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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:45:40 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:45:40 -0700 |
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diff --git a/14927-h/14927-h.htm b/14927-h/14927-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3f5da7b --- /dev/null +++ b/14927-h/14927-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2530 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta name="generator" content= +"HTML Tidy for Mac OS X (vers 1st August 2004), see www.w3.org" /> +<meta http-equiv="content-type" content= +"text/html; charset=us-ascii" /> +<title>Punch, or the London Charivari. September 12, 1841.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[*/ + +<!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 15%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + blockquote {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} + html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} + ul {list-style-type:none;} + .note {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + + span.pagenum + {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt;} + + .poem + {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem p.i8 {margin-left:4em;} + .poem p.i10 {margin-left:5em;} + p.cen {text-align:center;} + p.rgt {text-align:right;} + + .figure, .figcenter, .figright, .figleft {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} +.figure img, .figcenter img, .figright img, .figleft img {border: none;} +.figure p, .figcenter p, .figright p, .figleft p {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} +.figcenter>p {text-align:center;} +.figcenter {margin: auto;} +.figright {float: right; width:25%;} +.figleft, .dropcap {float: left;width:25%;} + span.sidenote {position: absolute; right: 1%; left: 87%; font-size: .7em;text-align:left;text-indent:0em;} + sup{font-size:.7em;} + span.sc {font-variant:small-caps;} + span.emph {font-size:125%;font-weight:bolder;} + a:link{text-decoration:none;} +.hide {display: none;} + --> +/*]]>*/ +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 1, +September 12, 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, September 12, 1841 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: February 7, 2005 [EBook #14927] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + + + + +Produced by Syamanta Saikia, Jon Ingram, Barbara Tozier and the PG +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> +<h2>VOL. 1.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>SEPTEMBER 12, 1841.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page97" name="page97"></a>[pg +97]</span> +<h2>THE HEIR OF APPLEBITE.</h2> +<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> +<div class="dropcap"><a href="images/009-01.png"><img src= +"images/009-01.png" alt="Two wrestling men form the letter A." id= +"img009-01" name="img009-01" width="100%" /></a></div> +<p><span class="hide">A</span>fter the ceremony, the happy pair set +off for Brighton.”</p> +<p>There is something peculiarly pleasing in the above paragraph. +The imagination instantly conjures up an elegant yellow-bodied +chariot, lined with pearl drab, and a sandwich basket. In one +corner sits a fair and blushing creature partially arrayed in the +garments of a bride, their spotless character diversified with some +few articles of a darker hue, resembling, in fact, the liquid +matrimony of port and sherry; her delicate hands have been denuded +of their gloves, exhibiting to the world the glittering emblem of +her endless hopes. In the other, a smiling piece of four-and-twenty +humanity is reclining, gazing upon the beautiful treasure, which +has that morning cost him about six pounds five shillings, in the +shape of licence and fees. He too has deprived himself of the +sunniest portions of his wardrobe, and has softened the glare of +his white ducks, and the gloss of his blue coat, by the application +of a drab waistcoat. But why indulge in speculative dreams when we +have realities to detail!</p> +<p>Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite and his beauteous Juliana +Theresa (late Waddledot), for three days, experienced +that—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Love is heaven, and heaven is love.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>His imaginary dinner-party became a reality, and the delicate +attentions which he paid to his invisible guest rendered his +Juliana Theresa’s life—as she exquisitely expressed +it—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“A something without a name, but to which nothing was +wanting.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>But even honey will cloy; and that sweetest of all moons, the +Apian one, would sometimes be better for a change. Juliana passed +the greater portion of the day on the sofa, in the companionship of +that aromatic author, Sir Edward; or sauntered (listlessly hanging +on Collumpsion’s arm) up and down the Steine, or the no less +diversified Chain-pier. Agamemnon felt that at home at least he +ought to be happy, and, therefore, he hung his legs over the +balcony and whistled or warbled (he had a remarkably fine D) +Moore’s ballad of—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Believe me, if all those endearing young +charms;”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>or took the silver out of the left-hand pocket of his trousers, +and placed it in the right-hand receptacle of the same garment. +Nevertheless, he was continually detecting himself yawning or +dozing, as though “the idol of his existence” was a +chimera, and not Mrs. Applebite.</p> +<p>The time at length arrived for their return to town, and, to +judge from the pleasure depicted in the countenances of the happy +pair, the contemplated intrusion of the world on their family +circle was anything but disagreeable. Old John, under the able +generalship of Mrs. Waddledot, had made every requisite preparation +for their reception. Enamelled cards, superscribed with the names +of Mr. and Mrs. Applebite, and united together with a silver cord +tied in a true lover’s knot, had been duly enclosed in an +envelope of lace-work, secured with a silver dove, flying away with +a square piece of silver toast. In company with a very +unsatisfactory bit of exceedingly rich cake, this glossy missive +was despatched to the whole of the Applebite and Waddledot +connexion, only excepting the eighteen daughters who Mrs. Waddledot +had reason to believe would not return her visit.</p> +<p>The meeting of the young wife and the wife’s mother was +touching in the extreme. They rushed into each other’s arms, +and indulged in plentiful showers of “nature’s +dew.”</p> +<p>“Welcome! welcome <em>home</em>, my dear Juliana!” +exclaimed the doting mother. “It’s the first time, Mr. +A., that she ever left me since she was 16, for so long a period. I +have had all the beds aired, and all the chairs uncovered. +She’ll be a treasure to you, Mr. A., for a more tractable +creature was never vaccinated;” and here the mother overcame +the orator, and she wept again.</p> +<p>“My dear mother,” said Agamemnon, “I have +already had many reasons to be grateful for my happy fortune. +Don’t you think she is browner than when we left +town?”</p> +<p>“Much, much!” sobbed the mother; “but the +change is for the better.”</p> +<p>“I’m glad you think so, for Aggy is of the same +opinion,” lisped the beautiful ex-Waddledot. “Tell +ma’ the pretty metaphor you indulged in yesterday, +Aggy.”</p> +<p>“Why, I merely remarked,” replied Collumpsion, +blushing, “that I was pleased to see the horticultural +beauties of her cheek superseded by such an exquisite marine +painting. It’s nothing of itself, but Juley’s foolish +fondness called it witty.”</p> +<p>The arrival of the single sister of Mrs. Applebite, occasioned +another rush of bodies and several gushes of tears; then titterings +succeeded, and then a simultaneous burst of laughter, and a rapid +exit. Agamemnon looked round that room which he had furnished in +his bachelorhood. A thousand old associations sprung up in his +mind, and a vague feeling of anticipated evil for a moment +oppressed him. The <em>bijouterie</em> seemed to reproach him with +unkindness for having placed a mistress over them, and the easy +chair heaved as though with suppressed emotion, at the thought that +its luxurious proportions had lost their charms. Collumpsion held a +mental toss-up whether he repented of the change in his condition; +and, as faithful historians, we are compelled to state that it was +only the entrance, at that particular moment, of Juliana, that +induced him to cry—woman.</p> +<p>On the following day the knocker of No. 24 disturbed all the +other numerals in Pleasant-terrace; and Mr. and Mrs. A. bowed and +curtsied until they were tired, in acknowledgment of their +friends’ “wishes of joy,” and, as one unlucky old +gentleman expressed himself, “many happy returns of the +day.”</p> +<p>It was a matter of surprise to many of the said friends, that so +great an alteration as was perceptible in the happy pair, should +have occurred in such a very short space of time.</p> +<p>“I used to think Mr. Applebite a very nice young +man,” said <em>Miss</em>—mind, Miss +Scragbury—“but, dear me, how he’s +altered.”</p> +<p>“And Mrs. Applebite used to be a pretty girl,” +rejoined her brother Julius; “but now (Juliana had refused +him three times)—but now she’s as ill-looking as her +mother.”</p> +<p>“I’d no idea this house was so small,” said +Mrs. Scragmore. “I’m afraid the Waddledots +haven’t made so great a catch, after all. I hope poor Juley +will be happy, for I nursed her when a baby, but I never saw such +an ugly pattern for a stair-carpet in my born days;” and with +these favourable impressions of their dear friends the Applebites, +the Scragmores descended the steps of No. 24, Pleasant-terrace, and +then ascended those of No. 5436 hackney-coach.</p> +<p>About ten months after their union, Collumpsion was observed to +have a more jaunty step and smiling countenance, which—as his +matrimonial felicity had been so frequently pronounced +perfect—puzzled his friends amazingly. Indeed, some were led +to conjecture, that his love for Juliana Theresa was not of the +positive character that he asserted it to be; for when any +inquiries were made after her health, his answer had invariably +been, of late, “Why, Mrs. A.—is—not very +well;” and a smile would play about his mouth, as though he +had a delightful vision of a widower-hood. The mystery was at +length solved, by the exhibition of sundry articles of a +Lilliputian wardrobe, followed by an announcement in the +<em>Morning Post</em>, under the head of</p> +<p class="note">“BIRTHS.—Yesterday morning, the lady of +Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite, Esq., of a son and +heir.”</p> +<p>Pleasant-terrace was <em>strawed</em> from one end to the other; +the knocker of 24 was encased in white kid, a doctor’s boy +was observed to call three times a-day, and a pot-boy twice as +often.</p> +<p>Collumpsion was in a seventh heaven of wedded bliss. He shook +hands with everybody—thanked everybody—invited +everybody when Mrs. A. should be better, and noted down in his +pocket-book what everybody prescribed as infallible remedies for +the measles, hooping-cough, small-pox, and rashes (both nettle and +tooth)—listened for hours to the praises of vaccination and +Indian-rubber rings—pronounced Goding’s porter a real +blessing to mothers, and inquired the price of boys’ suits +and rocking-horses!</p> +<p>In this state of paternal felicity we must leave him till our +next.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>TO CAPITALISTS.</h3> +<p>It is rumoured that Macready is desirous of disposing of his +“manners” previous to becoming manager, when he will +have no further occasion for them. They are in excellent condition, +having been very little used, and would be a desirable purchase for +any one expecting to move within the sphere of his management.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>REASON’S NE PLUS ULTRA.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>A point impossible for mind to reach—</p> +<p>To find <em>the meaning</em> of a royal speech.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>AN APPROPRIATE NAME.</h3> +<p>The late Queen of the Sandwich Islands, and the first convert to +Christianity in that country, was called <em>Keopalani</em>, which +means—“<em>the dropping of the clouds from +Heaven</em>.”</p> +<h4>EPIGRAM ON THE ABOVE.</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>This name’s the best that could be given,</p> +<p class="i2">As will by proof be quickly seen;</p> +<p>For, “dropping from the clouds of Heaven,”</p> +<p class="i2">She was, of course, the <em>raining</em> Queen.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>CAUTION TO SPORTSMEN.</h3> +<p>Our gallant friend Sibthorp backed himself on the 1st of +September to bag a hundred leverets in the course of the day. He +lost, of course; and upon being questioned as to his reason for +making so preposterous a bet, he confessed that he had been induced +to do so by the specious promise of an advertisement, in which +somebody professed to have discovered “<em>a powder for the +removal of superfluous hairs</em>.”</p> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page98" name="page98"></a>[pg +98]</span> +<h3>OUT OF SEASON.</h3> +<h4>A LYRIC, BY THE LAST MAN—IN TOWN.</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Chaos returns! no soul’s in town!</p> +<p class="i2">And darkness reigns where lamps once brightened;</p> +<p>Shutters are closed, and blinds drawn down—</p> +<p class="i2">Untrodden door-steps go unwhitened!</p> +<p>The echoes of some straggler’s boots</p> +<p class="i2">Alone are on the pavement ringing</p> +<p>While ’prentice boys, who smoke cheroots,</p> +<p class="i2">Stand critics to some broom-girl’s singing.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I went to call on Madame Sims,</p> +<p class="i2">In a dark street, not far from Drury;</p> +<p>An Irish crone half-oped the door.</p> +<p class="i2">Whose head might represent a fury.</p> +<p>“At home, sir?” “No! +(<em>whisper</em>)—but I’ll presume</p> +<p class="i2">To tell the truth, or know the <em>raison</em>.</p> +<p>She dines—tays—lives—in the back room,</p> +<p class="i2">Bekase ’tis not the London +<em>saison</em>.”</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>From thence I went to Lady Bloom’s,</p> +<p class="i2">Where, after sundry rings and knocking,</p> +<p>A yawning, liveried lad appear’d,</p> +<p class="i2">His squalid face his gay clothes mocking</p> +<p>I asked him, in a faltering tone—</p> +<p class="i2">The house was closed—I guess’d the +reason—</p> +<p>“Is Lady B.’s grand-aunt, then, +gone?”—</p> +<p class="i2">“To Ramsgate, sir!—until next +season!”</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I sauntered on to Harry Gray’s,</p> +<p class="i2">The <em>ennui</em> of my heart to lighten;</p> +<p>His landlady, with, smirk and smile,</p> +<p class="i2">Said, “he had just run down to +Brighton.”</p> +<p>When home I turned my steps, at last,</p> +<p class="i2">A tailor—whom to kick were treason—</p> +<p>Pressed for his bill;—I hurried past,</p> +<p class="i2">Politely saying—CALL NEXT SEASON!</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>THE GENTLEMAN’S OWN BOOK.</h2> +<p>We concluded our last article with a brief dissertation on the +cut of the trousers; we will now proceed to the consideration of +coats.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“The hour must come when such things must be +made.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>For this quotation we are indebted to</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/009-02.png"><img src= +"images/009-02.png" alt="A man carries a book titled 'Poems'" id= +"img009-02" name="img009-02" width="30%" /></a> +<p>THE POET’S PAGE.</p> +</div> +<p>There are three kinds of coats—the body, the surtout, and +the great.</p> +<p>The body-coat is again divided into classes, according to their +application, viz.—the drawing-room, the ride, and the +field.</p> +<p>The cut of the dress-coat is of paramount importance, that being +the garment which decorates the gentleman at a time when he is +naturally ambitious of going the entire D’Orsay. There is +great nicety required in cutting this article of dress, so that it +may at one and the same moment display the figure and waistcoat of +the wearer to the utmost advantage. None but a John +o’Groat’s goth would allow it to be imagined that the +buttons and button-holes of this <em>robe</em> were ever intended +to be anything but opposite neighbours, for a contrary conviction +would imply the absence of a cloak in the hall or a cab at the +door. We do not intend to give a Schneiderian dissertation upon +garments; we merely wish to trace outlines; but to those who are +anxious for a more intimate acquaintance with the intricacies and +mysteries of the delightful and civilising art of cutting, we can +only say, <em>Vide</em> Stultz.<sup>1</sup><span class= +"sidenote">1. Should any gentleman avail himself of this hint, we +should feel obliged if he would mention the source from whence it +was derived, having a small account standing in that quarter, for +tailors have gratitude.</span></p> +<p>The riding-coat is the connecting link between the DRESS and the +rest of the great family of coats, as <em>one</em> button, and one +only of this garment, may be allowed to be applied to his apparent +use.</p> +<p>It is so cut, that the waistcoat pockets may be easy of access. +Any gentleman who has attended races or other sporting meetings +must have found the convenience of this arrangement; for where the +course is well managed, as at Epsom, Ascot, Hampton, &c., by +the judicious regulations of the stewards, the fingers are +generally employed in the distribution of those miniature argentine +medallions of her Majesty so particularly admired by ostlers, +correct card-vendors, E.O. table-keepers, Mr. Jerry, and the +toll-takers on the road and the course. The original idea of these +coats was accidentally given by John Day, who was describing, on +Nugee’s cutting-board, the exact curvature of Tattenham +Corner.</p> +<p>The shooting-jacket should be designed after a dovecot or a +chest of drawers; and the great art in rendering this garment +perfect, is to make the coat entirely of pockets, that part which +covers the shoulders being only excepted, from the difficulty of +carrying even a cigar-case in that peculiar situation.</p> +<p>The surtout (not regulation) admits of very little design. It +can only be varied by the length of the skirts, which may be either +as long as a fireman’s, or as short as Duvernay’s +petticoats. This coat is, in fact, a cross between the dress and +the driving, and may, perhaps, be described as a Benjamin +junior.</p> +<p>Of the Benjamin senior, there are several kinds—the +Taglioni, the Pea, the Monkey, the Box, <em>et sui +generis</em>.</p> +<p>The three first are all of the coal-sackian cut, being, in fact, +elegant elongated pillow-cases, with two diminutive bolsters, which +are to be filled with arms instead of feathers. They are singularly +adapted for concealing the fall in the back, and displaying to the +greatest advantage those unassuming castors designated +“Jerrys,” which have so successfully rivalled those +silky impostors known to the world as</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/009-03.png"><img src= +"images/009-03.png" alt= +"Side view of a man with a broad-brimmed hat." id="img009-03" name= +"img009-03" width="50%" /></a> +<p>THIS (S)TILE—FOUR-AND-NINE.</p> +</div> +<p>The box-coat has, of late years, been denuded of its layers of +capes, and is now cut for the sole purpose, apparently, of +supporting perpendicular rows of wooden platters or mother-of-pearl +counters, each of which would be nearly large enough for the top of +a lady’s work-table. Mackintosh-coats have, in some measure, +superseded the box-coat; but, like carters’ smock-frocks, +they are all the creations of speculative minds, having the great +advantage of keeping out the water, whilst they assist you in +becoming saturated with perspiration. We strongly suspect their +acquaintance with India-rubber; they seem to us to be a preparation +of English rheumatism, having rather more of the catarrh than +caoutchouc in their composition. Everybody knows the affinity of +India-rubber to black-lead; but when made into a Mackintosh, you +may substitute the <em>lum</em> for the <em>plum</em>bago.</p> +<p>We never see a fellow in a seal-skin cap, and one of these +waterproof pudding-bags, but we fancy he would make an excellent +model for</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/009-04.png"><img src= +"images/009-04.png" alt="A bearded man." id="img009-04" name= +"img009-04" width="50%" /></a> +<p>THE FIGURE-HEAD OF A CONVICT SHIP.</p> +</div> +<p>The ornaments and pathology will next command our attention.</p> +<hr /> +<p>A friend insulted us the other day with the +following:—“Billy Black supposes Sam Rogers wears a +tightly-laced boddice. Why is it like one of Milton’s +heroes?” Seeing we gave it up, he +replied—“Because +Sam’s-on-agony-stays.”—(Samson +<em>Agonistes</em>.)</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page99" name="page99"></a>[pg +99]</span> +<h2>THE GOLDEN-SQUARE REVOLUTION.</h2> +<h3>[BY EXPRESS.]</h3> +<p>This morning, at an early hour, we were thrown into the greatest +consternation by a column of boys, who poured in upon us from the +northern entrance, and, taking up their-station near the pump, we +expected the worst.</p> +<p><em>8 o’clock.</em>—The worst has not yet happened. +An inhabitant has entered the square-garden, and planted himself at +the back of the statue; but everything is in STATUE QUO.</p> +<p><em>5 minutes past 8.</em>—The boys are still there. The +square-keeper is nowhere to be found.</p> +<p><em>10 minutes past 8.</em>—The insurgents have, some of +them, mounted on the fire-escape. The square-keeper has been seen. +He is sneaking round the corner, and resolutely refuses to come +nearer.</p> +<p><em>¼ past 8.</em>—A deputation has waited on the +square-keeper. It is expected that he will resign.</p> +<p><em>20 minutes past 8.</em>—The square-keeper refuses to +resign.</p> +<p><em>22 minutes past 8.</em>—The square-keeper has +resigned.</p> +<p><em>25 minutes past 8.</em>—The boys have gone home.</p> +<p><em>½ past 8.</em>—The square-keeper has been +restored, and is showing great courage and activity. It is not +thought necessary to place him under arms; but he is under the +engine, which can he brought into play at a moment’s notice. +His activity is surprising, and his resolution quite undaunted.</p> +<p><em>9 o’clock.</em>—All is perfectly quiet, and the +letters are being delivered by the general post-man as usual. The +inhabitants appear to be going to their business, as if nothing had +happened. The square-keeper, with the whole of his staff (a +constable’s staff), may be seen walking quietly up and down. +The revolution is at an end; and, thanks to the fire-engine, our +old constitution is still preserved to us.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>RECOLLECTIONS OF A TRIP IN MR HAMPTON’S BALLOON.</h2> +<h3>IN A LETTER FROM A WOULD-BE PASSENGER.</h3> +<p>My dear Friend.—You are aware how long I have been longing +to go up in a balloon, and that I should certainly have some time +ago ascended with Mr. Green, had not his terms been not simply a +<em>cut</em> above me, but several gashes beyond my power to comply +with them. In a word, I did not go up with the Nassau, because I +could not come down with the dust, and though I always had +“Green in my eye,” I was not quite so soft as to pay +twenty pounds in hard cash for the fun of going, on</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/009-05.png"><img src= +"images/009-05.png" alt="A black man in armor." id="img009-05" +name="img009-05" width="40%" /></a> +<p>A DARK (K)NIGHT,</p> +</div> +<p>nobody knows where, and coming down Heaven knows how, in a field +belonging to the Lord knows who, and being detained for goodness +knows what, for damage.</p> +<p>Not being inclined, therefore, for a nice and expensive voyage +with Mr. Green, I made a cheap and nasty arrangement with Mr. +Hampton, the gentleman who courageously offers to descend in a +parachute—a thing very like a parasol—and who, as he +never mounts much above the height of ordinary palings, might keep +his word without the smallest risk of any personal +inconvenience.</p> +<p>It was arranged and publicly announced that the balloon, +carrying its owner and myself, should start from the Tea-gardens of +the <em>Mitre and Mustard Pot</em>, at six o’clock in the +evening; and the public were to be admitted at one, to see the +process of inflation, it being shrewdly calculated by the +proprietor, that, as the balloon got full, the stomachs of the +lookers on would be getting empty, and that the refreshments would +go off while the tedious work of filling a silken bag with gas was +going on, so that the appetites and the curiosity of the public +would be at the same time satisfied.</p> +<p>The process of inflation seemed to have but little effect on the +balloon, and it was not until about five o’clock that the +important discovery was made, that the gas introduced at the bottom +had been escaping through a hole in the top, and that the Equitable +Company was laying it on excessively thick through the windpipes of +the assembled company.</p> +<p>Six o’clock arrived, and, according to contract, the +supply of gas was cut off, when the balloon, that had hitherto worn +such an appearance as just to give a hope that it might in time be +full, began to present an aspect which induced a general fear that +it must very shortly be empty. The audience began to be impatient +for the promised ascent, and while the aeronaut was running about +in all directions looking for the hole, and wondering how he should +stop it up, I was requested by the proprietor of the gardens to +step into the car, just to check the growing impatience of the +audience. I was received with that unanimous shout of cheering and +laughter with which a British audience always welcomes any one who +appears to have got into an awkward predicament, and I sat for a +few minutes, quietly expecting to be buried in the silk of the +balloon, which was beginning to collapse with the greatest +rapidity. The spectators becoming impatient for the promised +ascent, and seeing that it could not be achieved, determined, as +enlightened British audiences invariably do, that if it was not to +be done, it should at all events be attempted. In vain did Mr. +Hampton come forward to apologise for the trifling accident; he was +met by yells, hoots, hisses, and orange-peel, and the benches were +just about to be torn up, when he declared, that under any +circumstances, he was determined to go up—an arrangement in +which I was refusing to coincide—when, just as he had got +into the car, all means of getting out were withdrawn from under +us—the ropes were cut, and the ascent commenced in +earnest.</p> +<p>The majestic machine rose slowly to the height of about eight +feet, amid the most enthusiastic cheers, when it rolled over among +some trees, amid the most frantic laughter. Mr. Hampton, with +singular presence of mind, threw out every ounce of ballast, which +caused the balloon to ascend a few feet higher, when a tremendous +gust of easterly wind took us triumphantly out of the gardens, the +palings of which we cleared with considerable nicety. The scene at +this moment was magnificent; the silken monster, in a state of +flabbiness, rolling and fluttering above, while below us were +thousands of spectators, absolutely shrieking with merriment. +Another gust of wind carried us rapidly forward, and, bringing us +exactly in a level with a coach-stand, we literally swept, with the +bottom of our car, every driver from off his box, and, of course, +the enthusiasm of a British audience almost reached its climax. We +now encountered the gable-end of a station-house, and the balloon +being by this time thoroughly collapsed, our aerial trip was +brought to an abrupt conclusion. I know nothing more of what +occurred, having been carried on a shutter, in a state of</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/009-06.png"><img src= +"images/009-06.png" alt="A man hangs from a fence by his trousers." +id="img009-06" name="img009-06" width="50%" /></a> +<p>SUSPENDED ANIMATION,</p> +</div> +<p>to my own lodging, while my companion was left to fight it out +with the mob, who were so anxious to possess themselves of some +<em>memento</em> of the occasion, that the balloon was torn to +ribbons, and a fragment of it carried away by almost every one of +the vast multitude which had assembled to honour him with their +patronage.</p> +<p>I have the honour to be, yours, &c.<br /> +A. SPOONEY.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>FEARFUL STATE OF LONDON!</h3> +<p>A country gentleman informs us that he was horror-stricken at +the sight of an apparently organised band, wearing fustian coats, +decorated with curious brass badges, bearing exceedingly high +numbers, who perched themselves behind the Paddington omnibuses, +and, in the most barefaced and treasonable manner, urged the +surrounding populace to open acts of daring violence, and wholesale +arson, by shouting out, at the top of their voices, “O burn, +the City, and the Bank.”</p> +<hr /> +<h3>“WHO ARE TO BE THE LORDS IN WAITING.”</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“We have lordlings in dozens,” the Tories +exclaim,</p> +<p class="i2">“To fill every place from the throng;</p> +<p>Although the cursed Whigs, be it told to our shame,</p> +<p class="i2">Kept us <em>poor lords in waiting</em> too +long.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>LOOKING ON THE BLACK SIDE OF THINGS.</h3> +<p>The Honourable Sambo Sutton begs us to state, that he is not the +Honourable —— Sutton who is announced as the Secretary +for the Home Department. He might have been induced to have stepped +into Lord Cottenham’s shoes, on his</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/009-07.png"><img src= +"images/009-07.png" alt= +"An Eskimo runs from a polar bear. There are seals lying on the ground." +id="img009-07" name="img009-07" width="50%" /></a> +<p>RESIGNING THE SEALS.</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>AWFUL CASE OF SMASHING!—FRIGHTFUL NEGLIGENCE OF THE +POLICE</h3> +<p>Feargus O’Connor <em>passed his word</em> last week at the +London Tavern.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>NEW SWIMMING APPARATUS.</h3> +<p>At the late collision between the <em>Beacon</em> brig and the +<em>Topaz</em> steamer, one of the passengers, anticipating the +sinking of both vessels, and being strongly embued with the great +principle of self-preservation, immediately secured himself the +assistance of <em>the anchor</em>! Did he conceive +“Hope” to have been unsexed, or that that attribute +originally existed as a “floating boy?”</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page100" name="page100"></a>[pg +100]</span> +<h2>SYNCRETIC LITERATURE.</h2> +<p class="note">“The Loves of Giles Scroggins and Molly +Brown:” an Epic Poem. London: CATNACH.</p> +<p>The great essentials necessary for the true conformation of the +sublimest effort of poetic genius, the construction of an +“Epic Poem,” are numerically three; viz., a beginning, +a middle, and an end. The incipient characters necessary to the +beginning, ripening in the middle, and, like the drinkers of small +beer and October leaves, falling in the end.</p> +<p>The poem being thus divided into its several stages, the +judgment of the writer should emulate that of the experienced Jehu, +who so proportions his work, that all and several of his required +teams do their own share and no more—fifteen miles (or +lengths) to a first canto, and five to a second, is as far from +right as such a distribution of mile-stones would be to the +overworked prads. The great fault of modern poetasters arises from +their extreme love of spinning out an infinite deal of nothing. +Now, as “brevity is the soul of wit,” their productions +can be looked upon as little else than phantasmagorial skeletons, +ridiculous from their extreme extenuation, and in appearance more +peculiarly empty, from the circumstance of their owing their +existence to false lights. This fault does not exist with all the +master spirits, and, though “many a flower is born to blush +unseen,” we now proceed to rescue from obscurity the +brightest gem of unfamed literature.</p> +<p>Wisdom is said to be found in the mouths of babes and sucklings. +So is the epic poem of Giles Scroggins. Is wisdom Scroggins, or is +Scroggins wisdom? We can prove either position, but we are cramped +for space, and therefore leave the question open. Now for our +author and his first line—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Giles Scroggins courted Molly Brown.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Beautiful condensation! Is or is not <em>this</em> rushing at +once in <em>medias res</em>? It is; there’s no paltry +subterfuge about it—no unnecessary wearing out of “the +waning moon they met by”—“the stars that gazed +upon their joy”—“the whispering gales that +breathed in zephyr’s softest sighs”—their +“lover’s perjuries to the distracted trees they +wouldn’t allow to go to sleep.” In short, +“there’s no nonsense”—there’s a broad +assertion of a thrilling fact—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Giles Scroggins courted Molly Brown.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>So might a thousand folks; therefore (the reader may say) how +does this establish the individuality of Giles Scroggins, or give +an insight to the character of the chosen hero of the poem? Mark +the next line, and your doubts must vanish. He courted her; but +why? Ay, why? for the best of all possible reasons—condensed +in the smallest of all possible space, and yet establishing his +perfect taste, unequalled judgment, and peculiarly-heroic +self-esteem—he courted her because she was</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“The fairest maid in all the town.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Magnificent climax! overwhelming reason! Could volumes written, +printed, or stereotyped, say more? Certainly not; the condensation +of “Aurora’s blushes,” “the Graces’ +attributes,” “Venus’s perfections,” and +“Love’s sweet votaries,” all, all is more than +spoken in the emphatic words—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“The fairest maid in all the town.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Nothing can go beyond this; it proves her beauty and her +disinterestedness. The <em>fairest</em> maid might have chosen, +nay, commanded, even a city dignitary. Does the so? No; Giles +Scroggins, famous only in name, loves her, and—beautiful +poetic contrivance!—we are left to imagine he does “not +love unloved.” Why should she reciprocate? inquires the +reader. Are not truth and generosity the princely paragons of manly +virtue, greater, because unostentatious? and these perfect +attributes are part and parcel of great Giles. He makes no +speeches—soils no satin paper—vows no vows—no, he +is above such humbug. His motto is evidently deeds, not words. And +what does he do? Send a flimsy epistle, which his fair reader pays +the vile postage for? Not he; he</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“<em>Gave</em> a ring with <em>posy</em> true!”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Think of this. Not only does he “give a ring,” but +he annihilates the suppositionary fiction in which poets are +supposed to revel, and the ring’s accompaniment, though the +child of a creative brain—the burning emanation from some +Apollo-stricken votary of “the lying nine,” imbued with +all his stern morality, is strictly “true.” This +startling fact is not left wrapped in mystery. The veriest sceptic +cannot, in imagination, grave a fancied double meaning on that +richest gift. No—the motto follows, and seems to +say—Now, as the champion of Giles Scroggins, hurl I this +gauntlet down; let him that dare, uplift it! Here I am—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“If you <em>loves</em> I, as I <em>loves</em> +you!”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Pray mark the syncretic force of the above line. Giles, in +expressing his affection, felt the singular too small, and the vast +plural quick supplied the void—<em>Loves</em> must be more +than love.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“If you loves I, as I loves you,</p> +<p>No knife shall cut our loves in two!”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>This is really sublime! “No knife!” Can anything +exceed the assertion? Nothing but the rejoinder—a rejoinder +in which the talented author not only stands proudly forward as a +poet, but patriotically proves the <em>amor propriæ</em>, +which has induced him to study the staple manufactures of his +beloved country! What but a diligent investigation of the +<em>cut</em>lerian process could have prompted the illustration of +practical knowledge of the Birmingham and Sheffield artificers +contained in the following exquisitely explanatory line. +But—pray mark the <em>but</em>—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“But <em>scissors</em> cut as well as knives!”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Sublime announcement! startling information! leading us, by +degrees, to the highest of all earthly contemplations, exalting us +to fate and her peculiar shears, and preparing us for the +exquisitely poetical sequel contained in the following +line:—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“And so un<em>sart</em>ain’s all our +lives.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Can anything exceed this? The uncertainty of life evidently +superinduced the conviction of all other uncertainties, and the +sublime poet bears out the intenseness of his impressions by the +uncertainty of his spelling! Now, reader, mark the next line, and +its context:—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“The very night they were to wed!”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Fancy this: the full blossoming of all their budding joys, +anticipations, death, and hope’s accomplishment, the crowning +hour of their youth’s great bliss, “<em>the very night +they were to wed</em>,” is, with <em>extra syncretic</em> +skill, chosen as the awful one in which</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Fate’s scissors cut Giles Scroggins’ +thread!”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Now, reader, do you see the subtle use of practical knowledge? +Are you convinced of the impotent prescription from <em>knives</em> +only? Can you not perceive in “<em>Fate’s +scissors</em>” a parallel for the unthought-of host +“that bore the mighty wood of Dunsinane against the +blood-stained murderer of the pious Duncan?” Does not the +fatal truth rush, like an unseen draught into rheumatic crannies, +slick through your soul’s perception? Are you not prepared +for this—<em>to be resumed in our next</em>?</p> +<hr /> +<h3>THE NEW ADMINISTRATION.</h3> +<h4>FROM OUR OWN COURT CIRCULAR.</h4> +<p>Lord Lyndhurst is to have the seals; but it is not yet decided +who is to be entrusted with the wafer-stamps. Gold-stick has not +been appointed, and there are so many of the Conservatives whose +qualities peculiarly fit them for the office of <em>stick</em>, +that the choice will be exceedingly embarrassing.</p> +<p>Though the Duke of Wellington does not take office, an extra +chair has been ordered, to allow of his having a seat in the +Cabinet. And though Lord Melbourne is no longer minister, he is +still to be indulged with a lounge on the sofa.</p> +<p>If the Duke of Beaufort is to be Master of the Horse, it is +probable that a new office will be made, to allow Colonel Sibthorp +to take office as Comptroller of the Donkeys: and it is said that +Horace Twiss is to join the administration as Clerk of the +Kitchen.</p> +<p>It was remarked, that after Sir Robert Peel had kissed hands, +the Queen called for soap and water, for the purpose of washing +them.</p> +<p>The Duchess of Buccleugh having refused the office of Mistress +of the Robes, it will not be necessary to make the contemplated new +appointment of Keeper of the Flannel Petticoats.</p> +<p>The Grooms of the Bedchamber are, for the future, to be styled +Postilions of the Dressing-room; because, as the Sovereign is a +lady, instead of a gentleman, it is thought that the latter title, +for the officers alluded to, will be more in accordance with +propriety. For the same excellent reason, it is expected that the +Knights of the Bath will henceforth be designated the Chevaliers of +the Foot-pan.</p> +<p>Prince Albert’s household is to be entirely re-modelled, +and one or two new offices are to be added, the want of which has +hitherto occasioned his Royal Highness much inconvenience. Of +these, we are only authorised in alluding, at present, to +Tooth-brush in Ordinary, and Shaving-pot in Waiting. There is no +foundation for the report that there is to be a Lord High +Clothes-brush, or Privy Boot-jack.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>A VOICE FROM THE AREA.</h3> +<p>The following letter has been addressed to us by a certain +party, who, as our readers will perceive, has been one of the +sufferers by the late <em>clearance</em> made in a fashionable +establishment at the West-end:—</p> +<p>DEAR PUNCH.—As you may not be awair of the mallancoly +change wich as okkurred to the pore sarvunts here, I hassen to let +you no—that every sole on us as lost our plaices, and are +turnd owt—wich is a dredful klamity, seeing as we was all +very comfittible and appy as we was. I must say, in gustis to our +Missus, that she was very fond of us, and wouldn’t have +parted with one of us if she had her will: but she’s only a O +in her own howse, and is never aloud to do as she licks. We got +warning reglar enuff, but we still thort that somethink might turn +up in our fever. However, when the day cum that we was to go, it +fell upon us like a thunderboat. You can’t imagine the +kunfewshion we was all threw into—every body packing up their +little afares, and rummidging about for any trifele that +wasn’t worth leaving behind. The sarvunts as is cum in upon +us is a nice sett; they have been a long wile trying after our +places, and at last they have suckseeded in underminding us; but +it’s my oppinion they’ll never be able to get through +the work of the house;—all they cares for is the vails and +purkussites. I forgot to menshun that they hadn’t the decency +to wait till we was off the peremasses, wich I bleave is the +<em>etticat</em> in sich cases, but rushed in on last Friday, and +tuck possession of all our plaices before we had left the concirn. +I leave you to judge by this what a hurry they was to get in. +There’s one comfurt, however, that is—we’ve left +things in sich a mess in the howse, that I don’t think +they’ll ever be able to set them to rites again. This is all +at present from your afflickted friend,</p> +<p class="rgt">JOHN THE FOOTMAN.</p> +<hr /> +<p>“I declare I never knew a <em>flatter</em> companion than +yourself,” said Tom of Finsbury, the other evening, to the +lion of Lambeth. “Thank you, Tom,” replied the latter; +“but all the world knows that you’re a +<em>flatter-er</em>.” Tom, in nautical phrase, swore, if he +ever came athwart his <em>Hawes</em>, that he would return the +compliment with interest.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page101" name="page101"></a>[pg +101]</span> +<h2>MY FRIEND TOM.</h2> +<div class="note"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>—“Here, methinks,</p> +<p>Truth wants no ornament.”—ROGERS.</p> +</div> +</div> +</div> +<p>We have the happiness to know a gentleman of the name of Tom, +who officiates in the capacity of ostler. We have enjoyed a long +acquaintance with him—we mean an acquaintance a long way +off—<em>i.e.</em> from the window of our dormitory, which +overlooks A—s—n’s stables. We believe we are the +first of our family, for some years, who has not kept a horse; and +we derive a melancholy gratification in gazing for hours, from our +lonely height, at the zoological possessions of more favoured +mortals.</p> +<p>“The horse is a noble animal,” as a gentleman once +wittily observed, when he found himself, for the first time in his +life, in a position to make love; and we beg leave to repeat the +remark—“the horse is a noble animal,” whether we +consider him in his usefulness or in his beauty; whether +caparisoned in the <em>chamfrein</em> and <em>demi-peake</em> of +the chivalry of olden times, or scarcely fettered and surmounted by +the snaffle and hog-skin of the present; whether he excites our +envy when bounding over the sandy deserts of Arabia, or awakens our +sympathies when drawing sand from Hampstead and the parts adjacent; +whether we see him as romance pictures him, foaming in the lists, +or bearing, “through flood and field,” the brave, the +beautiful, and the benighted; or, as we know him in reality, the +companion of our pleasures, the slave of our necessities, the +dislocator of our necks, or one of the performers at our funeral; +whether—but we are not drawing a “bill in +Chancery.”</p> +<p>With such impressions in favour of the horse, we have ever felt +a deep anxiety about those to whom his conduct and comfort are +confided.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">The breeder—we envy.</p> +<p class="i2">The breaker—we pity.</p> +<p class="i2">The owner—we esteem.</p> +<p class="i2">The groom—we respect.</p> +<p class="i6">AND</p> +<p class="i2">The ostler—we pay.</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Do not suppose that we wish to cast a slur upon the latter +personage, but it is too much to require that he who keeps a +caravansera should look upon every wayfarer as a brother. It is +thus with the ostler: <em>his</em> feelings are never allowed to +twine</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Around one object, till he feels his heart</p> +<p>Of its sweet being form a deathless part.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>No—to rub them down, give them a quartern and three +pen’orth, and not too much water, are all that he has to +connect him with the offspring of Childers, Eclipse, or +Pot-8-o’s; ergo, we pay him.</p> +<p>My friend Tom is a fine specimen of the genus. He is about +fifteen hands high, rising thirty, herring-bowelled, small head, +large ears, close mane, broad chest, and legs à la +parentheses ( ). His dress is a long brown-holland jacket, covering +the protuberance known in Bavaria by the name of <em>pudo</em>, and +in England by that of <em>bustle</em>. His breeches are of cord +about an inch in width, and of such capacious dimensions, that a +truss of hay, or a quarter of oats, might be stowed away in them +with perfect convenience: not that we mean to insinuate they are +ever thus employed, for when we have seen them, they have been in a +collapsed state, hanging (like the skin of an elephant) in graceful +festoons about the mid-person of the wearer. These necessaries are +confined at the knee by a transverse row of pearl buttons crossing +the <em>genu patella</em>. The <em>pars pendula</em> is about +twelve inches wide, and supplies, during conversation or +rumination, a resting-place for the thumbs or little fingers. His +legs are encased either in white ribbed cotton stockings, or that +peculiar kind of gaiter ’yclept <em>kicksies</em>. His feet +know only one pattern shoe, the <em>ancle-jack</em> (or +<em>highlow</em> as it is sometimes called), resplendent with +“Day and Martin,” or the no less brilliant +“Warren.” Genius of propriety, we have described his +tail before that index of the mind, that idol of phrenologists, his +pimple!—we beg pardon, we mean his head. Round, and rosy as a +pippin, it stands alone in its native loveliness, on the heap of +clothes beneath.</p> +<p>Tom is not a low man; he has not a particle of costermongerism +in his composition, though his discourse savours of that peculiar +slang that might be considered rather objectionable in the +<em>salons</em> of the <em>élite</em>.</p> +<p>The bell which he has the honour to answer hangs at the gate of +a west-end livery-stables, and his consequence is proportionate. To +none under the degree of a groom does he condescend a nod of +recognition—with a second coachman he drinks porter—and +purl (a compound of beer and blue ruin) with the more respectable +individual who occupies the hammer-cloth on court-days. Tom +estimates a man according to his horse, and his civility is +regulated according to his estimation. He pockets a gratuity with +as much ease as a state pensioner; but if some unhappy wight +should, in the plenitude of his ignorance, proffer a sixpence, Tom +buttons his pockets with a smile, and politely “begs to leave +it till it becomes more.”</p> +<p>With an old meerschaum and a pint of tolerable sherry, we seat +ourselves at our window, and hold many an imaginative conversation +with our friend Tom. Sometimes we are blest with more than +ideality; but that is only when he unbends and becomes jocular and +noisy, or chooses a snug corner opposite our window to enjoy his +<em>otium</em>—confound that phrase!—we would say his +indolence and swagger—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“A pound to a hay-seed agin’ the bay.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Hallo! that’s Tom! Yes—there he comes laughing out +of “Box 4,” with three others—all <em>first</em> +coachmen. One is making some very significant motions to the potboy +at the “Ram and Radish,” and, lo! Ganymede appears with +a foaming tankard of ale. Tom has taken his seat on an inverted +pail, and the others are grouped easily, if not classically, around +him.</p> +<p>One is resting his head between the prongs of a stable-fork; +another is spread out like the Colossus of Rhodes; whilst a +gentleman in a blue uniform has thrown himself into an attitude +à la Cribb, with the facetious intention of “letting +daylight into the <em>wittling</em> department” of the +pot-boy of the “Ram and Radish.”</p> +<p>Tom has blown the froth from the tankard, and (as he elegantly +designates it) “bit his name in the pot.” A second has +“looked at the maker’s name;” and another has +taken one of those positive draughts which evince a settled +conviction that it is a last chance.</p> +<p>Our friend has thrust his hands into the deepest depths of his +breeches-pocket, and cocking one eye at the afore-named blue +uniform, asks—</p> +<p>“<em>Will</em> you back the bay?”</p> +<p>The inquiry has been made in such a do-if-you-dare tone, that to +hesitate would evince a cowardice unworthy of the first coachman to +the first peer in Belgrave-square, and a leg of mutton and +trimmings are duly entered in a greasy pocket-book, as dependent +upon the result of the Derby.</p> +<p>“The son of Tros, fair Ganymede,” is again called +into requisition, and the party are getting, as Tom says, “As +happy as Harry Stockracy.”</p> +<p>“I’ve often heerd that chap mentioned,” +remarks the blue uniform, “but I never seed no one as +know’d him.”</p> +<p>“No more did I,” replies Tom, “though he must +be a fellow such as us, up to everything.”</p> +<p>All the coachmen cough, strike an attitude, and look wise.</p> +<p>“Now here comes a sort of chap I despises,” remarks +Tom, pointing to a steady-looking man, without encumbrance, who had +just entered the yard, evidently a coachman to a pious family; +“see him handle a <em>hoss</em>. Smear—smear—like +bees-waxing a table. Nothing varminty about him—nothing of +this sort of thing (spreading himself out to the gaze of his +admiring auditory), but I suppose he’s useful with slow +cattle, and that’s a consolation to us as can’t abear +them.” And with this negative compliment Tom has broken up +his <em>conversazione</em>.</p> +<p>I once knew a country ostler—by name Peter Staggs—he +was a lower species of the same genus—a sort of compound of +my friend Tom and a waggoner—the <em>delf</em> of the +profession. He was a character in his way; he knew the exact moment +of every coach’s transit on his line of road, and the birth, +parentage, and education of every cab, hack, and draught-horse in +the neighbourhood. He had heard of a mane-comb, but had never seen +one; he considered a shilling for a “feed” perfectly +apocryphal, as he had never received one. He kept a rough +terrier-dog, that would kill anything in the country, and exhibited +three rows of putrified rats, nailed at the back of the stable, as +evidences of the prowess of his dog. He swore long country oaths, +for which he will be unaccountable, as not even an angel could +transcribe them. In short, he was a little “varminty,” +but very little.</p> +<p>We will conclude this “lytle historie” with the +epitaph of poor Peter Staggs, which we copied from a rail in +Swaffham churchyard.</p> +<p class="cen">“EPITAPH ON PETER STAGGS.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Poor Peter Staggs now rests beneath this rail,</p> +<p>Who loved his joke, his pipe, and mug of ale;</p> +<p>For twenty years he did the duties well,</p> +<p>Of ostler, boots, and waiter at the ‘Bell.’</p> +<p>But Death stepp’d in, and order’d Peter Staggs</p> +<p>To feed his worms, and leave the farmers’ nags.</p> +<p>The church clock struck one—alas! ’twas +Peter’s knell,</p> +<p>Who sigh’d, ‘I’m coming—that’s the +ostler’s bell!’”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Peace to his manes!</p> +<hr /> +<h3>A HINT FOR POLITICIANS.</h3> +<p>“If you won’t turn, <em>I</em> will,” as the +mill-wheel said to the stream.</p> +<hr /> +<p>“Why did not Wellington take a post in the new +Cabinet?” asked Dicky Sheil of +O’Connell.—“<em>Bathershin!</em>” replied +the <em>head</em> of the <em>tail</em>, “the Duke is too old +a soldier to lean on a rotten <em>stick</em>.”</p> +<hr /> +<p>Lord Morpeth intends proceeding to Canada immediately. The +object of his journey is purely scientific; he wishes to ascertain +if the <em>Fall of Niagara</em> be really greater than the <em>fall +of the Whigs</em>.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>A PRO AND CON.</h3> +<p>“When is Peel not Peel?”—“When +he’s <em>candi(e)d</em>.”</p> +<hr /> +<h3>GALVANISM OUTDONE.</h3> +<p>We have heard of the very dead being endowed, by galvanic +action, with the temporary powers of life, and on such occasions +the extreme force of the apparatus has ever received the highest +praise. The Syncretic march of mind rectifies the above +error—with them, weakness is strength. Fancy the alliterative +littleness of a “Stephens” and a “Selby,” +as the tools from which the drama must receive its glorious +resuscitation!</p> +<hr /> +<h3>NEWS FOR THE SYNCRETICS.</h3> +<h4><em>(Extracted from the “Stranger’s Guide to +London.”)</em></h4> +<p>Bedlam, the celebrated receptacle for lunatics, is situated in +St. George’s-fields, <em>within five minutes’ walk of +the King’s Bench</em>. There is also another noble +establishment in the neighbourhood of Finsbury-square, where the +unhappy victims of extraordinary delusions are treated with the +care and consideration their several hallucinations require.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page102" name="page102"></a>[pg +102]</span> +<h2>PEEL “REGULARLY CALLED IN.”</h2> +<p>At length, PEEL is called in “in a regular way.” +Being assured of his quarterly fee, the state physician may now, in +the magnanimity of his soul, prescribe new life for moribund John +Bull. Whether he has resolved within himself to emulate the +generous dealing of kindred professors—of those sanative +philosophers, whose benevolence, stamped in modest handbills, +“crieth out in the street,” exclaiming “No cure +no pay,”—we know not; certain we are, that such is not +the old Tory practice. On the contrary, the healing, with Tory +doctors, has ever been in an inverse ratio to the reward. Like the +faculty at large, the Tories have flourished on the sickness of the +patient. They have, with <em>Falstaff</em>, “turned diseases +to commodity;” their only concern being to keep out the +undertaker. Whilst there’s life, there’s +profit,—is the philosophy of the Tory College; hence, poor +Mr. Bull, though shrunk, attenuated,—with a blister on his +head, and cataplasms at his soles,—has been kept just alive +enough to pay. And then his patience under Tory treatment—the +obedience of his swallow! “Admirable, excellent!” cried +a certain doctor (we will not swear that his name was not PEEL), +when his patient pointed to a dozen empty phials. “Taken them +all, eh? Delightful! My dear sir, you are <em>worthy</em> to be +ill.” JOHN BULL having again called in the Tories, is +“worthy to be ill;” and very ill he will be.</p> +<p>The tenacity of life displayed by BULL is paralleled by a case +quoted by LE VAILLANT. That naturalist speaks of a turtle that +continued to live after its brain was taken from its skull, and the +cavity stuffed <em>with cotton</em>. Is not England, with +spinning-jenny PEEL at the head of its affairs, in this precise +predicament? England may live; but inactive, torpid; unfitted for +all healthful exertion,—deprived of its grandest +functions—paralyzed in its noblest strength. We have a Tory +Cabinet, but where is the <em>brain</em> of statesmanship?</p> +<p>Now, however, there are no Tories. Oh, no! Sir ROBERT PEEL is a +Conservative—LYNDHURST is a Conservative—all are +Conservative. Toryism has sloughed its old skin, and rejoices in a +new coat of many colours; but the sting remains—the venom is +the same; the reptile that would have struck to the heart the +freedom of Europe, elaborates the self-same poison, is endowed with +the same subtilty, the same grovelling, tortuous action. It still +creeps upon its belly, and wriggles to its purpose. When adders +shall become eels, then will we believe that Conservatives cannot +be Tories.</p> +<p>When folks change their names—unless by the gracious +permission of the <em>Gazette</em>—they rarely do so to avoid +the fame of brilliant deeds. It is not the act of an over-sensitive +modesty that induces <em>Peter Wiggins</em> to dub himself <em>John +Smith</em>. Be certain of it, <em>Peter</em> has not saved half a +boarding-school from the tremendous fire that entirely destroyed +“Ringworm House”—<em>Peter</em> has not dived +into the Thames, and rescued some respectable attorney from a death +hitherto deemed by his friends impossible to him. It is from no +such heroism that <em>Peter Wiggins</em> is compelled to take +refuge in <em>John Smith</em> from the oppressive admiration of the +world about him. Certainly not. Depend upon it, <em>Peter</em> has +been signalised in the <em>Hue and Cry</em>, as one endowed with a +love for the silver spoons of other men—as an individual who, +abusing the hospitality of his lodgings, has conveyed away and sold +the best goose feathers of his landlady. What then, with his name +ripe enough to drop from the tree of life, remains to +<em>Wiggins</em>, but to subside into <em>Smith</em>? What hope was +there for the well-known swindler, the posted pickpocket, the +callous-hearted, slug-brained <em>Tory</em>? None: he was hooted, +pelted at; all men stopped the nose at his approach. He was voted a +nuisance, and turned forth into the world, with all his vices, like +ulcers, upon him. Well, <em>Tory</em> adopts the inevitable policy +of <em>Wiggins</em>; he changes his name! He comes forth, curled +and sweetened, and with a smile upon his mealy face, and placing +his felon hand above the <em>vacuum</em> on the left side of his +bosom—declares, whilst the tears he weeps would make a +crocodile blush—that he is by no means the <em>Tory</em> his +wicked, heartless enemies would call him. Certainly not. His name +is—<em>Conservative!</em> There was, once, to be sure, a +<em>Tory</em>—in existence;</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“But he is dead, and nailed in his chest!”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>He is a creature extinct, gone with the wolves annihilated by +the Saxon monarch. There may be the skeleton of the animal in some +rare collections in the kingdom; but for the living creature, you +shall as soon find a phoenix building in the trees of Windsor Park, +as a <em>Tory</em> kissing hands in Windsor Castle!</p> +<p>The lie is but gulped as a truth, and <em>Conservative</em> is +taken into service. Once more, he is the <em>factotum</em> to JOHN +BULL. But when the knave shall have worn out his second +name—when he shall again be turned away—look to your +feather-beds, oh, JOHN! and foolish, credulous, leathern-eared Mr. +BULL—be sure and count your spoons!</p> +<p>Can it be supposed that the loss of office, that the ten +years’ hunger for the loaves and fishes endured by the Tory +party, has disciplined them into a wiser humanity? Can it be +believed that they have arrived at a more comprehensive grasp of +intellect—that they are ennobled by a loftier consideration +of the social rights of man—that they are gifted with a more +stirring sympathy for the wants that, in the present iniquitous +system of society, reduce him to little less than pining idiotcy, +or madden him to what the statutes call crime, and what judges, +sleek as their ermine, preach upon as rebellion to the +government—the government that, in fact, having stung +starvation into treason, takes to itself the loftiest praise for +refusing the hangman—a task—for appeasing +<em>Justice</em> with simple transportation?</p> +<p>Already the Tories have declared themselves. In the flush of +anticipated success, PEEL at the Tamworth election denounced the +French Revolution that escorted Charles the Tenth—with his +foolish head still upon his shoulders—out of France, as the +“triumph of might over right.” It was the +right—the divine right of Charles—(the sacred +<em>ampoule</em>, yet dropping with the heavenly oil brought by the +mystic dove for Clovis, had bestowed the privilege)—to gag +the mouth of man; to scourge a nation with decrees, begot by bigot +tyranny upon folly—to reduce a people into uncomplaining +slavery. Such was his right: and the burst of indignation, the +irresistible assertion of the native dignity of man, that shivered +the throne of Charles like glass, was a felonious might—a +rebellious, treasonous potency—the very wickedness of +strength. Such is the opinion of Conservative PEEL! Such the old +Tory faith of the child of Toryism!</p> +<p>Since the Tamworth speech—since the scourging of Sir +ROBERT by the French press—PEEL has essayed a small +philanthropic oration. He has endeavoured to paint—and +certainly in the most delicate water-colours—the horrors of +war. The premier makes his speech to the nations with the +palm-branch in his hand—with the olive around his brow. He +has applied arithmetic to war, and finds it expensive. He would +therefore induce France to disarm, that by reductions at home he +may not be compelled to risk what would certainly jerk him out of +the premiership—the imposition of new taxes. He may then keep +his Corn Laws—he may then securely enjoy his sliding scale. +Such are the hopes that dictate the intimation to disarm. It is +sweet to prevent war; and, oh! far sweeter still to keep out the +Wigs!</p> +<p>The Duke of WELLINGTON, who is to be the moral force of the Tory +Cabinet, is a great soldier; and by the very greatness of his +martial fame, has been enabled to carry certain political questions +which, proposed by a lesser genius, had been scouted by the party +otherwise irresistibly compelled to admit them. (Imagine, for +instance, the Marquis of Londonderry handling Catholic +Emancipation.) Nevertheless, should “The follies of the +Wise”—a chronicle much wanted—be ever collected +for the world, his Grace of Wellington will certainly shine as a +conspicuous contributor. In the name of famine, what could have +induced his Grace to insult the misery at this moment, eating the +hearts of thousands of Englishmen? For, within these few days, the +Victor of Waterloo expressed his conviction that England was the +only country in which “<em>the poor man, if only sober and +industrious</em>, WAS QUITE CERTAIN <em>of acquiring a +competency!</em>” And it is this man, imbued with this +opinion, who is to be hailed as the presiding wisdom—the +great moral strength—the healing humanity of the Tory +Cabinet. If rags and starvation put up their prayer to the present +Ministry, what must be the answer delivered by the Duke of +Wellington? “YE ARE DRUNKEN AND LAZY!”</p> +<p>If on the night of the 24th of August—the memorable night +on which this heartless insult was thrown in the idle teeth of +famishing thousands—the ghosts of the victims of the Corn +Laws,—the spectres of the wretches who had been ground out of +life by the infamy of Tory taxation, could have been permitted to +lift the bed-curtains of Apsley-House,—his Grace the Duke of +Wellington would have been scared by even a greater majority than +ultimately awaits his fellowship in the present Cabinet. Still we +can only visit upon the Duke the censure of ignorance. “He +knows not what he says.” If it be his belief that England +suffers only because she is drunken and idle, he knows no more of +England than the Icelander in his sledge: if, on the other hand, he +used the libel as a party warfare, he is still one of the +“old set,”—and his “crowning carnage, +Waterloo,” with all its greatness, is but a poor set-off +against the more lasting iniquities which he would visit upon his +fellow-men. Anyhow, he cannot—he must not—escape from +his opinion; we will nail him to it, as we would nail a weasel to a +barn-door; “<em>if Englishmen want competence, they must be +drunken—they must be idle</em>.” Gentlemen Tories, +shuffle the cards as you will, the Duke of Wellington either lacks +principle or brains.</p> +<p>Next week we will speak of the Whigs; of the good they have +done—of the good they have, with an instinct towards +aristocracy—most foolishly, most traitorously, missed.</p> +<p class="rgt">Q.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page103" name="page103"></a>[pg +103]</span> +<h2>PUNCH’S PENCILLINGS—No. IX.</h2> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/009-08.png"><img src= +"images/009-08.png" alt= +"Red Riding Hood (the Queen) faces a wolf (Peel) in the Royal Preserve of Mount Peelion." +id="img009-08" name="img009-08" width="100%" /></a> +<p>THE ROYAL RED RIDING HOOD,<br /> +AND THE MINISTERIAL WOLF.</p> +</div> +<!-- [pg 104] --> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page105" name="page105"></a>[pg +105]</span> +<h2>ROYAL NURSERY EDUCATION REPORT—NO. 3.</h2> +<h3>WHO KILLED COCK RUSSELL?</h3> +<h4>A NEW VERSION OF THE CELEBRATED NURSERY TALE, WRITTEN EXPRESSLY +FOR THE PRINCESS ROYAL.</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Who Kill’d Cock Russell?</p> +<p class="i2">I, said Bob Peel,</p> +<p class="i2">The political eel,</p> +<p>I kill’d Cock Russell.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Who saw him die?</p> +<p class="i2">We, said the nation,</p> +<p class="i2">At each polling station,</p> +<p>We saw him die.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Who caught his place?</p> +<p class="i2">I, for I <em>can</em> lie,</p> +<p class="i2">Said turn-about <em>Stan</em>ley,</p> +<p>I caught his place.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Who’ll make his shroud?</p> +<p class="i2">We, cried the poor</p> +<p class="i2">From each Union door,</p> +<p>We’ll make his shroud.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Who’ll dig his grave?</p> +<p class="i2">Cried the corn-laws, The fool</p> +<p class="i2">Has long been our tool,</p> +<p>We’ll dig his grave.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Who’ll be the parson?</p> +<p class="i2">I, London’s bishop,</p> +<p class="i2">A sermon will dish up,</p> +<p>I’ll be the parson.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Who’ll be the clerk?</p> +<p class="i2">Sibthorp, for a lark,</p> +<p class="i2">If you’ll all keep it dark,</p> +<p>He’ll be the clerk.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Who’ll carry him to his grave?</p> +<p class="i2">The Chartists, with pleasure,</p> +<p class="i2">Will wait on his leisure,</p> +<p>They’ll carry him to his grave.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Who’ll carry the link?</p> +<p class="i2">Said Wakley, in a minute,</p> +<p class="i2">I <em>must</em> be in it,</p> +<p>I’ll carry the link.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Who’ll be chief mourners?</p> +<p class="i2">We, shouted dozens</p> +<p class="i2">Of out-of-place cousins,</p> +<p>We’ll be chief mourners.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Who’ll bear the pall?</p> +<p class="i2">As they loudly bewail,</p> +<p class="i2">Both O’Connell and tail,</p> +<p>They’ll bear the pall.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Who’ll go before?</p> +<p class="i2">I, said old Cupid,</p> +<p class="i2">I’ll still head the stupid,</p> +<p>I’ll go before.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Who’ll sing a psalm?</p> +<p class="i2">I, Colonel Perceval,</p> +<p class="i2">(Oh, Peel, be merciful!)</p> +<p>I’ll sing a psalm.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Who’ll throw in the dirt?</p> +<p class="i2">I, said the <em>Times</em>,</p> +<p class="i2">In lampoons and rhymes,</p> +<p>I’ll throw in the dirt.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Who’ll toll the bell?</p> +<p class="i2">I, said John Bull,</p> +<p class="i2">With pleasure I’ll pull,—</p> +<p>I’ll toll the bell.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>All the Whigs in the world</p> +<p class="i2">Fell a sighing and sobbing,</p> +<p>When wicked Bob Peel</p> +<p class="i2">Put an end to their jobbing.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>TRANSACTIONS AND YEARLY REPORT OF THE HOOKHAM-CUM-SNIVEY +LITERARY, SCIENTIFIC, AND MECHANICS’ INSTITUTION.</h2> +<p class="note">Collected and elaborated expressly for +“PUNCH,” by Tiddledy Winks, Esq., Hon. Sec., and Editor +of the <em>Peckham Evening Post</em> and <em>Camberwell-Green +Advertiser</em>.</p> +<p>Previously to placing the results of my unwearied application +before the public, I think it will be both interesting and +appropriate to trace, in a few words, the origin of this admirable +society, by whose indefatigable exertions the air-pump has become +necessary to the domestic economy of every peasant’s cottage; +and the Budelight and beer-shops, optics and out-door relief, and +Daguerrotypes and dirt, have become subjects with which they are +equally familiar.</p> +<p>About the close of last year, a few scientific labourers were in +the habit of meeting at a “Jerry” in their +neighbourhood, for the purpose of discussing such matters as the +comprehensive and plainly-written reports of the British +Association, as furnished by the <em>Athenæum</em>, offered +to their notice, in any way connected with philosophy or the +<em>belles lettres</em>. The numbers increasing, it was proposed +that they should meet weekly at one another’s cottages, and +there deliver a lecture on any scientific subject; and the +preliminary matters being arranged, the first discourse was given +“On the Advantage of an Air-gun over a Fowling-piece, in +bringing Pheasants down without making a noise.” This was so +eminently successful, that the following discourses were delivered +in quick succession:—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>On the Toxicological Powers of Coculus Indicus in Stupifying +Fish.</p> +<p>On the Combustion of Park-palings and loose Gate-posts.</p> +<p>On the tendency of Out-of-door Spray-piles to Spontaneous +Evaporation, during dark nights.</p> +<p>On the Comparative Inflammatory properties of Lucifer Matches, +Phosphorus Bottles, Tinder-boxes, and Congreves, as well as +Incandescens Short Pipes, applied to Hay in particular and Ricks in +general.</p> +<p>On the value of Cheap Literature, and Intrinsic Worth (by +weight) of the various Publications of the Society for the +Confusion of Useless Knowledge.</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>The lectures were all admirably illustrated, and the society +appeared to be in a prosperous state. At length the government +selected two or three of its most active members, and despatched +them on a voyage of discovery to a distant part of the globe. The +institution now drooped for a while, until some friends of +education firmly impressed with the importance of their +undertaking, once more revived its former greatness, at the same +time entirely reorganizing its arrangements. Subscriptions were +collected, sufficient to erect a handsome turf edifice, with a +massy thatched roof, upon Timber Common; a committee was appointed +to manage the scientific department, at a liberal salary, including +the room to sit in, turf, and rushlights, with the addition, on +committee nights, of a pint of intermediate beer, a pipe, and a +screw, to each member. Gentlemen fond of hearing their own voices +were invited to give gratuitous discourses from sister +institutions: a museum and library were added to the building +already mentioned, and an annual meeting of <em>illuminati</em> was +agreed upon.</p> +<p>Amongst the papers contributed to be read at the evening +meetings of the society, perhaps the most interesting was that +communicated by Mr. Octavius Spiff, being a startling and probing +investigation as to whether Sir Isaac Newton had his hat on when +the apple tumbled on his head, what sort of an apple it most +probably was, and whether it actually fell from the tree upon him, +or, being found too hard and sour to eat, had been pitched over his +garden wall by the hand of an irritated little boy. I ought also to +make mention of Mr. Plummycram’s “Narrative of an +Ascent to the summit of Highgate-hill,” with Mr. +Mulltour’s “Handbook for Travellers from the Bank to +Lisson-grove,” and “A Summer’s-day on +Kennington-common.” Mr. Tinhunt has also announced an +attractive work, to be called “Hackney: its Manufactures, +Economy, and Political Resources.”</p> +<p>It is the intention of the society, should its funds increase, +to take a high place next year in the scientific transactions of +the country. Led by the spirit of enterprise now so universally +prevalent, arrangements are pending with Mr. Purdy, to fit up two +punts for the Shepperton expedition, which will set out in the +course of the ensuing summer. The subject for the Prize Essay for +the Victoria Penny Coronation Medal this year is, “The +possibility of totally obliterating the black stamp on the +post-office Queen’s heads, so as to render them serviceable a +second time;” and, in imitation of the learned investigations +of sister institutions, the Copper Jinks Medal will also be given +to the author of the best essay upon “The existing analogy +between the mental subdivision of invisible agencies and +circulating decompositions.”—(<em>To be +continued.</em>)</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page106" name="page106"></a>[pg +106]</span> +<h2>INAUGURATION OF THE IMAGE OF SHAKSPERE.</h2> +<h3>AT THE SURREY THEATRE.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Be still, my mighty soul! These ribs of mine</p> +<p>Are all too fragile for thy narrow cage.</p> +<p>By heaven! I will unlock my bosom’s door.</p> +<p>And blow thee forth upon the boundless tide</p> +<p>Of thought’s creation, where thy eagle wing</p> +<p>May soar from this dull terrene mass away,</p> +<p>To yonder empyrean vault—like rocket (sky)—</p> +<p>To mingle with thy cognate essences</p> +<p>Of Love and Immortality, until</p> +<p>Thou burstest with thine own intensity,</p> +<p>And scatterest into millions of bright stars,</p> +<p>Each <em>one</em> a part of that refulgent whole</p> +<p>Which once was ME.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Thus spoke, or thought—for, in a metaphysical point of +view, it does not much matter whether the passage above quoted was +uttered, or only conceived—by the sublime philosopher and +author of the tragedy of “Martinuzzi,” now being +nightly played at the English Opera House, with unbounded success, +to overflowing audiences<sup>2</sup><span class="sidenote">2. Has +this paragraph been paid for as an +advertisement?—PRINTER’S +DEVIL.—Undoubtedly.—ED.</span>. These were the +aspirations of his gigantic mind, as he sat, on last Monday +morning, like a simple mortal, in a striped-cotton dressing-gown +and drab slippers, over a cup of weak coffee. (We love to be minute +on great subjects.) The door opened, and a female figure—not +the Tragic muse—but Sally, the maid of-all-work, entered, +holding in a corner of her dingy apron, between her delicate finger +and thumb, a piece of not too snowy paper, folded into an exact +parallelogram.</p> +<p>“A letter for you, sir,” said the maid of-all-work, +dropping a reverential curtsey.</p> +<p>George Stephens, Esq. took the despatch in his inspired fingers, +broke the seal, and read as follows:—</p> +<p class="rgt"><em>Surrey Theatre</em>.</p> +<p>SIR,—I have seen your tragedy of “Martinuzzi,” +and pronounce it magnificent! I have had, for some time, an idea in +my head (how it came there I don’t know), to produce, after +the Boulogne affair, a grand Inauguration of the Statue of +Shakspere, on the stage of the Surrey, but not having an image of +him amongst our properties, I could not put my plan into execution. +Now, sir, as it appears that you are the exact ditto of the bard, I +shouldn’t mind making an arrangement with you to undertake +the character of <em>our friend Billy</em> on the occasion. I shall +do the liberal in the way of terms, and get up the gag properly, +with laurels and other greens, of which I have a large stock on +hand; so that with your popularity the thing will be sure to draw. +If you consent to come, I’ll post you in six-feet letters +against every dead wall in town.</p> +<p>Yours,<br /> +WILLIS JONES.</p> +<p>When the author of the “magnificent poem” had +finished reading the letter he appeared deeply moved, and the maid +of-all-work saw three plump tears roll down his manly cheek, and +rest upon his shirt collar. “I expected nothing less,” +said he, stroking his chin with a mysterious air. “The +manager of the Surrey, at least, understands me—<em>he</em> +appreciates the immensity of my genius. I <em>will</em> accept his +offer, and show the world—great Shakspere’s rival in +myself.”</p> +<p>Having thus spoken, the immortal dramatist wiped his hands on +the tail of his dressing-gown, and performed a <em>pas seul</em> +“as the act directs,” after which he dressed himself, +and emerged into the open air.</p> +<p>The sun was shining brilliantly, and Phoebus remarked, with +evident pleasure, that his brother had bestowed considerable pains +in adorning his person. His boots shone with unparalleled +splendour, and his waistcoat—</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p class="note">[We omit the remainder of the inventory of the +great poet’s wardrobe, and proceed at once to the ceremony of +the Inauguration at the Surrey Theatre.]</p> +<p>Never on any former occasion had public curiosity over the water +been so strongly excited. Long before the doors of the theatre were +opened, several passengers in the street were observed to pause +before the building, and regard it with looks of profound awe. At +half-past six, two young sweeps and a sand-boy were seen waiting +anxiously at the gallery entrance, determined to secure front seats +at any personal sacrifice. At seven precisely the doors were +opened, and a tremendous rush of four persons was made to the pit; +the boxes had been previously occupied by the “Dramatic +Council” and the “Syncretic Society.” The silence +which pervaded the house, until the musicians began to tune their +violins in the orchestra, was thrilling; and during the performance +of the overture, expectation stood on tip-toe, awaiting the great +event of the night.</p> +<p>At length the curtain slowly rose, and we discovered the author +of “Martinuzzi” elevated on a pedestal formed of the +cask used by the celebrated German tub-runner (a delicate +compliment, by the way, to the genius of the poet). On this +appropriate foundation stood the great man, with his august head +enveloped in a capacious bread-bag. At a given signal, a vast +quantity of crackers were let off, the envious bag was withdrawn, +and the illustrious dramatist was revealed to the enraptured +spectators, in the statuesque resemblance of his elder, but not +more celebrated brother, WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. At this moment the +plaudits were vigorously enthusiastic. Thrice did the flattered +statue bow its head, and once it laid its hand upon its grateful +bosom, in acknowledgment of the honour that was paid it. As soon as +the applause had partially subsided, the manager, in the character +of <em>Midas</em>, surrounded by the nine Muses, advanced to the +foot of the pedestal, and, to use the language of the reporters of +public dinners, “in a neat and appropriate speech,” +deposed a laurel crown upon the brows of Shakspere’s effigy. +Thereupon loud cheers rent the air, and the statue, deeply +affected, extended its right hand gracefully towards the audience. +In a moment the thunders of applause sank into hushed and listening +awe, while the author of the “magnificent poem” +addressed the house as follows:—</p> +<p>“My friends,—You at length behold me in the position +to which my immense talents have raised me, in despite of +‘those laws which press so fatally on dramatic genius,’ +and blight the budding hopes of aspiring authors.”</p> +<p>This commencement softened the hearts of his auditors, who +clapped their handkerchiefs to their noses.</p> +<p>“The world,” continued the statue, “may regard +me with envy; but I despise the world, particularly the critics who +have dared to laugh at me. (Groans.) The object of my ambition is +attained—I am now the equal and representative of +Shakspere—detraction cannot wither the laurels that shadow my +brows—<em>Finis coronat opus!</em>—I have done. +To-morrow I retire into private life; but though fortune has made +me great, she has not made me proud, and I shall be always happy to +shake hands with a friend when I meet him.”</p> +<p>At the conclusion of this pathetic address, loud cheers, mingled +with tears and sighs, arose from the audience, one-half of whom +sunk into the arms of the other half, and were borne out of the +house in a fainting state; and thus terminated this imposing +ceremony, which will be long remembered with delight by every lover +of</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/009-09.png"><img src= +"images/009-09.png" alt="A tightrope walker." id="img009-09" name= +"img009-09" width="50%" /></a> +<p>THE HIGHER WALK OF THE DRAMA.</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>A CARD.</h3> +<h4>TO THE COMMITTEE OF THE DRAMATIC AUTHORS,</h4> +<h5>ENGLISH OPERA HOUSE.</h5> +<p>Mr. Levy, of Holywell-street, perceiving that his neighbour +JACOB FAITHFUL’S farce, entitled “The Cloak and +Bonnet,” has not given general satisfaction, begs +respectfully to offer to the notice of the committee, his large and +carefully-assorted stock of second-hand wearing apparel, from which +he will undertake to supply any number of dramas that may be +required, at a moment’s notice.</p> +<p>Mr. L. has at present on hand the following dramatic pieces, +which he can strongly recommend to the public:—</p> +<ol> +<li> +<p>“The Dressing Gown and Slippers.”—A +fashionable comedy, suited for a genteel neighbourhood.</p> +</li> +<li> +<p>“The Breeches and Gaiters.”—A domestic drama. +A misfit at the Adelphi.</p> +</li> +<li> +<p>“The Wig and Wig-box.”—A broad farce, made to +fit little Keeley or anybody else.</p> +</li> +<li> +<p>“The Smock-frock and Highlows.”—A tragedy in +humble life, with a terrific <em>dénouement</em>.</p> +</li> +</ol> +<p>*∗* The above will be found to be manufactured out of the +best materials, and well worthy the attention of those gentlemen +who have so nobly come forward to rescue the stage from its present +degraded position.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>THE MONEY MARKET.</h3> +<p>The scarcity of money is frightful. As much as a hundred per +cent., to be paid in advance, has been asked upon bills; but we +have not yet heard of any one having given it. There was an immense +run for gold, but no one got any, and the whole of the transactions +of the day were done in copper. An influential party created some +sensation by coming into the market late in the afternoon, just +before the close of business, with half-a-crown; but it was found, +on inquiry, to be a bad one. It is expected that if the dearth of +money continues another week, buttons must be resorted to. A party, +whose transactions are known to be large, succeeded in settling his +account with the Bulls, by means of postage-stamps; an arrangement +of which the Bears will probably take advantage.</p> +<p>A large capitalist in the course of the day attempted to change +the direction things had taken, by throwing an immense quantity of +paper into the market; but as no one seemed disposed to have +anything to do with it, it blew over.</p> +<p>The parties to the Dutch Loan are much irritated at being asked +to take their dividends in butter; but, after the insane attempt to +get rid of the Spanish arrears by cigars, which, it is well known, +ended in smoke, we do not think the Dutch project will be proceeded +with.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page107" name="page107"></a>[pg +107]</span> +<h2>THEATRICAL INTELLIGENCE.</h2> +<h3>BY THE REPORTER OF THE “OBSERVER.”</h3> +<p>The “mysterious and melodramatic silence” which Mr. +C. Mathews promised to observe as to his intentions in regard to +the present season, has at length been broken. On Monday last, +September the sixth, Covent Garden Theatre opened to admit a most +brilliant audience. Amongst the <em>company</em> we noticed Madame +Vestris, Mr. Oxberry, Mr. Harley, Miss Rainsforth, and several +other <em>distingué artistes</em>. It would seem, from the +substitution of Mr. Oxberry for Mr. Keeley, that the former +gentleman is engaged to take the place of the latter. Whispers are +afloat that, in consequence, one of the most important scenes in +the play is to be omitted. Though of little interest to the +audience, it was of the highest importance to the gentleman whose +task it has hitherto been to perform the parts of Quince, Bottom, +and Flute.</p> +<p>We, who are conversant with all the mysteries of the +<em>flats’</em> side of the <em>green</em> curtain, beg to +assure our readers, that the Punch scene hath taken <em>wing</em>, +and that the dressing-room of the above-named characters will no +longer be redolent of the fumes of compounded bowls. We may here +remark that, had our hint of last season been attended to, the +Punch would have still been continued:—Mr. Harley would not +consent to have the flies picked out of the sugar. Rumour is busy +with the suggestion that for this reason, and this only, Keeley +seceded from the establishment.</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/009-10.png"><img src= +"images/009-10.png" alt= +"Three characters pour into a bowl marked PUNCH." id="img009-10" +name="img009-10" width="100%" /></a></div> +<p>We think it exceedingly unwise in the management not to have +secured the services of Madame Corsiret for the millinery +department. Mr. Wilson still supplies the wigs. We have not as yet +been able to ascertain to whom the swords have been consigned. Mr. +Emden’s assistant superintends the blue-fire and thunder, but +it has not transpired who works the traps.</p> +<p>With such powerful auxiliaries, we can promise Mr. C. Mathews a +prosperous season.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>THE AMENDE HONORABLE.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Quoth Will, “On that young servant-maid</p> +<p class="i2">My heart its life-string stakes.”</p> +<p>“Quite safe!” cries Dick, “don’t be +afraid—</p> +<p class="i2">She pays for all she breaks.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>PROVIDING FOR EVIL DAYS.</h3> +<p>The <em>iniquities</em> of the Tories having become proverbial, +the House of Lords, with that consideration for the welfare of the +country, and care for the morals of the people, which have ever +characterised the compeers of the Lord Coventry, have brought in a +bill for the creation of <em>two</em> <em>Vice</em>-Chancellors. +Brougham foolishly proposed an amendment, considering one to be +sufficient, but found himself in a <em>singular</em> minority when +the House</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/009-11.png"><img src= +"images/009-11.png" alt="A man tumbles from a carriage." id= +"img009-11" name="img009-11" width="40%" /></a> +<p>DIVIDED ON THE MOTION.</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<p>In the Egyptian room of the British Museum is a statue of the +deity IBIS, between two mummies. This attracted the attention of +Sibthorp, as he lounged through the room the other day with a +companion. “Why,” said his friend, “is that +statue placed between the other two?” “To preserve it +to be sure,” replied the keenly-witted Sib. “You know +the old saying teaches us, ‘<em>In medio tutissimus +Ibis.</em>’”</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>PUNCH’S THEATRE.</h2> +<h3>THE LIFE AND DEATH OF JAMES DAWSON.</h3> +<div class="dropcap"><a href="images/009-12.png"><img src= +"images/009-12.png" alt="Two men cross swords to make a letter M." +id="img009-12" name="img009-12" width="100%" /></a></div> +<p><span class="hide">M</span>ercy on us, what a code of +morality—what a conglomeration of plots (political, social, +and domestic)—what an exemplar of vice punished and virtue +rewarded—is the “Newgate Calendar!” and Newgate +itself! what tales might it not relate, if its stones could speak, +had its fetters the gift of tongues!</p> +<p>But these need not be so gifted: the proprietor of the Victoria +Theatre supplies the deficiency: the dramatic edition of Old-Bailey +experience he is bringing out on each successive Monday, will soon +be complete; and when it is, juvenile Jack Sheppards and incipient +Turpins may complete their education at the moderate charge of +sixpence per week. The “intellectualization of the +people” must not be neglected: the gallery of the Victoria +invites to its instructive benches the young, whose wicked parents +have neglected their education—the ignorant, who know nothing +of the science of highway robbery, or the more delicate operations +of picking pockets. National education is the sole aim of the sole +lessee—money is no object; but errand-boys and apprentices +<em>must</em> take their Monday night’s lessons, even if they +rob the till. By this means an endless chain of subjects will be +woven, of which the Victoria itself supplies the links; the +“Newgate Calendar” will never be exhausted, and the +cause of morality and melodrama continue to run a triumphant +career!</p> +<p>The leaf of the “Newgate Calendar” torn out last +Monday for the delectation and instruction of the Victoria +audience, was the “Life and Death of James Dawson,” a +gentleman rebel, who was very properly hanged in 1746.</p> +<p>The arrangement of incidents in this piece was evidently an +appeal to the ingenuity of the audience—our own penetration +failed, however, in unravelling the plot. There was a drunken, +gaming, dissipated student of St. John’s, Cambridge—a +friend in a slouched hat and an immense pair of jack-boots, and a +lady who delicately invites her lover (the hero) “to a +private interview and a cold collation.” There is something +about a five-hundred-pound note and a gambling-table—a heavy +throw of the dice, and a heavier speech on the vices of gaming, by +a likeness of the portrait of Dr. Dilworth that adorns the +spelling-books. The hero rushes off in a state of distraction, and +is followed by the jack-boots in pursuit; the enormous strides of +which leave the pursued but little chance, though he has got a good +start.</p> +<p>At another time two gentlemen appear in kilts, who pass their +time in a long dialogue, the purport of which we were unable to +catch, for they were conversing in stage-Scotch. A man then comes +forward bearing a clever resemblance to the figure-head of a +snuff-shop, and after a few words with about a dozen companions, +the entire body proceed to fight a battle; which is immediately +done behind the scenes, by four pistols, a crash, and the +double-drummer, whose combined efforts present us with a +representation of—as the bills kindly inform us—the +“Battle of Culloden!” The hero is taken prisoner; but +the villain is shot, and his jack-boots are cut off in their +prime.</p> +<p>James Dawson is not despatched so quickly; he takes a great deal +of dying,—the whole of the third act being occupied by that +inevitable operation. Newgate—a “stock” scene at +this theatre—an execution, a lady in black and a state of +derangement, a muffled drum, and a “view of Kennington +Common,” terminate the life of “James Dawson,” +who, we had the consolation to observe, from the apathy of the +audience, will not be put to the trouble of dying for more than +half-a-dozen nights longer.</p> +<p>Before the “Syncretic Society” publishes its next +octavo on the state of the Drama, it should send a deputation to +the Victoria. There they will observe the written and acted drama +in the lowest stage it is possible for even their imaginations to +conceive. Even “Martinuzzi” will bear comparison with +the “Life and Death of James Dawson.”</p> +<h3>THE BOARDING SCHOOL.</h3> +<p>At the “Boarding School” established by Mr. Bernard +in the Haymarket Theatre, young ladies are instructed in flirting +and romping, together with the use of the eyes, at the extremely +moderate charges of five and three shillings per lesson; those +being the prices of admission to the upper and lower departments of +Mr. Webster’s academy, which is hired for the occasion by +that accomplished professor of punmanship Bayle Bernard. The course +of instruction was, on the opening of the seminary, as +follows:—</p> +<p>The lovely pupils were first seen returning from their morning +walk in double file, hearts beating and ribbons flying; for they +encountered at the door of the school three yeomanry officers. The +military being very civil, the eldest of the girls discharged a +volley of glances; and nothing could exceed the skill and precision +with which the ladies performed their eye-practice, the effects of +which were destructive enough to set the yeomanry in a complete +flame; and being thus primed and loaded for closer engagements with +their charming adversaries, they go off.</p> +<p>The scholars then proceed to their duties in the interior of the +academy, and we find them busily engaged in the study of “The +Complete Loveletter <span class="pagenum"><a id="page108" name= +"page108"></a>[pg 108]</span>Writer.” It is wonderful the +progress they make even in one lesson; the basis of it being a +<em>billet</em> each has received from the red-coats. The exercises +they have to write are answers to the notes, and were found, on +examination, to contain not a single error; thus proving the +astonishing efficacy of the Bernardian system of +“Belles’ Lettres.”</p> +<p>Meanwhile the captain, by despatching his subalterns on special +duty, leaves himself a clear field, and sets a good copy in +strategetics, by disguising himself as a fruit-woman, and getting +into the play-ground, for the better distribution of apples and +glances, lollipops and kisses, hard-bake and squeezes of the hand. +The stratagem succeeds admirably; the enemy is fast giving way, +under the steady fire of shells (Spanish-nut) and kisses, thrown +with great precision amongst their ranks, when the lieutenant and +cornet of the troop cause a diversion by an open attack upon the +fortress; and having made a practicable breach (in their manners), +enter without the usual formulary of summoning the governess. She, +however, appears, surrounded by her staff, consisting of a teacher +and a page, and the engagement becomes general. In the end, the +yeomanry are routed with great loss—their hearts being made +prisoners by the senior students of this “Royal Military +Academy.”</p> +<p>The yeomanry, not in the least dispirited by this reverse, plan +a fresh attack, and hearing that reinforcements are <em>en +route</em>, in the persons of the drawing, dancing, and writing +masters of the “Boarding School,” cut off their march, +and obtain a second entrance into the enemy’s camp, under +false colours; which their accomplishments enable them to do, for +the captain is a good penman, the lieutenant dances and plays the +fiddle, and the cornet draws to admiration, +especially—“at a month.” Under such instructors +the young ladies make great progress, the governess being absent to +see after the imaginary daughter of a fictitious Earl of Aldgate. +On her return, however, she finds her pupils in a state of great +insubordination, and suspecting the teachers to be incendiaries, +calls in a major of yeomanry (who, unlike the rest of his troop, is +an ally of the lady), to put them out. The invaders, however, +retreat by the window, but soon return by the door in their +uniform, to assist their major in quelling the fears of the minors, +and to complete the course of instruction pursued at the Haymarket +“Boarding School.”</p> +<p>Mr. J. Webster, as <em>Captain Harcourt</em>, played as well as +he could: and so did Mr. Webster as <em>Lieutenant Varley</em>, +which was very well indeed, for <em>he</em> cannot perform anything +badly, were he to try. An Irish cornet, in the mouth of Mr. F. +Vining, was bereft of his proper brogue; but this loss was the less +felt, as Mr. Gough personated the English Major with the +<em>rale</em> Tipperary tongue. <em>Mrs. Grosdenap</em> was a +perfect governess in the hands of Mrs. Clifford, and the hoydens +she presided over exhibited true specimens of a finishing school, +especially Miss P. Horton;—that careful and pleasing +<em>artiste</em>, who stamps character upon everything she does, +and individuality upon everything she says. In short, all the parts +in the “Boarding School” are so well acted, that one +cannot help regretting when it breaks up for the evening. The +circulars issued by its proprietors announce that it will be open +every night, from ten till eleven, up to the Christmas +holidays.</p> +<p>As a subject, this is a perfectly fair, nay, moral one; despite +some silly opinions that have stated to the contrary. Satire, when +based upon truth, is the highest province of the stage, which +enables us to laugh away folly and wickedness, when they cannot be +banished by direct exposure. Ladies’ boarding-schools form, +in the mass, a gross and fearful evil, to which the Haymarket +author has cleverly awakened attention. Why they are an evil, might +be easily proved, but a theatrical critique in PUNCH is not +precisely the place for a discussion on female education.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>ENJOYMENT.</h3> +<p>The “Council of the Dramatic Authors’ Theatre” +enticed us from home on Monday last, by promising what as yet they +have been unable to perform—“Enjoyment.” As +usual, they obtained our company under false pretences: for if any +“enjoyment” were afforded by their new farce, the +actors had it all to themselves.</p> +<p>It is astonishing how vain some authors are of their knowledge +of any particular subject. Brewster monopolises that of the +polarization of light and kaleidoscopes—poor Davy surfeited +us with choke damps and the safety lantern—the author of +“Enjoyment” is great on the subject of cook-shops; the +whole production being, in fact, a dramatic lecture on the +“slap-bang” system. <em>Mr. Bang</em>, the principal +character, is the master of an eating-house, to which establishment +all the other persons in the piece belong, and all are made to +display the author’s practical knowledge of the internal +economy of a cook-shop. Endless are the jokes about +sausages—roast and boiled beef are cut, and come to again, +for a great variety of facetiæ—in short, the entire +stock of fun is cooked up from the bill of fare. The master gives +his instructions to his “cutter” about “working +up the stale gravy” with the utmost precision, and the +“sarver out” undergoes a course of instruction highly +edifying to inexperienced waiters.</p> +<p>This burletta helps to develop the plan which it is the +intention of the “council” to follow up in their +agonising efforts to resuscitate the expiring drama. They, it is +clear, mean to make the stage a vehicle for instruction.</p> +<p>Miss Martineau wrote a novel called “Berkeley the +Banker,” to teach political economy—the +“council” have produced “Enjoyment” as an +eating-house keepers’ manual, complete in one act. This mode +of dramatising the various guides to “trade” and to +“service” is, however, to our taste, more edifying than +amusing; for much of the author’s learning is thrown away +upon the mass of audiences, who are only waiters between the acts. +They cannot appreciate the nice distinctions between +“buttocks and rounds,” neither does everybody perceive +the wit of <em>Joey’s</em> elegant toast, “Cheap beef +and two-pence for the waiter!” This kind of +erudition—like that expended upon Chinese literature and the +arrow-headed hieroglyphics of Asia Minor—is confined to too +small a class of the public for extensive popularity, though it may +be highly amusing to the table-d’hôte and ham-and-beef +interest.</p> +<p>The chief beauty of the plot is its extreme simplicity; a +half-dozen words will describe it:—<em>Mr. Bang</em> goes out +for a day’s “Enjoyment,” and is disappointed! +This is the head and front of the farceur’s +offending—no more. Any person eminently gifted with patience, +and anxious to give it a fair trial, cannot have a better +opportunity of testing it than by spending a couple of hours in +seeing that single incident drag its slow length along, and +witnessing a new comedian, named Bass, roll his heavy breadth about +in hard-working attempts to be droll. As a specimen of manual +labour in comedy, we never saw the acting of this +<em>débutant</em> equalled.</p> +<p>We are happy to find that, determined to give “living +<em>English</em> dramatists a clear stage and fair play,” the +“Council” are bringing forward a series of stale +translations from the <em>French</em> in rapid succession. The +“Married Rake,” and “Perfection,”—one +by an author no longer “living,” both loans from the +<em>Magasin Théâtral</em>—have already +appeared.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>FINE ARTS.</h2> +<h3>SUFFOLK-STREET GALLERY.—ART-UNION.</h3> +<p>The members of this institution have, with their usual +liberality, given the use of their Galleries for the exhibition of +the pictures selected by the prize-holders of the Art-Union of +London of the present year. The works chosen are 133 in number; and +as they are the representatives of “charming variety,” +it is naturally to be expected that, in most instances, the +selection does not proclaim that perfect knowledge of the material +from which the 133 jewel-hunters have had each an opportunity of +choosing; nevertheless, it is a blessed reflection, and a proof of +the philanthropic adaptation of society to societies’ +means—a beneficent dovetailing—an union of +sympathies—that to every one painter who is disabled from +darting suddenly into the excellencies of his profession, there +are, at least, one thousand “connoisseurs” having an +equal degree of free-hearted ignorance in the matter, willing to +extend a ready hand to his weakly efforts, and without whose +generosity he could never place himself within the observation and +patronage of the better informed in art. As this lottery was formed +to give an interest, indiscriminately, to the mass who compose it, +the setting apart so large a sum as £300 for a prize is, in +our humble opinion, anything but well judged.</p> +<p>The painter of a picture worth so high a sum needs not the +assistance which the lottery affords; and although it may be urged, +that some one possessing sufficient taste, but insufficient means +to indulge that taste, might, perchance, obtain the high prize, it +is evident that such bald reasoning is adduced only to support +individual interest. The principle is, consequently, inimical to +those upon which the Art-Union of London was founded; and, farther, +it is most undeniable, that more general good, and consequent +satisfaction, would arise both to the painter and the public +(<em>i.e.</em> that portion of the public whose subscriptions form +the support of the undertaking), had the large prize been divided +into two, four, or even six other, and by no means inconsiderable +ones. We are fully aware of the benefits that have been conferred +and received, and that must still continue to be so, from this +praiseworthy undertaking. As an observer of these things, we cannot +withhold expressing our opinions upon any part of the system which, +in honest thought, appears imperfect, or not so happily directed as +it might be. But should PUNCH become prosy, his audience will +vanish.</p> +<p>To prevent those visitors to this exhibition, who do not profess +an intimacy with the objects herein collected for their amusement, +from being misled by the supposititious circumstance of the highest +prize having commanded the best picture, we beg to point to their +attention the following peculiarities (by no means recommendatory) +in the work selected by the most fortunate of the +<em>jewel-hunters</em>; it is catalogued “The Sleeping +Beauty,” by D. Maclise, R.A., and assuredly painted with the +most independent disdain for either law or reason. Never has been +seen so signal a failure in attempting to obtain repose by the +introduction of so many sleeping figures. The appointment of parts +to form the general whole, the first and last aim of every other +painter, D. Maclise, R.A., has most gallantly disregarded. If there +be effect, it certainly is not in the right place, or rather there +is no concentration of effect; it possesses the glare of a coloured +print, and that too of a meretricious sort—incidents there +are, but no plot—less effect upon the animate than the +inanimate. The toilet-table takes precedence of the lady—the +couch before the sleeper—the shadow, in fact, before the +substance; and as it is a sure mark of a vulgar mind to dwell upon +the trifles, and lose the substantial—to scan the dress, and +neglect the wearer, so we opine the capabilities of D. Maclise, +R.A., are brought into requisition to accommodate such beholders. +He has, moreover, carefully avoided any approximation to the +vulgarity of flesh and blood, in his representations of humanity; +and has, therefore, ingeniously sought the delicacy of Dresden +china for his models. To conclude our notice, we beg to suggest the +addition of a torch and a rosin-box, which, with the assistance of +Mr. Yates, or the Wizard of the North, would render it perfect +(whereas, without these delusive adjuncts, it is not recognisable +in its puppet-show propensities) as a first-rate imitation of the +last scene in a pantomime.</p> +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. +1, September 12, 1841, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + +***** This file should be named 14927-h.htm or 14927-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/9/2/14927/ + +Produced by Syamanta Saikia, Jon Ingram, Barbara Tozier and the PG +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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