-room system.</em> These are the words of
wisdom. The waiters at these places are invariably sturdy, fleet,
abusive rascals, who cannot speak and will not listen to reason. To
eat one’s dinner, drink a pint of sherry, and then, calling
for the bill, take out one’s pocket-book, and post it in its
rotation in a neat hand, informing the waiter the while, that it is
a simple debt, and so forth; this really requires nerve. Great
spirits only are equal to it. It is an innovation upon old,
established forms, however absurd—and innovators bring down
upon themselves much obloquy. To run from the score you have run
up—not to pay your shot, but to shoot from payment—this
is not always safe, and invariably spoils digestion. No; it is not
more honourable—far from it—but it is better; for you
should strive to become, what is commonly called—“A
Diner Out”—that is to say, one who continues to sit at
the private tables of other men every day of his life, and by his
so potent art, succeeds in making them believe that they are very
much obliged to him.</p>
<p>How to be this thing—this “Diner Out”—I
shall teach you, by a few short rules next week. Till
then—farewell!</p>
<hr />
<p>Lord William Paget has applied to the Lord Chancellor, to
inquire whether the word “jackass” is not opprobrious
and actionable. His lordship says, “No, decidedly, in this
case only synonymous.”</p>
<hr />
<h3>THE POLITICAL QUACK.</h3>
<p>Sir Robert Peel has convinced us of one thing by his Tamworth
speech, that whatever danger the constitution may be in, he will
not proscribe for the patient until he is <em>regularly called
in</em>. A beautiful specimen of the old Tory leaven. Sir Robert
objects to give <em>Advice gratis</em>.</p>
<hr />
<h3>TO FANCY BUILDERS AND CAPITALISTS.</h3>
<p>A large assortment of peculiarly fine oyster-shells, warranted
fire-proof and of first-rate quality; exquisitely adapted for the
construction of grottoes. May be seen by cards only, to be procured
of Mr. George Robins, or the clerks of Billingsgate or Hungerfofd
markets.</p>
<p>N.B.—Some splendid ground at the corners of popular and
well-frequented streets, to be let on short leases for edifices of
the above description. Apply as before.</p>
<hr class="full" />
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page39" name="page39"></a>[pg
39]</span>
<h2>LITERARY RECIPES.</h2>
<p>The following invaluable literary recipes have been most kindly
forwarded by the celebrated Ude. They are the produce of many
years’ intense study, and, we must say, the very best things
of the sort we have ever met with. There is much delicacy in M. Ude
leaving it to us, as to whether the communication should be
anonymous. We think not, as the peculiarity of the style would at
once establish the talented authorship, and, therefore, attempted
concealment would be considered as the result of a too morbidly
modest feeling.</p>
<h3>HOW TO COOK UP A FASHIONABLE NOVEL.</h3>
<p>Take a consummate puppy—M.P.s preferable (as they are
generally the softest, and don’t require much
pressing)—baste with self-conceit—stuff with
slang—season with maudlin sentiment—hash up with a
popular publisher—simmer down with preparatory
advertisements. Add six reams of gilt-edged paper—grate in a
thousand quills—garnish with marble covers, and morocco backs
and corners. Stir up with magazine puffs—skim off sufficient
for preface. Shred scraps of French and small-talk, very fine. Add
“superfine coats”—“satin
stocks”—“bouquets”—“opera-boxes”—“a
duel”—an elopement—St. George’s
Church—silver bride favours—eight footmen—four
postilions—the like number of horses—a
“dredger” of smiles—some filtered
tears—half-mourning for a dead uncle (the better if he has a
twitch in his nose), and serve with anything that will bear
“<em>frittering</em>.”</p>
<h3>A SENTIMENTAL DITTO.</h3>
<h4>(<em>By the same Author.</em>)</h4>
<p>Take a young lady—dress her in blue ribbons—sprinkle
with innocence, spring flowers, and primroses. Procure a Baronet (a
Lord if in season); if not, a depraved “younger
son”—trim him with écarté, rouge et noir,
Epsom, Derby, and a slice of Crockford’s. Work up with rustic
cottage, an aged father, blind mother, and little brothers and
sisters in brown holland pinafores. Introduce mock
abduction—strong dose of virtue and repentance. Serve up with
village church—happy parent—delighted
daughter—reformed rake—blissful brothers—syren
sisters—and perfect <em>dénouement</em>.</p>
<p>N.B. Season with perspective christening and postponed
epitaph.</p>
<h3>A STARTLING ROMANCE.</h3>
<p>Take a small boy, charity, factory, carpenter’s
apprentice, or otherwise, as occasion may serve—stew him well
down in vice—garnish largely with oaths and flash
songs—boil him in a cauldron of crime and improbabilities.
Season equally with good and bad qualities—infuse petty
larceny, affection, benevolence, and burglary, honour and
housebreaking, amiability and arson—boil all gently. Stew
down a mad mother—a gang of robbers—several
pistols—a bloody knife. Serve up with a couple of
murders—and season with a hanging-match.</p>
<p>N.B. Alter the ingredients to a beadle and a workhouse—the
scenes may be the same, but the whole flavour of vice will be lost,
and the boy will turn out a perfect pattern.—Strongly
recommended for weak stomachs.</p>
<h3>AN HISTORICAL DITTO.</h3>
<p>Take a young man six feet high—mix up with a
horse—draw a squire from his father’s estate (the
broad-shouldered and loquacious are the best sort)—prepare
both for potting (that is, exporting). When abroad, introduce a
well-pounded Saracen—a foreign princess—stew down a
couple of dwarfs and a conquered giant—fill two sauce-tureens
with a prodigious ransom. Garnish with garlands and dead Turks.
Serve up with a royal marriage and cloth of gold.</p>
<h3>A NARRATIVE.</h3>
<p>Take a distant village—follow with
high-road—introduce and boil down pedlar, gut his pack, and
cut his throat—hang him up by the heels—when enough,
let his brother cut him down—get both into a
stew—pepper the real murderer—grill the innocent for a
short time—then take them off, and put delinquents in their
place (these can scarcely be broiled too much, and a strong fire is
particularly recommended). When real perpetrators are
<em>done</em>, all is complete.</p>
<p>If the parties have been poor, serve up with mint sauce, and the
name of the enriched sufferer.</p>
<h3>BIOGRAPHY OF KINGS.</h3>
<p>Lay in a large stock of “gammon” and
pennyroyal—carefully strip and pare all the tainted parts
away, when this can be done without destroying the whole—wrap
it up in printed paper, containing all possible virtues—baste
with flattery, stuff with adulation, garnish with fictitious
attributes, and a strong infusion of sycophancy.</p>
<p>Serve up to prepared courtiers, who have been previously well
seasoned with long-received pensions or sinecures.</p>
<hr class="short" />
<h2>DRAMATIC RECIPES.</h2>
<h3>FOR THE ADELPHI.—VERY FINE!</h3>
<p>Take a beautiful and highly-accomplished young female, imbued
with every virtue, but slightly addicted to bigamy! Let her stew
through the first act as the bride of a condemned
convict—then season with a benevolent but very ignorant
lover—add a marriage. Stir up with a gentleman in dusty boots
and large whiskers. <em>Dredge</em> in a meeting, and baste with
the knowledge of the dusty boot proprietor being her husband. Let
this steam for some time; during which, prepare, as a covering, a
pair of pistols—carefully insert the bullet in the head of
him of the dusty boots. Dessert—general offering of
LADIES’ FINGERS! Serve up with red fire and tableaux.</p>
<h3>FOR MESSRS. MACREADY AND CHARLES KEAN.</h3>
<p>Take an enormous hero—work him up with
improbabilities—dress him in spangles and a long
train—disguise his head as much as possible, as the great
beauty of this dish is to avoid any resemblance to the
“<em>tête de veau au naturel</em>.”</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/004-03.png"><img src=
"images/004-03.png" alt=
"Profile of a bearded young man's head, face to face with a cow's head on a platter."
id="img004-03" name="img004-03" width="50%" /></a>
<p>A TETE A TETE.</p>
</div>
<p>Grill him for three acts. When well worked up, add a murder or
large dose of innocence (according to the palate of the
guests)—Season, with a strong infusion of claqueurs and box
orders. Serve up with twelve-sheet posters, and imaginary
Shaksperian announcements.</p>
<p>N.B. Be careful, in cooking the heroes, not to turn their backs
<em>to the front range</em>—should you do so the dish will be
spoiled.</p>
<h3>FOR THE ROYAL VIC.</h3>
<h4>(<em>A Domestic Sketch.</em>)</h4>
<p>Take a young woman—give her six pounds a year—work
up her father and mother into a viscous paste—bind all with
an abandoned poacher—throw in a “dust of virtue,”
and a “handful of vice.” When the poacher is about to
boil over, put him into another saucepan, let him simmer for some
time, and then he will turn out “lord of the manor,”
and marry the young woman. Serve up with bludgeons, handcuffs, a
sentimental gaoler, and a large tureen of innocence preserved.</p>
<h3>FOR THE SURREY NAUTICAL.</h3>
<p>Take a big man with a loud voice, dress him with a pair of
ducks, and, if pork is comeatable, a pigtail—stuff his jaws
with an imitation quid, and his mouth with a large assortment of
<em>dammes</em>. Garnish with two broad-swords and a hornpipe. Boil
down a press-gang and six or seven smugglers, and (if in season) a
bo’swain and large cat-o’-nine-tails.—Sprinkle
the dish with two lieutenants, four midshipmen, and about seven or
eight common sailors. Serve up with a pair of epaulettes and an
admiral in a white wig, silk stockings, smalls, and the Mutiny
Act.</p>
<hr />
<h3>OUR CITY ARTICLE.</h3>
<p>We have no arrivals to-day, but are looking out anxiously for
the overland mail from Battersea. It is expected that news will be
brought of the state of the mushroom market, and great
inconvenience in the mean time is felt by the dealers, who are
holding all they have got, in the anticipation of a fall; while
commodities are, of course, every moment getting heavier.</p>
<p>The London and Westminster steam-boat <em>Tulip</em>, with
letters from Milbank, was planted in the mud off Westminster for
several hours, and those who looked for the correspondence, had to
look much longer than could have been agreeable.</p>
<p>The egg market has been in a very unsettled state all the week;
and we have heard whispers of a large breakage in one of the
wholesale houses. This is caused by the dead weight of the
packing-cases, to which every house in the trade is liable. In the
fruit market, there is positively nothing doing; and the
<em>growers</em>, who are every day becoming <em>less</em>,
complain bitterly. Raspberries were very slack, at 2½d. per
pottle; but dry goods still brought their prices. We have heard of
several severe smashes in currants, and the bakers, who, it is
said, generally contrive to get a finger in the pie, are among the
sufferers.</p>
<p>The salmon trade is, for the most part, in a pickle; but we
should regret to say anything that might be misinterpreted. The
periwinkle and wilk interest has sustained a severe shock; but
potatoes continue to be <em>done</em> much as usual.</p>
<hr />
<h3>TO SIR F—S B—T.</h3>
<blockquote class="note">“A dinner is to be given to Captain
Rous on the 20th inst., at which Sir Francis Burdett has promised
to preside.”—<em>Morning Paper.</em></blockquote>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>Egyptian revels often boast a guest</p>
<p>In sparkling robes and blooming chaplets drest;</p>
<p>But, oh! what loathsomeness is hid beneath—</p>
<p>A fleshless, mould’ring effigy of death;</p>
<p>A thing to check the smile and wake the sigh,</p>
<p>With thoughts that living excellence can die.</p>
<p>How many at the coming feast will see</p>
<p>THE SKELETON OF HONOURED WORTH IN THEE!</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr class="full" />
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page40" name="page40"></a>[pg
40]</span>
<h2>SUPREME: COURT OF THE LORD HIGH INQUISITOR PUNCH.</h2>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>“Laselato ogni speranza, voi ch’ intrate!”</p>
</div>
</div>
<h3>JOHN BULL <em>v.</em> THE PEEL PLACE-HUNTING COMPANY.</h3>
<p>MR. JOBTICKLER said he had to move in this cause for an
injunction to restrain the Peel Place-hunting Company from entering
into possession of the estates of plaintiff. It appeared from the
affidavits on which he moved, that the defendants, though not in
actual possession, laid an equitable claim to the fee simple of the
large estates rightfully belonging to the plaintiff, over which
they were about to exercise sovereign dominion. They had entered
into private treaty with the blind old man who held the post of
chief law-grubber of the Exchequer, offering him a bribe to pretend
illness, and take half his present pay, in order to fasten one of
the young and long-lived leeches—one Sir Frederick
Smal-luck—to the vacant bench. They were about to compel a
decentish sort of man, who did the business of Chancery as well as
such business can be done under the present system, to retire upon
half allowance, in order to make room for one Sir William Fullhat,
who had no objection to £14,000 a year and a peerage. They
were about to fill two sub-chancellorships, which they would not on
any account allow the company in the present actual possession of
the estates to fill up with a couple of their own shareholders; and
were, in fine, proceeding to dispose of, by open sale, and by
private contract, the freehold, leasehold, and funded property of
plaintiff, to the incalculable danger of the estate, and to the
disregard of decency and justice. What rendered this assumption and
exercise of power the more intolerable, was, that the persons the
most unfit were selected; and as if, it would appear, from a
“hateful love of contraries,” the man learned in law
being sent to preside over the business of equity, of which he knew
nothing, and the man learned in equity being entrusted with the
direction of law of which he knew worse than nothing; being obliged
to unlearn all he had previously learnt, before he began to learn
his new craft.</p>
<p>LORD HIGH INQUISITOR.—Don’t you know, sir, that
<em>poeta nascitur non fit?</em> Is not a judge a judge the moment
he applies himself to the seat of justice?</p>
<p>MR. JOBTICKLER.—Most undoubtedly it is so, my lord, as
your lordship is a glorious example, but—</p>
<p>LORD HIGH INQUISITOR.—But me no buts, sir. I’ll have
no allusions made to my person. What way are the cases on the point
you would press on the court?</p>
<p>MR. JOBTICKLER.—The cases, I am sorry to say, are all in
favour of the Peel Place-hunting Company’s proceedings; but
the principle, my lord, the principle!</p>
<p>LORD HIGH INQUISITOR.—Principle! What has principle to do
with law, Sir? Really the bar is losing all reverence for
authority, all regard for consistency. I must put a stop to such
revolutionary tendencies on the part of gentlemen who practise in
my court. Sit down, sir.</p>
<p>MR. JOBTICKLER.—May my client have the injunction?</p>
<p>LORD HIGH INQUISITOR.—No-o-o-o! But he shall pay all the
costs, and I only wish I could double them for his impertinence.
You, sir, you deserve to be stripped of your gown for insulting the
ears of the court with such a motion.</p>
<p>CRIER.—Any more appeals, causes, or motions, in the
Supreme Court of the Lord High Inquisitor Punch, to-day? (A dead
silence.)</p>
<p>LORD HIGH INQUISITOR (bowing gracefully to the bar).—Good
morning, gentlemen. You behold how carefully we fulfil the letter
of Magna Charta.</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>“Nulli vendemus, nulli negabimus, aut differemus rectum
vel justitiam.” [<em>Exit.</em>]</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>CRIER.—This Court will sit the next time it is the Lord
High Inquisitor’s pleasure that it should sit, and at no
other period or time.—God save the Queen!</p>
<hr />
<h3>AN AN-TEA ANACREONTIC.—No. 3.</h3>
<h4>ΕΙΣ ΛΥΡΑΝ.</h4>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>Apollo! ere the adverse fates</p>
<p>Gave thy lyre to Mr. Yates<sup>2</sup><span class="sidenote">2.
This celebrated instrument now crowns the chaste yet elaborate
front of the Adelphi Theatre, where full-length effigies of Mr. and
Mrs. Yates may be seen silently inviting the public to walk
in.</span>,</p>
<p>I have melted at thy strain</p>
<p>When Bunn reign’d o’er Drury-lane;</p>
<p>For the music of thy strings</p>
<p>Haunts the ear when Romer sings.</p>
<p>But to me <em>that</em> voice is mute!</p>
<p>Tuneless kettle-drum and flute</p>
<p>I but hear <em>one</em> liquid lyre—</p>
<p>Kettle bubbling on the fire,</p>
<p>Whizzing, fizzing, steaming out</p>
<p>Music from its curved spot,</p>
<p>Wak’ning visions by its song</p>
<p>Of thy nut-brown streams, Souchong;</p>
<p>Lumps of crystal saccharine—</p>
<p>Liquid pearl distill’d from kine;</p>
<p>Nymphs whose gentle voices mingle</p>
<p>With the silver tea-spoons’ jingle!</p>
<p>Symposiarch I o’er all preside,</p>
<p>The Pidding of the fragrant tide.</p>
<p>Such the dreams that fancy brings,</p>
<p>When my tuneful kettle sings!</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr />
<h3>AUTHENTIC.</h3>
<h4>FROM EBENEZER BEWLEY, OF LONDON, TO HIS FRIEND REUBEN PIM, OF
LIVERPOOL.</h4>
<p style="text-align:right;">7th mo. 29th, 1841.</p>
<p>Friend Reuben,—I am in rect. of thine of 27th inst., and
note contents. It affordeth me consolation that the brig
<em>Hazard</em> hath arrived safely in thy port—whereof I
myself was an underwriter—also, that a man-child hath been
born unto thee and to thy faithful spouse Rebecca. Nevertheless,
the house of Crash and Crackitt hath stopped payment, which hath
caused sore lamentation amongst the faithful, who have discounted
their paper. It hath pleased Providence to raise the price of E.I.
sugars; the quotations of B.P. coffee are likewise improving, in
both of which articles I am a large holder. Yet am I not puffed up
with foolish vanity, but have girded myself round with the girdle
of lowliness, even as with the band which is all round my hat! In
token whereof, I offered to hand 20 puncheons of the former, as
<img src=
"images/004-04.png"
alt="A glyph of a stylized P" height="20" /> margin.</p>
<p>There are serious ferments and heartburnings amongst the great
ones of this land: and those that sit on the benches called
“The Treasury” are become sore afraid, for he whom men
call Lord John Russell hath had notice to quit. Thereat, the Tories
rejoice mightily, and lick their chops for the fat morsels and the
sops in the pan that Robert the son of <em>Jenny</em> hath promised
unto his followers. Nevertheless, tidings have reached me that a
good spec. might be made in Y.C. tallow, whereon I desire thy
opinion; as also on the practice of stuffing roast turkey with
green walnuts, which hath been highly recommended by certain of the
brethren here, who have with long diligence and great anxiety
meditated upon the subject.</p>
<p>And now, I counsel thee, hold fast the change which thou hast,
striving earnestly for that which thou hast not, taking heed
especially that no man comes the “artful” over thee;
whereby I caution thee against one Tom Kitefly of Manchester, whose
bills have returned back unto me, clothed with that unseemly
garment which the notary calleth “a protest.” Assuredly
he is a viper in the paths of the unwary, and will bewray thee with
his fair speeches; therefore, I say, take heed unto him.</p>
<p>I remain thy friend,<br />
EBEN. BEWLEY.<br />
Mincing Lane.</p>
<hr />
<h3>TO BAD JOKERS.</h3>
<p>Sir,—Seeing in the first number of your paper an
announcement from Mr. Thomas Hood, that he was in want of a
laugher, I beg to offer my services in that comic capacity, and to
hand you my card and certificates of my cachinnatory powers.</p>
<p>T.C.</p>
<blockquote>
<h4>CARD.</h4>
<p>Mr. Toady Chuckle begs to inform wits, punsters, and jokers in
general that he</p>
<h5>GOES OUT LAUGHING.</h5>
<p>His truly invaluable zest for bad jokes has been patronised by
several popular farce-writers and parliamentary Pasquins.</p>
<p>Mr. T.C. always has at command smiles for satire, simpers for
repartee, sniggers for conundrums, titters for puns, and guffaws
for jocular anecdotes. By Mr. T.C.’s system, cues for
laughter are rendered unnecessary, as, from a long course of
practical experience, the moment of cachinnation is always
judiciously selected.</p>
<p>N.B. The worst Jokes laughed at, and rendered successful. Old
Joes made to tell as well as new.</p>
<hr class="short" />
<h5>COMIC CREDENTIALS.</h5>
<p>T.R.C.G.</p>
<p>Sir,—I feel myself bound in justice to you and your
invaluable laughter, as well as to others who may be suffering, as
I have been, with a weakly farce, to inform you of its
extraordinary results in my case. My bantling was given up by all
the faculty, when you were happily shown into the boxes. One laugh
removed all sibillatory indications; a second application of your
invaluable cachinnation elicited slight applause; whilst a third,
in the form of a <em>guffaw</em>, rendered it perfectly
successful.</p>
<p>From the prevalence of dulness among dramatic writers, I have no
doubt that your services will be in general requisition.</p>
<p>I am, yours, very respectfully,<br />
J.R. Planche.<br />
C—— C——.</p>
<p>Sir,—I beg to inform you, for the good of other bad
jokers, that I deem the introduction of your truly valuable
cachinnation one of the most important ever made; in proof of
which, allow me to state, that after a joke of mine had proved a
failure for weeks, I was induced to try your cachinnation, by the
use of which it met with unequivocal success; and, I declare, if
the cost were five guineas a <em>guffaw</em>, I would not be
without it.</p>
<p>Yours truly,<br />
Charles Delaet Waldo Sibthorp (Colonel).</p>
</blockquote>
<hr />
<h3>“MY NAME’S THE DOCTOR”—(<em>vide</em>
Peel’s Speech at Tamworth.)</h3>
<p>The two doctors, Peel and Russell, who have been so long engaged
in renovating John Bull’s “glorious
constitution!” though they both adopt the lowering system at
present, differ as to the form of practice to be pursued. Russell
still strenuously advocates his <em>purge</em>, while Sir Robert
insists upon the efficacy of <em>bleeding</em>.</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>“Who shall decide when doctors disagree?”</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr class="full" />
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page41" name="page41"></a>[pg
41]</span>
<h2>PUNCH’S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE.—NO. 1.</h2>
<h3>BEING A VERY FAMILIAR TREATISE ON ASTRONOMY.</h3>
<p>Our opinion is, that science cannot be too familiarly dealt
with; and though too much familiarity certainly breeds contempt, we
are only following the fashion of the day, in rendering science
somewhat contemptible, by the strange liberties that publishers of
<em>Penny Cyclopædias</em>, three-halfpenny
<em>Informations</em>, and twopenny <em>Stores of Knowledge</em>,
are prone to take with it.</p>
<p>In order to show that we intend going at high game, we shall
begin with the stars; and if we do not succeed in levelling the
heavens to the very meanest capacity—even to that of</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/004-05.png"><img src=
"images/004-05.png" alt="A squalling child punches its mother." id=
"img004-05" name="img004-05" width="50%" /></a>
<p>AN INFANT IN ARMS—</p>
</div>
<p>we shall at once give up all claims to the title of an
enlightener of the people.</p>
<p>Every body knows there are planets in the air, which are called
the <em>planetary</em> system. Every one knows our globe goes upon
its axis, and has two poles, but what is the axis, and what the
poles are made of—whether of wood, or any other
material—are matters which, as far as the mass are concerned,
are involved in the greatest possible obscurity.</p>
<p>The north pole is chiefly remarkable for no one having ever
succeeded in reaching it, though there seems to have been a regular
communication to it by post in the time of Pope, whose
lines—</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>“Speed the soft intercourse from zone to zone.</p>
<p>And waft a sigh from Indus <em>to the pole</em>,”</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>imply, without doubt, that packages reached the pole; not,
however, without regard to the <em>size</em> (SIGHS), which may
have been limited.</p>
<p>The sun, every body knows, is very large, and indeed the size
has been ascertained to an inch, though we must say we should like
to see the gentleman who measured it. Astronomers declare there are
spots upon it, which may be the case, unless the <em>savans</em>
have been misled by specks of dirt on the bottom of their
telescopes. As these spots are said to disappear from time to time,
we are strongly inclined to think our idea is the correct one. Some
insist that the sun is liquid like water, but if it were, the
probability is, that from its intense heat, the whole must have
boiled away long ago, or put itself out, which is rather more
feasible.</p>
<p>We do not think it necessary to go into the planets, for, if we
did, it is not unlikely we should be some time time before we got
out again; but we shall say a few words about our own Earth, in
which our readers must, of course, take a special interest.</p>
<p>It has been decided, that, viewed from the moon, our globe
presents a mottled appearance; but, as this assertion can possibly
rest on no better authority than that of the Man in the Moon, we
must decline putting the smallest faith in it.</p>
<p>It is calculated that a day in the moon lasts just a fortnight,
and that the night is of the same duration. If this be the case,
the watchmen in the moon must be horridly over-worked, and daily
labourers must be fatigued in proportion. When the moon is on the
increase, it is seen in the crescent; but whether
Mornington-crescent or Burton-crescent, or any other crescent in
particular, has not been mentioned by either ancient or modern
astronomers. The only articles we get from the moon, are moonlight
and madness. <em>Lunar</em> caustic is not derived from the planet
alluded to.</p>
<p>Of the stars, one of the most brilliant is <em>Sirius</em>, or
<em>the Dog-star</em>, which it is calculated gives just
one-twenty-millionth part of the light of the sun, or about as much
as that of a farthing rushlight. It would seem that such a shabby
degree of brilliancy was hardly worth having; but when it is
remembered that it takes three years to come, it really seems
hardly worth while to travel so far to so very little purpose.</p>
<p>The most magnificent of the starry phenomena, is the Milky Way
or <em>Whey</em>; and, indeed, the epithet seems superfluous, for
all <em>whey</em> is to a certain extent milky. The <em>Band of
Orion</em> is familiar to all of us by name; but it is not a
musical band, as most people are inclined to think it is. Perhaps
the allusion to the <em>music of the spheres</em> may have led to
this popular error, as well as to that which regards Orion’s
<em>band</em> as one of <em>wind</em> instruments.</p>
<p>We shall not go into those ingenious calculations that some
astronomers have indulged in, as to the time it would take for a
cannon-ball to come from the sun to the earth, for we really hope
the earth will never be troubled by so unwelcome a visitor. Nor
shall we throw out any suggestions as to how long a bullet would be
going from the globe to the moon; for we do not think any one would
be found goose enough to take up his rifle with the intention of
trying the experiment.</p>
<p>Comets are, at present, though very luminous bodies, involved in
considerable obscurity. Though there is plenty of light in comets,
we are almost entirely in the dark concerning them. All we know
about them is, that they are often coming, but never come, and
that, after frightening us every now and then, by threatening
destruction to our earth, they turn sharp off, all of a sudden, and
we see no more of them. Astronomers have spied at them, learned
committees have sat upon them, and old women have been frightened
out of their wits by them; but, notwithstanding all this, the
<em>comet</em> is so utterly mysterious, that “thereby
<em>hangs a tail</em>” is all we are prepared to say
respecting it.</p>
<p>We trust the above remarks will have thrown a light on the sun
and moon, illustrated the stars, and furnished a key to the skies
in general; but those who require further information are referred
to Messrs. Adams and Walker, whose plans of the universe,
consisting of several yellow spots on a few yards of black calico,
are exactly the things to give the students of astronomy a full
development of those ideas which it has been our aim to open out to
him.</p>
<hr />
<h3>NEW STUFFING FOR THE SPEAKER’S CHAIR.</h3>
<blockquote class="note">“With too much blood and too little
brain, these two may run mad; but if with too much brain and too
little blood, they do, I’ll be a curer of
madmen.”—<em>Troilus and Cressida</em>.</blockquote>
<p>MR. PETER BORTHWICK and Colonel Sibthorpe are both named as
candidates for the Speaker’s chair. Peter has a certificate
of being “a <em>bould</em> speaker,” from old
Richardson, in whose company he was engaged as parade-clown and
check-taker. The gallant Colonel, however, is decidedly the
favourite, notwithstanding his very ungracious summary of the Whigs
some time ago. We would give one of the buttons off our hump to
see</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/004-06.png"><img src=
"images/004-06.png" alt=
"A seated bearded man wearing a wig and robes." id="img004-06"
name="img004-06" width="50%" /></a>
<p>SIBTHORPE IN THE CHAIR.</p>
</div>
<hr />
<p>MR. JOSEPH MUGGINS begs to inform his old crony, PUNCH, that the
report of Sir John Pullon, “as to the possibility of
elevating an ass to the head of the poll by bribery and
corruption” is perfectly correct, provided there is no
abatement in the price. Let him canvass again, and Mr. J.M. pledges
himself, whatever his weight, if he will only stand “one
penny more, up goes the donkey!”</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/004-07.png"><img src=
"images/004-07.png" alt=
"A circus performer balances a ladder with his mouth. A donkey is balancing on top of the ladder."
id="img004-07" name="img004-07" width="50%" /></a>
<p>CANDIDATE AT THE HEAD OF THE POLE.</p>
</div>
<hr />
<h3>OLD BAILEY.</h3>
<p>Robbed—Melbourne’s butcher of his
twelvemonth’s billings.</p>
<p>Verdict—Stealing under forty shillings.</p>
<hr />
<h3>LEGAL PUGILISM.</h3>
<p>The Chancery bar has been lately occupied with a question
relating to a patent for pins’ heads. The costs are estimated
at £5000. The lawyers are the best boxers, after all. Only
let them get a <em>head in chancery</em>, even a
<em>pin’s</em>, and see how they make the proprietor
<em>bleed</em>.</p>
<hr />
<h3>INQUEST.</h3>
<p>Died, Eagle Rouse—Verdict, <em>Felo de se</em>.</p>
<p>Induced by being ta’en for—Ross, M.P.</p>
<hr />
<h3>RUMBALL THE COMEDIAN.</h3>
<p>When Mr. Rumball was at the Surrey Theatre, the treasurer paid
him the proceeds of a share of a benefit in half-crowns, shillings,
and sixpences, which Rumball boasted that he had carried home on
his head. His friends, from that day, accounted for his
<em>silvery</em> hair!</p>
<hr class="full" />
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page42" name="page42"></a>[pg
42]</span>
<h2>FOREIGN AFFAIRS.</h2>
<p>We beg to invite attention to the aspect of our Foreign Affairs.
It is dark, lowering, gloomy—some would say, alarming. When
it smiles, its smiles deceive. To use the very mildest term, it is
exceedingly suspicious. Let John Bull look to his pockets.</p>
<p>It is, nevertheless, but a piece of justice to state, that,
formidable as the appearance of Foreign Affairs may be, no blame
whatever can, in our opinion, be attached to Lord Palmerston.</p>
<p>The truth is, that the Foreign Affairs of PUNCH are not the
Foreign Affairs of Politics. They are certain living beings; and we
call them Affairs, by way of compromise with some naturalists, to
whom the respective claims of man and the ape to their relationship
may appear as yet undecided.</p>
<p>In their anatomical construction they undoubtedly resemble
mankind; they are also endowed with the faculty of speech. Their
clothes, moreover, do not grow upon their backs, although they look
very much as if they did. They come over here in large numbers from
other countries, chiefly from France; and in London abound in
Leicester-square, and are constantly to be met with under the
Quadrant in Regent-street, where they grin, gabble, chatter, and
sometimes dance, to the no small diversion of the passengers.</p>
<p>As these Foreign Affairs have long been the leaders of fashion,
and continue still to give the tone to the manners and sentiments
of the politer circles, where also their language is, perhaps, more
frequently spoken than the vernacular tongue; and as there is
something about them—no matter what—which renders them
great favourites with a portion of the softer sex, we shall
endeavour to point out, for the edification of those who may be
disposed to copy them, those peculiarities of person, deportment,
and dress, by which their tribe is distinguished.</p>
<p>We address ourselves more particularly to those whose animal
part—every man is said to resemble, in some respect, one of
the lower animals—is made up of the marmozet and the
puppy.</p>
<p>Be it known, then, to all those whom it may concern, that there
are, to speak in a general way, two great classes of Foreign
Affairs—the shining and the dingy.</p>
<p>The characteristic appearance of the former might, perhaps, be
obtained by treating the apparel with a preparation of plumbago or
black lead; that of the latter by the use of some fuliginous
substance, as a dye, or, perhaps, by direct fumigation. The gloss
upon the cheeks might be produced by perseverance in the process of
dry-rubbing; the more humid style of visage, by the application of
emollient cataplasms. General sallowness would result, as a matter
of course, from assiduous dissipation. Young gentlemen thus glazed
and varnished, <em>French</em>-polished, in fact, from top to toe,
might glitter in the sun like beetles; or adopt, if they preferred
it, as being better adapted for lady-catching, the more sombre
guise of the spider.</p>
<p>Foreign Affairs have two opposite modes of wearing the hair; we
can recommend both to those studious of elegance. The locks may be
suffered to flow about the shoulders in ringlets, resembling the
tendrils of the vine, by which means much will be done towards
softening down the asperities of sex; or they may be cropped close
to the scalp in such a manner as to impart a becoming prominence to
the ears. When the development of those appendages is more than
usually ample, and when nature has given the head a particularly
stiff and erect covering, descending in two lateral semicircles,
and a central point on the forehead, the last mentioned style is
the more appropriate By its adoption, the most will be made of
certain personal, we might almost say generic, advantages;—we
shall call it, in the language of the Foreign Affairs themselves,
the <em>coiffure à-la-singe</em>.</p>
<p>Useful hints, with respect to the management of the whiskers,
may be derived from the study of Foreign Affairs. The broad, shorn,
smooth extent of jaw, darkened merely on its denuded surface, and
the trimmed regular fringe surrounding the face, are both, in
perhaps equal degrees, worthy of the attention of the tasteful. The
shaggy beard and mustachios, especially, if aided by the effect of
a ferocious scowl, will admirably suit those who would wish to have
an imposing appearance; the chin, with its pointed tuft
<em>à la capricorne</em>, will, at all events, ensure
distinction from the human herd; and the decorated upper lip, with
its downy growth dyed black, and gummed (the cheek at the same time
having been faintly tinged with rouge, the locks parted, perfumed,
and curled, the waist duly compressed, a slight addition, if
necessary, made to the breadth of the hips, and the feet confined
by the most taper and diminutive <em>chausserie</em> imaginable),
will just serve to give to the <em>tout ensemble</em> that one
touch of the masculine character which, perhaps, it may be well to
retain.</p>
<p>The remarkable tightness and plumpness of limbs and person
exhibited by Foreign Affairs cannot have escaped observation. This
attractive quality may be acquired by purchasing the material out
of which the clothes are to be made, and giving the tailor only
just as much as may exactly suffice for the purpose. Its general
effect will be much aided by wearing wristbands turned up over the
cuff, and collars turned down upon the stock. An agreeable contrast
of black and white will thus also be produced. Those who are fonder
of harmony will do well to emulate the closely-buttoned sables
likewise worn by a large class of Foreign Affairs, who, affecting a
uniform tint, eschew the ostentation of linen.</p>
<p>The diminution of the width of their coat collars, and the
increase of the convexity of their coat tails, an object which, by
artificial assistance, might easily be gained, are measures which
we would earnestly press on all who are ambitious of displaying an
especial resemblance to Foreign Affairs. We also advise them to
have lofty, napless, steeple-crowned hats.</p>
<p>He who would pass for a shining specimen, in every sense of the
word, of a Foreign Affair, should wear varnished boots, which, if
composed partly of striped cloth, or what is much prettier, of
silk, will display the ancles to the better advantage.</p>
<p>With regard to colours in the matter of costume, the
contemplation of Foreign Affairs will probably induce a preference
for black, as being better suited to the complexion, though it
will, at the same time, teach that the hues of the rainbow are
capable, under certain circumstances, of furnishing useful
suggestions.</p>
<p>It will have been perceived that the Foreign Affairs of which we
have been treating are the Affairs of one particular nation: beside
these, however, there are others; but since all of their
characteristics may be acquired by letting the clothes alone, never
interfering with the hair, abstaining from the practice of
ablution, and smoking German pipes about the streets, they are
hardly worth dwelling upon. Those who have light and somewhat
shaggy locks will study such models with the best success.</p>
<p>Not only the appearance, but the manners also, of Foreign
Affairs, may be copied with signal benefit. Two of their
accomplishments will be found eminently serviceable—the art
of looking black, and that of leering. These physiognomical
attainments, exhibited by turns, have a marvellous power of
attracting female eyes—those of them, at least, that have a
tendency to wander abroad. The best way of becoming master of these
acquisitions is, to peruse with attention the features of bravoes
and brigands on the one hand, and those of opera-dancers on the
other. The progress of Foreign Affairs should be attentively
watched, as the manner of it is distinguished by a peculiar grace.
This, perhaps, we cannot better teach anyone to catch, than by
telling him to endeavour, in walking, to communicate, at each step,
a lateral motion to his coat tail. The gait of a popular actress,
dressed as a young officer, affords, next to that actually in
question, the best exemplification of our meaning. Habitual dancing
before a looking-glass, by begetting a kind of second nature, which
will render the movements almost instinctive, will be of great
assistance in this particular.</p>
<p>In order to secure that general style and bearing for which
Foreign Affairs are so remarkable, the mind must be carefully
divested of divers incompatible qualities—such as
self-respect, the sense of shame, the reverential instinct, and
that of conscience, as certain feelings are termed. It must also be
relieved of any inconvenient weight of knowledge under which it may
labour; though these directions are perhaps needless, as those who
have any inclination to form themselves after the pattern of
Foreign Affairs, are not very likely to have any such moral or
intellectual disqualifications to get rid of. However, it would
only be necessary to become conversant with the Affairs themselves,
in order, if requisite, to remove all difficulties of the sort.
“There is a thing,” reader, “which thou hast
often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name of
pitch;” we need not finish the quotation.</p>
<p>To defend the preceding observations from misconstruction, we
will make, in conclusion, one additional remark; Foreign
<em>Affairs</em> are one thing—Foreign <em>Gentlemen</em>
another.</p>
<hr class="full" />
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page43" name="page43"></a>[pg
43]</span>
<h2>PUNCH’S PENCILLINGS—No. IV.</h2>
<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/004-08.png"><img src=
"images/004-08.png" alt=
"Sketches of people on the top half of the image, and a crowd of fashionable people on the bottom. Signed by John Leach and E. Landells."
id="img004-08" name="img004-08" width="100%" /></a>
<p>FOREIGN AFFAIRS by <img src="images/004-09.png" alt=
"An ink bottle" id="img004-09" name="img004-09" height="50" /></p>
</div>
<!-- [pg 44] -->
<hr class="full" />
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page45" name="page45"></a>[pg
45]</span>
<h2>THE MINTO-HOUSE MANIFESTO</h2>
<p>Some of our big mothers of the broad-sheet have expressed their
surprise that Lord John Russell should have penned so long an
address to the citizens of London, only the day before his wedding.
For ourselves, we think, it would have augured a far worse
compliment to Lady John had he written it the day after. These
gentlemen very properly look upon marriage as a most awful
ceremony, and would, therefore, indirectly compliment the nerve of
a statesman who pens a political manifesto with the torch of Hymen
in his eyes, and the whole house odorous of wedding-cake. In the
like manner have we known the last signature of an unfortunate
gentleman, about to undergo a great public and private change,
eulogized for the firmness and clearness of its letters, with the
perfect mastery of the supplementary flourish. However, what is
written is written; whether penned to the rustling of
bridesmaids’ satins, or the surplice of the consolatory
ordinary—whether to the anticipated music of a marriage peal,
or to the more solemn accompaniment of the bell of St.
Sepulchre’s.</p>
<p>Ha! Lord John, had you only spoken out a little year
ago—had you only told her Majesty’s Commons what you
told the Livery of London—then, at this moment, you had been
no moribund minister—then had Sir Robert Peel been as far
from St. James’s as he has ever been from Chatham. But so it
is: the Whig Ministry, like martyr Trappists, have died rather than
open their mouths. They would not hear the counsel of their
friends, and they refused to <em>speak out</em> to their enemies.
They retire from office with, at least, this distinction—they
are henceforth honorary members of the Asylum for the Deaf and
Dumb!</p>
<p>Again, the Whigs are victims to their inherent sense of
politeness—to their instinctive observance of courtesy
towards the Tories. There has been no bold defiance—no
challenge to mortal combat for the cause of public good; but when
Whig has called out Tory, it has been in picked and holiday
phrase—</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>“As if a brother should a brother dare,</p>
<p>To gentle exercise and proof of arms.”</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>For a long time the people have expected to see “cracked
crowns and bloody noses,” and at length, with true John Bull
disgust, turned from the ring, convinced that the Whigs, whatever
play they might make, would never go in and fight.</p>
<p>But have the Tories been correspondingly courteous? By no means;
the generosity of politeness has been wholly with the Whigs. They,
like frolicsome youths at a carnival, have pelted their antagonists
with nothing harder than sugar-plums—with egg-shells filled
with rose-water; while the Tories have acknowledged such holiday
missiles with showers of brickbats, and eggs <em>not</em> filled
with aromatic dew. What was the result? The Tories increased in
confidence and strength with every new assault; whilst the battered
Whigs, from their sheer pusillanimity, became noisome in the
nostrils of the country.</p>
<p>At length, the loaves and fishes being about to be carried off,
the Whigs speak out: like sulky Master Johnny, who, pouting all
dinner-time, with his finger in his mouth, suddenly finds his
tongue when the apple-dumplings are to be taken from the table.
Then does he advance his plate, seize his ivory knife and fork, put
on a look of determined animation, and cry aloud for plenty of
paste, plenty of fruit, and plenty of sugar! And then <em>Mrs.
Tory</em> (it must be confessed a wicked old <em>Mother Cole</em>
in her time), with a face not unlike the countenance of a certain
venerable paramour at a baptismal rite, declares upon her hopes of
immortality that the child shall have nothing of the sort, there
being nothing so dangerous to the constitution as plenty of flour,
plenty of fruit, and plenty of sugar. Therefore, there is a great
uproar with Master Johnny: the House, to use a familiar phrase, is
turned out of the windows; the neighbourhood is roused; Master
Johnny rallies his friends about him, that is, all the other boys
of <em>the court</em>, and the fight begins. Johnny and his mates
make a very good fight, but certain heavy Buckinghamshire
countrymen—fellows of fifty stone—are brought to the
assistance of that screaming beldame <em>Mother Tory</em>, and poor
Master Johnny has no other election than to listen to the shouts of
triumph that declare there never shall be plenty of flour, plenty
of sugar, or, in a word, plenty of pudding.</p>
<p>However, Lord Russell is not discouraged. No; he says
“there <em>shall</em> be cakes and ale, and ginger shall be
hot i’ the mouth, too!” We only trust that his
Lordship’s manifesto is not tinged by those feelings of hope
(and in the case of his lordship we may add, resignation) that
animate most men about to enter wedlock. We trust he does not
confound his own anticipations of happiness with the prospects of
the country; for in allusion to the probable policy of the Tories,
he says—“Returned to office—they may adopt our
measures, and submit to the influence of reason.” Reason from
the Stanleys—reason from the Goulburns—reason from the
Aberdeens! When the Marquis of Londonderry shall have discovered
the longitude, and Colonel Sibthorp have found out the
philosopher’s stone, we may then begin to expect the greater
miracle.</p>
<p>The Whigs, according to Lord Russell’s letter, have really
done so much when out of power, and—as he insinuates, are
again ready to do so much the instant they are expelled the
Treasury—that for the sake of the country, it must be a
matter of lamentation if ever they get in again.</p>
<hr />
<h2>PUNCH AND SIR JOHN POLLEN.</h2>
<p>Punch, we regret to state, was taken into custody on Monday
night at a late hour, on a warrant, for the purpose of being bound
over to keep the peace towards Sir John Pollen, Bart. The
circumstances giving rise to this affair will be better explained
by a perusal of the following correspondence, which took place
between ourselves and Sir John, on the occasion, a copy of which we
subjoin:—</p>
<p style="text-align:right;margin-top:2em;"><em>Wellington Street,
July</em> 30, 1841.</p>
<p>SIR,—I have this moment read in the <em>Morning
Chronicle</em>, the correspondence between you and Lord William
Paget, wherein you are reported to say, that your recent defeat at
the Andover election was effected by “tampering with some of
the smaller voters, who would have voted for <em>Punch or any other
puppet</em>;” and that such expressions were not intended to
be <em>personally offensive</em> to Lord William Paget! The members
of her Majesty’s puppetry not permitting derogatory
conclusions to be drawn at their expense, I call upon you to state
whether the above assertions are correct; and if so, whether, in
the former case, you intended to allude personally to myself, or my
friend Colonel Sibthorp; or, in the latter, to infer that you
considered Lord W. Paget in any way our superior.</p>
<p style="text-align:right;margin-bottom:0em;">I have the honour to
be, Sir, your obedient servant,<br />
PUNCH.</p>
<p style="margin-top:0em;">Sir John Pollen, Bart.</p>
<p style="text-align:right;margin-top:2em;"><em>Redenham, July 30,
1841.</em></p>
<p>SIGNOR,—I have just received a note in which you complain
of a speech made by me at Andover. I have sent express for my Lord
Wilkshire, and will then endeavour to recollect what I did say.</p>
<p style="text-align:right;margin-bottom:0em;">I have the honour to
be, your admirer,<br />
JOHN POLLEN.</p>
<p style="margin-top:0em;">To Signor Punch.</p>
<p style="text-align:right;margin-top:2em;"><em>White
Hart.</em></p>
<p>SIGNOR,—My friend Lord Wilkshire has just arrived. It is
his opinion that: I did use the terms “Punch, or any other
puppet;” but I intended them to have been highly
complimentary, as applied to Lord William Paget.</p>
<p style="text-align:right;margin-bottom:0em;">I have the honour to
be, your increased admirer,<br />
JOHN POLLEN.</p>
<p style="margin-top:0em;">To Signor Punch.</p>
<p style="text-align:right;margin-top:2em;"><em>Wellington
Street.</em></p>
<p>SIR,—I and the Colonel are perfectly satisfied. Yours
ever,</p>
<p style="text-align:right;margin-bottom:0em;">PUNCH</p>
<p style="text-align:right;margin-top:2em;"><em>Wellington
Street.</em></p>
<p>MY LORD,—It would have afforded me satisfaction to have
consulted the wishes of Sir John Pollen in regard to the
publication of this correspondence. The over-zeal of Sir
John’s friends have left me no choice in the matter, I shall
print.</p>
<p style="text-align:right;margin-bottom:0em;">Your obedient
servant,<br />
PUNCH.</p>
<p style="margin-top:0em;">Earl of Wilkshire.</p>
<p>Thus ended this—</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/004-10.png"><img src=
"images/004-10.png" alt=
"A man looks into a dressing mirror, and his reflection shows a devil's head."
id="img004-10" name="img004-10" width="50%" /></a>
<p>CURIOUS CORRESPONDENCE.</p>
</div>
<hr />
<p>HUMFERY CHEAT-’EM.—(<em>Vide</em> Ainsworth’s
“Guy Fawkes.”)</p>
<p>A city friend met us the other morning: “Hark
‘ee,” said he, “Alderman Humfery has been selling
shares of the Blackwall Railway, which were not in his possession;
and when the directors complained, and gave him notice that they
would bring his conduct before a full meeting, inviting him at the
same time to attend, and vindicate or explain his conduct as he
best might, he not only declined to do so, but hurried off to
Dublin. Now, I want to know this,” and he took me by the
button, “why was Alderman Humfery, when he ran away to
Dublin, like the boy who ripped up his goose which laid golden
eggs?”—We were fain to give it
up.—“Because,” said he, with a cruel dig in the
ribs, “because he <em>cut his lucky!</em>”</p>
<hr class="full" />
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page46" name="page46"></a>[pg
46]</span>
<h2>THE BOY JONES’S LOG.</h2>
<h3>PICKED UP AT SEA.</h3>
<p>The following interesting narrative of the sufferings of the
youth Jones, whose indefatigable pursuit of knowledge, under the
most discouraging circumstances, has been the cause of his
banishment to a distant shore, was lately picked up at sea, in a
sealed bottle, by a homeward-bound East Indiaman, and since placed
in our hands by the captain of the vessel; who complimented us by
saying, he felt such confidence in PUNCH’S honour and
honesty! (these were his very words), that he unhesitatingly
confided to him the precious document, in order that it might be
given to the world without alteration or curtailment.</p>
<p>We hasten to realise the captain’s flattering estimate of
our character.</p>
<p style="text-align:right;"><em>At see, on board the ship
Apollo.</em></p>
<p><em>June 30.</em>—So soon as the fust aggytation of my
mind is woar off, I take up my pen to put my scentiments on peaper,
in hops that my friends as nose the misfortin wich as
oc-<em>curd</em> to me, may think off me wen I’m far a
<em>whey</em>. Halass! sir, the wicktim of that crewel blewbeard,
Lord Melbun, who got affeard of my rising poplarity in the Palass,
and as sent me to <em>see</em> for my <em>peeping</em>, though,
heaven nose, I was acktyated by the pewrest motiffs in what I did.
The reel fax of the case is, I’m a young man of an ighly
cultiwated mind and a very <em>ink</em>-wisitive disposition, wich
naturally led me to the use of the <em>pen</em>. I ad also bean in
the abit of reading “Jak Sheppard,” and I may add, that
I O all my eleygant tastes to the perowsal of that faxinating book.
O! wot a noble mind the author of these wollums must
have!—what a frootful inwention and fine feelings he
displays!—what a delicat weal he throws over the piccadillys
of his ero, making petty larceny lovely, and burglarly butiful.</p>
<p>However, I don’t mean now to enter into a reglar
crickitism of this egxtrornary work, but merely to observe, when I
read it fust I felt a thust for literrerry fame spring up in my
buzzem; and I thort I should to be an orthor. Unfortinnet
delusion!—that thort has proved my rooin. It was the
<em>bean</em> of my life, and the destroyer of my <em>pease</em>.
From that moment I could think of nothink else; I neglekted my
wittles and my master, and wanderd about like a knight-errand-boy
who had forgotten his message. Sleap deserted my lowly pillar, and,
like a wachful shepherd, I lay all night awake amongst my
<em>flocks</em>. I had got hold of a single idear—it was the
axle of my mind, and, like a wheelbarrow, my head was always
turning upon it. At last I resolved to rite, and I cast my
i’s about for a subject—they fell on the Palass! Ear,
as my friend Litton Bulwer ses, ear was a field for genus to sore
into;—ear was an area for fillophosy to dive into;—ear
was a truly magnificient and comprehensive desine for a great
<em>nash</em>-ional picture! I had got a splendid title,
too—not for myself—I’ve a sole above such
trumperry—but for my book. Boox is like humane beings—a
good title goes a grate way with the crowd:—the one I ad
chose for my <em>shed-oove</em>, was “Pencillings in the
Palass; or, a Small Voice from the Royal Larder,” with
commick illustriations by Fiz or Krokvill. Mr. Bentley wantid to be
engaged as monthly nuss for my expected projeny; and a nother
gen’leman, whose “name” shall be “never
heard,” offered to go <em>shears</em> with me, if I’d
consent to <em>cut-uup</em> the Cort ladies. “No,” ses
I, indignantly, “I leave Cort scandle to my betters—I
go on independent principals into the Palass, and that’s more
than Lord Melbun, or Sir Robert Peal, or any one of the insiders or
outsiders ever could or ever can say of theirselves.</p>
<p>That’s what I said <em>then</em>,—but now I think,
what a cussed fool I was. All my eye-flown bubbles were fated to be
busted and melted, like the <em>wigs</em>, “into thin
<em>hair</em>.”</p>
<p><em>Nong port!</em> We gets wiser as we gets</p>
<hr class="short" />
<p>Genteel Reader,—I beg your parding. I’m better now.
Bless me, how the ship waggles! It’s reelly hawful; the
sailors only laff at it, but I suppose as they’re all
<em>tars</em> they don’t mind being <em>pitched</em> a
little.</p>
<p>The capting tells me we are now reglarly at see, having just
passt the North 4 land; so, ackording to custom, I begin my
journal, or, as naughtical men call it—to keep my log.</p>
<p><em>12 o’clock.</em>—Wind.—All in my eye. Mate
said we had our larburd tax aboard—never herd of that tax on
shore. Told me I should learn to box the compass—tried, but
couldn’t do it—so boxt the cabbing boy insted. Capting
several times calld to a man who was
steering—“<em>Port, port</em>;” but though he
always anserd, “Eye, eye, sir,” he didn’t bring
him a drop. The black cook fell into the hold on the topp of his
hed. Everybody sed he was gone to Davy Jones’s locker; but he
warn’t, for he soon came to again, drank 1/2 a pint of rumm,
and declared it was—</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/004-11.png"><img src=
"images/004-11.png" alt=
"A black man applies Marrens Jet shoe polish to his face." id=
"img004-11" name="img004-11" width="50%" /></a>
<p>THE REAL BLACK REVIVER.</p>
</div>
<p>Saw a yung salor sitting on the top of one of the
masts—thort of Dibdings faymos see-song, and asked if he
warn’t</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>“The sweet little cherub that sits up aloft?”</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Man laff’d, and said it wor only Bill Junk clearing the
pennant halliards.</p>
<p><em>1 o’clock.</em>—Thort formerly that every sailer
wore his pigtale at the back of his head, like Mr. Tippy
Cook—find I labored under a groce mistake—they all
carry their pigtale in their backy-boxes. When I beheld the sailors
working and heaving, and found that I was also beginning to
heave-too, I cuddn’t help repeting the varse of the old
song—which fitted my case egsactly:—</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>“There’s the capt’n he is our kimmander,</p>
<p class="i2">There’s the bos’n and all the
ship’s crew,</p>
<p>There’s the married men as well as the single,</p>
<p class="i2">Ken-ows what we poor sailors goes through.”</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>However, I made up my mind not to look inward on my own wose any
longer, so I put my head out of a hole in the side of the
ship—and, my wiskers! how she did whizz along. Saw the white
cliffs of Halbion a long way off, wich brought tiers in my i,
thinking of those I had left behind, particular Sally Martin the
young gal I was paying my attentions to, who gave me a
<em>lock</em> of her air when I was a leaving of the <em>key</em>.
Oh! Lord Melbun, Lord Melbun! how can you rest in youre 4-post bed
at nite, nowing you have broke the tize of affexion and divided 2
fond arts for hever! This mellancholly reflexion threw me into a
poeticle fitte, and though I was werry uneasy in my
<em>stommik</em>, and had nothing to rite on but my <em>chest</em>.
I threw off as follows in a few 2nds, and arterards sung it to the
well-none hair of “Willy Reilly:”—</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>Oakum to me<sup>3</sup><span class="sidenote">3. The nautical
mode of writing—“Oh! come to
me.”—PRINTER’S DEVIL.</span>, ye sailors
bold,</p>
<p class="i2">Wot plows upon the sea;</p>
<p>To you I mean for to unfold</p>
<p class="i2">My mournful histo-ree.</p>
<p>So pay attention to my song,</p>
<p class="i2">And quick-el-ly shall appear,</p>
<p>How innocently, all along,</p>
<p class="i2">I vos in-weigle-ed here.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>One night, returnin home to bed,</p>
<p class="i2">I walk’d through Pim-li-co,</p>
<p>And, twigging of the Palass, sed,</p>
<p class="i2">“I’m <em>Jones</em> and
<em>In-i-go</em>.”</p>
<p>But afore I could get out, my boys</p>
<p class="i2">Pollise-man 20 A,</p>
<p>He caught me by the corderoys,</p>
<p class="i2">And lugged me right a-way.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>My cuss upon Lord Melbun, and</p>
<p class="i2">On Jonny Russ-all-so,</p>
<p>That forc’d me from my native land</p>
<p class="i2">Across the vaves to go-o-oh.</p>
<p>But all their spiteful arts is wain,</p>
<p class="i2">My spirit down to keep;</p>
<p>I hopes I’ll soon git back again,</p>
<p class="i2">To take another peep.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><em>2 o’clock.</em>—Bell rung for all hands to come
down to dinner. Thought I never saw dirtier hands in my life. They
call their dinner “a mess” on broad ship, and a
preshious mess it did look—no bread but hard biskit and
plenty of ship’s <em>rolls</em>, besides biled pork and
P-soop—both these articles seemed rayther queer—felt my
stommick growing quear too—got on deck, and asked where we
were—was told we were in the Straits of Dover. I never was in
such dreadful straits in my life—ship leaning very much on
one side, which made me feel like a man</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/004-12.png"><img src=
"images/004-12.png" alt=
"A man falling backwards off of a steep roof." id="img004-12" name=
"img004-12" width="50%" /></a>
<p>GOING OFF IN A RAPID DECLINE.</p>
</div>
<p><em>3 o’clock.</em>—Weather getting rather worse
than better. Mind very uneasy. Capting says we shall have plenty of
squalls to-night; and I heard him just now tell the mate to look to
the main shrouds, so I spose it’s all dickey with us, and
that this log will be my sad epilog. The idear of being made fish
meat was so orrible to my sensitive mind, that I couldn’t
refrain from weaping, which made the capting send me down stairs,
to vent my sorros in the cable <em>tiers</em>.</p>
<p><em>5 o’clock.</em>—I’m sure we shan’t
srwive this night, therefore I av determined to put my heavy log
into an M T rum-bottle, and throw it overbord, in bops it may be
pickd up by some pirson who will bare my sad tail to my dear Sally.
And now I conclewd with this short advice:—Let awl yung men
take warning by my crewel fate. Let them avide bad kumpany and keep
out of the Palass; and above all, let them mind their bissnesses on
dri land, and never cast their fortunes on any <em>main</em>, like
their unfortinet</p>
<p>Servant, THE BOY JONES.</p>
<hr class="full" />
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page47" name="page47"></a>[pg
47]</span>
<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/004-13.png"><img src=
"images/004-13.png" alt=
"Two men in kilt costume: one is standing haughtily upright, the other is hunched over. They are tied together with a sash that reads 'Hay Market'."
id="img004-13" name="img004-13" width="100%" /></a></div>
<h2>THE TWO MACBETHS.</h2>
<h3>OR THE HAY MARKET GEMINI.</h3>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i6">O, Gemini-</p>
<p class="i6">Crimini!</p>
<p class="i6">Nimini-</p>
<p class="i6">Pimini</p>
<p>Representatives of the Tartan hero,</p>
<p>Who wildly tear a passion into rags</p>
<p>More ragged than the hags</p>
<p>That round about the cauldron go!</p>
<p>Murderers! who murder Shakspeare so,</p>
<p>That ’stead of murdering sleep, ye do not do it;</p>
<p>But, <em>vice versa</em>, send the audience to it.</p>
<p class="i8">And, oh!—</p>
<p class="i8">But no—</p>
<p class="i6">Illustrious Mac-</p>
<p class="i6">Beth, or -ready,</p>
<p class="i6">And thou, small quack,</p>
<p class="i6">Of plaudits greedy!</p>
<p>Our pen, deserted by the tuneful Muses,</p>
<p>To write on such a barren theme refuses.</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr />
<h2>THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE,</h2>
<h4>POLITICAL PROMENADE AND CONSERVATIVE CONCERTS.</h4>
<p class="cen">The most splendid night of the season! Friday, the
20th of August.</p>
<h5>CAPTAIN ROUS’S NIGHT!</h5>
<p class="cen">British Champagne and the British
Constitution!—The Church, the State, and Real Turtle!</p>
<hr class="short" />
<p class="cen">The performances will commence with</p>
<h3>FISH OUT OF WATER,</h3>
<h5>Sam Savory—Captain Rous, R.N.</h5>
<p class="cen">After which,</p>
<h3>HIS FIRST CHAMPAGNE;</h3>
<p class="cen">Which will embrace the whole strength of THE
STEWARDS.</p>
<p class="cen">In the course of the Evening, the ENLIGHTENED</p>
<h3>LICENSED VICTUALLERS,</h3>
<p class="cen">(Those zealous admirers of <em>true British
spirit</em>) will parade the room amid</p>
<h5>A GRAND DISPLAY OF ELECTION ACCOUNTS.</h5>
<p class="cen">To be followed by a GRAND PANTOMIME, called</p>
<h3>HARLEQUIN HUMBUG;</h3>
<h5>OR, BRAVO ROUS!</h5>
<p class="cen">OLD GLORY (afterwards Pantaloon) SIR F. BURDETT,</p>
<p class="cen">who has kindly offered his services on this
occasion.</p>
<p class="cen">HARRY HUMBUG (a true British Sailor, afterwards
Harlequin), CAPT. ROUS.</p>
<p class="cen">DON WHISKERANDOS (afterwards Clown), COL.
SIBTHORPE.</p>
<p class="cen">The whole to conclude with a grand
<em>mélange</em> of</p>
<h3>HATS, COATS, AND UMBRELLAS.</h3>
<h5>TICKETS TO BE HAD AT ANY PRICE.</h5>
<p>Stretchers to be at the doors at half-past 2, and policemen to
take up with their heads towards Bow-street.</p>
<p style="text-align:right;">VIVAT REGINA.</p>
<hr />
<h3>THE ADVANTAGES OF ANIMAL MAGNETISM.</h3>
<p>The experiments of M. Delafontaine having again raised an outcry
against this noble science, from the apparent absence of any
benefit likely to arise from it, beyond converting human beings
into pincushions and galvanic dummies. We, who look deeper into
things than the generality of the world, hail it as an inestimable
boon to mankind, and proceed at once to answer the numerous
enquirers as to the <em>cui bono</em> of this novel soporific.</p>
<p>By a judicious application of the mesmeric fluid, the greatest
domestic comfort can be insured at the least possible trouble. The
happiest Benedict is too well aware that ladies will occasionally
exercise their tongues in a way not altogether compatible with
marital ideas of quietude. A few passes of the hand (“in the
way of kindness for he who would,” &c. <em>vide</em>
Tobin) will now silence the most powerful oral battery; and Tacitus
himself might, with the aid of mesmerism, pitch his study in a
milliner’s work-room. Hen-pecked husbands have now other
means at their command, to secure quiet, than their razors and
their garters. We have experimentalised upon our Judy, and find it
answer to a miracle. Mrs. Johnson may shut up her laboratory for
American Soothing Syrup; mesmerism is the only panacea for those
morning and evening infantile ebullitions which affectionate mammas
always assign to the teeth, the wind, or a pain in the stomach, and
never to that possible cause, a pain in the temper. Mesmerism is
“the real blessing to mothers,” and Elliotson the Mrs.
Johnson of the day. We have tried it upon our Punchininny, and find
it superior to our old practice of throwing him out of the
window.</p>
<p>Lovers, to you it is a boon sent by Cupid. Mammas, who will keep
in the room when your bosoms are bursting with
adoration—fathers, who will wake on the morning of an
elopement, when the last trunk and the parrot are confided to you
from the window—bailiffs, who will hunt you up and down their
bailiwick, even to the church-door, though an heiress is depending
upon your character for weekly payments—all are rendered
powerless and unobtrusive by this inexplicable palmistry.
Candidates, save your money; mesmerise your opponents instead of
bribing them, and you may become a patriot by a show of hands.</p>
<p>These are a few of its social advantages—its political
uses are unbounded. Why not mesmerise the Chinese? and, as for the
Chartists, call out Delafontaine instead of the magistrates—a
few mesmeric passes would be an easy and efficient substitute for
the “Riot Act.” Then the powers of
<em>clairvoyance</em>—the faculty of seeing with their eyes
shut—that it gives to the patient. Mrs. Ratsey, your royal
charge might be soothed and instructed at the same time, by
substituting a sheet of PUNCH for the purple and fine linen of her
little Royal Highness’s nautilus-shell.</p>
<p>Lord John Russell, the policy of your wily adversary would no
longer be concealed. Jealous husbands, do you not see a haven of
security, for brick walls may be seen through, and letters read in
the pocket of your rival, by this magnetic telescope? whilst
studious young gentleman may place Homer under their arms, and
study Greek without looking at it.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/004-14.png"><img src=
"images/004-14.png" alt=
"A man reads in front of a bench full of sleeping people." id=
"img004-14" name="img004-14" width="50%" /></a>
<p>MESMERISM.</p>
</div>
<hr />
<h3>FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE.</h3>
<p>The Marquis of Waterford and party visited Vauxhall Gardens on
Monday. The turnpike man on the bridge was much <em>struck</em> by
their easy manner of dealing with their inferiors.</p>
<p>Alderman Magnay laid the first shell of an oyster grotto one
night this week in the Minories. There was a large party of boys,
who, with the worthy Alderman, repaired to a neighbouring
fruit-stall, where the festivity of the occasion was kept up for
several minutes.</p>
<p>The New Cut was, as usual, a scene of much animation on Saturday
last, and there was rather a more brilliant display than customary
of new and elegant baked-potato stands. The well-known turn-out,
with five lanterns and four apertures for the steam, was the
general admiration of the host of pedestrians who throng the Cut
between the hours of eight and twelve on Saturday.</p>
<hr />
<h3>A BITTER DRAUGHT.</h3>
<p>SIR R. PEEL, in the celebrated medicinal metaphor with which he
lately favoured his constituents at Tamworth, concludes by stating,
“that he really believes he does more than any political
physician ever did by referring to the prescriptions which he
offered in 1835 and 1840, and by saying that he sees no reason to
alter them.” This is, to carry out the physical figure, only
another version of “<em>the mixture as before</em>.” We
are afraid there are no hopes of the patient.</p>
<p>“Why are the Whigs like the toes of a
dancing-master?”—“Because they <em>must</em> be
turned out.”</p>
<p>“Why are Colonel Sibthorp and Mr. Peter Borthwick like the
covering of the dancing-master’s
toes?”—“Because they are a <em>pair of
pumps</em>.”</p>
<p>“Why are the Whigs and Tories like the scarlet fever and
the measles?”—“Because there’s no telling
which is the worst.”</p>
<hr class="full" />
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page48" name="page48"></a>[pg
48]</span>
<h2>A HINT TO THE UGLY.</h2>
<p>My uncle Septimus Snagglegrable is no more! Excellent old man!
no one knew his worthiness whilst he was of the living, for every
one called him a scoundrel.</p>
<p>It is reserved for me to do justice to his memory, and one short
sentence will be sufficient for the purpose—he has left me
five thousand pounds! I have determined that his benevolence shall
not want an imitator, and I have resolved, at a great personal
sacrifice, to benefit that portion of my fellow creatures who are
denominated ugly. I am particularly so. My complexion is a bright
snuff-colour; my eyes are grey, and unprotected by the usual
verandahs of eye-lashes; my nose is <em>retroussé</em>, and
if it has a bridge, it must be of the suspension order, for it is
decidedly concave. I wish Rennie would turn his attention to the
state of numerous noses in the metropolis. I am sure a lucrative
company might he established for the purpose of erecting bridges to
noses that, like my own, have been unprovided by nature. I should
be happy to become a director. <em>Revenons nous</em>—my
mouth is decidedly large, and my teeth singularly irregular. My
father was violently opposed to Dr. Jenner’s “repeal of
the small-pox,”<sup>4</sup><span class="sidenote">4.
Baylis.</span> and would not have me vaccinated; the consequence of
which has been that my chin is full of little dells, thickly
studded with dark and stunted bristles. I have bunions and legs
that (as “the right line of beauty’s a curve”)
are the perfection of symmetry. My poor mother used to lament what
she, in the plenitude of her ignorance, was pleased to denominate
my disadvantages. She knew not the power of genius. To me
these—well, I’ll call them <em>defects</em>—have
been the source of great profit. For years I have walked about the
great metropolis without any known or even conjectural means of
subsistence; my coat has always been without a patch—my linen
without spot!</p>
<p>Ugly brothers, I am about to impart to you the secret of my
existence! I have lived by the fine arts—yes, by sitting
as</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>A model for door-knockers and cherubim for tomb-stones.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>The latter may perhaps surprise you, but the contour of my
countenance is decidedly infantile—for when had a babby a
bridge?—and the addition of a penny trumpet completes the
full-blown expression of the light-headed things known to
stone-masons as cherubim.</p>
<p>But it is to the art of knocker-designing that I flatter myself
I have been of most service. By the elevation of my chin, and the
assistance of a long wig, I can present an excellent resemblance of
a lion, with this great advantage over the real animal—I can
vary the expression according to circumstances—</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>“As mild as milk, or raging as the storm.”</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>So that nervous single ladies need not be terrified out of their
senses every time they knock at their door, by the grim
personification of a Nero at feeding time; or a tender-hearted
poor-law guardian be pestered during dinner by invitations afforded
to the starving poor by the benevolent expression of his
knocker.</p>
<p>Ugly ones! I have now imparted to you my secret.</p>
<hr />
<h3>ON THE POPULARITY OF MR. CH—S K—N.</h3>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>Oh, Mr. Punch! what glorious times</p>
<p>Are these, for humbly gifted mimes;</p>
<p class="i2">When, spite of each detracter,</p>
<p>Paternal name and filial love,</p>
<p>Assisted by “the powers above,”</p>
<p class="i2">Have made C——s K——n an
actor!</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>“’Tis true,” his generous patrons say,</p>
<p>“Of genius he ne’er had a ray;</p>
<p class="i2">Yet, all his faults to smother,</p>
<p>The youth inherits, from his sire,</p>
<p>A name which all the world admire,</p>
<p class="i2">And dearly loves his mother!”</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>Stripp’d of his adventitious aid,</p>
<p>He ne’er ten pounds a week had made;</p>
<p class="i2">Yet every Thespian brother</p>
<p>Is now kept down, or put to flight,</p>
<p>While <em>he</em> gets fifty pounds a night,</p>
<p class="i2">Because—he loves his mother!</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>Though I’m, in heart and soul, a friend</p>
<p>To genuine talent, Heaven forefend</p>
<p class="i2">That I should raise a pother,</p>
<p>Because the philanthropic folks</p>
<p>Wink and applaud a pious hoax,</p>
<p class="i2">For one who—loves his mother!</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p>No! Heaven prolong his parent’s life</p>
<p>And grant that no untimely strife</p>
<p class="i2">May wean them from each other!</p>
<p>For soon he’d find the golden fleece</p>
<p>Slip from his grasp, should he e’er cease</p>
<p class="i2">To <em>keep</em> and—love his mother!</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr />
<h3>A CON. BY COLONEL SIBTHORP.</h3>
<p>Why is a chesnut horse, going at a rapid pace up an inclined
plane, like an individual in white trousers presenting a young lady
in book muslin with an infantine specimen of the canine
species?—Because he is giving <em>a gallop up</em> (a girl a
pup).</p>
<hr />
<h3>THE DRAMA.</h3>
<h4>ASTLEY’S COMPANY AT THE OLYMPIC.</h4>
<p>The distresses of actors distress nobody but themselves. A tale
of woe told off the stage by a broad comedian, begets little
sympathy; and if he is in the “heavy line,” people say
he is used to it, and is only acting—playing off upon you a
melancholy joke, that he may judge how it will <em>tell</em> at
night. Thus, when misfortune takes a benefit, charity seldom takes
tickets; for she is always sceptical about the so-called miseries
of the most giddy, volatile, jolly, careless, uncomplaining (where
managers and bad parts are not concerned) vainest, and apparently,
happiest possible members of the community, who are so completely
associated with fiction, that they are hardly believed when telling
the truth. <em>Par exemple</em>—nothing can be more true than
that Astley’s Theatre was burnt down the other day; that the
whole of that large establishment were suddenly thrown out of
employ; that their wardrobes were burnt to rags, their properties
reduced to a cinder, and their means of subsistence roasted in a
too rapid fire. True also is it, that to keep the wolf from their
own doors, those of the Olympic have been opened, where the really
dismounted cavalry of Astley’s are continuing their campaign,
having appealed to the public to support them. Judging from the
night we were present, that support has been extended with a degree
of lukewarmness which is exactly proportionate to the effect
produced by the appeals of actors when misfortune overtakes
them.</p>
<p>But, besides public sympathy, they put forth other claims for
support. The amusements they offer are of extraordinary merit. The
acting of Mr. H. Widdicomb, of Miss Daly, and Mr. Sidney Forster,
was, in the piece we saw—“The Old House at
Home”—full of nature and quiet touches of feeling
scarcely to be met with on any other stage. Still these are
qualifications the “general” do not always appreciate;
though they often draw tears, they seldom draw money. Very well, to
meet that deficiency, other and more popular actors have come
forward to offer their aid. Mr. T.P. Cooke has already done his
part, as he always does it, nobly. The same may be said of Mr.
Hammond. When we were present, Mrs. H.L. Grattan and Mr. Balls
appeared in the “Lady of Munster.” Mr. Sloan, a popular
Irish comedian from the provinces, has lent a helping hand, by
coming out in a new drama. Mr. Keeley is also announced.</p>
<p>The pieces we saw were well got up and carefully acted; so that
the patrons of the drama need not dread that, in this instance, the
Astleyan-Olympic actors believe that “charity covers a
multitude of sins.” They don’t care who sees their
faults—the more the better.</p>
<hr class="short" />
<h4>“BEHIND THE SCENES.”</h4>
<p>When a certain class of persons, whose antipathy to gratis
sea-voyages is by no means remarkable, are overtaken by the police
and misfortune; when the last legal quibble has been raised upon
their case and failed; when, indeed, to use their own elegant
phraseology, they are “regularly stumped and done up;”
then—and, to do them justice, not till then—they resort
to confession, and to turning king’s evidence against their
accomplices.</p>
<p>This seems to be exactly the case with the drama, which is
evidently in the last stage of decline; the consumption of new
subjects having exhausted the supply. The French has been
“taken from” till it has nothing more to give; the
Newgate Calendar no longer affords materials; for an entire
dramatic edition of it might be collected (a valuable hint this for
the Syncretic Society, that desperate association for producing
un-actable dramas)—the very air is exhausted in a theatrical
sense; for “life in the clouds” has been long voted
“law;” whilst the play-writing craft have already
robbed the regions below of every spark of poetic fire; devils are
decidedly out of date. In short, and not to mince the matter, as
hyenas are said to stave off starvation by eating their own
haunches, so the drama <em>must</em> be on its last legs, when
actors turn king’s evidence, and exhibit to the public how
they flirt and quarrel, and eat oysters and drink porter, and
scandalise and make fun—how, in fact, they disport themselves
“Behind the Scenes.”</p>
<p>A visit to the English Opera will gratify those of the
uninitiated, who are anxious to get acquainted with the manners and
customs of the ladies and gentlemen of the <em>corps
dramatique</em> “at the wing.” Otherwise than as a sign
of dramatic destitution, the piece called “Behind the
Scenes” is highly amusing. Mr. Wild’s acting displays
that happy medium between jocularity and earnest, which is the
perfection of burlesque. Mrs. Selby plays the “leading
lady” without the smallest effort, and invites the first
tragedian to her treat of oysters and beer with considerable
<em>empressement</em>, though supposed to be labouring at the time
<em>under</em> the stroke of the headsman’s axe. Lastly, it
would be an act of injustice to Mr. Selby to pass his <em>Spooney
Negus</em> over in silence. PUNCH has too brotherly an affection
for his fellow-actors, to hide their faults; in the hope that, by
shewing them <em>veluti in speculum</em>, they may be amended. In
all kindness, therefore, he entreats Mr. Selby, if he be not bent
upon hastening his own ruin, if he have any regard for the feelings
of unoffending audiences, who always witness the degradation of
human nature with pain—he implores him to provide a
substitute for <em>Negus</em>. Every actor knows the difference
between portraying imbecility and <em>being</em> silly
himself—between puerility, as characteristic of a part <em>in
posse</em>, and as being a trait of the performer <em>in esse</em>.
To this rule Mr. Selby, in this part, is a melancholy exception;
for he seems utterly ignorant of such a distinction, broad as it
is—he is silly himself, instead of causing silliness in
<em>Spooney</em>. This is the more to be regretted, as whoever
witnessed, with us, the first piece, saw in Mr. Selby a respectable
representative of an old dandy in “Barnaby Rudge.”
Moreover, the same gentleman is, we understand, the adapter of the
drama from Boz’s tale. That too proves him to be a clever
contriver of situations, and an ingenious adept with the pen and
scissors.</p>
<hr class="full" />
<pre>
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