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December 18, 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, +December 18, 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, December 18, 1841 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: February 7, 2005 [EBook #14941] + +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 + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> +<h2>VOL. 1.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>DECEMBER 18, 1841.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page265" name="page265"></a>[pg +265]</span> +<h2>THE PHYSIOLOGY OF THE LONDON MEDICAL STUDENT.</h2> +<h3>12.—OF THE COLLEGE, AND THE CONCLUSION.</h3> +<div class="dropcap"><a href="images/023-01.png"><img src= +"images/023-01.png" alt="A dog jumps through a hoop (Letter O)." +id="img023-01" name="img023-01" width="100%" /></a></div> +<p><span class="hide">O</span>ur hero once more undergoes the +process of grinding before he presents himself in +Lincoln’s-inn Fields for examination at the College of +Surgeons. Almost the last affair which our hero troubles himself +about is the Examination at the College of Surgeons; and as his +anatomical knowledge requires a little polishing before he presents +himself in Lincoln’s-inn Fields, he once more undergoes the +process of grinding.</p> +<p>The grinder for the College conducts his tuition in the same +style as the grinder for the Hall—often they are united in +the same individual, who perpetually has a vacancy for a resident +pupil, although his house is already quite full; somewhat +resembling a carpet-bag, which was never yet known to be so crammed +with articles, but you might put something in besides. The class is +carried on similar to the one we have already quoted; but the +knowledge required does not embrace the same multiformity of +subjects; anatomy and surgery being the principal points.</p> +<p>Our old friends are assembled to prepare for their last +examination, in a room fragrant with the amalgamated odours of +stale tobacco-smoke, varnished bones, leaky preparations, and +gin-and-water. Large anatomical prints depend from the walls, and a +few vertebræ, a lower jaw, and a sphenoid bone, are scattered +upon the table.</p> +<p>“To return to the eye, gentlemen,” says the grinder; +“recollect the Petitian Canal surrounds the Cornea. Mr. Rapp, +what am I talking about?”</p> +<p>Mr. Rapp, who is drawing a little man out of dots and lines upon +the margin of his “Quain’s Anatomy,” starts up, +and observes—“Something about the Paddington Canal +running round a corner, sir.”</p> +<p>“Now, Mr. Rapp, you must pay me a little more +attention,” expostulates the teacher. “What does the +operation for cataract resemble in a familiar point of +view?”</p> +<p>“Pushing a boat-hook through the wall of a house to pull +back the drawing-room blinds,” answers Mr. Rapp.</p> +<p>“You are incorrigible,” says the teacher, smiling at +the simile, which altogether is an apt one. “Did you ever see +a case of bad cataract?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir, ever-so-long ago—the Cataract of the +Ganges at Astley’s. I went to the gallery, and had a mill +with—”</p> +<p>“There, we don’t want particulars,” interrupts +the grinder; “but I would recommend you to mind your eyes, +especially if you get under Guthrie. Mr. Muff, how do you define an +ulcer?”</p> +<p>“The establishment of a raw,” replies Mr. Muff.</p> +<p>“Tit! tit! tit!” continues the teacher, with an +expression of pity. “Mr. Simpson, perhaps you can tell Mr. +Muff what an ulcer is?”</p> +<p>“An abrasion of the cuticle produced by its own +absorption,” answers Mr. Simpson, all in a breath.</p> +<p>“Well. I maintain it’s easier to say a <em>raw</em> +than all that,” observes Mr. Muff.</p> +<p>“Pray, silence. Mr. Manhug, have you ever been sent for to +a bad incised wound?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir, when I was an apprentice: a man using a chopper +cut off his hand.”</p> +<p>“And what did you do?”</p> +<p>“Cut off myself for the governor, like a two-year +old.”</p> +<p>“But now you have no governor, what plan would you pursue +in a similar case?”</p> +<p>“Send for the nearest doctor—call him in.”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes, but suppose he wouldn’t come?”</p> +<p>“Call him out, sir.”</p> +<p>“Pshaw! you are all quite children,” exclaims the +teacher. “Mr. Simpson, of what is bone chemically +composed?”</p> +<p>“Of earthy matter, or <em>phosphate of lime</em>, and +animal matter, or <em>gelatine</em>.”</p> +<p>“Very good, Mr. Simpson. I suppose you don’t know a +great deal a bout bones, Mr. Rapp?”</p> +<p>“Not much, sir. I haven’t been a great deal in that +line. They give a penny for three pounds in Clare Market. +That’s what I call popular osteology.”</p> +<p>“Gelatine enters largely into the animal fibres,” +says the leader, gravely. “Parchment, or skin, contains an +important quantity, and is used by cheap pastry-cooks to make +jellies.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’ve heard of eating your +<em>words</em>,” says Mr. Rapp, “but never your +<em>deeds</em>.”</p> +<p>“Oh! oh! oh!” groan the pupils at this gross +appropriation, and the class getting very unruly is broken up.</p> +<p>The examination at the College is altogether a more respectable +ordeal than the jalap and rhubarb botheration at +Apothecaries’ Hall, and <em>par conséquence</em>, Mr. +Muff goes up one evening with little misgivings as to his success. +After undergoing four different sets of examiners, he is told he +may retire, and is conducted by Mr Belfour into +“Paradise,” the room appropriated to the fortunate +ones, which the curious stranger may see lighted up every Friday +evening as he passes through Lincoln’s-inn Fields. The +inquisitors are altogether a gentlemanly set of men, who are +willing to help a student out of a scrape, rather than “catch +question” him into one: nay, more than once the candidate has +attributed his success to a whisper prompted by the kind heart of +the venerable and highly-gifted individual—now, alas! no +more—who until last year assisted at the examinations.</p> +<p>Of course, the same kind of scene takes place that was enacted +after going up to the Hall, and with the same results, except the +police-office, which they manage to avoid. The next day, as usual, +they are again at the school, standing innumerable pots, telling +incalculable lies, and singing uncounted choruses, until the Scotch +pupil who is still grinding in the museum, is forced to give over +study, after having been squirted at through the keyhole five +distinct times, with a reversed stomach-pump full of beer, and +finally unkennelled. The lecturer upon chemistry, who has a private +pupil in his laboratory learning how to discover arsenic in +poisoned people’s stomachs, where there is none, and make +red, blue, and green fires, finds himself locked in, and is obliged +to get out at the window; whilst the professor of medicine, who is +holding forth, as usual, to a select very few, has his lecture upon +intermittent fever so strangely interrupted by distant harmony and +convivial hullaballoo, that he finishes abruptly in a pet, to the +great joy of his class. But Mr. Muff and his friends care not. They +have passed all their troubles—they are regular medical men, +and for aught they care the whole establishment may blow up, tumble +down, go to blazes, or anything else in a small way that may +completely obliterate it. In another twelve hours they have +departed to their homes, and are only spoken of in the reverence +with which we regard the ruins of a by-gone edifice, as bricks who +were.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>Our task is finished. We have traced Mr. Muff from the new man +through the almost entomological stages of his being to his perfect +state; and we take our farewell of him as the “general +practitioner.” In our Physiology we have endeavoured to show +the medical student as he actually exists—his reckless +gaiety, his wild frolics, his open disposition. That he is careless +and dissipated we admit, but these attributes end with his +pupilage; did they not do so spontaneously, the up-hill struggles +and hardly-earned income of his laborious future career would, to +use his own terms, “soon knock it all out of him;” +although, in the after-waste of years, he looks back upon his +student’s revelries with an occasional return of old +feelings, not unmixed, however, with a passing reflection upon the +lamentable inefficacy of the present course of medical education +pursued at our schools and hospitals, to fit a man for future +practice.</p> +<p>We have endeavoured in our sketches so to frame them, that the +general reader might not be perplexed by technical or local +allusions, whilst the students of London saw they were the work of +one who had lived amongst them. And if in some places we have +strayed from the strict boundaries of perfect refinement, yet we +trust the delicacy of our most sensitive reader has received no +wound. We have discarded our joke rather than lose our propriety; +and we have been pleased at knowing that in more than one family +circle our Physiology has, now and then, raised a smile on the lips +of the fair girls, whose brothers were following the same path we +have travelled over at the hospitals.</p> +<p>We hope with the new year to have once more the gratification of +meeting our friends. Until then, with a hand offered in warm +fellowship,—not only to those composing the class he once +belonged to, but to all who have been pleased to bestow a few +minutes weekly upon his chapters,—the Medical Student takes +his leave.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>A CON. THAT OUGHT TO HAVE BEEN THE COLONEL’S.</h3> +<p>When does a school-boy’s writing-book resemble the Hero of +Waterloo?—When it’s a <em>Well +ink’d’un</em> (Wellington).</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page266" name="page266"></a>[pg +266]</span> +<h2>THE “PUFF PAPERS.”</h2> +<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> +<p>On my next visit I found Mr. Bayles in full force, and loud in +praise of some eleemosynary entertainment to which he had been +invited. Having exhausted his subject and a tumbler of toddy at the +same time, Mr. Arden “availed himself of the opportunity to +call attention to the next tale,” which was found to be</p> +<h3>A FATAL REMEMBRANCE.</h3> +<p>I was subaltern of the cantonment main-guard at Bangalore one +day in the month of June, 182-. Tattoo had just beaten; and I was +sitting in the guard-room with my friend Frederick Gahagan, the +senior Lieutenant in the regiment to which I belonged, and manager +of the amateur theatre of the station.</p> +<p>Gahagan was a rattling, care-for-nothing Irishman, whose chief +characteristic was a strong propensity for theatricals and +practical jokes, but withal a generous, warm-hearted fellow, and as +gallant a soldier as ever buckled sword-belt. In his capacity of +manager, he was at present in a state of considerable perplexity, +the occasion whereof was this.</p> +<p>There chanced then to be on a visit at Bangalore a particular +ally of Fred’s, who was leading tragedian of the Chowringhee +theatre in Calcutta; and it was in contemplation to get up Macbeth, +in order that the aforesaid star might exhibit in his crack part as +the hero of that great tragedy. Fred was to play Macduff; and the +“blood-boltered Banquo” was consigned to my charge. The +other parts were tolerably well cast, with the exception of that of +Lady Macbeth, which indeed was not cast at all, seeing that no +representative could be found for it. It must be stated that, as we +had no actresses amongst us, all our female characters, as in the +times of the primitive drama, were necessarily performed by +gentlemen. Now in general it was not difficult to command a supply +of smooth-faced young ensigns to personate the heroines, +waiting-maids, and old women, of the comedies and farces to which +our performances had been hitherto restricted. But Lady Macbeth was +a very different sort of person to Caroline Dormer and Mrs. +Hardcastle; and our <em>ladies</em> accordingly, one and all, +struck work, refusing point blank to have anything to say to +her.</p> +<p>The unfortunate manager, who had set his heart upon getting up +the piece, was at his wits’ end, and had bent his footsteps +towards the main guard, to advise with me as to what should be done +in this untoward emergency. I endeavoured to console him as well as +I could, and suggested, that if the worst came to the worst, the +part might be read. But, lugubriously shaking his caput, Fred +declared that would never do; so, after discussing half-a-dozen +Trichinopoly cheroots, with a proportionate quantum of brandy +<em>pani</em>, he departed for his quarters. +“disgusted,” as he said, “with the ingratitude of +mankind,” whilst I set forth to go my grand rounds.</p> +<p>Next morning, having been relieved from guard, I had returned +home, and was taking my ease in my camp chair, luxuriously whiffing +away at my after-breakfast cheroot, when who should step gingerly +into the room but Manager Fred Gahagan. The clouds of the previous +evening had entirely disappeared from his ingenuous countenance, +which was puckered up in the most insinuating manner, with what I +was wont to call his ‘borrowing smile;’ for Fred was +oftentimes afflicted with impecuniosity—a complaint common +enough amongst us subs;—and when the fit was on him, in the +spirit of true friendship, he generally contrived to disburthen me +of the few remaining rupees that constituted the balance of my last +month’s pay.</p> +<p>Fred brought himself to an anchor upon a bullock trunk, and, +after my boy had handed him a cheroot, and he had disgorged a few +puffs of smoke, thus delivered himself—</p> +<p>“This is a capital weed, Wilmot. I don’t know how it +is, but you always manage to have the best tobacco in the +cantonment.”</p> +<p>“Hem,” said I, drily. “Glad you like +it.”</p> +<p>“I say, Peter, my dear fellow,” quoth he, +“Fitzgerald, Grimes, and I, have just been talking over what +we were discussing last night, about Lady Macbeth you +know.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, somewhat relieved to find the +conversation was not taking the turn I dreaded.</p> +<p>“Well, sir,” continued Fred, plunging at once +“in medias res,”and speaking very fast, “and we +have come to the conclusion that you are the only person to relieve +us from all difficulty on the subject; Fitzgerald will take your +part of Banquo; and you shall have Lady Macbeth, a character for +which every one agrees you are admirably fitted.”</p> +<p>“I play Lady Macbeth!” cried I, “with my +scrubbing-brush of a beard, and whiskers like a prickly-pear hedge; +why, you mast be all mad to think of such a thing.”</p> +<p>“My dear friend,” remarked Gahagan mildly, +“you know I have always said that you had the Kemble eye and +nose, and I’m sure you won’t hesitate about cutting off +your whiskers when so much depends upon it; they’ll soon grow +again you know, Peter; as for your dark chin that don’t +matter a rush, as Lady Macbeth is a dark woman.”</p> +<p>The reader will agree with me in thinking that friendship can +sometimes be as blind as love, when I say with respect to my +“Kemble eye and nose,” that the former has been from +childhood affected with a decided tendency to strabismus, and the +latter bears a considerably stronger resemblance to a pump-handle +than it does to the classic profile of John Kemble or any of his +family.</p> +<p>“Lieutenant Gahagan,” said I, solemnly, “do +you remember how, some six years ago at Hydrabad, when yet +beardless and whiskerless, the only hair upon my face being +eyebrows and eyelashes, at your instigation and ‘suadente +diabolo,’ I attempted to perform Lydia Languish in ‘The +Rivals?’ and hast thou yet forgotten, O son of an unsainted +father, how my grenadier stride, the fixed tea-pot position of my +arms, to say nothing of the numerous other solecisms in the code of +female manners which I perpetrated on that occasion, made me a +laughing-stock and a by-word for many a long day afterwards! All +this, I say, must be fresh in your recollection, and yet you have +the audacity to ask me to expose myself again in a similar +manner.”</p> +<p>“Pooh, pooh!” laughed Gahagan, “you were only +a boy then, now you have more experience in these matters; besides, +Lydia Languish was a part quite unworthy of your powers; Lady +Macbeth is a horse of another colour.”</p> +<p>“Why, man, with what face could I aver that</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i10">‘I have given suck, and know</p> +<p>How tender ’tis to love the babe that milks me.’</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>That would certainly draw tears from the audience, but they +would be tears of laughter, not sympathy, I warrant you. No, no, +good master Fred, it won’t do, I tell you; and in the words +of Lady Macbeth herself, I say—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i10">‘What beast was’t, then,</p> +<p>That made you break this enterprise to me?’</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>And now oblige me by walking your body off, for I have got my +yesterday’s guard report to fill up and send in, in default +of which I shall be sure to catch an ‘official’ from +the Brigade-Major.”</p> +<p>But Fred not only did not walk his body off, but harping on the +same string, pertinaciously continued to ply me with alternate +arguments and intreaties, until at last fairly wearied out, and +more, I believe, with the hope of getting rid of the +“importunate chink” of the fellow’s discourse, +than anything else, in an evil moment I consented! hear it not, +shade of Mrs. Siddons! to denude myself of the bushy honours of my +cheeks, and tread the boards of the Bangalore stage as the wife of +that atrocious usurper “King Cawdor Glamis!”</p> +<p>Fred marched himself away, elated at having carried his point; +and I, after sundry dubious misgivings anent the rash promise I had +made, ended by casting all compunctious visitings to the winds, and +doughtily resolved, as I was in for the business, to “screw +my courage to the sticking-place,’ and go through with it as +boldly as I might.</p> +<p>By dint of continually studying my rôle, my dislike to it +gradually diminished, nay, at length was converted into positive +enthusiasm. I became convinced that I should make a decided hit, +and cover my temples with unfading laurel. I rehearsed at all +times, seasons, and places, until I was a perfect nuisance to +everybody, and my acquaintance, I am sure, to a man, wished both me +and her bloodthirsty ladyship, deeper than plummet ever sounded, at +the bottom of the sea. Even the brute creation did not escape the +annoyance. One morning my English pointer “Spot” ran +yelping out of the room, panic-stricken by the vehement manner with +which I exclaimed, “Out damned <em>spot</em>, out, I +say!” and with the full conviction, which the animal probably +entertained to the day of his death, that the said anathema had +personal reference to himself.</p> +<p>The evening big with my fate at last arrived. The house was +crammed, expectation on tiptoe, and the play commenced. The first +four acts went off swimmingly, my performance especially was +applauded to the echo, and there only wanted the celebrated +sleeping scene, in which I flattered myself to be particularly +strong, to complete my triumph. Triumph, did I say!</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page267" name="page267"></a>[pg +267]</span> +<p>I must here explain, for the benefit of those who have never +rounded the Cape, that the extreme heat of an Indian climate is so +favourable to the growth of hair as to put those wights who are +afflicted with dark <em>chevelures</em>, which was my case, to the +inconvenient necessity of chin-scraping twice on the game day, when +they wish to appear particularly spruce of an evening. Now I +intended to have shaved before the play began, but in the hurry of +dressing had forgotten all about it; and upon inspecting my visage +in a glass, after I had donned Lady Macbeth’s night-gear, the +lower part of it appeared so swart in contrast with the white +dress, that I found it would be absolutely necessary to pass a +razor over it before going on with my part.</p> +<p>The night was excessively warm, even for India; and as the place +allotted to us for dressing was very small and confined, the bright +thought struck me that I should have more air and room on the +stage, whither I accordingly directed my servant to follow me with +the shaving apparatus.</p> +<p>I ensconced myself behind the drop-scene, which was down, and +was in the act of commencing the tonsorial operation, when, +<em>horresco referens</em>, the prompter’s bell rang sharply, +whether by accident or design I was never able to ascertain, but +have grievous suspicions that Fred Gahagan knew something about +it—up flew the drop-scene like a shot, and discovered the +following <em>tableau vivant</em> to the astounded +audience:—</p> +<p>Myself Lady Macbeth, with legs nearly a yard asunder—face +and throat outstretched, and covered with a plentiful white +lather—right arm brandishing aloft one of Paget’s best +razors, and left thumb and forefinger grasping my nose. In front of +me stood my faithful Hindoo valet, Verasawmy by name, with a +soap-box in one hand, while his other held up to his master’s +gaze a small looking-glass, over the top of which his black face, +surmounted by a red turban, was peering at me with grave and +earnest attention.</p> +<p>A wondering pause of a few seconds prevailed, and then one loud, +rending, and continuous peal of laughter and screams shook the +universal house.</p> +<p>As if smitten with sudden catalepsy, I was without power to move +a single muscle of my body, and for the space of two minutes +remained in a stupor in the same attitude—immovable, rooted, +frozen to the spot where I stood. At length recovering at once my +senses and power of motion, I bounded like a maniac from the stage, +pursued by the convulsive roars of the spectators, and upsetting in +my retreat the unlucky Verasawmy, who rolled down to the +footlights, doubled up, and in a paroxysm of terror and dismay.</p> +<p>Lieutenant Frederick Gahagan had good reason to bless his stars +that in that moment of frenzy I did not encounter him, the +detestable origin of the abomination that had just been heaped upon +my head. I am no two-legged creature if I should not have +sacrificed him on the spot with my razor, and so merited the +gratitude of his regimental juniors by giving them a step.</p> +<p>I have never since, either in public or private life, appeared +in petticoats again.</p> +<hr /> +<h2>SONGS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL.—No. 14.</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Oft have I fondly heard thee pour</p> +<p class="i2">Love’s incense in mine ear!</p> +<p>Oft bade thy lips repeat once more</p> +<p class="i2">The words I deemed sincere!</p> +<p>But—though the truth this heart may break—</p> +<p>I know thee false “<em>and no mistake!</em>”</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>My fancy pictured to my heart</p> +<p class="i2">Thy boasted passion, pure;</p> +<p>Dreamed thy affection, void of art,</p> +<p class="i2">For ever would endure.</p> +<p>Alas! in vain my woe I smother!</p> +<p>I find thee very much “more t’other!”</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>’Twas sweet to hear you sing of <em>love</em>,</p> +<p class="i2">But, when you talk of <em>gold</em>,</p> +<p>Your sordid, base design you prove,</p> +<p class="i2">And—for it <em>must</em> be told—</p> +<p>Since from my soul the truth you drag—</p> +<p>“You let the cat out of the bag!”</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>STARVATION STATISTICS FOR SIR ROBERT PEEL</h3> +<p>That the people of this country are grossly pampered there can +be no doubt, for the following facts have been ascertained from +which it will be seen that there have been instances of persons +living on much coarser fare than the working classes in +England.</p> +<p>In 1804, a shipwrecked mariner, who was thrown on to the +celebrated mud-island of Coromandel, lived for three weeks upon his +own wearing apparel. He first sucked all the goodness out of his +jacket, and the following day dashed his buttons violently against +the rock in order to soften them. He next cut pieces from his +trousers, as tailors do when they want cabbage, and found them an +excellent substitute for that salubrious vegetable. He was in the +act of munching his boots for breakfast one morning, when he was +fortunately picked up by his Majesty’s schooner +<em>Cutaway</em>.</p> +<p>In the year ’95, the crew of the brig <em>Terrible</em> +lost all their provisions, except a quantity of candles. After +these were gone, they took a plank out of the side of the vessel +and sliced it, which was their board for a whole fortnight.</p> +<p>After these startling and particularly well-authenticated facts, +it would be absurd to deny that there is no reason for taking into +consideration the comparatively trifling distress that is now +prevalent.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>THE FASTEST MAN.</h3> +<p>“A person named Meara,” says the <em>Galway +Advertiser</em>, “confined for debt some time since in our +town jail, fasted sixteen days!”</p> +<p>Sibthorp says this is an excellent illustration of hard and +fast, and entitles the gentleman to be placed at</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/023-02.png"><img src= +"images/023-02.png" alt= +"A man sits on a high stool with a feathered pen in his hand." id= +"img023-02" name="img023-02" width="30%" /></a> +<p>THE SUMMIT OF HIS PROFESSION.</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>SIBTHORPS CON. CORNER.</h3> +<p>Dear PUNCH,—Have you seen the con. I made the other day? I +transcribe it for you:—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Though Wealth’s neglect and Folly’s taunt</p> +<p class="i2">Conspire to distress the poor,</p> +<p>Pray can you tell me why <em>sharp</em> want</p> +<p class="i2">Can ne’er approach the pauper’s +door”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>D’Orsay has rhymed the following answer:—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“The merest child might wonder how</p> +<p>The pauper e’er <em>sharp</em> wants can know,</p> +<p>When, spite of cruel Fortune’s taunts,</p> +<p><em>Blunt</em> is the <em>sharpest</em> of his wants.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p class="rgt">Yours sincerely and comically,<br /> +SIBTHORP.</p> +<p>P.S.—Let BRYANT call for his Christmas-box.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>THE COPPER CAPTAIN.</h3> +<p>At the public meeting at Hammersmith for the purpose of taking +into consideration the propriety of lighting the roads, in the +midst of a most animated discussion, Captain Atcherly proposed an +adjournment of the said meeting; which proposition being strongly +negatived by a small individual, Captain Atcherly quietly pointed +to an open window, made a slight allusion to the hardness of the +pavement, and finally achieved the exit of the dissentient by +whistling</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/023-03.png"><img src= +"images/023-03.png" alt= +"A dog looks on as a heron puts its beak into a pitcher." id= +"img023-03" name="img023-03" width="50%" /></a> +<p>MY FRIEND AND PITCHER.</p> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page268" name="page268"></a>[pg +268]</span> +<h2>“TAKE CARE OF HIM.”</h2> +<p>“Take care of him!” That sentence has been my ruin; +from my cradle upwards it has dogged my steps and proved my bane! +Fatal injunction! Little did my parents think of the miseries those +four small monosyllables have entailed upon their hapless son!</p> +<p>My first assertion of infantine existence, that innocent and +feeble wail that claimed the name of life, was met by the command, +“Take care of him! take care of him!” said my mother to +the doctor; “Take care of him!” said the doctor to the +nurse; and “Take care of him!” added my delighted +father to every individual of the rejoicing household.</p> +<p>The doctor’s care manifested itself in an over-dose of +castor oil; the nurse, in the plenitude of her bounty, nearly +parboiled me in an over-heated bath; my mother drugged me with a +villanous decoction of soothing syrup, which brought on a slumber +so sound that the first had very nearly proved my last; and the +entire household dandled me with such uncommon vigour that I was +literally tossed and “Catchee-catchee’d” into a +fit of most violent convulsions. As I persisted in surviving, so +did I become the heir to fresh torments from the ceaseless care of +those by whom I was surrounded. My future symmetry was superinduced +by bandaging my infant limbs until I looked like a miniature mummy. +The summer’s sun was too hot and the winter’s blast too +cold; wet was death, and dry weather was attended with easterly +winds. I was “taken care of.” I never breathed the +fresh air of Heaven, but lived in an artificial nursery atmosphere +of sea-coal and logs.</p> +<p>Young limbs are soon broken, and young children will fall, if +not taken care of; consequently upon any instinctive attempt at a +pedestrian performance I was tied round the middle with a broad +ribbon, my unhappy little feet see-sawing in the air, and barely +brushing the ruffled surface of the Persian carpet, while I +appeared like a tempting bait, with which my nurse, after the +manner of an experienced angler, was bobbing for some of the +strange monsters worked into the gorgeous pattern.</p> +<p>Crooked legs were “taken care of” by a brace of +symmetrical iron shackles, and Brobdignag walnut-shells, decorated +with flaming bows of crimson ribbon, were attached to each side of +my small face, to prevent me from squinting. When old enough to +mount a pony, I was “taken such care of,” by being +secured to the saddle, that the restive little brute, feeling +inclined for a tumble, deliberately rolled over me some half-dozen +times before the astonished stable-boy could effect my deliverance! +while the corks with which I was provided to learn to swim in some +three feet square of water, slipped accidentally down to my toes, +and left me submerged so long that the total consumption of all the +salt, and wetting in boiling water of all the blankets, in the +house was found absolutely necessary to effect my +resuscitation.</p> +<p>At school I was once more to be “taken care of;” +consequently I pined to death in a wretched single-bedded room, +shuddering with inconceivable horror at the slightest sound, and +conjuring up legions of imaginary sprites to haunt my couch during +my waking hours of dread and misery. O how I envied the reckless +laughter of the gleeful urchins whose unmindful parents left them +to the happy utterance of their own and participation in their +young companions’ thoughts!</p> +<p>As a parlour boarder, which I was of course, “to be taken +care of,” I was not looked upon as one of the +“fellows,” but merely as a little upstart—one who +most likely was pumped by the master and mistress, and peached upon +the healthy rebels of the little world.</p> +<p>Christmas brought me no joys. “Taking care of my +health” prevented me from skating and snow-balling; while +perspective surfeits deprived me of the enjoyments of the turkeys, +beef, and glorious pudding.</p> +<p>At eighteen I entered as a gentleman commoner at —— +College, Cambridge; and at nineteen a suit of solemn black, and the +possession of five thousand a year, bespoke me heir to all my +father left; and from that hour have I had cause to curse the title +of this paper. Young and inexperienced, I entered wildly into all +the follies wealth can purchase or fashion justify; but I was still +to be the victim of the phrase. “We’ll take care of +him,” said a knot of the most determined play-men upon town; +and they did. Two years saw my five thousand per annum reduced to +one, but left me with somewhat more knowledge of the world. Even +that was turned against me; and prudent fathers shook their heads, +and sagely cautioned their own young scapegraces “to take +care of me.”</p> +<p>All was not yet complete. A walk down Bond Street was +interrupted by a sudden cry, “That’s him—take +care of him!” I turned by instinct, and was arrested at the +suit of a scoundrel whose fortune I had made, and who in gratitude +had thus pointed me out to the myrmidon of the Middlesex sheriff. I +was located in a lock-up house, and thence conveyed to jail. In +both instances the last words I heard in reference to myself were +“Take care of him.” I sacrificed almost my all, and +once more regained my liberty. Fate seemed to turn! A friend lent +me fifty pounds. I pledged my honour for its repayment. He promised +to use his interest for my future welfare. I kept my word +gratefully; returned the money on the day appointed. I did so +before one who knew me by report only, and looked upon me as a +ruined, dissipated, worthless Extravagant. I returned to an +adjoining room to wait my friend’s coming. While there, I +could not avoid hearing the following colloquy—</p> +<p>“Good Heaven! has that fellow actually returned your +fifty?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Didn’t you see him?”</p> +<p>“Of course I did; but I can scarcely believe my eyes. Oh! +he’s a deep one.”</p> +<p>“He’s a most honourable young man.”</p> +<p>“How can you be so green? He has a motive in +it.”</p> +<p>“What motive?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know that. But, old fellow, listen to me. +I’m a man of the world, and have seen something of life; and +I’ll stake my honour and experience that that fellow means to +do you; so be advised, and—‘Take care of +him!’”</p> +<p>This was too much. I rushed out almost mad, and demanded an +apology, or satisfaction—the latter alternative was chosen. +Oh, how my blood boiled! I should either fall, or, at length, by +thus chastising the impertinent, put an end to the many meaning and +hateful words.</p> +<p>We met; the ground was measured. I thought for a moment of the +sin of shedding human blood, and compressed my lips. A moment I +wavered; but the voice of my opponent’s second whispering, +“Take care of him,” once more nerved my heart and arm. +My adversary’s bullet whistled past my ear: <em>he</em> +fell—hit through the shoulder. He was carried to his +carriage. I left the ground, glad that I had chastised him, but +released to find the wound was not mortal. I felt as if in Heaven +this act would free me from the worldly ban. A week after, I met +one of my old friends; he introduced me by name to his father. The +old gentleman started for a moment, then exclaimed—“You +know my feeling, Sir—you are a duellist! Tom, ‘Take +care of him!’”</p> +<hr /> +<table summary="Punchlied" style="width:95%;margin:auto;"> +<tr> +<td style="width:50%;"> +<h3>PUNCHLIED.</h3> +</td> +<td> +<h3>SONG FOR PUNCH DRINKERS.</h3> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p class="cen">(VON SCHILLER.)</p> +</td> +<td> +<p class="cen">(FROM SCHILLER.)</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Vier Elemente</p> +<p class="i2">Innig gesellt,</p> +<p>Bilden das Leben</p> +<p class="i2">Bauen die Welt.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Presst der Citrone</p> +<p class="i2">Saftigen Stern!</p> +<p>Herb ist des Lebens</p> +<p class="i2">Innerster Kern.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Jetzt mit des Zuckers</p> +<p class="i2">Linderndem Saft</p> +<p>Zæhmet die herbe</p> +<p class="i2">Brennende Kraft!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Gieszet des Wassers</p> +<p class="i2">Sprudelnden Schwall!</p> +<p>Wasser umfænget</p> +<p class="i2">Ruhig das All!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Tropfen des Geistes</p> +<p class="i2">Gieszet hinein!</p> +<p>Leben dem Leben</p> +<p class="i2">Gibt er allein.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Eh’ es verdueftet</p> +<p class="i2">Schoepfet es schnell!</p> +<p>Nur wann er gluehet</p> +<p class="i2">Labet der Quell.</p> +</div> +</div> +</td> +<td> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Four be the elements,</p> +<p class="i2">Here we assemble ’em,</p> +<p>Each of man’s world</p> +<p class="i2">And existence an emblem.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Press from the lemon</p> +<p class="i2">The slow flowing juices.</p> +<p>Bitter is life</p> +<p class="i2">In its lessons and uses.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Bruise the fair sugar lumps,—</p> +<p class="i2">Nature intended</p> +<p>Her sweet and severe</p> +<p class="i2">To be everywhere blended.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Pour the still water—</p> +<p class="i2">Unwarning by sound,</p> +<p>Eternity’s ocean</p> +<p class="i2">Is hemming us round!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Mingle the spirit,</p> +<p class="i2">The life of the bowl;</p> +<p>Man is an earth-clod</p> +<p class="i2">Unwarmed by a soul!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Drink of the stream</p> +<p class="i2">Ere its potency goes!</p> +<p>No bath is refreshing</p> +<p class="i2">Except while it glows!</p> +</div> +</div> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page269" name="page269"></a>[pg +269]</span> +<h2>THE SCHOOL OF DESIGN AT HOOKAM-CUM-SNIVERY.</h2> +<p>Wednesday last was the day fixed for the distribution of the +prizes at this institution, and every arrangement had been made to +receive the numerous visitors. The boards had undergone their +annual scrubbing, and some beautiful devices in chalk added life to +the floor, which was enriched with a scroll-work of whiting, while +the arms of Hookham-cum-Snivery (a nose, <em>rampant</em>, with a +hand, <em>couchant</em>, extending a thumb, <em>gules</em>, to the +nostril, <em>argent</em>) formed an appropriate centre-piece.</p> +<p>Seven o’clock was fixed upon for the opening of the doors, +at which hour the committee went in procession, headed by their +chairman, to withdraw the bolts, that the public might be admitted, +when a rush took place of the most frightful and disastrous +character. A drove of bullocks that were being alternately enticed +and marling-spiked into a butcher’s exactly opposite, took +advantage of the courtesy of the committee, and poured in with +great rapidity to the building, carrying everything—including +the committee—most triumphantly before them. In spite of +their unceremonious entry, some of the animals evinced a +disposition to stand upon forms, by leaping on to the benches, +while the committee, who had expected a deputation of +<em>savans</em> from the Hampton-<em>super</em>-Horsepond +Institution, for the enlightenment of ignorant octagenarians, and +who being prepared to see a party of donkeys, were not inclined to +take the bull by the horns, made a precipitate retreat into the +anteroom.</p> +<p>Order having been at length restored, the intruders ejected, and +their places supplied by a select circle of subscribers, the +following prizes were distributed:—</p> +<p>To Horatio Smith Smith, the large copper medal, bearing on one +side the portrait of George the Third, on the reverse a figure of +Britannia, sitting on a beer barrel, and holding in her hand a +toasting fork. This medal was given for the best drawing of the +cork of a ginger-beer bottle.</p> +<p>To Ferdinand Fitz-Figgins, the smaller copper medal, with the +head of William the Fourth, and a reverse similar to that of the +superior prize. This was awarded for the best drawing of a decayed +tooth after <em>Teniers</em>.</p> +<p>To Sigismond Septimus Snobb, the large willow pattern plate, for +the best model of a national water-butt, to be erected in the +Teetotalers’ Hall of Temperance in the <em>Water</em>-loo +Road.</p> +<p>To Lucius Junius Brutus Brown, the Marsh-gate turnpike ticket +for Christmas-day—of which an early copy has been most +handsomely presented by the contractor. This useful and interesting +document has been given for the best design—upon the river +Thames, with the view to igniting it.</p> +<p>The proceedings having been terminated, so far as the +distribution was concerned, the following speeches were +delivered:—</p> +<p>The first orator was Mr. Julius Jones, who spoke nearly as +follows:—</p> +<p>Mither Prethident and thubtheriberth of the Hookam-cum-Sthnivey +Sthchool of Dethign, in rithing to addreth thuch an afthembly ath +thith—</p> +<p>Here the confusion became so general that our reporter could +catch nothing further, and as the partisans of Mr. Jones became +very much excited, while the opposition was equally violent, our +reporter fearing that, though he could not catch the speeches, he +might possibly catch something else, effected his retreat as +speedily as possible.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>QUEER QUERIES.</h3> +<h4>NOT THE BEST IN THE WORLD.</h4> +<p>Why is a man with his eyes shut like an illiterate +schoolmaster?—Because he keeps his pupils in darkness.</p> +<h4>BETTER NEXT TIME.</h4> +<p>Why is the present Lord Chancellor wickeder than the +last?—Because he’s got two more Vices.</p> +<h4>FORGIVE US THIS ONCE.</h4> +<p>Why are abbots the greatest dunces in the world?—Because +they never get further than their <em>Abbacy</em> (A, B, C.)</p> +<h4>WE’LL NEVER DO SO ANY MORE.</h4> +<p>Why is an auctioneer like a man with an ugly +countenance?—Because he is always for-<em>bidding</em>.</p> +<h4>WE REALLY COULD NOT HELP IT.</h4> +<p>Why is Mrs. Lilly showing the young Princes like an affected +ladies’-maid?—Because she exhibits her mistress’s +heirs (airs).</p> +<hr /> +<h3>IMPORTANT INTELLIGENCE.</h3> +<p>A dispatch, bearing a foreign post-mark, was handed very +generally about in the city this morning, but its contents did not +transpire. Considerable speculation is afloat on the subject, but +we are unable to give any particulars.</p> +<p>Downing-street was in a state of great activity all yesterday, +and people were passing to and fro repeatedly. This excitement is +generally believed to be connected with nothing particular. We have +our own impression on the subject, but as disclosures would be +premature, we purposely forbear making any. We can only say, at +present, that Sir Robert Peel continues to hold the office of Prime +Minister.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>THE BROTH OF A BOY.</h2> +<h4>AN IRISH LYRIC.</h4> +<p class="cen">AIR,—<em>I’m the boy for bewitching +them</em></p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Whisht, ye divils, now can’t you be aisy,</p> +<p class="i2">Like a cat whin she’s licking the crame.</p> +<p>And I’ll sing ye a song just to plase you,</p> +<p class="i2">About myself, Dermot Macshane.</p> +<p>You’ll own, whin I’ve tould ye my story.</p> +<p class="i2">And the janius adorning my race,</p> +<p>Although I’ve no brass in my pocket,</p> +<p class="i2">Mushagra! I’ve got lots in my face.</p> +<p class="i4">For in rainy or sunshiny weather,</p> +<p class="i6">I’m full of good whiskey and joy;</p> +<p class="i4">And take me in parts altogether,</p> +<p class="i6">By the pow’rs I’m a broth of a boy.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I was sint on the mighty world one day,</p> +<p class="i2">Like a squeaking pig out of a sack;</p> +<p>And, och, murder! although it was Sunday,</p> +<p class="i2">Without a clane shirt to my back.</p> +<p>But my mother died while I was sucking,</p> +<p class="i2">And larning for whiskey to squall,</p> +<p>Leaving me a dead cow, and a stocking</p> +<p class="i2">Brimful of—just nothing at all.</p> +<p class="i4">But in rainy, &c.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>My ancistors, who were all famous</p> +<p class="i2">At Donnybrook, got a great name:</p> +<p>My aunt she sould famous good whiskey—</p> +<p class="i2">I’m famous for drinking that same.</p> +<p>And I’m famous, like Master Adonis,</p> +<p class="i2">With his head full of nothing but curls,</p> +<p>For breaking the heads of the boys, sirs,</p> +<p class="i2">And breaking the hearts of the girls.</p> +<p class="i4">For in rainy, &c.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Och! I trace my discint up to Adam,</p> +<p class="i2">Who was once parish priest in Kildare;</p> +<p>And uncle, I think, to King David,</p> +<p class="i2">That peopled the county of Clare.</p> +<p>Sure his heart was as light as a feather,</p> +<p class="i2">Till his wife threw small beer on his joy</p> +<p>By falling in love with a pippin,</p> +<p class="i2">Which intirely murder’d the boy.</p> +<p class="i4">For in rainy, &c.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>A fine architict was my father,</p> +<p class="i2">As ever walk’d over the sea;</p> +<p>He built Teddy Murphy’s mud cabin—</p> +<p class="i2">And didn’t he likewise build me?</p> +<p>Sure, he built him an illigant pigstye,</p> +<p class="i2">That made all the Munster boys stare.</p> +<p>Besides a great many fine castles—</p> +<p class="i2">But, bad luck,—they were all in the air.</p> +<p class="i4">For in rainy, &c.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Though I’d scorn to be rude to a lady,</p> +<p class="i2">Miss Fortune and I can’t agree;</p> +<p>So I flew without wings from green Erin—</p> +<p class="i2">Is there anything green about me?</p> +<p>While blest with this stock of fine spirits,</p> +<p class="i2">At care, faith, my fingers I’ll snap;</p> +<p>I’m as rich as a Jew without money,</p> +<p class="i2">And free as a mouse in a trap.</p> +<p class="i4">For in rainy, &c.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page270" name="page270"></a>[pg +270]</span> +<h2>THE “WEIGHT” OF ROYALTY.—THE SOCIAL +“SCALE.”</h2> +<p>The Prince of Wales it is allowed upon all hands is the finest +baby ever sent into this naughty world since the firstborn of Eve. +At a day old he would make three of any of the new-born babes that +a month since blessed the Union bf Sevenoaks. There is, however, a +remarkable providence in this. The Prince of Wales is born to the +vastness of a palace; the little Princes of Pauperdom being doomed +to lie at the rate of fifteen in “two beds tied +together,” are happily formed of corresponding dimensions, +manufactured of more “squeezeable materials.” There is, +be sure of it, a providence watching over parish unions as well as +palaces. How, for instance, would boards of guardians pack their +new-born charges, if every babe of a union had the brawn and bone +of a Prince of Wales?</p> +<p>However, we could wish that the little Prince was thrice his +size—an aspiration in which our readers will heartily join, +when they learn the goodly tidings we are about to tell them.</p> +<p>We believe it is not generally known that Sir PETER LAURIE is as +profound an orientalist as perhaps any Rabbi dwelling in +Whitechapel. Sir PETER, whilst recently searching the Mansion House +library,—which has been greatly enriched by eastern +manuscripts, the presents of the late Sir WILLIAM CURTIS, Sir +CLAUDIUS HUNTER, and the venerable Turk who is Wont to sell rhubarb +in Cheapside, and supplied dinner-pills to the Court of +Aldermen,—Sir PETER, be it understood, lighted upon a rare +work on the Mogul Country, in which it is stated that on every +birth-day of the Great Mogul, his Magnificence is duly weighed in +scales against so much gold and silver—his precise weight in +the precious metals being expended on provisions for the poor.</p> +<p>Was there ever a happier device to make a nation interested in +the greatness of their sovereign? The fatter the king, the fuller +his people! With this custom naturalised among us, what a blessing +would have been the corpulency of GEORGE THE FOURTH! How the royal +haunches, the royal abdomen, would have had the loyal aspirations +of the poor and hungry! The national anthem would have had an +additional verse in thanksgiving for royal flesh; and in our +orisons said in churches, we should not only have prayed for the +increasing years of our “most religious King,” but for +his increasing fat!</p> +<p>It is however useless to regret forgotten advantages; let us, on +the contrary, with new alacrity, avail ourselves of a present +good.</p> +<p>Our illumination on the christening of the Prince of +Wales—we at once, and in the most liberal manner, give the +child his title—has been generally scouted, save and except +by a few public-spirited oil and tallow-merchants. It has been +thought better to give away legs of mutton on the occasion, than to +waste any of the sheep in candles. This proposition—it is +known—has our heartiest concurrence. Here, however, comes in +the wisdom of our dear Sir Peter. He, taking the hint from the +Mogul Country, proposes that the Prince of Wales should be weighed +in scales—weighed, naked as he was born, without the purple +velvet and ermine robe in which his Highness is ordinarily shown +in, not that Sir PETER would sink <em>that</em> “as +offal”—against his royal weight in beef and pudding; +the said beef and pudding to be distributed to every poor family +(if the family count a certain number of mouths, his Royal Highness +to be weighed twice or thrice, as it may be) to celebrate the day +on which his Royal Highness shall enter the pale of the Christian +Church.</p> +<p>We have all heard what a remarkably fine child his Royal +Babyhood is; but would not this distribution of beef and pudding +convince the country of the fact? How folks would rejoice at the +chubbiness of the Prince, when they saw a evidence of his bare +dimensions smoking on their table! How their hearts would leap up +at his fat, when they beheld it typified upon their platters! How +they would be gladdened by prize royalty, while their mouths +watered at prize beef! And how, with all their admiration of the +exceeding lustihood of the Prince of Wales,—how, from the +very depths of their stomachs, would they wish His Royal Highness +twice as big!</p> +<p>Is not this a way to disarm Chartism of its sword and pike, +making even O’CONNOR, VINCENT, and PINKETHLIE, throw away +their weapons for a knife and fork? Is not this the way to make the +weight of royalty easy—oh, most easy!—to a burthened +people? The beef-and-pudding representatives of His Royal Highness, +preaching upon every poor man’s table, would carry the +consolations of loyalty to every poor man’s stomach. When the +children of the needy lisped “plum pudding,” would they +not think of the Prince?</p> +<p>(Now, then, our readers know the obligation of the country to +Sir PETER LAURIE—an obligation which we are happy to state +will be duly acknowledged by the Common Council, that grateful body +having already petitioned the Government for the waste leaden pipes +preserved from the fire at the Tower, that a statue of Sir Peter +may be cast from the metal, and placed in some convenient nook of +the Mansion-House, where the Lord Mayor for the time being may, it +is hoped, behold it at least once a-day.)</p> +<p>This happy suggestion of Sir PETER’S may, however, be +followed up with the best national effect. Christmas is fast +Approaching: let the fashion set by the Prince of Wales be followed +by all public bodies—by all individuals “blessed with +aught to give.” Let the physical weight of all +corporations—all private benefactors of the poor, be +distributed in eatables to the indigent and famishing. When the +Alderman, with “three fingers on the ribs” gives his +weight in geese or turkeys to the poor of his ward, he returns the +most pertinent thanks-giving to providence, that has put money in +his pocket and flesh upon his bones. The poor may have an +unexpected cause to bless the venison and turtle that have fattened +his bowels, seeing that they are made the depositories of their +weight.</p> +<p>This standard of Christmas benefactions may admit of very +curious illustration. For instance, we would not tie the noble and +the aristocratic to any particular kind of viands, but would allow +them to illustrate their self-value of the “porcelain of all +human clay” by the richness and rarity of their +subscriptions. Whilst a SIBTHORP, with a fine sense of humility, +might be permitted to give his weight in calves’ or +sheeps’ heads (be it understood we must have the +<em>whole</em> weight of the Colonel, for if we were to sink +<em>his</em> offal, what in the name of veal would remain?), a Duke +of WELLINGTON should be allowed to weight against nothing less than +the fattest venison and the finest turtle. As the Duke, too, is +<em>rather</em> a light weight, we should be glad if he would +condescend to take a Paisley weaver or two in the scale with him, +to make his subscription of eatables the more worthy of acceptance. +All the members of the present Cabinet would of course be weighed +against loaves and fishes (on the present occasion we would accept +nothing under the very finest wheaten bread and the very best of +turbot), whilst a LAURIE, who has worked such a reform in +cut-throats, should be weighed out to his ward in the most select +stickings of beef.</p> +<p>All we propose to ourselves in these our weekly essays is, to +give brief suggestions for the better government of the world, and +for the bringing about the millennium, which—when we are +given away <em>gratis</em> in the streets—may be considered +to have arrived. Hence, we cannot follow put through all its +natural ramifications the benevolent proposition here laid down. We +trust, however, we have done enough. It is not necessary that we +should particularise all public men, tying them to be weighed +against specific viands: no, our readers will at once recognise the +existence of the parties, and at once acknowledge their fittest +offerings. It may happen that a peer might very properly be weighed +against shin of beef, and a Christian bishop be popped in the scale +against a sack of perriwinkles; it remains, however, with +LONDONDERRY or EXETER to be weighed if they will against golden +pheasants and birds of paradise.</p> +<p>We are perfectly aware that if many of the elect of the land +were to weigh themselves against merely the things they are worth, +that a great deal of the food subscribed would be unfit to be eaten +even by the poor. We should have rats, dogs, snakes, bats, and all +other unclean animals; but in levying the parties to weigh +themselves at their own valuation, the poor may be certain to +“sup in the Apollo.” On this principle we should have +the weight of a LYNDHURST served to this neighbourhood in the +tenderest house-lamb, and a STANLEY kicking the beam against so +many “sucking doves.”</p> +<p class="rgt">Q.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>FASHIONS FOR THE MONTH.</h3> +<p>Coats are very much worn, particularly at the elbows, and are +trimmed with a shining substance, which gives them a very glossy +appearance. A rim of white runs down the seams, and the covering of +the buttons is slightly opened, so as to show the wooden material +under it.</p> +<p>Hats are now slightly indented at the top, and we have seen +several in which part of the brim is sloped off without any +particular regard to the quantity abstracted.</p> +<p>Walking-dresses are very much dotted just now with brown spots +of a mud colour, thrown on quite irregularly, and the heels of the +stockings may sometimes be seen trimmed with the same material. A +sort of basket-work is now a great deal seen as a head-dress, and +in these cases it is strewed over with little silver fish, +something like common sprat, which gives it a light and graceful +character.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page271" name="page271"></a>[pg +271]</span> +<h2>PUNCH’S PENCILLINGS.—No. XXIII.</h2> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/023-04.png"><img src= +"images/023-04.png" alt="A man sits looking at a piece of paper." +id="img023-04" name="img023-04" width="100%" /></a> +<p>THE POLITICIAN PUZZLED;</p> +<p>OR,</p> +<p>PEEL ON THE RE-PEAL OF THE CORN-LAWS.</p> +</div> +<!--[pg 272]--> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page273" name="page273"></a>[pg +273]</span> +<h3>THE CHEROOT.</h3> +<p>An excellent thing it is, when you get it genuine—none of +your coarse Whitechapel abominations, but a veritable +satin-skinned, brown Indian beauty; smooth and firm to the touch, +and full-flavoured to the taste; such a one as would be worth a +Jewess’ eye, with a glass of tawny Port. But the +gratification that we have been wont to derive from our real +Manilla has been sadly disturbed of late by a circumstance which +has caused a dreadful schism in the smoking world, and has agitated +every divan in the metropolis to its very centre. The question is, +“Whether should a cheroot be smoked by the great or the small +end?” On this apparently trivial subject the great body of +cheroot smokers have taken different sides, and divided themselves, +as the Lilliputians did in the famous egg controversy, into the +<em>Big-endians</em> and <em>Little-endians</em>. The dispute has +been carried on with great vigour on both sides, and several +ingenious volumes have been already written, proving satisfactorily +the superiority of each system, without however convincing a single +individual of the opposite party. The Tories, we have observed, +have as usual seized on the <em>big end</em> of the argument, while +the Whigs have grappled as resolutely by the <em>little end</em>, +and are puffing away furiously in each other’s eyes. Heaven +knows where the contest will end! For ourselves, we are content to +watch the struggle from our quiet corner, convinced, whichever end +gains the victory, that John Bull will be made to smoke for it; and +when curious people ask us if we be <em>big-endians</em> or +<em>little-endians</em>, we answer, that, to oblige all our +friends, we smoke our Manillas at <em>both ends</em>.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>BALLADS OF THE BRIEFLESS.</h3> +<h4>No. 1.—THE RULE TO COMPUTE.</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Oh, tell me not of empires grand,</p> +<p class="i2">Of proud dominion wide and far,</p> +<p>Of those who sway the fertile land</p> +<p class="i2">Where melons three for twopence are.</p> +<p>To rule like this I ne’er aspire,</p> +<p class="i2">In fact my book it would not suit!</p> +<p>The only <em>rule</em> that I desire,</p> +<p class="i2">Is <em>a rule nisi to compute</em>.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Oh speak not of the calm delights,</p> +<p class="i2">That in the fields or lanes we win;</p> +<p>The field and lane that me invites</p> +<p class="i2">Is Chancery or Lincoln’s Inn.</p> +<p>Yes, there in some remote recess,</p> +<p class="i2">At eve, I practise on my flute,</p> +<p>Till some attorney comes to bless</p> +<p class="i2">With <em>a rule nisi to compute</em>.</p> +</div> +</div> +<h4>No. 2.—SIGNING A PLEA.</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Oh, how oft when alone at the close of the day</p> +<p class="i2">I’ve sat in that Court where the fig-tree +don’t grow</p> +<p>And wonder’d how I, without money, should pay</p> +<p class="i2">The little account to my laundress below!</p> +<p>And when I have heard a quick step on the stair,</p> +<p class="i2">I’ve thought which of twenty rich duns it could +be,</p> +<p>I have rush’d to the door in a fit of despair,</p> +<p class="i2">And—<em>received ten and sixpence for signing a +plea</em>.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p style="text-indent:-5em;">CHORUS.—Signing a plea, signing +a plea!</p> +<p class="i6">Received ten and sixpence for signing a plea.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>They may talk as they will of the pleasure that’s +found.</p> +<p class="i2">When venting in verse our despondence and grief;</p> +<p>But the pen of the poet was ne’er, I’ll be +bound,</p> +<p class="i2">Half so pleasantly used as in signing a brief.</p> +<p>In soft declarations, though rapture may lie,</p> +<p class="i2">If the maid to appear to your suit willing be,</p> +<p>But ah I could write till my inkstand was dry,</p> +<p class="i2">And die in the act—yes—of signing a +plea.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p style="text-indent:-5em;">CHORUS.—Signing a plea, signing +a plea!</p> +<p class="i6">Die in the act—yes—of signing a plea.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>A CUT BY SIR PETER.</h2> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/023-05.png"><img src= +"images/023-05.png" alt= +"A man looks in a mirror with a surprised look." id="img023-05" +name="img023-05" width="40%" /></a></div> +<h4>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ANACREON, PETRONIUS, CERVANTES, HUDIBRAS, +AND “PUNCH.”</h4> +<h3>A CASE IN POINT, FROM ANACREON.</h3> +<h4><span class="hide">[Greek: EIS +HEAUTON]</span>ΕΙ᾽Σ +ἙΑΥΤΟ´Ν.</h4> +<div class="hide"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza">[Greek: +<p>Degousin ai gunaikes</p> +<p>Anakreon geron ei</p> +<p>Labon esoptron athrei</p> +<p>Komas men ouket ousas</p> +<p>Psilon de seu metopon.]</p> +</div> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Λέγουσν +αἱ +γυναίκες</p> +<p>Άνακρέων +γέρων εί</p> +<p>Λαβὼν +ἔσοπτρον +ἄθρει</p> +<p>Κόμας μὲν +οὐκέτ᾿ +οὔσας</p> +<p>Ψιλὸν δέ +σευ +μέτωπον.</p> +</div> +</div> +<h3>A FREE TRANSLATION BY “PUNCH”—THE +CUTTEE.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Oft by the women I am told</p> +<p>“Tomkins, my boy, you’re growing o!d.</p> +<p>Look in the glass, and see how bare</p> +<p>Your poll appears reflected there.</p> +<p>No ringlets play around your brow;</p> +<p>’Tis all Sir Peter Laurie-ish<sup>1</sup><span class= +"sidenote">1. This is a graceful as well as a literal rendering of +the bard of Teos. The word +Ψιλὸν signifying <em>nudus</em>, <em>inanis</em>, +<em>‘envis</em>, <em>fatuus</em>; Anglice,—<em>Sir +Peter Laurie-ish</em> ED. OF “PUNCH.”</span> +now.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<h3>A TRIBUTE BY PETRONIUS.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Quod summum formæ decus est, cecidere capilli,</p> +<p class="i2">Vernantesque comas tristis abegit hyems</p> +<p>Nunc umbra nudata sua jam tempora mœrent,</p> +<p class="i2">Areaque attritis nidet adusta pilis.</p> +<p>O fallax natura Deum! quæ prima dedisti</p> +<p class="i2">Ætati nostræ gaudia, prima rapis.</p> +<p>Infelix modo crinibus nitebas,</p> +<p>Phœbo pulchrior, et sorore Phœbi:</p> +<p>At nunc lævior aëre, vel rotundo</p> +<p>Horti tubere, quod creavit unda,</p> +<p>Ridentes fugis et times puellas.</p> +<p>Ut mortem citius venire credas,</p> +<p>Scito jam capitis perisse partem.</p> +</div> +</div> +<h3>A FREE TRANSLATION BY “PUNCH.”</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Tomkins, you’re dish’d! thy light luxuriant +hair,</p> +<p>Like “a distress,” hath left thy caput bare;</p> +<p>Thy temples mourn th’ umbrageous locks, and yield</p> +<p>A crop as stunted as a stubble field.</p> +<p>Rowland and Ross! your greasy gifts are vain,</p> +<p>You give the hair you’re sure to cut again.</p> +<p>Unhappy Tomkins! late thy ringlets rare,</p> +<p>E’en Wombwell’s self to rival might despair.</p> +<p>Now with thy smooth crown, nor the fledgling’s chops,</p> +<p>Nor East-born Mechi’s magic razor strops,</p> +<p>Can vie! And laughing maids you fly in dread,</p> +<p>Lest they should see the horrors of your head!</p> +<p>Laurie, like death, hath clouded o’er your morn.</p> +<p>Tomkins, you’re dish’d! Your <em>Jeune France</em> +locks are shorn.</p> +</div> +</div> +<h3>A SCRAP FROM CERVANTES.</h3> +<p>“Deliver me from the devil,” cried the Squire, +“is it possible that a magistrate, or what d’ye call +him, green as a fig, should appear no better than an ass in your +worship’s eyes? By the Lord, I’ll give you leave to +pluck off <em>every hair</em> of my beard if that be the +case.”</p> +<p>“Then I tell thee,” said the master, “he is as +certainly a <em>he</em> ass as I am Don Quixote and thou Sancho +Panza, at least so he seems to me.”—<em>Don +Quixote</em>.</p> +<h3>A COINCIDENCE FROM BUTLER.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Shall <em>hair</em> that on a crown has place</p> +<p>Become the subject of a case?</p> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page274" name="page274"></a>[pg +274]</span> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The fundamental law of nature</p> +<p>Be over-ruled by those made after?</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>’Tis we that can dispose alone</p> +<p>Whether your heirs (<em>hairs</em>) shall be your own.</p> +</div> +<p class="rgt"><em>Hudibras.</em></p> +</div> +<h3>A CLIMAX BY “PUNCH.”</h3> +<p>Sir Peter Laurie passes so quickly from hyper-loyalty to +downright treason, that he is an insolvable problem. As wigs were +once worn out of compliment to a monarch, so when the Queen expects +a <em>little heir</em>, Sir Peter causes a gentleman, over whom he +has an accidental influence, to have a <em>little hair</em> too. +But oh the hypocrite! the traitor! he at the same time gives a +shilling to have the <em>ha(e)ir</em> cut off from the +<em>crown</em>. It is quite time to look to the</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/023-06.png"><img src= +"images/023-06.png" alt= +"A boy runs off with the cane of a man seated with his bandaged foot on a stool." +id="img023-06" name="img023-06" width="70%" /></a> +<p>HEIR PRESUMPTIVE.</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>ANNOUNCEMENT EXTRAORDINARY.</h3> +<p><strong>PUNCH</strong> begs to state that, owing to the immense +press of matter on hand, the following contributions only can +expect insertion in the body of PUNCH during the whole of next +week. Contributors are requested to send early—carriage +paid.</p> +<p>N.B.—PUNCH does not pledge himself for the return of any +article.</p> +<p><span class="sc">Turkeys</span>—for which PUNCH undertakes +to find <em>cuts</em>, and <em>plates</em>—unlimited.</p> +<p><span class="sc">Sausages</span>, to match the above. +Mem.—no undue preference, or Bill Monopoly. Epping and +Norfolk equally welcome.</p> +<p><span class="sc">Mince Pies</span>, per dozen—thirteen as +twelve. No returns.</p> +<p>“<span class="sc">Oh, the Roast Beef of Old +England</span>,” with additional verses, capable of various +encores.</p> +<p><span class="sc">Puddings</span> received from ten till four. +PUNCH makes his own sauce; the chief ingredient is brandy, which he +is open to receive per bottle or dozen.</p> +<p><span class="sc">Large Hampers</span> containing small turkeys, +&c., may be pleasantly filled with lemons, candied citron, and +lump sugar.</p> +<h4><span class="sc">To the Ladies Exclusively.</span></h4> +<p class="cen">(Private and confidential, quite unknown to +Judy.)</p> +<p>BRYANT has had orders to suspend a superb Mistletoe bough in the +publishing-office. PUNCH will be in attendance from daylight till +dusk. To prevent confusion, the salutes will he distributed +according to the order of arrival.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>TO PUNSTERS AND OTHERS.</h3> +<p>PUNCH begs to state he is open to receive tenders for +letter-press matter, to be illustrated by the</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/023-07.png"><img src= +"images/023-07.png" alt="A man chases after another with a stick." +id="img023-07" name="img023-07" width="50%" /></a> +<p>FOLLOWING CUT.</p> +</div> +<p>N.B. They must be sent in sealed, and will be submitted to a +select committee, consisting of Peter Laurie, and Borthwick, and +Deaf Burke.</p> +<p>N.B. No Cutting-his-Stick need apply.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>PEN AND PALETTE PORTRAITS.</h2> +<h4>(TAKEN FROM THE FRENCH.)</h4> +<h3>BY ALPHONSE LECOURT.</h3> +<p class="cen">(<em>Continued.</em>)</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<h3>PORTRAIT OF THE LOVER.</h3> +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> +<h4>IN WHICH THE AUTHOR TREATS OF LOVERS IN GENERAL.</h4> +<div class="dropcap"><a href="images/023-08.png"><img src= +"images/023-08.png" alt="A gentleman leans against a letter A." id= +"img023-08" name="img023-08" width="100%" /></a></div> +<p><span class="hide">A</span>ll lovers are absurd and ridiculous. +The passion which spiritualises woman makes man a fool. Nothing can +be more amusing than to observe a bashful lover in company where +the object of his affections is present. He is the very picture of +confusion and distress, looking like a man who has lost something, +and knows not where to seek for it. His eyes wander from the carpet +to the ceiling; at one moment he is engaged in counting the panes +in the window, and the next in watching the discursive flights of a +blue-bottle round the apartment. But while he appears anxiously +seeking for some object on which to fix his attention, he carefully +avoids looking towards his <em>innamorata</em>; and should their +eyes meet by chance, his cheeks assume the tint of the beet-root or +the turnip, and his manifest embarrassment betrays his secret to +the most inexperienced persons. In order to recover his confidence, +he shifts his seat, which seems suddenly to have shot forth as many +pins as the back of a hedgehog; but in doing so he places the leg +of his chair on the toe of a gouty, cross old uncle, or on the tail +of a favourite lap-dog, and, besides creating an awful +<em>fracas</em>, succeeds in making inveterate enemies of the two +brutes for the remainder of their lives.</p> +<p>There are some lovers, who show their love by their affected +indifference, and appear smitten by any woman except the one whom +they are devoted to. This is an ingenious stratagem; but in general +it is so badly managed, that it is more easily seen through than a +cobweb. Lastly, there are a select few, who evince their tender +regard by perpetual bickerings and quarrels. This method will +frequently mislead inquisitive aunts and guardians; but it should +only be attempted by a man who has full confidence in his own +powers.</p> +<p>Lovers, as I have observed, are invariably objects of ridicule; +timid, jealous, and nervous, a frown throws them into a state of +agony it would be difficult to describe, and a smile bestowed upon +a rival breaks their rest for a week. Only observe one of them +engaged in a quiet, interesting +<em>tête-à-tête</em> with the lady of his +choice. He has exerted all his powers of fascination, and he +fancies he is beginning to make a favourable impression on his +companion, when—bang!—a tall, whiskered fellow, who, +rumour has whispered, is the lady’s intended, drops in upon +them like a bomb-shell! The detected lover sits confounded and +abashed, wishing in the depths of his soul that he could transform +himself into a gnat, and make his exit through the keyhole. +Meantime the new-comer seats himself in solemn silence, and for +five minutes the conversation is only kept up by monosyllables, in +spite of the incredible efforts of all parties to appear +unconcerned. The young man in his confusion plunges deeper into the +mire;—he twists and writhes in secret agony—remarks on +the sultriness of the weather, though the thermometer is below the +freezing point; and commits a thousand +<em>gaucheries</em>—too happy if he can escape from a +situation than which nothing can possibly be conceived more +painful.</p> +<h4>THE LOVER AT DIFFERENT AGES.</h4> +<p>It would not be easy to determine at what age love first +manifests itself in the human heart; but if the reader have a good +memory (I now speak to my own sex), he may remember when its tender +light dawned upon his soul,—he may recall the moment when the +harmonious voice of woman first tingled in his ears, and filled his +bosom with unknown rapture,—he may recollect how he used to +forsake trap-ball and peg-top to follow the idol he had created in +her walks,—how he hoarded up the ripest oranges and gathered +the choicest flowers to present to her, and felt more than +recompensed by a word of thanks kindly spoken. Oh, +youth—youth! pure and happy age, when a smile, a look, a +touch of the hand, makes all sunshine and happiness in thy +breast.</p> +<p>But the season of boyhood passes—the youth of sixteen +becomes a young man of twenty, and smiles at the innocent emotions +of his uneducated heart. He is no longer the mute adorer who +worshipped in secrecy and in silence. Each season produces its own +flowers. At <span class="pagenum"><a id="page275" name= +"page275"></a>[pg 275]</span>twenty, the time for mute sympathy has +passed away: it is one of the most eventful periods in the life of +a lover; for should he then chance to meet a heart free to respond +to his ardent passion, and that no cruel father, relentless +guardian, or richer lover interposes to overthrow his hopes, he may +with the aid of a licence, a parson, and a plain gold ring, be +suddenly launched into the calm felicity of married life.</p> +<p>I know not what mysterious chain unites the heart of a young +lover to that of the woman whom he loves. In the simplicity of +their hearts they often imagine it is but friendship that draws +them towards each other, until some unexpected circumstance removes +the veil from their eyes, and they discover the dangerous precipice +upon whose brink they have been walking. A journey, absence, or +sickness, inevitably produce a discovery. If a temporary separation +be about to occur, the unconscious lovers feel, they scarce know +wherefore, a deep shade of sadness steal over them; their adieux +are mingled with a thousand protestations of regret, which sink +into the heart and bear a rich harvest by the time they meet again. +Days and months glide by, and the pains of separation still endure; +for they feel how necessary they have become to the happiness of +each other, and how cold and joyless existence seems when far from +those we love.</p> +<p>That which may be anticipated, at length comes to pass; the +lover returns—he flies to his mistress—she receives him +with blushing cheek and palpitating heart. I shall not attempt to +describe the scene, but throughout the day and night that succeeds +that interview the lover seems like one distracted. In the city, in +the fields—alone, or in company—he hears nothing but +the magic words, “I LOVE YOU!” ringing in his ears, and +feels that ecstatic delight which it is permitted mortals to taste +but once in their lives.</p> +<p>But what are the sensations which enter the heart of a young and +innocent girl when she first confesses the passion that fills her +heart? A tender sadness pervades her being—her soul, touched +by the hand of Love, delivers itself to the influence of all the +nobler emotions of her nature; and borne heavenward on the +organ’s solemn peal, pours forth its rich treasures in silent +and grateful adoration.</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/023-09.png"><img src= +"images/023-09.png" alt="A woman kneels on a prayer stool." id= +"img023-09" name="img023-09" width="70%" /></a></div> +<p>At thirty, a man takes a more decided—I wish I could add a +more amiable—character than at twenty. At twenty he loves +sincerely and devotedly; he respects the woman who has inspired him +with the noblest sentiment of which his soul is capable. At thirty +his heart, hardened by deceit and ill-requited affection, and +pre-occupied by projects of worldly ambition, regards love only as +an agreeable pastime, and woman’s heart as a toy, which he +may fling aside the moment it ceases to amuse him. At twenty he is +ready to abandon everything for her whom he idolises—rank, +wealth, the future!—they weigh as nothing in the balance +against the fancied strength and constancy of his passion. At +thirty he coldly immolates the repose and happiness of the woman +who loves him to the slightest necessity. I must admit, +however—in justice to our sex—provided his love does +not interfere with his interest, nor his freedom, nor his club, nor +his dogs and horses, nor his <em>petites liaisons des +coulisses</em>, nor his hour of dinner—the lover is always +willing to make the greatest sacrifices for her whom he has +honoured with his regards. The man of thirty is, moreover, a man of +many loves; he carries on half-a-dozen affairs of the heart at the +same time—he has his writing-desk filled with +<em>billets-doux</em>, folded into a thousand fanciful shapes, and +smelling villanously of violets, roses, bergamot, and other +sentimental odours. He has a pocket-book full of little locks of +hair, of all colours, from the light golden to the raven black. In +short, the man of thirty is the most dangerous of lovers. Let my +fair readers watch his approaches with distrust, and place at every +avenue of their innocent hearts</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/023-10.png"><img src= +"images/023-10.png" alt="A toddler in Napoleonic hat and sash." id= +"img023-10" name="img023-10" width="40%" /></a> +<p>A WATCHFUL SENTINEL.</p> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="margin-left:25%;"><a href= +"images/023-11.png"><img src="images/023-11.png" alt= +"A signature of Alph. Lecourt." id="img023-11" name="img023-11" +width="90%" /></a></div> +<hr /> +<h3>A DEER BARGAIN.</h3> +<p>In consequence of an advertisement in the <em>Sporting +Magazine</em> for SEVERAL OLD BUCKS, some daring villains actually +secured the following venerable gentlemen:—Sir Francis +Burdett, Lord Palmerston, Sir Lumley Skeffington, Jack Reynolds, +and Mr. Widdicombe. The venison dealer, however, declined to +purchase such very old stock, and the aged captives upon being set +at liberty heartily congratulated each other on their</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/023-12.png"><img src= +"images/023-12.png" alt= +"A man runs through a fence as a bull chases him." id="img023-12" +name="img023-12" width="90%" /></a> +<p>NARROW ESCAPE.</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>OUT OF SCHOOL.</h3> +<p>An attenuated disciple of the ill-paid art which has been +described as one embracing the “delightful task which teaches +the young idea how to shoot,” in a fit of despair, being but +little skilled in the above sporting accomplishment, endeavoured to +cheat nature of its right of killing by trying the efficacy of a +small hanging match, in which he suicidically “doubled” +the character of criminal and Jack Ketch. Upon being asked by the +redoubtable Civic Peter what he meant by such conduct, he attempted +to urge the propriety of the proceeding according to the scholastic +rules of the ancients. “It may,” replied Sir Peter, +“be very well for those chaps to hang themselves, as they are +out of my jurisdiction; but I’ll let you see you are wrong, +as</p> +<div class="figcenter"><a href="images/023-13.png"><img src= +"images/023-13.png" alt="A man hangs from the neck." id="img023-13" +name="img023-13" width="50%" /></a> +<p>A GRAMMARIAN DECLINING TO BE.</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page276" name="page276"></a>[pg +276]</span> +<h3>PUNCH’S LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.</h3> +<p>We understand that the Author of “Jack Sheppard,” +&c., is about to publish a new Romance, in three volumes, post +octavo, to be called “James Greenacre; or, the Hero of +Paddington.”</p> +<p>We are requested by Mr. Catnach, of Seven Dials, to state that +he has a few remaining copies of “All round my Hat” on +sale. Early application must be made, to prevent disappointment. +Mr. C. has also to inform the public that an entirely new +collection of the most popular songs is now in the press, and will +shortly be published, price One Halfpenny.</p> +<p>Mr. Grant, the author of “Random Recollections,” is, +it is said, engaged in writing a new work, entitled “Quacks +as they are,” and containing copious extracts from all his +former publications, with a portrait of himself.</p> +<p>“An Essay on False Wigs,” written by Lord John +Russell, and dedicated to Mr. Wakley, M.P., may shortly be +expected.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>PUNCH’S THEATRE.</h2> +<h3>THE UNITED SERVICE.</h3> +<p>The man who wishes to study an epitome of human +character—who wants to behold choice samples of “all +sorts and conditions of men”—to read out of a small, a +duodecimo edition of the great book of life—must take a +season’s lodgings at a Cheltenham, a Harrowgate, or a +Brighton boarding-house. There he will find representatives of all +kinds of eccentricities,—members of every possible lodge of +“odd fellows” that Folly has admitted of her +crew—mixed up with everyday sort of people, sharpers, +schemers, adventurers, fortune-hunters, male and +female—widows, wags, and Irishmen. Hence, as the +“proper study of mankind is man,” a boarding-house is +the place to take lessons;—even on the score of economy, as +it is possible to live decently at one of these refuges for the +destitute for three guineas a-week, exclusive, however, of wine, +servants, flirtation, and other extras.</p> +<p>A result of this branch of study, and an example of such a mode +of studying it, is the farce with the above title, which has been +brought out at Covent Garden. <em>Mrs. Walker</em> (Mrs. Orger) +keeps a boarding-house, which also keeps her; for it is well +frequented: so well that we find her making a choice of inmates by +choosing to turn out <em>Mr. Woodpecker</em> (Mr. Walter +Lacy)—a mere “sleeping-apartment” +boarder—to make room for <em>Mrs. Coo</em> (Mrs. Glover), a +widow, whose demands entitle her to the dignity of a “private +sitting and bedroom” lodger. <em>Mr. Woodpecker</em> is very +comfortable, and does not want to go; but the hostess is obstinate: +he appeals to her feelings as an orphan, without home or +domesticity; but the lady, having been in business for a dozen +years, has lost all sympathy for orphans of six-and-twenty. In +short, <em>Mrs. Walker</em> determines he shall walk, and so shall +his luggage (a plethoric trunk and an obese carpet-bag are on the +stage); for she has dreamt even that has legs—such dreams +being, we suppose, very frequent to persons of her name.</p> +<p>You are not quite satisfied that the mere preference for a +better inmate furnishes the only reasons why the lady wants <em>Mr. +Woodpecker’s room</em> rather than his company. Perhaps he is +in arrear; but no, he pays his bill: so it is not on <em>that</em> +score that he is so ruthlessly sent away. You are, however, not +kept long on the tiptoe of conjecture, but soon learn that <em>Mrs. +W.</em> has a niece, and you already know that the banished is +young, good-looking, and gay. Indeed, <em>Mrs. Walker</em> having +perambulated, <em>Miss Fanny Merrivale</em> (Miss Lee) appears, and +listens very composedly to the plan of an elopement from +<em>Woodpecker</em>, but speedily makes her <em>exit</em> to avoid +suspicion, and the enemy who has dislodged her lover; before whom +the latter also retreats, together with his bag and baggage.</p> +<p>There are no classes so well represented at boarding-houses as +those who sigh for fame, and those that are dying to be married. +Accordingly, we find in <em>Mrs. Walker’s</em> establishment +<em>Captain Whistleborough</em> (Mr. W. Farren), who is doing the +extreme possible to get into Parliament, and <em>Captain Pacific, +R.N.</em>, (Mr. Bartley,) who is crowding all sail to the port of +matrimony. Well knowing how boarding-houses teem with such persons, +two men who come under the “scheming” category are also +inmates. One of these, <em>Mr. Enfield Bam</em> (Mr. Harley), is a +sort of parliamentary agent, who goes about to dig up aspirants +that are buried in obscurity, and to introduce them to boroughs, by +which means he makes a very good living. His present victim is, of +course, <em>Captain Whistleborough</em>, upon whom he is not slow +in commencing operations.</p> +<p><em>Captain Whistleborough</em> has almost every requisite for +an orator. He is an army officer; so his manners are good and his +self-possession complete. His voice is commanding, for it has been +long his duty to give the word of command. Above all, he has a +mania to become a member. Yet, alas! one trifling deficiency ruins +his prospects; he has an impediment in his speech, which debars him +from the use of the <em>W’s</em>. Like the French alphabet, +that letter is denied to him. When he comes to a syllable it +begins, he is <em>spell</em>-bound; though he longs to go on, he +pulls up quite short, and sticks fast. The first <em>W</em> he +meets with in the flowery paths of rhetoric causes him to be as +dumb as an oyster, or as O. Smith in “Frankenstein.” In +vain does he try the Demosthenes’ plan by sucking pebbles on +the Brighton shore and haranguing the <em>w</em>aves, though he is +unable to address them by name. All is useless, and he has resigned +himself to despair and a Brighton boarding-house, when <em>Mr. +Enfield Bam</em> gives him fresh hopes. He informs him that the +proprietress of a pocket borough resides under the same roof, and +that he will (for the usual consideration) get the Captain such an +introduction to her as shall ensure him a seat in her good graces, +and another in St. Stephen’s. <em>Mr. Bam</em>, therefore, +goes off to negotiate with <em>Miss Polecon</em> (Mrs. Tayleure), +and makes way for the intrigues of another sort of an agent, who +lives in the house.</p> +<p>This is <em>Rivet</em> (Mr. C. Mathews), a gentleman who +undertakes to procure for an employer anything upon earth he may +want, at so much per cent. commission. There is nothing that this +very general agent cannot get hold of, from a hack to a +husband—from a boat to a baronetcy—from a +tortoise-shell tom-cat to a rich wife. Matrimonial agency is, +however, his passion, and he has plenty of indulgence for it in a +Brighton boarding-house. <em>Captain Pacific</em> wants a wife, +<em>Mrs. Coo</em> is a widow, and all widows want husbands. Thus +<em>Rivet</em> makes sure of a swingeing commission from both +parties; for, in imagination, and in his own memorandum-book, he +has already married them.</p> +<p>Here are the ingredients of the farce; and in the course of it +they are compounded in such wise as to make <em>Woodpecker</em> +jealous, merely because he happens to find <em>Fanny</em> in the +dark, and in <em>Whistleborough’s</em> arms; to cause the +latter to negotiate with <em>Mrs. Coo</em> for a seat in +Parliament, instead of a wedding-ring; and <em>Pacific</em> to talk +of the probable prospects of the nuptial state to <em>Miss +Polecon</em>, who is an inveterate spinster and a political +economist, professing the Malthusian creed. <em>Rivet</em> finding +<em>Fanny</em> and her friend are taking business out of his hands +by planning an elopement <em>en amateur</em>, gets himself +“regularly called in,” and manages to save +<em>Woodpecker</em> all the trouble, by contriving that +<em>Whistleborough</em> shall run away with the young lady by +mistake, so that <em>Woodpecker</em> might marry her, and no +mistake. <em>Bam</em> bams <em>Whistleborough</em>, who ends the +piece by threatening his deceiver with an action for breach of +promise of borough, all the other breaches having been duly made +up; together with the match between <em>Mrs. Coo</em> and +<em>Pacific</em>.</p> +<p>If our readers want to be told what we think of this farce, they +will be disappointed; if they wish to know whether it is good or +bad, witty or dull, lively or stupid—whether it ought to have +been damned outright, or to supersede the Christmas +pantomime—whether the actors played well or played the +deuce—whether the scenery is splendid and the appointments +appropriate or otherwise, they must judge for themselves by going +to see it; because if we gave them our opinion they would not +believe us, seeing that the author is one of our most esteemed +(especially over a boiled chicken and sherry), most merry, most +jolly, most clever colleagues; one, in fine, of PUNCH’S +“United Service.”</p> +<hr /> +<p>“I have been running ever since I was born and am not +tired now”—as the brook said to Captain Barclay.</p> +<p>“Hookey”—as the carp said, when he saw a worm +at the end of a line.</p> +<p>“<em>Nothing is</em> certain”—as the fisherman +said, when he always found it in his nets.</p> +<p>“Brief let it be”—as the barrister said in his +conference with the attorney.</p> +<p>“He is the greatest liar on (H) earth”—as the +cockney said of the lapdog he often saw lying before the fire.</p> +<p>When is a hen most likely to hatch? When she is in earnest (her +nest).</p> +<p>Why are cowardly soldiers like butter? When exposed to a +<em>fire</em> they <em>run</em>.</p> +<p>Do you sing?—says the teapot to the kettle—Yes, I +can manage to get over a few <em>bars</em>.—Bah, exclaimed +the teapot.</p> +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. +1, December 18, 1841, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + +***** This file should be named 14941-h.htm or 14941-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/9/4/14941/ + +Produced by Syamanta Saikia, Jon Ingram, Barbara Tozier and the PG +Online Distributed Proofreading + + +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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