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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, August 14, 1841
Author: Various
Language: English
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, August 14, 1841" ***

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VOL. 1.


       *       *       *       *       *



_In Four Chapters._


[Illustration: H]Haberdashers, continued my friend the boot, are wonderful
people; they make the greatest show out of the smallest stock--whether of
brains or ribbons--of any men in the world. A stranger could not pass
through the village of Ballybreesthawn without being attracted by a shop
which occupied the corner of the Market-square and the main street, with a
window looking both ways for custom. In these windows were displayed sundry
articles of use and ornament--toys, stationery, perfumery, ribbons, laces,
hardware, spectacles, and Dutch dolls.

In a glass-case on the counter were exhibited patent medicines, Birmingham
jewellery, court-plaister, and side-combs. Behind the counter might be seen
Mr. Matthew Tibbins, quite a precedent for country shop-keepers, with
uncommonly fair hair and slender fingers, a profusion of visible linen, and
a most engaging lisp. In addition to his personal attractions, Tibbins
possessed a large stock of accomplishments, which, like his goods, "might
safely challenge competition." He was an acknowledged wit, and retailed
compliments and cotton balls to the young ladies who visited his emporium.
As a poet, too, his merits were universally known; for he had once
contributed a poetic charade to the _Ladies' Almanack_. He, moreover,
played delightfully on the Jews'-harp, knew several mysterious tricks in
cards, and was an adept in the science of bread and butter-cutting, which
made him a prodigious favourite with maiden aunts and side-table cousins.
This was the individual whom fate had ordained to cross and thwart Terence
in his designs upon the heart of Miss Biddy O'Brannigan, and upon whom that
young lady, in sport or caprice, bestowed a large dividend of those smiles
which Terence imagined should be devoted solely to himself.

The man of small wares was, in truth, a dangerous rival, from his very
insignificance. Had he been a man of spirit or corporal consideration,
Terence would have pistolled or thrashed him out of his audacious notions;
but the creature was so smiling and submissive that he could not, for the
life of him, dirty his fingers with such a contemptible wretch. Thus
Tibbins continued flattering and wriggling himself into Miss Biddy's good
graces, while Terence was fighting and kissing the way to her heart, till
the poor girl was fairly bothered between them.

Miss Biddy O'Brannigan, I should have told you, sir, was an heiress, valued
at one thousand pounds in hard cash, living with an old aunt at Rookawn
Lodge, about six miles from Ballybreesthawn; and to this retreat of the
loves and graces might the rival lovers be seen directing their course,
after mass, every Sunday;--the haberdasher in a green gig with red wheels,
and your uncle mounted on a bit of blood, taking the coal off Tibbins's
pipe with the impudence of his air, and the elegant polish of your humble

Matters went on in this way for some time--Miss O'Brannigan not having
declared in favour of either of her suitors--when one bitter cold evening,
I remember it was in the middle of January, we were whipped off our peg in
the hall, and in company with our fellow-labourers, the buckskin
continuations, were carried up to your uncle, whom we found busily
preparing for a ball, which was to be given that night by the heiress of
Rookawn Lodge. I confess that my brother and myself felt a strong
presentiment that something unfortunate would occur, and our forebodings
were shared by the buckskins, who, like ourselves, felt considerable
reluctance to join in the expedition. Remonstrance, however, would have
been idle; we therefore submitted with the best grace we could, and in a
few minutes were bestriding Terence's favourite hunter, and crossing the
country over ditch, dyke, and drain, as if we were tallying at the tail of
a fox. The night was dark, and a recent fall of rain had so swollen a
mountain stream which lay in our road, that when we reached the ford, which
was generally passable by foot passengers, Terence was obliged to swim his
horse across, and to dismount on the opposite side, in order to assist the
animal up a steep clayey bank which had been formed by the torrent
undermining and cutting away the old banks.

Although we had received no material damage, you may suppose that our
appearance was not much improved by the water and yellow clay into which we
had been plunged; and had it been possible, we would have blushed with
vexation, on finding ourselves introduced by Terence in a very unseemly
state, amidst the titters of a number of young people, into the ball-room
at Rookawn Lodge. However, we became somewhat reassured, when we heard the
droll manner in which he related his swim, with such ornamental flourishes
and romantic embellishments as made him an object of general interest
during the night.

Matthew Tibbins had already taken the field in a blue satin waistcoat and
nankeen trousers. At the instant we entered the dancing-room, he had
commenced lisping to Miss Biddy, in a tender love-subdued tone, a couplet
which he had committed to memory for the occasion, when a glance of
terrible meaning from Terence's eye met his--the unfinished stanza died in
his throat, and without waiting the nearer encounter of his dreaded rival,
he retreated to a distant corner of the apartment, leaving to Terence the
post of honour beside the heiress.

"Mr. Duffy," said she, accompanying her words with the blandest smile you
can conceive, as he approached, "what a wonderful escape you have had. Dear
me! I declare you are dripping wet. Will you not change your--clothes?"
and Miss Biddy glanced furtively at the buckskins, which, like ourselves,
had got thoroughly soaked. "Oh! by no means, my dear Miss Biddy," replied
Terence, gaily; "'tis only a thrifle of water--that won't hurt them"--and
then added, in a confidential tone, "don't you know I'd go through fire as
well as water for one kind look from those deludin' eyes."

"Shame, Mr. Duffy! how can you!" responded Miss Biddy, putting her
handkerchief to her face to make believe she blushed.

"Isn't it the blessed truth--and don't you know it is, you darling?--Oh!
Miss Biddy, I'm wasting away like a farthing candle in the dog-days--I'm
going down to my snug grave through your cruelty. The daisies will be
growing over me afore next Easther--Ugh--ugh--ugh. I've a murderin' cough
too, and nothing can give me ase but yourself, Miss Biddy," cried Terence

"Hush! they'll hear you," said the heiress.

"I don't care who hears me," replied Terence desperately; "I can't stand
dying by inches this way. I'll destroy myself."

"Oh, Terence!" murmured Miss O'Brannigan.

"Yes," he continued: "I loaded my pistols this morning, and I told Barney
M'Guire, the dog-feeder, to come over and shoot me the first thing he does
in the morning."

"Terence, _dear_, what do you want? What am I to say?" inquired the
trembling girl.

"Say," cried Terence, who was resolved to clinch the business at a word;
"say that you love me."

The handkerchief was again applied to Miss O'Brannigan's face, and a faint
affirmative issued from the depths of the cambric. Terence's heart hopped
like a racket-ball in his breast.

"Give me your hand upon it," he whispered.

Miss Biddy placed the envied _palm_, not on his brows, but in his hand, and
was led by him to the top of a set which was forming for a country dance,
from whence they started off at the rate of one of our modern
steam-engines, to the spirit-stirring tune of "Haste to the Wedding." There
was none of the pirouetting, and chassez-ing, and balancez-ing, of your
slip-shod quadrilles in vogue then--it was all life and action: swing
corners in a hand gallop, turn your partner in a whirlwind, and down the
middle like a flash of lightning.

Terence had never acquitted himself so well; he cut, capered, and set to
his partner with unusual agility; _we_ naturally participated in the
admiration he excited, and in the fullness of our triumph, while brushing
past the flimsy nankeens worn by Tibbins, I could not refrain from
bestowing a smart kick upon his shins, that brought the tears to his eyes
with pain and vexation.

After the dance had concluded, Terence led his glowing partner to a cool
quiet corner, where leaving her, he flew to the side table, and in less
time than he would take to bring down a snipe, he was again beside her with
a large mugful of hot negus, into which he had put, by way of stiffener, a
copious dash of mountain dew.

"How do you like it, my darling?" asked Terence, after Miss Biddy had read
the maker's name in the bottom of the mug.

"Too strong, I'm afraid," replied the heiress.

"Strong! Wake as _tay_, upon my honour! Miss Biddy," cried Mr. Duffy.

(The result of Terence Duffy's courtship will be given in the next

       *       *       *       *       *


No. IV.

  O Dinna paint her charms to me,
    I ken that she is fair;
  I ken her lips might tempt the bee--
    Her een with stars compare,
  Such transient gifts I ne'er did prize,
    My heart they couldna win;
  I dinna scorn my Jeannie's eyes--
    But has she ony tin?

  The fairest cheek, alas! may fade
    Beneath the touch of years;
  The een where light and gladness play'd
    May soon graw dim wi' tears.
  I would love's fires should, to the last,
    Still burn as they begin;
  And beauty's reign too soon is past,
    So--has she ony tin?

       *       *       *       *       *


Her ladyship, at her last _conversazione_, propounded to PUNCH the
following classical poser:--"How would you translate the Latin words,
_puella_, _defectus_, _puteus_, _dies_, into four English interjections?"
Our wooden Roscius hammered his pate for full five minutes, and then
exclaimed--"A-lass! a-lack! a-well a-day!" Her ladyship protested that the
answer would have done honour to the professor of languages at the London

       *       *       *       *       *




  "GROUND ARMS!"--_Birdcage Walk._

LION.--So! how do you feel now?

UNICORN.--Considerably relieved. Though you can't imagine the stiffness of
my neck and legs. Let me see, how long is it since we relieved the

LION.--An odd century or two, but never mind that. For the first time, we
have laid down our charge--have got out of our state attitudes, and may sit
over our pot and pipe at ease.

UNICORN.--What a fate is ours! Here have we, in our time, been compelled to
give the patronage of our countenance to all sorts of rascality--have been
forced to support robbery, swindling, extortion--but it won't do to think
of--give me the pot. Oh! dear, it had suited better with my conscience, had
I been doomed to draw a sand-cart!

LION.--Come, come, no unseemly affectation. _You_, at the best, are only a
fiction--a quadruped lie.

UNICORN.--I know naturalists dispute my existence, but if, as you unkindly
say, I am only a fiction, why should I have been selected as a supporter of
the royal arms?

LION.--Why, you fool, for that very reason. Have you been where you are for
so many years, and yet don't know that often, in state matters, the greater
the lie the greater the support?

UNICORN.--Right. When I reflect--I have greater doubts of my truth, seeing
where I am.

LION.--But here am I, in myself a positive majesty, degraded into a
petty-larceny scoundrel; yes, all my inherent attributes compromised by my
position. Oh, Hercules! when I remember my native Africa--when I reflect on
the sweet intoxication of my former liberty--the excitement of the
chase--the mad triumph of my spring, cracking the back of a bison with one
fillip of my paw--when I think of these things--of my tawny wife with her
smile sweetly ferocious, her breath balmy with new blood--of my playful
little ones, with eyes of topaz and claws of pearl--when I think of all
this, and feel that here I am, a damned rabbit-sucker--

UNICORN.--Don't swear.

LION.--Why not? God knows, we've heard swearing enough of all sorts in our
time. It isn't the fault of our position, if we're not first-rate

UNICORN.--That's true: still, though we are compelled to witness all these
things in the courts of law, let us be above the influence of bad example.

LION.--Give me the pot. Courts of law? Oh, Lord! what places they put us
into! And there they expect me--_me_, the king of the animal world, to
stand quietly upon my two hind-legs, looking as mildly contemptible as an
apoplectic dancing-master,--whilst iniquities, and meannesses, and tyranny,
and--give me the pot.

UNICORN:--Brother, you're getting warm. Really, you ought to have seen
enough of state and justice to take everything coolly. I certainly must
confess that--looking at much of the policy of the country, considering
much of the legal wickedness of law-scourged England--it does appear to me
a studied insult to both of us to make us supporters of the national
quarterings. Surely, considering the things that have been done under our
noses, animals more significant of the state and social policy might have
been promoted to our places. Instead of the majestic lion and the graceful
unicorn, might they not have had the--the--

LION.--The vulture and the magpie.

UNICORN.--Excellent! The vulture would have capitally typified many of the
wars of the state, their sole purpose being so many carcases--whilst, for
the courts of law, the magpie would have been the very bird of legal
justice and legal wisdom.

LION.--Yes, but then the very rascality of their faces would at once have
declared their purpose. The vulture is a filthy, unclean wretch--the bird
of Mars--preying upon the eyes, the hearts, the entrails of the victims of
that scoundrel-mountebank, Glory; whilst the magpie is a petty-larceny
vagabond, existing upon social theft. To use a vulgar phrase--and
considering the magistrates we are compelled to keep company with, 'tis
wonderful that we talk so purely as we do--'twould have let the cat too
much out of the bag to have put the birds where we stand. Whereas, there is
a fine hypocrisy about us. Consider--am not I the type of heroism, of
magnanimity? Well, compelling me, the heroic, the magnanimous, now to stand
here upon my hind-legs, and now to crouch quietly down, like a pet kitten
over-fed with new milk,--any state roguery is passed off as the greatest
piece of single-minded honesty upon the mere strength of my character--if I
may so say it, upon my legendary reputation. Now, as for you, though you
_are_ a lie, you are nevertheless not a bad-looking lie. You have a nice
head, clean legs, and--though I think it a little impertinent that you
should wear that tuft at the end of your tail--are altogether a very decent
mixture of the quadrupeds. Besides, lie or not, you have helped to support
the national arms so long, that depend upon it there are tens of thousands
who believe you to be a true thing.

UNICORN.--I have often flattered myself with that consolation.

LION.--A poor comfort: for if you are a true beast, and really have the
attributes you are painted with, the greater the insult that you should be
placed here. If, on the contrary, you are a lie, still greater the insult
to leonine majesty, in forcing me for so many, many years to keep such bad

UNICORN.--But I have a great belief in my reality: besides, if the head,
body, legs, tail, I bear, never really met in one animal, they all exist in
several: hence, if I am not true altogether, I am true in parts; and what
would you have of a thick-and-thin supporter of the crown?

LION.--Blush, brother, blush; such sophistry is only worthy of the Common
Pleas, where I know you picked it up. To be sure, if both of us were the
most abandoned of beasts, we surely should have some excuse for our
wickedness in the profligate company we are obliged to keep.

UNICORN.--Well, well, don't weep. _Take_ the pot.

LION.--Have we not been, ay, for hundreds of years, in both Houses of

UNICORN.--It can't be denied.

LION--And there, what have we not seen--what have we not heard! What
brazen, unblushing faces! What cringing, and bowing, and fawning! What
scoundrel smiles, what ruffian frowns! what polished lying! What hypocrisy
of patriotism! What philippics, levelled in the very name of liberty,
against her sacred self! What orations on the benefit of starvation--on the
comeliness of rags! Have we not heard selfishness speaking with a syren
voice? Have we not seen the haggard face of state-craft rouged up into a
look of pleasantness and innocence? Have we not, night after night, seen
the national Jonathan Wilds meet to plan a robbery, and--the purse
taken--have they not rolled in their carriages home, with their fingers
smelling of the people's pockets?

UNICORN.--It's true--true as an Act of Parliament.

LION.--Then are we not obliged to be in the Courts of Law? In Chancery--to
see the golden wheat of the honest man locked in the granaries of
equity--granaries where deepest rats do most abound--whilst the slow fire
of famine shall eat the vitals of the despoiled; and it may be the man of
rightful thousands shall be carried to churchyard clay in parish deals?
Then in the Bench, in the Pleas--there we are too. And there, see we not
justice weighing cobwebs against truth, making too often truth herself kick
the beam?

UNICORN.--It has made me mad to see it.

LION.--Turn we to the Police-offices--there we are again. And there--good
God!--to see the arrogance of ignorance! To listen to the vapid joke of his
worship on the crime of beggary! To see the punishment of the poor--to mark
the sweet impunity of the rich! And then are we not in the Old Bailey--in
all the criminal courts! Have we not seen trials _after dinner_--have we
not heard sentences in which the bottle spoke more than the judge?

UNICORN.--Come, come, no libel on the ermine.

LION.--The ermine! In such cases, the fox--the pole-cat. Have we not seen
how the state makes felons, and then punishes them for evil-doing?

UNICORN.--We certainly have seen a good deal that way.

LION.--And then the motto we are obliged to look grave over!

UNICORN.--What _Dieu et mon droit!_ Yes, that does sometimes come awkwardly
in--"God and my right!" Seeing what is sometimes done under our noses, now
and then, I can hardly hold my countenance.

LION.--"God and my right!" What atrocity has that legend sanctified! and
yet with demure faces they try men for blasphemy. Give me the pot.

UNICORN.--Come, be cool--be philosophic. I tell you we shall have as much
need as ever of our stoicism?

LION.--What's the matter now?

UNICORN.--The matter! Why, the Tories are to be in, and Peel's to be

LION.--Then he may send for Mr. Cross for the oran-outan to take my place,
for never again do I support _him_. Peel minister, and Goulburn, I

UNICORN.--Goulburn! Goulburn in the cabinet! If it be so, I shall certainly
vacate my place in favour of a jackass.

       *       *       *       *       *



The first examination for the degree of bachelor of medicine has taken
place at the London University, and has raised itself to the level of
Oxford and Cambridge.

Without doubt, it will soon acquire all the other attributes of the
colleges. Town and gown rows will cause perpetual confusion to the
steady-going inhabitants of Euston-square: steeple-chases will be run, for
the express delight of the members, on the waste grounds in the vicinity of
the tall chimneys on the Birmingham railroad; and in all probability, the
whole of Gower-street, from Bedford-square to the New-road, will, at a
period not far distant, be turfed and formed into a T.Y.C.; the property
securing its title-deeds under the arms of the university for the benefit
of its legs--the bar opposite the hospital presenting a fine leap to finish
the contest over, with the uncommon advantage of immediate medical
assistance at hand.

The public press of the last week has duly blazoned forth the names of the
successful candidates, and great must have been the rejoicings of their
friends in the country at the event. But we have to quarrel with these
journals for not more explicitly defining the questions proposed for the
examinations--the answers to which were to be considered the tests of
proficiency. By means of the ubiquity which Punch is allowed to possess, we
were stationed in the examination room, at the same time that our double
was delighting a crowded and highly respectable audience upon Tower-hill;
and we have the unbounded gratification of offering an exact copy of the
questions to our readers, that they may see with delight how high a
position medical knowledge has attained in our country:--



1. State the principal variations found in the kidneys procured at Evans's
and the Coal Hole; and likewise name the proportion of animal fibre in the
rump-steaks of the above resorts. Mention, likewise, the change produced in
the _albumen_, or white of an egg, by poaching it upon toast.

2. Describe the comparative circulation of blood in the body, and of the
_Lancet, Medical Gazette_, and _Bell's Life in London_, in the hospitals;
and mention if Sir Charles Bell, the author of the "Bridgewater Treatise on
the Hand," is the editor of the last-named paper.


1. You are called to a fellow-student taken suddenly ill. You find him
lying on his back in the fender; his eyes open, his pulse full, and his
breathing stertorous. His mind appears hysterically wandering, prompting
various windmill-like motions of his arms, and an accompanying lyrical
intimation that he, and certain imaginary friends, have no intention of
going home until the appearance of day-break. State the probable disease;
and also what pathological change would be likely to be effected by putting
his head under the cock of the cistern.

2. Was the Mount Hecla at the Surrey Zoological Gardens classed by Bateman
in his work upon skin diseases--if so, what kind of eruption did it come
under? Where was the greatest irritation produced--in the scaffold-work of
the erection, or the bosom of the gentleman who lived next to the gardens,
and had a private exhibition of rockets every night, as they fell through
his skylight, and burst upon the stairs?

3. Which is the most powerful narcotic--opium, henbane, or a lecture upon
practice of physic; and will a moderate dose of antimonial wine sweat a man
as much as an examination at Apothecaries' Hall?


1. Does any chemical combination take place between the porter and ale in a
pot of half-and-half upon mixture? Is there a galvanic current set up
between the pewter and the beer capable of destroying the equilibrium of
living bodies.

2. Explain the philosophical meaning of the sentence--"He cut away from the
crushers as quick as a flash of lightning through a gooseberry-bush."

3. There are two kinds of electricity, positive and negative; and these
have a pugnacious tendency. _A_, a student, goes up to the College
_positive_ he shall pass; _B_, an examiner, thinks his abilities
_negative_, and flummuxes him accordingly. _A_ afterwards meets _B_ alone,
in a retired spot, where there is no policeman, and, to use his own
expression, "takes out the change" upon _B_. In this case, which receives
the greatest shock--_A_'s "grinder," at hearing his pupil was plucked, or
_B_ for doing it?

4. The more crowded an assembly is, the greater quantity of carbonic acid
is evolved by its component members. State, upon actual experience, the
_per centage_ of this gas in the atmosphere of the following places:--The
Concerts d'Eté, the Swan in Hungerford Market, the pit of the Adelphi,
Hunt's Billiard Rooms, and the Colosseum during the period of its balls.



1. Mention the most liberal pawnbrokers in the neighbourhood of Guy's and
Bartholomew's; and state under what head of diseases you class the spring
outbreak of dissecting cases and tooth-drawing instruments in their

2. Mention the cheapest tailors in the metropolis, and especially name
those who charge you three pounds for dress coats ("best Saxony, any other
colour than blue or black"), and write down five in the bills to send to
your governor. Describe the anatomical difference between a peacoat, a
spencer, and a Taglioni, and also state who gave the best "prish" for old

       *       *       *       *       *


Public attention being at this particular season anxiously directed to the
prospects of the approaching harvest, we are enabled to lay before our
readers some authentic information on the subject. Notwithstanding the
fears which the late unfavourable weather induced, we have ascertained that
reaping is proceeding vigorously at all the barbers' establishments in the
kingdom. Several extensive chins were cut on Saturday last, and the returns
proved most abundant.

Sugar-barley is a comparative failure; but that description of oats, called
wild oats, promises well in the neighbourhood of Oxford. _Turn-ups_ have
had a favourable season at the écarté tables of several dowagers in the
West-end district. Beans are looking poorly--particularly the
_have-beens_--whom we meet with seedy frocks and napless hats, gliding
about late in the evenings. Clover, we are informed by some luxurious old
codgers, who are living in the midst of it, was never in better condition.
The best description of hops, it is thought, will fetch high prices in the
Haymarket. The vegetation of wheat has been considerably retarded by the
cold weather. Sportsmen, however, began to shoot vigorously on the 12th of
this month.

All things considered, though we cannot anticipate a rich harvest, we think
that the speculators have exaggerated the


       *       *       *       *       *




Before entering on this series of papers, I have only one request to make
of the reader, which is this: that, however absurd or incredible my
statements may appear, he will take them all for _Grant_-ed.

It will hardly be necessary to apologise for making the hero of Waterloo
the subject of this article; for, having had always free access to the
parlour of the Duke of Wellington, I flatter myself that I am peculiarly
fitted for the task I have undertaken.

My acquaintance with the duke commenced in a very singular manner. During
the discussions on the Reform Bill, his grace was often the object of
popular pelting; and I was, on one occasion, among a crowd of free-born
Englishmen who, disliking his political opinions, were exercising the
constitutional privilege of hooting him. Fired by the true spirit of
British patriotism, and roused to a pitch of enthusiasm by observing that
the crowd were all of one opinion, decidedly against the duke, worked up,
too, with momentary boldness by perceiving that there was not a policeman
in sight, I seized a cabbage-leaf, with which I caught his nose, when,
turning round suddenly to look whence the blow proceeded, I caught his eye.
It was a single glance; but there was something in it which said more than,
perhaps, if I had attempted to lead him into conversation, he would at that
moment have been inclined to say to me. The recognition was brief, lasting
scarcely an instant; for a policeman coming round the corner, the great
constitutional party with whom I had been acting retired in haste, rather
than bring on a collision with a force which was at that time particularly
obnoxious to all the true friends of excessive liberty.

It will, perhaps, surprise my readers, when I inform them that this is the
only personal interview I ever enjoyed with the illustrious duke; but
accustomed as I am to take in character at a glance, and to form my
conclusions at a wink, I gained, perhaps, as much, or more, information
with regard to the illustrious hero, as I have been enabled to do with
regard to many of those members of the House of Lords whom, in the course
of my "Random Recollections," it is my intention to treat of.

I never, positively, dined with the Duke of Wellington; but on one occasion
I was very near doing so. Whether the duke himself is aware of the
circumstances that prevented our meeting at the same table I never knew,
and have no wish to inquire; but when his grace peruses these pages, he
will perceive that our political views are not so opposite as the
_dastardly enemies_ of both would have made the world suppose them to have
been. The story of the dinner is simply this:--there was to be a meeting
for the purpose of some charity at the Freemasons'-hall, and the Duke of
Wellington was to take the chair. I was offered a ticket by a friend
connected with the press. My friend broke his word. I did not attend the
dinner. But those virulent liars much malign me who say I stopped away
because the duke was in the chair; and much more do they libel me who would
hint that my absence was caused by a difference with the duke on the
subject of politics. Whether Wellington observed that I did not attend I
never knew, nor shall I stop to inquire; but when I say that his grace
spoke several times, and never once mentioned my name, it will be seen that
whatever may have been his _thoughts_ on the occasion, he had the delicacy
and good taste to make no allusion whatever to the subject, which, but for
its intrinsic importance, I should not so long have dwelt upon,

Looking over some papers the other day in my drawer, with the intention of
selecting any correspondence that might have passed between myself and the
duke, I found that his grace had never written to me more than once; but
the single communication I had received from him was so truly
characteristic of the man, that I cannot refrain from giving the whole of
it. Having heard it reported that the duke answered with his own hand every
letter that he received, I, who generally prefer judging in all things for
myself, determined to put his grace's epistolary punctuality to the test of
experience. With this view I took up my pen, and dashed off a few lines, in
which I made no allusion, either to my first interview, or the affair of
the dinner; but simply putting forward a few general observations on the
state of the country, signed with my own name, and dated from
Whetstone-park, which was, at that time, my residence. The following was
the reply I received from the duke, which I print _verbatim_, as an
index--short, but comprehensive, as an index ought to be--to the noble
duke's character.


    "The Duke of Wellington begs to return the enclosed letter, as he
    neither knows the person who wrote it, nor the reason of sending

This, as I said before, is perhaps one of the most graphic _traits_ on
record of the peculiar disposition of the hero of Waterloo. It bespeaks at
once the soldier and the politician. He answers the letter with military
precision, but with political astuteness--he pretends to be ignorant of the
object I had in sending it. His ready reply was the first impulse of the
man; his crafty and guarded mode of expression was the cautious act of the
minister. Had I been disposed to have written a second time to my
illustrious correspondent, I now had a fine opportunity of doing so; but I
preferred letting the matter drop, and from that day to this, all
communication between myself and the duke has ceased. _I_ shall not be the
first to take any step for the purpose of resuming it. The duke must, by
this time, know me too well to suppose that I have any desire to keep up a
correspondence which could lead to no practical result, and might only tear
open afresh wounds that the healing hand of time has long ago restored to
their former salubrity.

It may be expected I should say a few words of the duke's person. He
generally wears a frock coat, and rides frequently on horseback. His nose
is slightly curved; but there is nothing peculiar in his hat or boots, the
latter of which are, of course, Wellington's. His habits are still those of
a soldier, for he gets up and goes to bed again much as he was accustomed
to do in the days of the Peninsula. His speeches in Parliament I have never
heard; but I have read some of them in the newspapers. He is now getting
old; but I cannot tell his exact age: and he has a son who, if he should
survive his father, will undoubtedly attain to the title of Duke of

       *       *       *       *       *


_Royal Dispensary for Diseases of the Ear_.

Our esteemed friend and staunch supporter Colonel Sibthorp has lately, in
the most heroic manner, submitted to an unprecedented and wonderfully
successful operation. Our gallant friend was suffering from a severe
elongation of the auricular organs; amputation was proposed, and submitted
to with most heroic patience. We are happy to state the only inconvenience
resulting from the operation is the establishment of a new hat block, and a
slight difficulty of recognition on the part of some of his oldest friends.

       *       *       *       *       *


One of the morning papers gave its readers last week a piece of
extraordinary assize intelligence, headed--"_Cutting a wife's
throat--before Mr. Serjeant Taddy_" We advise the learned Serjeant to look
to this: 'tis a too serious joke to be set down as an accessary to the
cutting of a wife's throat.

       *       *       *       *       *


  "For Ireland's weal!" hear turncoat S--y rave,
  Who'd trust the _wheel_ that own'd so sad a _knave_?

       *       *       *       *       *


In the parish of Llanelly, Breconshire, the males exceed the females by
more than one thousand. At Worcester, says the _Examiner_, the same
majority is in favour of the ladies. We should propose a conference and a
general swap of the sexes next market-day, as we understand there is not a
window in Worcester without a notice of "Lodgings to let for single men,"
whilst at Llanelly the gentlemen declare sweethearts can't be had for "love
nor money."

       *       *       *       *       *


  "There'll soon be rare work (cry the journals in fear),
    When Peel is call'd in in _his_ regular way;"
  True--for when we've to pay all the Tories, 'tis clear,
    It is much the same thing as the _devil to pay_.

       *       *       *       *       *


"Walk up, walk up, ladies and gentlemen, feeding is going to commence
Wellington and Peel are now giving their opening dinners to their friends
and admirers. All who want _places_ must come early. Walk up! walk
up!--This is the real constitutional tavern. Here we are! gratis feeding
for the greedy! Make way there for those hungry-looking gentlemen--walk up,
sir--leave your vote at the bar, and take a ticket for your hat."

       *       *       *       *       *


  The Tories vow the Whigs are black as night,
  And boast that they are only blessed with light.
  Peel's politics to both sides so incline,
  His may be called the _equinoctial line_.

       *       *       *       *       *


Baron Campbell, who has sat altogether about 20 hours in the Irish
Court of Chancery, will receive 4,000l. a-year, on the death of either
Lord Manners or Lord Plunkett, (both octogenarians;) which, says the
_Dublin Monitor_, "taking the average of human life, he will enjoy
thirty years;" and adds, "20 hours contain 1,200 minutes; and 4,000l.
a-year for thirty years gives 120,000l. So that he will receive for the
term of his natural life just one hundred pounds for every minute that
he sat as Lord Chancellor." Pleasant incubation this! Sitting 20 hours,
and hatching a fortune. If there be any truth in metempsychosis, Jocky
Campbell must be the _goose that laid golden eggs_.

       *       *       *       *       *


  SHEIL'S oratory's like bottled Dublin stout;
  For, draw the cork, and only froth comes out.

       *       *       *       *       *


We can state on the most positive authority that the recent fire at the
Army and Navy Club did not originate from a spark of Colonel Sibthorp's wit
falling amongst some loose jokes which Captain Marryatt had been scribbling
on the backs of some unedited purser's bills.

       *       *       *       *       *


  The Whigs resemble nails--How so, my master?
  Because, like nails, when _beat_ they _hold the faster_.

       *       *       *       *       *


"Do you admire Campbell's 'Pleasures of Hope'?" said Croker to Hook. "Which
do you mean, the Scotch poet's or the Irish Chancellor's? the real or the
ideal--Tommy's four thousand lines or Jocky's four thousand pounds a-year?"
inquired Theodore. Croker has been in a brown study ever since.

       *       *       *       *       *


MR. PUNCH,--Myself and a few other old Etonians have read with
inexpressible scorn, disgust, and indignation, the heartless and malignant
attempts, in your scoundrel journal, to blast the full-blown fame of that
most transcendant actor, and most unexceptionable son, Mr. Charles Kean.
Now, PUNCH, fair play is beyond any of the crown jewels. I will advance
only one proof, amongst a thousand others that cart-horses sha'n't draw
from me, to show that Charles Kean makes more--mind, I say, makes
_more_--of Shakspere, than every other actor living or dead. Last night I
went to the Haymarket--Lady Georgiana L---- and other fine girls were of
the party. The play was "Romeo and Juliet," and there are in that tragedy
two slap-up lines; they are, to the best of my recollection, as follow:--

  "_Oh!_ that I were a glove upon that hand,
  That I might touch that _cheek_."

Now, ninety-nine actors out of a hundred make nothing of this--not so
Charles Kean. Here's my proof. Feeling devilish hungry, I thought I'd step
out for a snack, and left the box, just as Charles Kean, my old
schoolfellow, was beginning--


Well, I crossed the way, stepped into Dubourg's, swallowed two dozen
oysters, took a bottom of brandy, and booked a small bet with Jack Spavin
for the St. Leger, returned to the theatre, and was comfortably seated in
my box, as Charles Kean, my old school-fellow, had arrived at


Now, PUNCH, if this isn't making much of Shakspere, what is?

Yours (you scoundrel), ETONIAN.

       *       *       *       *       *


The following ode is somewhat freely translated from the original of a
Chinese emigrant named CA-TA-NA-CH, or the "illustrious minstrel."

We have given a short specimen of the original, merely substituting the
Roman for the Chinese characters.


  &c. &c.


  As the Teian poet's lyre
  Young Lyæus did inspire;
  When the bard awoke his lays,
  Love and wine alike to praise.
  So, illustrious Pidding, thou
  Inspire thy _tea_-urn votary now,
  Whilst the tea-pot circles round--
  Whilst the toast is being brown'd--
  Let me, ere I quaff my tea,
  Sing a paean unto thee,
  IO PIDDING! who foretold,
  Chinamen would keep their gold;
  Who foresaw our ships would be
  Homeward bound, yet wanting tea;
  Who, to cheer the mourning land,
  Said, "I've Howqua still on hand!"
  Who, my Pidding, who but thee?
  Io Pidding! Evoe!

       *       *       *       *       *



_Dramatis Personæ._

  RHUBARB PILL (a travelling doctor), by SIR ROBERT PEEL.

SCENE. _Tamworth._

_The Doctor and his Man are discovered in a large waggon, surrounded by a
crowd of people._

RHUBARB PILL.--Balaam, blow the trumpet.

BALAAM (_blows_).--Too-too-tooit! Silence for the doctor!

RHUBARB PILL.--Now, friends and neighbours, now's your time for getting rid
of all your complaints, whether of the pocket or the person, for I, Rhubarb
Pill, professor of sophistry and doctorer of laws, have now come amongst
you with my old and infallible remedies and restoratives, which, although
they have not already worked wonders, I promise shall do so, and render the
constitution sound and vigorous, however it may have been injured by
poor-law-bill-ious pills, cheap bread, and _black_ sugar, prescribed by
wooden-headed quacks. (_Aside_.) Balaam, blow the trumpet.

BALAAM (_blows_).--Too-too-tooit! Hurrah for the doctor!

RHUBARB PILL.--These infallible remedies have been in my possession since
the years 1835 and 1837, but owing to the opposition of the Cabinet of
Physicians, I have not been able to use them for the benefit of the
public--and myself. (_Bows_.) These invaluable remedies--

COUNTRYMAN.--What be they?

RHUBARB PILL.--That's not a fair question--_wait till I'm regularly called
in_[1]. It's not that I care about the fee--mine is a liberal profession,
and though I have a large family, and as many relations as most people, I
really think I should refuse a guinea if it was offered to me.

    [1] Sir Robert Peel at Tamworth.

COUNTRYMAN.--Then why doant'ee tell us?

RHUBARB PILL.--It's not professional. Besides, it's quite requisite that I
should "_feel the patient's pulse_," or I might make the dose too powerful,
and so--

COUNTRYMAN.--Get the sack, Mr. Doctor.

RHUBARB PILL (_aside_).--Blow the trumpet, Balaam.


RHUBARB PILL.--And so do more harm than good. Besides, I should require to
have the "_necessary consultations_" over the dinner-table. Diet does a
great deal--not that I care about the "loaves and fishes"--but patients are
always more tractable after a good dinner. Now there's an old lady in these

COUNTRYMAN.--What, my old missus?

RHUBARB PILL.--The same. She's in a desperate way.

COUNTRYMAN.--Ees. Dr. Russell says it's all owing to your nasty nosdrums.

RHUBARB PILL.--Doctor Russell's a--never mind. I say she _is_ very bad, and
I AM the only man that can cure her.

COUNTRYMAN--Then out wi'it, doctor--what will?

RHUBARB PILL.--_Wait till I'm regularly called in._

COUNTRYMAN.--But suppose she dies in the meantime?

RHUBARB PILL.--That's her fault. I won't do anything by proxy. I must
direct my own _administration_, appoint my own nurses for the bed-chamber,
have my own herbalists and assistants, and see Doctor Russell's "_purge_"
thrown out of the window. In short, _I must be regularly called in_.
Balaam, blow the trumpet.

[_Balaam blows the trumpet, the crowd shout, and the Doctor bows
gracefully, with one hand on his heart and the other in his breeches
pocket. At the end of the applause he commences singing_].

  I am called Doctor Pill, the political quack,
    And a quack of considerable standing and note;
  I've clapp'd many a blister on many a back,
    And cramm'd many a bolus down many a throat,
  I have always stuck close, like the rest of my tribe,
    And physick'd my patient as long as he'd pay;
  And I say, when I'm ask'd to advise or prescribe,
    "_You must wait till I'm call'd in a regular way_."

  Old England has grown rather sickly of late,
    For Russell's _reduced_ her almost to a shade;
  And I've honestly told him, for nights in debate,
    He's a quack that should never have follow'd the trade.
  And, Lord! how he fumes, and exultingly cries,
    "Were you in my place, Pill, pray what would _you_ say?"
  But I only reply, "If I am to advise,
    _I shall wait till I'm call'd in a regular way_."

  It's rather "too bad," if an ignorant elf,
    Who has caught a rich patient 'twere madness to kill,
  Should have all the credit, and pocket the pelf,
    Whilst you are requested to furnish the skill.
  No! no! _amor patriæ_'s a phrase I admire,
    But I own to an _amor_ that stands in its way;
  And if England should e'er my assistance require,
    _She must_--


       *       *       *       *       *


Peter Borthwich has expressed his determination--not to accept of the
speakership of the House of Commons.

C.M. Westmacott has announced his intention of _not_ joining the new
administration; in consequence of which serious defection, he asserts that
Sir Robert Peel will be unable to form a cabinet.

"You have heard," said his Grace of Buckingham, to Lord Abinger, a few
evenings ago, "how scandalously Peel and his crew have treated me--they
have actually thrown me overboard. A man of my weight, too!" "That was the
very objection, my Lord," replied the rubicund functionary. "Their rotten
craft could not carry a statesman of your ponderous abilities. Your dead
weight would have brought them to the bottom in five minutes."

       *       *       *       *       *


Alas! that poor old Whiggery should have been so silly as to go a-wooing.
Infirm and tottering as he is, it was the height of insanity. Down he
dropped on his bended knees before the object of his love; out he poured
his touching addresses, lisped in the blandest, most persuasive tones; and
what was his answer? Scoffs, laughs, kicks, rejection! Even Johnny
Russell's muse availed not, though it deserved a better fate. It gained him
a wife, but could not win the electors. Our readers will discover the
genius of the witty author of "Don Carlos" in the address, which, though
rejected, we in pity immortalise in PUNCH.

  Loved friends--kind electors, once more we are here
    To beg your sweet voices--to tell you our deeds.
  Though our Budget is empty, we've got--never fear--
    A long full privy purse, to stand bribing and feeds.
  For, oh! we are out-and-out Whigs--thorough Whigs!
    Then, shout till your throttles, good people, ye crack;
  Hurrah! for the troop of sublime "Thimble-rigs!"
    Hurrah! for the jolly old Downing-street pack.

  What we've done, and will do for you, haply you'll ask:
    All, all, gentle folks, you shall presently see.
  Off your sugar we'll take just _one penny a cask!_
    Only adding a shilling a pound on your tea.
  That's the style for your Whigs--your _reforming_ old Whigs!
                   Then, shout, &c.

  Off your broad--think of this!--we will take--(if we can)--
    A whole farthing a loaf; then, when wages decline,
  By one-half--as they must--and you're starving, each man
    In our New Poor Law Bastiles may go lodge, and go dine.
  That's the plan of your Whigs--your kind-hearted, true Whigs!
                   Then, shout, &c.

  Off the fine Memel timber, we'd take--if we could--
    All tax, 'cause 'tis used in the palace and hall;
  On the cottager's, tradesman's coarse Canada wood,
    We will clap such a tax as shall pay us for all.
  That's the "dodge" for your Whigs--your poor-loving, true Whigs!
                   Then, shout, &c.

  To free our dear brothers, the niggers, you know
    Twenty millions and more we have fix'd on your backs.
  'Twas gammon--'twas humbug--'twas swindle! for, lo!
    We _undo_ all we've done--we go trade in the blacks.
  Your _humanity_ Whigs!--_anti-slavery_ Whigs!
                   Then, shout, &c.

  When to Office we came, full _two millions_ in store
    We found safe and snug. Now, that surplus instead,
  Besides having spent _it_, and _six_ millions more,
    Lo! we're short, _on the year, only two millions dead_.
  That's the "_go_" for your Whigs--your _retrenching_ old Whigs
                   Then, shout, &c.

  In a word, round the throne we've stuck sisters and wives,
    Our brothers and cousins fill bench, church, and steeple;
  Assist us to stick in, at least for _our_ lives,
    And nicely "we'll sarve out" Queen, Lords, ay, and People.
  That's the fun for your Whigs--your bed-chamber old Whigs!
                   Shout, shout, &c.

What was the reply to this pathetic, this generous appeal? Name it not at
Woburn-abbey--whisper it not at Panshanger--breathe it not in the epicurean
retreat of Brocket-hall! Tears, big tears, roll down our sympathetic checks
as we write it. It was simply--"Cock-a-doodle-do!"

       *       *       *       *       *


Lord John Russell, on his arrival with his bride at Selkirk the other day,
was invested with the burghship of that ancient town. In this ceremony,
"licking the birse," that is, dipping a bunch of shoemaker's bristles in a
glass of wine and drawing them across the mouth, was performed with all due
solemnity by his lordship. The circumstance has given rise to the following
_jeu d'esprit_, which the author, Young Ben D'Israeli, has kindly dropped
into PUNCH'S mouth:--

  Lord Johnny, that comical dog,
    At trifles in politics whistles;
  In London he went _the whole hog_,
    At Selkirk he's _going the bristles_.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Why are Sir Robert Peel and Sir James Graham like two persons with only
one intellect?"--"Because there is an understanding between them."

"Why is Sir Robert Peel like a confounded and detected
malefactor?"--"Because he has nothing at all to say for himself."

       *       *       *       *       *


The _Salisbury Herald_ says, that Sir John Pollen stated, in reference to
his defeat at the Andover election, "that from the bribery and corruption
resorted to for that purpose, they (the electors) would have returned a
jackass to parliament." Indeed! How is it that he tried and failed?

       *       *       *       *       *

LORD HOWICK, it is said, has gone abroad for the benefit of his health; he
feels that he has not been properly treated at home.

       *       *       *       *       *


As much anxiety necessarily exists for the future well-being of our beloved
infant Princess, we have determined to take upon ourselves the onerous
duties of her education. In accordance with the taste of her Royal mother
for that soft language which

  "--sounds as if it should be writ on satin,"

we have commenced by translating the old nursery song of "Ride a
cock-horse" into most choice Italian, and have had it set to music by
Rossini; who, we are happy to state, has performed his task entirely to the
satisfaction of Mrs. Ratsey, the nurse of her Royal Highness; a lady
equally anxious with ourselves to instil into the infant mind an utter
contempt for everything English, except those effigies of her illustrious
mother which emanate from the Mint. The original of this exquisite and
simple ballad is too well known to need a transcript; the Italian version,
we doubt not, will become equally popular with aristocratic mamas and
fashionable nurses.

            MRS. RATSEY,
              OF THE

  _Andantino con gran espress._
  [Music: Key of G, 3/4 time.]
    Su gàl - lo   ca - vàl  -  -  -  lo  A

  [Music: key of G.]
     Ban - bu - ri  crò - ce,   An - dia - mo a

  [Music: key of G.]
    mi-rar La - - vec     chia -  a trot - tar.

  _Moderato e molto staccato._
  [Music: key of D, 6/8 time.]
    Ai dìta ha gli anelli Ai piè i campanelli, E musica avra Do-

                                  _D. C._
  [Music: key of D.]
    vùnque sen va - - - - - - - -

       *       *       *       *       *


We have seen, with deep regret, a paragraph going the round of the papers
headed, "THE LADY THIEF AT LINCOLN," as if a _lady_ could commit larceny!
"Her disorder," says the newspapers, "is ascribed to a morbid or
irrrepressible propensity, or monomania;" in proof of which we beg to
subjoin the following prescriptions of her family physician, which have
been politely forwarded to us.


    R.--Spoons--silv.               vi
        Rings--pearls               ii
        Ditto--diamond               j
        Brooches--emer. et turq.    ii
        Combs--tortois. et dia.     ii
    Fiat sumendum bis hodie cum magno reticulo aut muffo,

    R.--Balls--worsted                            xxiv
        Veils  { Chantilly                      }    j
               { Mec. et Bruss.                 }
        Hose--Chi. rib. et cot. tops cum toe        vj prs.
        Ribbons--sat. gau. et sarse. (pieces)       iv
    Fiat sumendum cum cloko capace pocteque maneque.

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: THE LAST PINCH.]

       *       *       *       *       *


Mr. Combe, the great phrenologist, or, as some call him, Mr.
_Comb_--perhaps on account of his being so busy about the head--has given
it as his opinion, that in less than a hundred years public affairs will be
(in America at least) carried on by the rules of phrenology. By postponing
the proof of his assertion for a century, he seems determined that no one
shall ever give him the lie while living, and when dead it will, of course,
be of no consequence. We are inclined to think there may be some truth in
the anticipation, and we therefore throw out a few hints as to how the
science ought to be applied, if posterity should ever agree on making
practical use of it. Ministers of state must undoubtedly be chosen
according to their bumps, and of course, therefore, no chancellor or any
other legal functionary will be selected who has the smallest symptom of
the bump of _benevolence_. The judges must possess _causality_ in a very
high degree; and _time_, which gives rise to _the perception of duration_
(which they could apply to Chancery suits), would be a great qualification
for a Master of the Rolls or a Vice-chancellor. The framers of royal
speeches should be picked out from the number of those who have the largest
bumps of _secretiveness_; and those possessing _inhabitiveness_, producing
the desire of _permanence in place_, should be shunned as much as possible.
No bishop should be appointed whose bump of _veneration_ would not require
him to wear a hat constructed like that of PUNCH, to allow his _organ_ full
_play_; and the development of _number_, if large, might ensure a
Chancellor of the Exchequer whose calculations could at least be relied

Our great objection to the plan is this--that it might be abused by parties
bumping their own heads, and raising tumours for the sake of obtaining
credit for different qualities. Thus a terrific crack at the back of the
ear might produce so great an elevation of the organ of _combativeness_ as
might obtain for the greatest coward a reputation for the greatest courage;
and a thundering rap on the centre of the head might raise on the skull of
the veriest brute a bump of, and name for, _benevolence_.

       *       *       *       *       *



  Well, come my dear, I will confess--
    (Though really you too hard are)
  So dry these tears and smooth each tress--
    Let Betty search the larder;
  Then o'er a chop and genial glass,
    Though I so late have tarried,
  I will recount what came to pass
    I' the days before I married.

  Then, every place where fashion hies,
    Wealth, health, and youth to squander,
  I sought--shot folly as it flies,
    'Till I could shoot no longer.
  Still at the opera, playhouse, clubs,
    'Till midnight's hour I tarried;
  Mixed in each scene that fashion dubs
    "The Cheese"--before I married.

  Soon grown familiar with the town,
    Through Pleasure's haze I hurried;
  (Don't feel alarmed--suppress that frown--
    Another glass--you're flurried)
  Subscribed to Crockford's, betted high--
    Such specs too oft miscarried;
  My purse was full (nay, check that sigh)--
    It was before I married.

  At Ascot I was quite the thing,
    Where all admired my tandem;
  I sparkled in the stand and ring,
    Talked, betted (though at random);
  At Epsom, and at Goodwood too,
    I flying colours carried.
  Flatterers and followers not a few
    Were mine--before I married.

  My cash I lent to every one,
    And gay crowds thronged around me;
  My credit, when my cash was gone,
    'Till bills and bailiffs bound me.
  With honeyed promises so sweet,
    Each friend his object carried,
  Till I was marshalled to the Fleet;
    But--'twas before I married.

  Then sober thoughts of wedlock came,
    Suggested by the papers;
  The _Sunday Times_ soon raised a flame,
    The _Post_ cured all my vapours;
  And spite of what Romance may say
    'Gainst courtship so on carried,
  Thanks to the fates and fair "Z.A."
    I now am blest and--married.

       *       *       *       *       *


Jockey Campbell, who has secured 4,000l. a-year by crossing the water and
occupying for 20 hours the Irish _Woolsack_, strongly reminds us of Jason's
Argonautic expedition, after the _golden fleece_.

       *       *       *       *       *


The immense importance of the signals now used in the royal navy, by
facilitating the communication between ships at sea; has suggested to an
ingenious member of the Scientific Association, the introduction of a
telegraphic code of signals to be employed in society generally, where the
_viva voce_ mode of communication might be either inconvenient or
embarrassing. The inventor has specially devoted his attention to the
topics peculiarly interesting to both sexes, and proposes by his system to
remove all those impediments to a free and unreserved interchange of
sentiment between a lady and gentleman, which feminine timidity on the one
side--natural _gaucherie_ on the other--dread of committing one's self, or
fear of transgressing the rules of good breeding, now throw in the way of
many well-disposed young persons. He explains his system, by supposing that
an unmarried lady and gentleman meet for the first time at a public ball:
_he_ is enchanted with the sylph-like grace of the lady in a waltz--_she_,
fascinated with the superb black moustaches of the gentleman. Mutual
interest is created in their bosoms, and the gentleman signalizes:--

"Do you perceive how much I am struck by your beauty?"--by twisting the tip
of his right moustache with the finger and thumb of the corresponding hand.
If the gentleman be unprovided with these foreign appendages, the right ear
must be substituted.

The lady replies by an affirmative signal, or the contrary:--_e.g._ "Yes,"
the lady arranges her bouquet with the left hand. "No," a similar operation
with the right hand. Assuming the answer to have been favourable, the
gentleman, by slowly throwing back his head, and gently drawing up his
stock with the left hand, signals--

"How do you like _this_ style of person?"

The lady must instantly lower her eyelids, and appear to count the sticks
of her fan, which will express--"Immensely."

The gentleman then thrusts the thumb of his left-hand into the arm-hole of
his waistcoat, taps three times carelessly with his fingers upon his chest.
By this signal he means to say--

"How is your little heart?"

The lady plucks a leaf out of her bouquet, and flings it playfully over her
left shoulder, meaning thereby to intimate that her vital organ is "as free
as _that_."

The gentleman, encouraged by the last signal, clasps his hands, and by
placing both his thumbs together, protests that "Heaven has formed them for
each other."

Whereupon the lady must, unhesitatingly, touch the fourth finger of her
left hand with the index finger of the right; by which emphatic signal she
means to say--"No nonsense, though?"

The gentleman instantly repels the idea, by expanding the palms of both
hands, and elevating his eyebrows. This is the point at which he should
make the most important signal in the code. It is done by inserting the
finger and thumb of the right hand into the waistcoat pocket, and
expresses, "What metal do you carry?" or, more popularly, "What is the
amount of your banker's account?"

The lady replies by tapping her fan on the back of her left hand; _one_
distinct tap for every thousand pounds she possesses. If the number of taps
be satisfactory to the gentleman, he must, by a deep inspiration, inflate
his lungs so as to cause a visible heaving of his chest, and then, fixing
his eyes upon the chandelier, slap his forehead with an expression of
suicidal determination. This is a very difficult signal, which will require
some practice to execute properly. It means--

"Pity my sad state! If you refuse to love me, I'll blow my miserable brains
out." The lady may, by shaking her head incredulously, express a reasonable
doubt that the gentleman possesses any brains.

After a few more preliminary signals, the lover comes to the point by
dropping his gloves on the floor, thereby beseeching the lady to allow him
to offer her his hand and fortune.

To which she, by letting fall her handkerchief, replies--

"Ask papa and mamma."

This is only an imperfect outline of the code which the inventor asserts
may be introduced with wonderful advantage in the streets, the theatres, at
churches, and dissenting chapels; and, in short, everywhere that the
language of the lips cannot be used.

       *       *       *       *       *


  A day on the water, by way of excursion,
  A night at the play-house, by way of diversion,
  A morning assemblage of elegant ladies,
  A chemical lecture on lemon and kalis,
  A magnificent dinner--the venison _so_ tender--
  Lots of wine, broken glasses--that's all I remember.


Plymouth, August 5.

       *       *       *       *       *


We have much pleasure in announcing to the liverymen and our
fellow-citizens, the important fact, that for the future, the lord mayor's
day will be the _fifth_ instead of the ninth of November. The reason for
this change is extremely obvious, as that is the principal day of the "Guy

       *       *       *       *       *

The members of the Carlton Club have been taking lessons in bell-ringing.
They can already perform some pleasing _changes_. Colonel Sibthorpe is
quite _au fait_ at a _Bob_ major, and Horace Twiss hopes, by ringing a
_Peal_, to be appointed collector of _tolls_--at Waterloo Bridge.

       *       *       *       *       *

We recommend Lord Cardigan to follow the example of the officers of Ghent,
who have introduced umbrellas into the army, even on parade. Some men
should gladly avail themselves of any opportunity _of hiding their heads_.

       *       *       *       *       *




_General Description_.--The thermometer is an instrument for showing the
_temperature_; for by it we can either see how fast a man's blood boils
when he is in a passion, or, according as the seasons have occurred this
year, how cold it is in summer, and how hot in winter. It is mostly cased
in tin, all the brass being used up by certain lecturers, who are faced
with the latter metal. It has also a glass tube, with a bulb at the end,
exactly like a tobacco-pipe, with the bowl closed up; except that, instead
of tobacco, they put mercury into it. As the heat increases, the mercury
expands, precisely as the smoke would in a pipe, if it were confined to the
tube. A register is placed behind the tube, crossed by a series of
horizontal lines, the whole resembling a wooden milk-score when the
customer is several weeks in arrear.

_Derivation of Name_.--The thermometer derives its name from two Greek
words, signifying "measure of heat;" a designation which has caused much
warm discussion, for the instrument is also employed to tell when it
freezes, by those persons who are too scientific to find out by the tips of
their fingers and the blueness of their noses.

_History and Literature of the Thermometer_.--The origin of the instrument
is involved in a depth of obscurity considerably below _zero_; Pliny
mentions its use by a celebrated brewer of Boeotia; we have succeeded,
after several years' painful research, in tracing the invention of the
instrument to Mercury, who, being the god of thieves, very likely stole it
from somebody else. Of ancient writers, there are few except Hannibal (who
used it on crossing the Alps) and Julius Cæsar, that notice it. Bacon
treats of the instrument in his "Novum Organum;" from which Newton cabbaged
his ideas in his "Principia," in the most unprincipled manner.  The
thermometer remained stationary till the time of Robinson Crusoe, who
clearly suggested, if he did not invent the register, now universally
adopted, which so nearly resembles his mode of measuring time by means of
notched sticks. Fahrenheit next took it in hand, and because his
calculations were founded on a mistake, his scale is always adopted in
England. Raumur altered the system, and instead of giving the thermometer
mercury, administered to it 'cold without,' or spirits of wine diluted with
water. Celsius followed, and advised a medium fluid, so that his
thermometer is known as the centigrade. De Lisle made such important
improvements, that they have never been attended to; and Mr. Sex's
differential thermometer has given rise to considerably more than a
half-dozen different opinions. All these persons have written learnedly on
the subject, blowing respectively hot or cold, as their tastes vary. The
most recent work is that by Professor Thompson--a splendid octavo,
hot-pressed, and just warm from the printer's. Though this writer disagrees
with Raumur's temperance principles, and uses the strongest spirit he can
get, instead of mercury, we are assured that he is no relation whatever to
Messrs. Thompson and Fearon of Holborn-hill.

_Concluding Remarks and Description of Punch's Thermometer_.--It must be
candidly acknowledged by every unprejudiced mind, that the thermometer
question has been most shamefully handled by the scientific world. It is
made an exclusive matter; they keep it all to themselves; they talk about
Fahren_heit_ with the utmost coolness; of Raumur in un-understandable
jargon, and fire whole volleys of words concerning the centigrade scale,
till one's head spins round with their inexplicable dissertations. What is
the use of these interminable technicalities to the world at large? Do they
enlighten the rheumatic as to how many coats they may put on, for the
Midsummer days of this variable climate? Do their barometers tell us when
to take an umbrella, or when to leave it at home? No. Who, we further ask,
knows _how_ hot it is when the mercury stands at 120°, or how cold it is
when opposite 32° of Fahrenheit? Only the initiated, a class of persons
that can generally stand fire like salamanders, or make themselves
comfortable in an ice-house.

Deeply impressed with the importance of the subject, PUNCH has invented a
new thermometer, which _may_ be understood by the "people" whom he
addresses--the unlearned in caloric--the ignorant of the principles of
expansion and dilatation. Everybody can tell, without a thermometer, if it
be a coat colder or a cotton waistcoat warmer than usual when he is _out_.
But at home! Ah, there's the rub! There it has been impossible to ascertain
how to face the storm, or to turn one's back upon the sunshine, till
to-day. PUNCH'S thermometer decides the question, and here we give a
diagram of it. Owing a stern and solemn duty to the public, PUNCH has
indignantly spurned the offers of the British Association to join in their
mummeries at Plymouth--to appear at their dinners for the debasement of
science. No; here in his own pages, and in them only, doth he propound his
invention. But he is not exclusive; having published his wonderful
invention, he invites the makers to copy his plan. Mr. Murphy is already
busily arranging his Almanac for 1842, by means of a PUNCH thermometer,
made by Carey and Co.



  Iced bath                                            110
  Cold bath                                             98    Blood heat.
  COAT OFF                                              90
  Stock loosened                                        88
  Cuffs turned up                                       85
  One waistcoat                                         80
  Morning coat all day                                  75
  ONE COAT                                              65    Summer heat.
  Spencer                                               55    Temperate.
  Ditto, and "Comfortable"                              52
  GREAT COAT                                            50
  Ditto, and Macintosh                                  45
  Ditto, ditto, and worsted stockings                   43
  Ditto, ditto, ditto, and double boxcoat and Guernseys 35
  Ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, and bear-skin coat 32    Freezing.
  Ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto and between }
       two feather beds all day                        } 0    Zero.

       *       *       *       *       *


The Parliamentary _lucus a non lucendo_--the Speaker who never speaks--the
gentleman who always holds his own tongue, except when he wants others to
hold theirs--the man who fills the chair, which is about three times too
big for him--is not, after all, to be changed.  But the incoming tenants of
office have resolved to take him as a fixture, though not at a fair
valuation; for they do nothing but find fault all the time they are
agreeing to let him remain on the premises. For our own part, we see no
objection to the arrangement; for Mr. Lefevre, we believe, shakes his head
as slowly and majestically as his predecessors, and rattles his teeth over
the _r_ in _o_R-_der_, with as much dignity as Sutton, who was the very
perfection of _Manners_, was accustomed to throw into it.  The fatigues of
the office are enough to kill a horse, but asses are not easily
exterminated.  It is thought that Lefevre has not been sufficiently worked,
and before giving him a pension, "the receiver must," as the chemist say,
"be quite exhausted." Tiring him out will not be enough; but he must be
_tired_ again, to entitled him to a _re-tiring_ allowance.

       *       *       *       *       *


DEER SIR,--As I taks in your PUNCH (bein' in the line meself, mind yes),
will you tell me wot is the meeinigs of beein' "konvelessent."  A chap
kalled me that name the other days, and I sined him as I does this.

Yours truly,

[Illustration:  HIS MARK.]

       *       *       *       *       *


There is something very amusing in witnessing the manner in which the
little Jacks in office imitate the great ones.  Sir Peter Laurie has been
doing the ludicrous by imitating his political idol, Sir Robert.  "I shan't
prescribe till I am state-doctor," says the baronet.  "I shan't decide;
wait for the Lord Mayor," echoes the knight.

       *       *       *       *       *


Lord John Russell begs respectfully to inform the connubially-disposed
portion of the community, that being about to retire from the establishment
in Downing-street, of which he has so long been a member, he has resolved
(at the suggestion of several single ladies _about_ thirty, and of numerous
juvenile gentlemen who have just attained their majority a _second time_)
to open a


where (from his long and successful experience) he trusts to be honoured
by the confidence of the single, and the generous acknowledgments of the

Lord J.R. intends to transact business upon the most liberal scale, and
instead of charging a per centage on the amount of property concerned in
each union, he will take every lady and gentleman's valuation of
themselves, and consider one thousandth part thereof as an adequate
compensation for his services.

Ladies who have _lost_ the registries of their birth can be supplied with
new ones, for any year they please, and the greatest care will be taken to
make them accord with the early recollections of the lady's schoolfellows
and cousins of the same age.

Gentlemen who wear wigs, false calves, or artificial teeth, or use
hair-dye, &c., will be required to state the same, as no deception can be
countenanced by Lord J.R.

Ladies are only required to certify as to the originality of their teeth;
and as Lady Russell will attend exclusively to this department, no
disclosure will take place until all other preliminaries are satisfactorily

Young gentlemen with large mustachios and small incomes will find the
MATRIMONIAL AGENCY OFFICE well worthy their attention; and young ladies who
play the piano, speak French, and measure only eighteen inches round the
waist, cannot better consult their own interests than by making an early

N.B. None with red hair need apply, unless with a mother's certificate that
it was always considered to be auburn.

Wanted several buxom widows for the commencement. If in weeds, will be

       *       *       *       *       *


"Law is the perfection of reason!" said, some sixty years ago, an old
powder-wigged priest of Themis, in his "enthusymusy" for the venerable
lady; and what one of her learned adorers, from handsome Jock Campbell down
to plain Counsellor Dunn, would dare question the maxim? A generous soul,
who, like the fabled lady of the Arabian tale, drops gold at every word she
utters, varying in value from one guinea to five thousand, according to the
quality of the hand that is stretched forth to receive it, cannot possibly
be other than reason herself. But to appreciate this dear creature justly,
it is absolutely necessary to be in her service. No ordinary lay person can
judge her according to her deserts. You must be initiated into her
mysteries before you can detect her beauties; but once admitted to her
august presence--once enrolled as her sworn slave--your eyes become opened
and clear, and you see her as she is, the marvel of the world. Yet, though
so difficult of comprehension, no man, nor woman, nor child, must plead
ignorance of her excellencies. To be ignorant of any one of them is an
impossibility as palpable as that "the Queen can do no wrong," or any other
admirable fiction which the genius of our ancestors has bequeathed us. We
all must know the law, or be continually whipped! A hard rule, though an
inflexible one. But the schoolmaster is abroad--PUNCH, that teaches all,
must teach the law; and, as a preliminary indispensable, he now proceeds to
give a few definitions of the principal matters contained in that science,
which bear a different meaning from what they would in ordinary language.
The admiring neophyte will perceive with delight the vast superiority
apparent in all cases of "matters of law," or "matters of fact."

To illustrate:--When a lovely girl, all warmth and confidence, steals on
tiptoe from her lonely chamber, and, lighted by the moon, when "pa's"
asleep, drops from the balcony into the arms of some soft youth, as warm as
she, who has been waiting to whisk her off to Hymen's altar--that is
generally understood as

[Illustration: AN ATTACHMENT IN FACT.]

When an ugly "bum," well up to trap, creeps like a rascal from the
sheriff's-office, and with his _capias_ armed, ere you are half-dressed,
gives you the chase, and, as you "leg" away for the bare life, his knuckles
dig into the seat of your unmentionables, gripping you like a tiger--that
indeed is _une autre chose_, that is

[Illustration: AN ATTACHMENT IN LAW.]

When you remark a round, rosy, jolly fellow, shining from top to toe,
"philandering" down Regent-street, with a self-satisfied grin, that seems
to say, "Match me that, demme!" and casting looks of pity--mellowed through
his eye-glass--on all passers, you may fairly conclude that that happy dog
has just slipped into

[Illustration: A BOND-STREET SUIT.]

But when you perceive a gaunt, yellow spectre of a man, reduced to his last
_chemise_, and that a sad spectacle of ancient purity, starting from
Lincoln's-Inn, and making all haste for Waterloo-bridge, the inference is
rather natural, that he is blessed with

[Illustration: A SUIT IN CHANCERY.]

It being dangerous to take too great a meal at a time, and PUNCH knowing
well the difficulty of digesting properly over-large quantities of mental
food, he concludes his first lecture on L--A--W. Whether he will continue
here his definitions of legal terms, or not, time and his humour shall

       *       *       *       *       *


Lord Melbourne, imitating the example of the ancient philosophers, is
employing the last days of his political existence in composing a learned
discourse "On the Shortness of Ministerial Life." To try the effect of it,
his lordship gives a _full dress_ dinner-party, immediately after the
meeting of Parliament, to several of his friends. On the removal of the
cloth, he will read the essay, and then the Queen's intended speech, in
which she civilly gives his lordship leave to provide himself with another
_place_. Where, in the whole range of history, could we meet with a similar
instance of magnanimity? Where, with such a noble picture--of a great soul
rising superior to adversity? Seneca in the bath, uttering moral
apophthegms with his dying breath--Socrates jesting over his bowl of
hemlock juice--were great creatures--immense minds; but Lord Melbourne
reading his own dismissal to his friends--after dinner, too!--over his
first glass of wine--leaves them at an immeasurable distance. Oh! that we
had the power of poor Wilkie! what a picture we could make of such a

       *       *       *       *       *



Some of the melancholy duties of this life afford a more subdued, and,
therefore, a more satisfactory pleasure than scores with which duty has
nothing to do, or those of mere enjoyment. If, for instance, the friend,
whose feeds we have helped to eat, whose cellars we have done our part to
empty for the last quarter of a century, should happen to fall ill; if the
doctors shake their heads, and warn us to make haste to his bedside, there
is always a large proportion of honey to be extracted, in obeying the
summons, out of the sting of parting, recounting old reminiscences, and
gossipping about old times, never, alas! to return. But should we neglect
the summons, where would the stings of conscience end?

Impelled by such a sense of duty, we wended our way to the "royal
property," to take a last look at the long-expiring gardens. It was a wet
night--the lamps burnt dimly--the military band played in the minor
key--the waiters stalked about with so silent, melancholy a tread, that we
took their towels for pocket-handkerchiefs; the concert in the open _rain_
went off tamely--dirge-like, in spite of the "Siege of Acre," which was
described in a set of quadrilles, embellished with blue fire and maroons,
and adorned with a dozen double drums, thumped at intervals, like death
notes, in various parts of the doomed gardens. The _divertissement_ was
anything but diverting, when we reflect upon the impending fate of the
"Rotunda," in which it was performed.

No such damp was, however, thrown over the evolutions of "Ducrow's
beautiful horses and equestrian _artistes_," including "the new grand
entrée, and cavalcade of Amazons." They had no sympathy with the decline
and fall of the _Simpsonian_ empire. They were strangers, interlopers,
called in like mutes and feathers, to grace the "funeral show," to give a
more graceful flourish to the final exit. The horses pawed the sawdust,
evidently unconscious that the earth it covered would soon "be let on lease
for building ground;" the riders seemed in the hey-day of their equestrian
triumph. Let them, however, derive from the fate of Vauxhall, a deep, a
fearful lesson!--though we shudder as we write, it shall not be said that
destruction came upon them unawares--that no warning voice had been
raised--that even the squeak of PUNCH was silent! Let them not sneer, and
call us superstitious--we do _not_ give credence to supernatural agency as
a fixed and general principle; but we did believe in Simpson, and stake our
professional reputation upon Widdicomb.

That Vauxhall gardens were under the especial protection of, that they drew
the very breath of their attractiveness from, the ceremonial Simpson, who
can deny? When he flitted from walk to walk, from box to box, and welcomed
everybody to the "royal property," right royally did things go on! Who
would _then_ have dreamt that the illustrious George--he of the
Piazza--would ever be "honoured with instructions to sell;" that his
eulogistic pen would be employed in giving the puff superlative to the
Elysian haunts of quondam fashion--in other words, in painting the lily,
gilding refined gold? But, alas! Simpson, the tutelar deity, has departed
("died," some say, but we don't believe it), and at the moment he made his
last bow, Vauxhall ought to have closed; it was madness--the madness which
will call us, peradventure, superstitious--which kept the gates open when
Simpson's career closed--it was an anomaly, for like Love and Heaven,
Simpson was Vauxhall, and Vauxhall was Simpson!

Let Ducrow reflect upon these things--we dare not speak out--but a tutelar
being watches over, and giveth vitality to his arena--his ring is, he may
rely upon it, a fairy one--while _that_ mysterious being dances and prances
in it, all will go well; his horses will not stumble, never will his clowns
forget a syllable of their antiquated jokes. O! let him then, while
seriously reflecting upon Simpson and the fate of Vauxhall, give good heed
unto the Methuselah, who hath already passed his second centenary in the

These were our awful reflections while viewing the scenes in the circle,
very properly constructed in the Rotunda. They overpowered us--we dared not
stay to see the fireworks, "in the midst of which Signora Rossini was to
make her terrific ascent and descent on a rope three hundred feet high."
She _might_ have been the sprite of Madame Saqui; in fact, the "Vauxhall
Papers" published in the gardens, put forth a legend, which favours such a
dreadful supposition! We refer our readers to them--they are only sixpence

Of course the gardens were full in spite of the weather; for what must be
the callousness of that man who could let _the_ gardens pass under the
hammer of George Robins, without bidding them an affecting farewell? Good
gracious! We can hardly believe such insensibility does exist. Hasten then,
dear readers, as you would fly to catch the expiring sigh of a fine old
boon companion--hasten to take your parting slice of ham, your last bowl of
arrack, even now while the great auctioneer says "Going."

For your sake, and yours only, Alfred Bunn (whose disinterestedness has
passed into a theatrical proverb), arrests the arm of his friend of the
Auction Mart in its descent. Attend to _his_ bidding. Do not--oh! do not
wait till the vulcan of the Bartholomew-lane smithy lets fall his hammer
upon the anvil of pleasure, to announce that the Royal Property is--"Gone!"


       *       *       *       *       *



Mrs. Waylett and Mr. Keeley were the lady and gentleman who were placed in
the peculiarly perplexing predicament of making a second-hand French
interlude supportable to an English Opera audience. In this they more than
succeeded--for they caused it to be amusing; they made the most of what
they had to do, which was not much, and of what they had to say, which was
a great deal too much; for the piece would be far more tolerable if
considerably shorn of its unfair proportions. The translator seems to have
followed the verbose text of his original with minute fidelity, except
where the idioms bothered him; and although the bills declare it is adapted
by Mr. Charles Selby to the English stage, the thing is as essentially
French as it is when performed at the _Palais Royal_, except where the
French language is introduced, when, in every instance, the labours of
correct transcription were evidently above the powers of the translator.
The best part of the adaptation is the exact fitness of the performers to
their parts; we mean as far as concerns their _personnel_.

Of course, all the readers of PUNCH know Mr. Keeley. Let them, then,
conceive him an uncle at five-and-thirty, but docking himself of six years'
age when asked impertinent questions. He has a head of fine auburn hair,
and dresses in a style that a _badaud_ would call "quiet;" that is to say,
he wears brass buttons to his coat, which is green, and adorned with a
velvet collar. In short, it is not nearly so fine as Lord Palmerston's, for
it has no velvet at the cuffs; and is not embroidered. Add white
unhintables, and you have an imaginative portrait of the hero. But the
heroine! Ah! she, dear reader, if you have a taste for full-blown beauty
and widows, she will coax the coin out of your pockets, and yourselves into
the English Opera House, when we have told you what she acts, and how she
acts. Imagine her, the syren, with the quiet, confiding smile, the tender
melting voice, the pleasing highly-bred manner; just picture her in the
character of a Parisian widow--the free, unshackled, fascinating Parisian
widow--the child of liberty--the mother of--no, not a mother; for the
instant a husband dies, the orphans are transferred to convent schools to
become nephews and nieces. Well, we say for the third time, conceive Mrs.
Waylett, dressed with modest elegance, a single rose in her
hair--sympathise with her as she rushes upon the stage (which is "set" for
the _chambre meublée_ of a country inn), escaping from the persecutions of
a persevering traveller who _will_ follow her charms, her modest elegance,
her single rose, wherever they make their appearance. She locks the door,
and orders supper, declaring she will leave the house immediately after it
is eaten and paid for. Alas! the danger increases, and with it her fears;
she will pay without eating; and as the diligence is going off, she will
resume her journey, but--a new misfortune--there is no place in it! She
will, then, hire a postchaise; and the landlady goes to strike the bargain,
having been duly paid for a bed which has not been lain in, and a supper
that has not been eaten. As the lady hastens away, with every prospect of
not returning, the piece would inevitably end here, if a gentleman did not
arrive by the very diligence which has just driven off full, and taken the
same chamber the lady has just vacated; but more particularly if the only
chaise in the place had not been hired by the lady's wicked persecutor on
purpose to detain her. She, of course, returns to the twice-let chamber,
and finds it occupied by a sentimental traveller.

Here we have the "peculiarly perplexing predicament"--a lady and gentleman,
and only one chamber between them! This is the plot; all that happens
afterwards is merely supplementary. To avoid the continued persecutions of
the unseen Adolphe, the lady agrees, after some becoming hesitation, to
pass to the hostess as the wife of the sentimental traveller. The landlady
is satisfied, for what so natural as that they _should_ have but one
bed-room between them? so she carefully locks them in, and the audience
have the pleasure of seeing them pass the night together--how we will not
say--let our readers go and see. Yet we must in justice add that the "lady
and gentleman" make at the end of the piece the _amende_ good morals
demand--they get married.

To the performers, and to them alone, are we indebted for any of the
amusement this trifle affords. Mr. Keeley and Mrs. Waylett were, so far as
acting goes, perfection; for never were parts better fitted to them. There
are only three characters in the piece; the third, the hostess of the
_"Cochon bleu,"_ is very well done by Mrs. Selby. The persecuting Adolphe
(who turns out to be the gentleman's nephew) never appears upon the stage,
for all his rude efforts to get into the lady's chamber are fruitless.

Such is the prying disposition of the British public, that the house was
crammed to the ceiling to see a lady and a gentleman placed in a peculiarly
perplexing predicament.

       *       *       *       *       *

  As _Romeo_, Kean, with awkward grace,
    On velvet rests, 'tis said:
  Ah! did he seek a softer place,
    He'd rest upon his head.

       *       *       *       *       *


Several Dutch _males_ arrived from Rotterdam during the last week. They are
all totally devoid of intelligence or interest.

       *       *       *       *       *


  "Crack'd China mended!"--Zounds, man! off this minute--
  There's work for you, or else the deuce is in it!

       *       *       *       *       *

"Draw it mild!" as the boy with the decayed tooth said to the dentist.

Webster's Manganese Ink is so intensely black, that it is used as a
marking-fluid for coal-sacks.

There is a man up country so fat, they grease the cart-wheels with his

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to Doctrine Publishing's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a
large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the use of
public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Keep it legal -  Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for
ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just because
we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States,
that the work is also in the public domain for users in other countries.
Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we
can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of any specific book is
allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Doctrine Publishing
ISYS search  means it can be used in any manner anywhere in the world.
Copyright infringement liability can be quite severe.

About ISYS® Search Software
Established in 1988, ISYS Search Software is a global supplier of enterprise
search solutions for business and government.  The company's award-winning
software suite offers a broad range of search, navigation and discovery
solutions for desktop search, intranet search, SharePoint search and embedded
search applications.  ISYS has been deployed by thousands of organizations
operating in a variety of industries, including government, legal, law
enforcement, financial services, healthcare and recruitment.