By Author [ A  B  C  D  E  F  G  H  I  J  K  L  M  N  O  P  Q  R  S  T  U  V  W  X  Y  Z |  Other Symbols ]
  By Title [ A  B  C  D  E  F  G  H  I  J  K  L  M  N  O  P  Q  R  S  T  U  V  W  X  Y  Z |  Other Symbols ]
  By Language
all Classics books content using ISYS

Download this book: [ ASCII | HTML | PDF ]

Look for this book on Amazon

We have new books nearly every day.
If you would like a news letter once a week or once a month
fill out this form and we will give you a summary of the books for that week or month by email.

Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, Complete
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
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, Complete" ***

This book is indexed by ISYS Web Indexing system to allow the reader find any word or number within the document.




       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: INTRODUCTION.]

[Illustration: T]This Guffawgraph is intended to form a refuge for
destitute wit--an asylum for the thousands of orphan jokes--the
superannuated Joe Millers--the millions of perishing puns, which are now
wandering about without so much as a shelf to rest upon! It is also
devoted to the emancipation of the JEW _d'esprits_ all over the world, and
the naturalization of those alien JONATHANS, whose adherence to the truth
has forced them to emigrate from their native land.

"PUNCH" has the honour of making his appearance every SATURDAY, and
continues, from week to week, to offer to the world all the fun to be
found in his own and the following heads:


"PUNCH" has no party prejudices--he is conservative in his opposition to
Fantoccini and political puppets, but a progressive whig in his love of
_small change_.


This department is conducted by Mrs. J. Punch, whose extensive
acquaintance with the _élite_ of the areas enables her to furnish the
earliest information of the movements of the Fashionable World.


This portion of the work is under the direction of an experienced
nobleman--a regular attendant at the various offices--who from a strong
attachment to "PUNCH," is frequently in a position to supply exclusive


To render this branch of the periodical as perfect as possible,
arrangements have been made to secure the critical assistance of John
Ketch, Esq., who, from the mildness of the law, and the congenial
character of modern literature with his early associations, has been
induced to undertake its _execution_.


Anxious to do justice to native talent, the criticisms upon Painting,
Sculpture, &c., are confided to one of the most popular artists of the
day--"Punch's" own immortal scene-painter.


These are amongst the most prominent features of the work. The Musical
Notices are written by the gentleman who plays the mouth-organ, assisted
by the professors of the drum and cymbals. "Punch" himself _does_ the


A Prophet is engaged! He foretells not only the winners of each race, but
also the "VATES" and colours of the riders.


Are contributed by the members of the following learned bodies:--


Together with original, humorous, and satirical articles in verse and
prose, from all the


       *       *       *       *       *



       *       *       *       *       *


Early in the month of July, 1841, a small handbill was freely distributed
by the newsmen of London, and created considerable amusement and inquiry.
That handbill now stands as the INTRODUCTION to this, the first Volume of
_Punch_, and was employed to announce the advent of a publication which
has sustained for nearly twenty years a popularity unsurpassed in the
history of periodical literature. _Punch_ and the Elections were the only
matters which occupied the public mind on July 17, 1842. The Whigs had
been defeated in many places where hitherto they had been the popular
party, and it was quite evident that the Meeting of Parliament would
terminate their lease of Office. [STREET POLITICS.] The House met on the
19th of August, and unanimously elected MR. SHAW LEFEVRE to be Speaker.
The address on the QUEEN'S Speech was moved by MR. MARK PHILLIPS, and
seconded by MR. DUNDAS. MR. J.S. WORTLEY moved an amendment, negativing
the confidence of the House in the Ministry, and the debate continued to
occupy Parliament for four nights, when the Opposition obtained a majority
of 91 against the Ministers. Amongst those who spoke against the
Government, and directly in favour of SIR ROBERT PEEL, was MR. DISRAELI.
In his speech he accused the Whigs of seeking to retain power in
opposition to the wishes of the country, and of profaning the name of the
QUEEN at their elections, as if she had been a second candidate at some
petty poll, and considered that they should blush for the position in
which they had placed their Sovereign. MR. BERNAL, Jun., retorted upon MR.
DISRAELI for inveighing against the Whigs, with whom he had formerly been
associated. SIR ROBERT PEEL, in a speech of great eloquence, condemned the
inactivity and feebleness of the existing Government, and promised that,
should he displace it, and take office, it should be by walking in the
open light, and in the direct paths of the constitution. He would only
accept power upon his conception of public duty, and would resign the
moment he was satisfied he was unsupported by the confidence of the
people, and not continue to hold place when the voice of the country was
GROWN.] LORD JOHN defended the acts of the Ministry, and denied that they
had been guilty of harshness to the poor by the New Poor Law, or enemies
of the Church by reducing "the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY to the miserable
pittance of £15,000 a year, cutting down the BISHOP OF LONDON to no more
than £10,000 a year, and the BISHOP OF DURHAM to the wretched stipend of
£8,000 a year!" He twitted PEEL for his reticence upon the Corn Laws, and
denounced the possibility of a sliding scale of duties upon corn. He
concluded by saying, "I am convinced that, if this country be governed by
enlarged and liberal counsels, its power and might will spread and
increase, and its influence become greater and greater; liberal principles
will prevail, civilisation will be spread to all parts of the globe, and
you will bless millions by your acts and mankind by your union." Loud and
continued cheering followed this speech, but on division the majority was
against the Ministers. When the House met to recommend the report on the
amended Address, MR. SHARMAN CRAWFORD moved another amendment, to the
effect that the distress of the people referred to in the QUEEN'S Speech
was mainly attributable to the non-representation of the working classes
in Parliament. He did not advocate universal suffrage, but one which would
give a fair representation of the people. From the want of this arose
unjust wars, unjust legislation, unjust monopoly, of which the existing
Corn Laws were the most grievous instance. There was no danger in
confiding the suffrage to the working classes, who had a vital interest in
the public prosperity, and had evinced the truest zeal for freedom.

The amendment was negatived by 283 to 39.

At the next meeting of the House LORD MARCUS HILL read the Answer to the
Address, in which the QUEEN declared that "ever anxious to listen to the
advice of Parliament, she would take immediate measures for the formation
of a new Administration." [PUNCH AND PEEL.] LORD MELBOURNE, in the House
of Lords, announced on the 30th of August that he and his colleagues only
held office until their successors were appointed. [LAST PINCH.] The House
received the announcement in perfect silence, and adjourned immediately
afterwards. On the same night, in the House of Commons, LORD JOHN RUSSELL
made a similar announcement, and briefly defended the course he and his
colleagues had taken, and in reply to some complimentary remarks from LORD
STANLEY, approving of LORD JOHN'S great zeal, talent, and perseverance,
denied that the Crown was answerable for any of the propositions contained
in the Speech, which were the result of the advice of HER MAJESTY'S
Ministers, and for which her Ministers alone were responsible. This
declaration was necessary in consequence of the accusation of the
Conservatives, that the Ministry had made an unfair use of the QUEEN'S
name in and out of Parliament. [TRIMMING A WHIG.] The new Ministry [THE
LETTER OF INTRODUCTION] was formed as follows:--


THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON (without office); First Lord of the Treasury, SIR
R. PEEL; Lord Chancellor, LORD LYNDHUHST; Chancellor of the Exchequer,
RIGHT HON. H. GOULBURN; President of the Council, LORD WHARNCLIFFE; Privy
Secretary, EARL OF ABERDEEN; Colonial Secretary, LORD STANLEY; First Lord
of the Admiralty, EARL OF HADDINGTON; President of the Board of Control,
LORD ELLENBOROUGH; President of the Board of Trade, EARL OF RIPON;
Secretary at War, SIR H. HARDINGE; Treasurer of the Navy and Paymaster of
the Forces, SIR E. KNATCHBULL.


Postmaster-General, LORD LOWTHER; Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster,
LORD G. SOMERSET; Woods and Forests, EARL OF LINCOLN; Master-General of
the Ordnance, SIR G. MURRAY; Vice-President of the Board of Trade and
Master of the Mint, W.E. GLADSTONE; Secretary of the Admiralty, HON.
SYDNEY HERBERT; Joint Secretaries of the Treasury, SIR G. CLERK and SIR T.
FREMANTLE; Secretaries of the Board of Control, HON. W. BARING and J.
EMERSON TENNENT; Home Under-Secretary, HON. C.M. SUTTON; Foreign
Under-Secretary, LORD CANNING; Colonial Under-Secretary, G.W. HOPE; Lords
Ordnance, J.R. BONHAM; Clerk of the Ordnance, CAPTAIN BOLDERO;
Surveyor-General of the Ordnance, COLONEL JONATHAN PEEL; Attorney-General,
SIR F. POLLOCK; Solicitor-General, SIR W. FOLLETT; Judge-Advocate, DR.
NICHOLL; Governor-General of Canada, SIR C. BAGOT; Lord Advocate of
Scotland, SIR W. RAE.


Lord Lieutenant, EARL DE GREY; Lord Chancellor, SIR E. SUGDEN; Chief
Secretary, LORD ELIOT; Attorney-General, MR. BLACKBURNE, Q.C.;
Solicitor-General, SERJEANT JACKSON.


Lord Chamberlain, EARL DELAWARR; Lord Steward, EARL OF LIVERPOOL; Master
of the Horse, EARL OF JERSEY; Master of the Buckhounds, EARL OF ROSSLYN;
Captain of the Yeomen of the Guard, MARQUIS OF LOTHIAN; Captain of the
Gentlemen Pensioners, LORD FORESTER; Vice-Chamberlain, LORD ERNEST BRUCE;
Treasurer of the Household, EARL JERMYN; Controller of the Household, HON.
ORMONDE; Groom in Waiting, CAPTAIN MEYNELL; Mistress of the Robes, DUCHESS


Groom of the Stole, MARQUIS OF EXETER; Sergeant-at-Arms, COLONEL PERCEVAL;
Clerk Marshal, LORD C. WELLESLEY.

The members of the new Government were re-elected without an exception,
and the House of Commons met again on September 16. SIR ROBERT PEEL made a
statement to the House, in which he merely intimated that he should adopt
the Estimates [PLAYING THE KNAVE] of his predecessors, and continue the
existing Poor-Law and its Establishment to the 31st of July following. He
declined to announce his own financial measures until the next Session,
and continued in this determination unmoved by the speeches of LORD JOHN
RUSSELL, LORD PALMERSTON, and other Members of the Opposition. MR. FIELDEN
moved that no supplies be granted until after an inquiry into the distress
of the country; but the motion was negatived by a large majority.
Continual reference was made by MR. COBDEN, MR. VILLIERS, and others to
the strong desire of the people for a Repeal of the Corn Laws, and which
had been loudly expressed out of the House for more than four years. MR.
BUSFIELD FERRAND denied the necessity for any alteration, and accused the
manufacturers of fomenting the agitation for their own selfish ends, and
to increase their power of reducing the wages of the already starving
workmen. MR. MARK PHILLIPS, in a capital speech, disproved all MR.
FERRAND'S statements. SIR ROBERT PEEL brought in a Bill to continue the
Poor Law Commission for six months, and MR. FIELDER'S Amendment [THE WELL
DRESSED AND THE WELL TO DO] to reject it was negatived by 183 to 18. LORD
MELBOURNE attacked, in the House of Lords, the Ministerial plan of
finance, and their silence as to the future [MR. SANCHO BULL AND HIS STATE
PHYSICIAN], and invited the DUKE OF WELLINGTON to bring forward a measure
for an alteration of the Corn Laws, promising him a full House if he would
do so. The Duke declined the invitation, as he never announced an
intention which he did not entertain, and he had not considered the
operation of the Corn Laws sufficiently to bring forward a scheme for the
alteration of them. This statement led on a subsequent evening to an
intimation from the DUKE OF WELLINGTON, in reply to the EARL OF RADNOR,
that a consideration of the Corn Laws was only declined "_at the present
time_." On the 7th of October Parliament was prorogued until November
11th, the Lords Commissioners being the LORD CHANCELLOR, the DUKE OF

       *       *       *       *       *


HUME'S TERMINOLOGY.--Defeat at Leeds.

    W. BECKETT            2076
    W. ALDAM              2043
    T. HUME               2033
    VISCOUNT JOCELYN      1926

LESSONS IN PUNMANSHIP.--THOMAS HOOD, the distinguished Poet and Wit, died
May 3, 1845.

COURT CIRCULAR.--MASTER JONES, better known as the "Boy JONES," was a
sweep who obtained admission on more than one occasion to Buckingham
Palace in a very mysterious manner. He gave great trouble to the
authorities, and was at length sent into the Royal Navy.

MRS. LILLY was the nurse of the PRINCESS ROYAL.

MR. MORETON DYER, a stipendiary Magistrate, removed from the Commons on a
charge of bribing electors.

and frequently before the public in connection with some extravagance.

"THE BLACK-BALLED OF THE UNITED SERVICE" refers to proceedings connected
with the EARL OF CARDIGAN. Exception had been taken to the introduction of
black bottles at the mess-table at Brighton, and a duel was subsequently

AN ODE.--Kilpack's Divan, now the American Bowling Alley, in King Street,
Covent Garden, continues to be the resort of minor celebrities. As the
club was a private one, we do not feel justified in more plainly
indicating the members referred to as the "jocal nine."

MRS. H.--MRS. HONEY, a very charming actress.

COURT CIRCULAR.--DEAF BURKE was a pugilist who occasionally exhibited
himself as "the Grecian Statues," and upon one occasion attempted a
reading from SHAKSPEARE. As he was very ignorant, and could neither _read_
nor write, the effect was extremely ridiculous, and helped to give the man
a notoriety.

THE HARP, a tavern near Drury Lane, was a favourite resort of the Elder
KEAN, and in 1841 had a club-room divided into four wards: Gin Ward,
Poverty Ward, Insanity Ward, and Suicide Ward, the walls of which were
appropriately illustrated, and by no mean hand. The others named (with the
exception of PADDY GREEN) were pugilists.

AN AN-TEA ANACREONTIC.--RUNDEL was the head of a large Jeweller's firm on
Ludgate Hill.

MONSIEUR JULLIEN was the first successful promoter of cheap concerts in
England. He was a clever conductor, and affected the mountebank. He was a
very honourable man, and hastened his death by over-exertion to meet his
liabilities. He died 1860.

PUNCH AND PEEL.--SIR ROBERT PEEL stipulated, on taking office, for an
entire change of the Ladies of the Bedchamber.

WILLIAM FARREN, the celebrated actor of Old Men.

COLONEL SIBTHORP was M.P. for Lincoln, and more distinguished by his
benevolence to his constituency than his merits as a senator. He was very

FASHIONABLE MOVEMENTS.--COUNT D'ORSAY, an elegant, accomplished, and
kind-hearted Frenchman, was a leader of Fashion, long resident in England.
He was the friend and adviser of Louis NAPOLEON during his exile in this
country. COUNT D'ORSAY died in Paris.

JOBBING PATRIOTS.--MR. GEORGE ROBINS was an auctioneer in Covent Garden,
and celebrated for the extravagant imagery of his advertisements. His
successors have offices in Bond Street.

SHOCKING WANT OF SYMPATHY.--SIR P. LAURIE, a very active City magnate,
continually engaged in "putting down" suicide, poverty, &c.

SIR F. BURDETT, long the Radical member for Westminster. His political
perversion took every one by surprise.

actor in the Provinces.

INQUEST.--The Eagle Tavern, City Road, was built by MR. ROUSE--"Bravo,
ROUSE!" as he was called.

LADY MORGAN, the Authoress of _The Wild Irish Girl_, and many other
popular works, died 1860.

THE TORY TABLE D'HOTE.--"BILLY" HOLMES was whipper-in to the Conservatives
in the House of Commons.

THE LEGAL ECCALOBEION.--BARON CAMPBELL had been appointed Chancellor of
Ireland a few days before the Dissolution (1841). He is now Lord
Chancellor of England (1861). The Eccalobeion was an apparatus for
hatching birds by steam, but was too costly to be successful commercially.

THE STATE DOCTOR.--SIR R. PEEL, in his speech at Tamworth, had called
himself "the State Doctor," who would not attempt to prescribe until
regularly called in.

CURIOUS COINCIDENCE.--Certain gentlemen, feeling themselves aggrieved and
unfairly treated by the managers of the London Theatres, had for some time
been abusing the more fortunate dramatists, whose pieces had found
acceptance with the public, until at last they resolved upon the course
here set forth, and commented upon.

mesmerising the Lion.

MR. MUNTZ, M.P. for Birmingham, wore a very large beard, and in 1841 such
hirsute adornments were very uncommon.

GENERAL SATISFACTION.--The _Morning Herald_ had acquired the _sobriquet_
of "My Grandmother."

DONE AGAIN.--MR. DUNN, a barrister, subjected Miss BURDETT COUTTS to a
series of annoyances which ultimately led to legal proceedings, and to MR.
DUNN'S imprisonment.

BERNARD CAVANAGH was an impostor who pretended he could live for many
weeks without food. He attracted much attention at the time, and was
ultimately detected concealing a cold sausage, when he confessed his
imposture, and was imprisoned by the MAYOR OF READING.

TAKING THE HODDS.--"Holy Land," the cant name for a part of St. Giles's,
now destroyed. BANKS owned a public-house frequented by thieves of both
sexes, and whom he managed to keep under perfect control. A visit to
"Stunning JOE BANKS" was thought a fast thing in 1841.

FEARGUS O'CONNOR, M.P. for Nottingham, was the leader of the Chartists and
projector of the Land Scheme for securing votes to the masses. The project
failed. MR. O'CONNOR was a political enthusiast, ultimately became insane,
and died in an Asylum.

DIE HEXEN AM RHEIN.--MR. FREDERICK YATES was an admirable actor, and the
proprietor and manager of the favourite "little Adelphi" Theatre, in the

PROSPECTUS.--We believe this article suggested the existing Accident
Assurance Company.

MR. SILK BUCKINGHAM was a voluminous writer and founder of the British and
Foreign Institute, in George Street, Hanover Square.

PARLIAMENTARY MASONS.--The masons employed in building the New Houses of
Parliament struck for higher wages.


PROMENADE CONCERTS.--M. MUSARD was the originator in Paris of this class of
amusement. Their popularity induced an imitation in England by M. JULLIEN.

TO BENEVOLENT AND HUMANE JOKERS.--TOM COOKE was the leader and composer at
the Theatres Royal, and a remarkable performer on a penny trumpet. He
occasionally made use of this toy in his pantomime introductions. He was
also a very "funny" fellow.

to the QUEEN.

SAVORY CON. BY COX.--COX AND SAVORY, advertising silversmiths and


"ROB ME THE EXCHEQUER, HAL."--A person of the name of SMITH forged a great
amount of Exchequer Bills at this time.

THE FIRE AT THE TOWER on October 31, 1841. Immense damage was done to the
building, and a great quantity of arms were destroyed. (See _Annual

SIR ROBERT MACAIRE.--_Robert Macaire_ was a French felonious drama made
famous by the admirable acting of LEMAITRE, and, from some supposed
allusion to LOUIS PHILIPPE, MACAIRE'S friend and scapegoat always appears
with a large umbrella.

THE O'CONNELL PAPERS.--D. O'CONNELL was elected Lord Mayor of Dublin,

Dispatch_, and for that and other reasons, was not elected Lord Mayor.

CUTTING AT THE ROOT OF THE EVIL.--MR. HOBLER was for many years Principal
Clerk to the Magistrates at the Mansion House.


A BARROW KNIGHT.--SIR VINCENT COTTON was a well-known four-in-hand whip,
and for some little time drove a coach to Brighton. SIR WYNDHAM ANSTRUTHER
(WHEEL OF FORTUNE) was another four-in-hand celebrity.


BARBER-OUS ANNOUNCEMENT.--MR. TANNER'S shop was part of one of the side
arches of Temple Bar, and so reached from that obstruction to Shire Lane,
which adjoins it on the City side.

FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE.--The PADDY GREEN so frequently referred to was a
popular singer and an excellent tempered man. He was unfairly treated by
_Punch_ at this time, because really unknown to the writer. MR. JOHN GREEN
is now the well known and much respected host and proprietor of Evans's
Hotel, Covent Garden.

KINGS AND CARPENTERS.--DON LEON, shot for insurrection in favour of the

CUPID OUT OF PLACE.--LORD PALMERSTON, from his very engaging manner, was
long known as "Cupid."

CRUIKSHANK'S etching of _Jack Sheppard_.

SIBTHORP'S CON. CORNER.--BRYANT was publisher of Punch, 1841.


       *       *       *       *       *


VOL. 1.


       *       *       *       *       *


As we hope, gentle public, to pass many happy hours in your society, we
think it right that you should know something of our character and
intentions. Our title, at a first glance, may have misled you into a
belief that we have no other intention than the amusement of a thoughtless
crowd, and the collection of pence. We have a higher object. Few of the
admirers of our prototype, merry Master PUNCH, have looked upon his
vagaries but as the practical outpourings of a rude and boisterous mirth.
We have considered him as a teacher of no mean pretensions, and have,
therefore, adopted him as the sponsor for our weekly sheet of pleasant
instruction. When we have seen him parading in the glories of his motley,
flourishing his baton (like our friend Jullien at Drury-lane) in time with
his own unrivalled discord, by which he seeks to win the attention and
admiration of the crowd, what visions of graver puppetry have passed
before our eyes! Golden circlets, with their adornments of coloured and
lustrous gems, have bound the brow of infamy as well as that of honour--a
mockery to both; as though virtue required a reward beyond the fulfilment
of its own high purposes, or that infamy could be cheated into the
forgetfulness of its vileness by the weight around its temples! Gilded
coaches have glided before us, in which sat men who thought the buzz and
shouts of crowds a guerdon for the toils, the anxieties, and, too often,
the peculations of a life. Our ears have rung with the noisy frothiness of
those who have bought their fellow-men as beasts in the market-place, and
found their reward in the sycophancy of a degraded constituency, or the
patronage of a venal ministry--no matter of what creed, for party
_must_ destroy patriotism.

The noble in his robes and coronet--the beadle in his gaudy livery of
scarlet, and purple, and gold--the dignitary in the fulness of his
pomp--the demagogue in the triumph of his hollowness--these and other
visual and oral cheats by which mankind are cajoled, have passed in review
before us, conjured up by the magic wand of PUNCH.

How we envy his philosophy, when SHALLA-BA-LA, that demon with the bell,
besets him at every turn, almost teasing the sap out of him! The moment
that his tormentor quits the scene, PUNCH seems to forget the existence of
his annoyance, and, carolling the mellifluous numbers of _Jim Crow_,
or some other strain of equal beauty, makes the most of the present,
regardless of the past or future; and when SHALLA-BA-LA renews his
persecutions, PUNCH boldly faces his enemy, and ultimately becomes the
victor. All have a SHALLA-BA-LA in some shape or other; but few, how few,
the philosophy of PUNCH!

We are afraid our prototype is no favourite with the ladies. PUNCH is (and
we reluctantly admit the fact) a Malthusian in principle, and somewhat of
a domestic tyrant; for his conduct is at times harsh and ungentlemanly to
Mrs. P.

  "Eve of a land that still is Paradise,
  Italian beauty!"

But as we never look for perfection in human nature, it is too much to
expect it in wood. We wish it to be understood that we repudiate such
principles and conduct. We have a Judy of our own, and a little
Punchininny that commits innumerable improprieties; but we fearlessly aver
that we never threw him out of window, nor belaboured the lady with a
stick--even of the size allowed by law.

There is one portion of the drama we wish was omitted, for it always
saddens us--we allude to the prison scene. PUNCH, it is true, sings in
durance, but we hear the ring of the bars mingling with the song. We are
advocates for the _correction_ of offenders; but how many generous
and kindly beings are there pining within the walls of a prison, whose
only crimes are poverty and misfortune! They, too, sing and laugh, and
appear jocund, but the _heart_ can ever hear the ring of the bars.

We never looked upon a lark in a cage, and heard him trilling out his
music as he sprang upwards to the roof of his prison, but we felt sickened
with the sight and sound, as contrasting, in our thought, the free
minstrel of the morning, bounding as it were into the blue caverns of the
heavens, with the bird to whom the world was circumscribed. May the time
soon arrive, when every prison shall be a palace of the mind--when we
shall seek to instruct and cease to punish. PUNCH has already advocated
education by example. Look at his dog Toby! The instinct of the brute has
almost germinated into reason. Man _has_ reason, why not give him

We now come to the last great lesson of our motley teacher--the gallows!
that accursed tree which has its _root_ in injuries. How clearly
PUNCH exposes the fallacy of that dreadful law which authorises the
destruction of life! PUNCH sometimes destroys the hangman: and why not?
Where is the divine injunction against the shedder of man's blood to rest?
None _can_ answer! To us there is but ONE disposer of life. At other
times PUNCH hangs the devil: this is as it should be. Destroy the
principle of evil by increasing the means of cultivating the good, and the
gallows will then become as much a wonder as it is now a jest.

We shall always play PUNCH, for we consider it best to be merry and wise--

  "And laugh at all things, for we wish to know,
  What, after all, are all things but a show!"--_Byron._

As on the stage of PUNCH'S theatre, many characters appear to fill up the
interstices of the more important story, so our pages will be interspersed
with trifles that have no other object than the moment's approbation--an
end which will never be sought for at the expense of others, beyond the
evanescent smile of a harmless satire.

       *       *       *       *       *


There is a report of the stoppage of one of the most respectable
_hard-bake_ houses in the metropolis. The firm had been speculating
considerably in "Prince Albert's Rock," and this is said to have been the
rock they have ultimately split upon. The boys will be the greatest
sufferers. One of them had stripped hia jacket of all its buttons as a
deposit on some _tom-trot_, which the house had promised to supply on
the following day; and we regret to say, there are whispers of other
transactions of a similar character.

Money has been abundant all day, and we saw a half-crown piece and some
halfpence lying absolutely idle in the hands of an individual, who, if he
had only chosen to walk with it into the market, might have produced a
very alarming effect on some minor description of securities. Cherries
were taken very freely at twopence a pound, and Spanish (liquorice) at a
shade lower than yesterday. There has been a most disgusting glut of
tallow all the week, which has had an alarming effect on dips, and thrown
a still further gloom upon rushlights.

The late discussions on the timber duties have brought the match market
into a very unsettled state, and Congreve lights seem destined to undergo
a still further depression. This state of things was rendered worse
towards the close of the day, by a large holder of the last-named article
unexpectedly throwing an immense quantity into the market, which went off

       *       *       *       *       *


Many of our readers must be aware, that in pantomimic pieces, the usual
mode of making the audience acquainted with anything that cannot be
clearly explained by dumb-show, is to exhibit a linen scroll, on which is
painted, in large letters, the sentence necessary to be known. It so
happened that a number of these scrolls had Been thrown aside after one of
the grand spectacles at Astley's Amphitheatre, and remained amongst other
lumber in the property-room, until the late destructive fire which
occurred there. On that night, the wife of one of the stage-assistants--a
woman of portly dimensions--was aroused from her bed by the alarm of fire,
and in her confusion, being unable to find her proper habiliments, laid
hold of one of these scrolls, and wrapping it around her, hastily rushed
into the street, and presented to the astonished spectators an extensive
back view, with the words, "BOMBARD THE CITADEL," inscribed in legible
characters upon her singular drapery.


Hume is so annoyed at his late defeat at Leeds, that he vows he will never
make use of the word Tory again as long as he lives. Indeed, he proposes
to expunge the term from the English language, and to substitute that
which is applied to, his own party. In writing to a friend, that "after
the inflammatory character of the oratory of the Carlton Club, it is quite
supererogatory for me to state (it being notorious) that all conciliatory
measures will be rendered nugatory," he thus expressed himself:--"After
the inflamma_whig_ character of the ora_whig_ of the nominees of
the Carlton Club, it is quite supereroga_whig_ for me to state (it
being no_whig_ous) that all concilia_whig_ measures will be
rendered nuga_whig_."


A correspondent to one of the daily papers has remarked, that there is an
almost total absence of swallows this summer in England. Had the writer
been present at some of the election dinners lately, he must have
confessed that a greater number of active swallows has rarely been
observed congregated in any one year.


My dear PUNCH,--Seeing in the "Court Circular" of the Morning Herald an
account of a General Goblet as one of the guests of her Majesty, I beg to
state, that till I saw that announcement, I was not aware of any other
_general gobble it_ than myself at the Palace.

Yours, truly,    MELBOURN

       *       *       *       *       *


DEAR PUNCH,--I was much amused the other day, on taking my seat in the
Birmingham Railway train, to observe a sentimental-looking young
gentleman, who was sitting opposite to me, deliberately draw from his
travelling-bag three volumes of what appeared to me a new novel of the
full regulation size, and with intense interest commence the first volume
at the title-page. At the same instant the last bell rang, and away
started our train, whizz, bang, like a flash of lightning through a
butter-firkin. I endeavoured to catch a glimpse of some familiar places as
we passed, but the attempt was altogether useless. Harrow-on-the-Hill, as
we shot by it, seemed to be driving pell-mell up to town, followed by
Boxmoor, Tring, and Aylesbury--I missed Wolverton and Weedon while taking
a pinch of snuff--lost Rugby and Coventry before I had done sneezing, and
I had scarcely time to say, "God bless us," till I found we had reached
Birmingham. Whereupon I began to calculate the trifling progress my
reading companion could have made in his book during our rapid journey,
and to devise plans for the gratification of persons similarly situated as
my fellow-traveller. "Why," thought I, "should literature alone lag in the
age of steam? Is there no way by which a man could be made to swallow
Scott or bolt Bulwer, in as short a time as it now takes him to read an
auction bill?" Suddenly a happy thought struck me: it was to write a
novel, in which only the actual spirit of the narration should be
retained, rejecting all expletives, flourishes, and ornamental figures of
speech; to be terse and abrupt in style--use monosyllables always in
preference to polysyllables--and to eschew all heroes and heroines whose
names contain more than four letters. Full of this idea, on my returning
home in the evening, I sat to my desk, and before I retired to rest, had
written a novel of three neat, portable volumes; which, I assert, any lady
or gentlemen, who has had the advantage of a liberal education, may get
through with tolerable ease, in the time occupied by the railroad train
running from London to Birmingham.

I will not dilate on the many advantages which this description of writing
possesses over all others. Lamplighters, commercial bagmen, omnibus-cads,
tavern-waiters, and general postmen, may "read as they run." Fiddlers at
the theatres, during the rests in a piece of music, may also benefit by my
invention; for which, if the following specimen meet your approbation, I
shall instantly apply for a patent.




"Brief let me be."

LONDON: Printed and Published for the Author.



Clare Grey--Sweet girl--Bloom and blushes, roses, lilies, dew-drops,
&c.--Tom Lee--Young, gay, but poor--Loved Clare madly--Clare loved Tom
ditto--Clare's pa' rich, old, cross, cruel, &c.--Smelt a rat--D----d Tom,
and swore at Clare--Tears, sighs, locks, bolts, and bars--Love's
schemes--_Billet-doux_ from Tom, conveyed to Clare in a dish of peas,
crammed with vows, love, despair, hope--Answer (pencil and curl-paper),
slipped through key-hole--Full of hope, despair, love, vows--Tom
serenades--Bad cold--Rather hoarse--White kerchief from
garret-window--"'Tis Clare! 'tis Clare!"--Garden-wall, six feet high--Love
is rash--Scale the wall--Great house-dog at home--Pins Tom by the
calf--Old Hunk's roused--Fire! thieves! guns, swords, and rushlights--Tom
caught--Murder, burglary--Station-house, gaol, justice--Fudge!--Pretty
mess--Heigho!--'Oh! 'tis love,' &c.--Sweet Clare Grey!--Seven pages of
sentiment--Lame leg, light purse, heavy heart--Pshaw!--Never mind--



"Adieu, my native land," &c.--D.I.O.--"We part to meet again"--Death or
glory--Red coat--Laurels and rupees in view--Vows of constancy, eternal
truth, &c--Tom swells the brine with tears--Clare wipes her eyes in
cambric--Alas! alack! oh! ah!--Fond hearts, doomed to part--Cruel
fate!--Ten pages, poetry, romance, &c. &c.--Tom in battle--Cut, slash,
dash--Sabres, rifles--Round and grape in showers--Hot
work--Charge!--Whizz--Bang!--Flat as a Flounder--Never say
die--Peace--Sweet sound--Scars, wounds, wooden leg, one arm, and one
eye--Half-pay--Home--Huzza!--Swift gales--Post-horses--Love, hope, and
Clare Grey--

[Illustration: "I'D BE A BUTTERFLY," &c.]


"Here we are!"--At home once more--Old friends and old faces--Must be
changed--Nobody knows him--Church bells ringing--Inquire
cause--(?)--Wedding--Clare Grey to Job Snooks, the old pawnbroker--Brain
whirls--Eyes start from sockets--Devils and hell--Clare Grey, the fond,
constant, Clare, a jilt?--Can't be--No go--Stump up to church--Too
true--Clare just made Mrs. Snooks--Madness!! rage!!! death!!!!--Tom's
crutch at work--Snooks floored--Bridesman settled--Parson bolts--Clerk
mizzles--Salts and shrieks--Clare in a swoon--Pa' in a funk--Tragedy
speech--Love! vengeance! and damnation!--Half an ounce of laudanum--Quick
speech--Tom unshackles his wooden pin--Dies like a hero--Clare pines in
secret--Hops the twig, and goes to glory in white muslin--Poor Tom and
Clare! they now lie side by side, beneath

[Illustration:  "A WEEPING WILL-OH!"]

       *       *       *       *       *


We have been favoured with the following announcement from Mr. Hood, which
we recommend to the earnest attention of our subscribers:--


Begs to acquaint the dull and witless, that he has established a class for
the acquirement of an elegant and ready style of punning, on the pure
Joe-millerian principle. The very worst hands are improved in six short
and mirthful lessons. As a specimen of his capability, he begs to subjoin
two conundrums by Colonel Sibthorpe.


"The following is a specimen of my punning _before_ taking six
lessons of Mr. T. Hood:--

"Q. Why is a fresh-plucked carnation like a certain _cold_ with which
children are affected?

"A. Because it's _a new pink off_ (an hooping-cough).

"This is a specimen of my punning _after_ taking six lessons of Mr.
T. Hood:--

"Q. Why is the difference between pardoning and thinking no more of an
injury the same as that between a selfish and a generous man?

"A. Because the one is _for-getting_ and the other

N.B. Gentlemen who live by their wits, and diners-out in particular, will
find Mr. T. Hood's system of incalculable service.

Mr. H. has just completed a large assortment of jokes, which will be
suitable for all occurrences of the table, whether dinner or tea. He has
also a few second-hand _bon mots_ which he can offer a bargain.


       *       *       *       *       *


There hath been long wanting a full and perfect Synopsis of Voting, it
being a science which hath become exceedingly complicated. It is
necessary, therefore, to the full development of the art, that it be
brought into such an exposition, as that it may be seen in a glance what
are the modes of bribing and influencing in Elections. The briber, by this
means, will be able to arrange his polling-books according to the
different categories, and the bribed to see in what class he shall most
advantageously place himself.

It is true that there be able and eloquent writers greatly experienced in
this noble science, but none have yet been able so to express it as to
bring it (as we hope to have done) within the range of the certain
sciences. Henceforward, we trust it will form a part of the public
education, and not be subject tot he barbarous modes pursued by illogical
though earnest and zealous disciples; and that the great and glorious
Constitution that has done so much to bring it to perfection, will, in its
turn, be sustained and matured by the exercise of what is really in itself
so ancient and beautiful a practice.


1st. He that hath NOT A VOTE AND VOTETH; which may be considered,
  1st. As to his CLAIM, which is divisible into
    1. He that voteth for dead men.
    2. He that voteth for empty tenements.
    3. He that voteth for many men.
    4. He that voteth for men in the country, and the like.
  2nd. As to his MOTIVE, which is divisible into
    1. Because he hath a bet that he will vote.
    2. Because he loveth a lark.
    3. Because he LOVETH HIS COUNTRY.
       [Here also may be applied all the predicates under the subjects

2nd. He that hath A VOTE AND VOTETH NOT; which is divisible into
  1st. He that is PREVENTED from voting, which is divisible into
    1. He who is upset by a bribed coachman.
    2. He who is incited into an assault, that he may be put
        into the cage.
    3. He who is driven by a drunken coachman many miles the wrong way.
    4. He who is hocussed.
    5. He who is sent into the country for a holiday, and the like.
  2nd. He that FORFEITETH his vote, which is divisible into
    1. He who is too great a philosopher to care for his country.
    2. He who has not been solicited.
    3. He who drinketh so that he cannot go to the poll.
    4. He who is too drunk to speak at the poll.
    5. He who through over-zeal getteth his head broken.
    6. He who stayeth to finish the bottle, and is too late,
        and the like.

3rd. He that hath A VOTE AND VOTETH; which is divisible into
  1st. He that voteth INTENTIONALLY, which is divisible into
    1st. He that voteth CORRUPTLY, which is divisible into
      1st. He that is BRIBED, which is divisible into
        1st. He that is bribed DIRECTLY, which is divisible into
          1st. He that receiveth MONEY, which may be considered as
            1. He that pretendeth the money is due to him.
            2. He that pretendeth it is lent.
            3. He who receiveth it as alms.
            4. He who receiveth it as the price of a venerated
                tobacco-pipe, a piece of Irish bacon, and the like.
          2nd. He that seeketh PLACE, which may be considered as
            1. He who asketh for a high situation, as a judgeship in
                Botany Bay, or a bishopric in Sierra Leone, and the like.
            2. He who asketh for a low situation, as a ticket-porter,
                curate, and the like.
            3. He who asketh for any situation he can get, as Secretary
                to the Admiralty, policeman, revising barrister, turnkey,
                chaplain, mail-coach guard, and the like.
          3rd. He that taketh DRINK, which may be considered as
            1. He that voteth for Walker's Gooseberry, or Elector's
                Sparkling Champagne.
            2. For sloe-juice, or Elector's fine old crusted Port.
            3. He who voteth for Brett's British Brandy, or Elector's
                real French Cognac.
            4. He who voteth for quassia, molasses, copperas, _coculus
                Indicus_, Spanish juice, or Elector's Extra Double Stout.
        2nd. He that is bribed INDIRECTLY, as
          1. He who is promised a government contract for wax, wafers,
              or the like.
          2. He who getteth a contract, for paupers' clothing, building
              unions, and the like.
          3. He who furnisheth the barouches-and-four for the independent
              40s. freeholders.
          4. He who is presented with cigars, snuffs, meerschaum-pipes,
              haunches of venison, Stilton-cheeses, fresh pork,
              pine-apples, early peas, and the like.
      2nd. He that is INTIMIDATED, as
        1. By his landlord, who soliciteth back rent, or giveth him notice
            to quit.
        2. By his patron, who sayeth they of the opposite politics cannot
            be trusted.
        3. By his master, who sayeth he keepeth no viper of an opposite
            opinion in his employ.
        4. By his wife, who will have her own way in hysterics.
        5. By his intended bride, who talketh of men of spirit and
            Gretna Green.
        6. By a rich customer, who sendeth back his goods, and biddeth
            him be d--d.
      3rd. He that is VOLUNTARILY CORRUPT, which may be considered as
        1. He who voteth from the hope that his party will provide him
            a place.
        2. He who voteth to please one who can leave him a legacy.
        3. He who voteth to get into genteel society.
        4. He who voteth according as he hath taken the odds.
        5. He who, being a schoolmaster, voteth for the candidate with a
            large family.
        6. He who voteth in hopes posterity may think him a patriot.
    2nd. He that voteth CONSCIENTIOUSLY, which is divisible into
      1st. He that voteth according to HUMBUG, which is divisible into
        1st. He that is POLITICALLY humbugged, which is divisible into
          1st. He has SOME BRAINS, as
            1. He who believeth taxes will be taken off.
            2. He who believeth wages will be raised.
            3. He who thinketh trade will be increased.
            4. He who studieth political economy.
            5. He who readeth newspapers, reviews, and magazines, and
                listeneth to lectures, and the like.
          2nd. He that has NO BRAINS, as
            1. He who voteth to support "the glorious Constitution," and
                maintain "the envy of surrounding nations."
            2. He who believeth the less the taxation the greater the
            3. He who attendeth the Crown and Anchor meetings,
                and the like.
        2nd. He that is MORALLY humbugged, as
          1. He who thinketh the Millennium and the Rads will come in
          2. He who thinketh that the Whigs are patriots.
          3. That the Tories love the poor.
          4. That the member troubleth himself solely for the good of his
          5. That the unions are popular with the paupers, and the like.
        3rd. He that is DOMESTICALLY humbugged, as
          1. He who voteth because the candidate's ribbons suit his wife's
          2. Because his wife was addressed as his daughter by the
          3. Because his wife had the candidate's carriage to make calls
              in, and the like.
          4. Because his daughter was presented with a set of the Prince
              Albert Quadrilles.
          5. Because the candidate promised to stand godfather to his last
              infant, and the like.
      2nd. He that voteth according to PRINCIPLE, which is divisible into
        1st. He whose principles are HEREDITARY, as
          1. He who voteth on one side because his father always voted
              on the same.
          2. Because the "Wrong-heads" and the like had always sat for
              the county.
          3. Because he hath kindred with an ancient political hero, such
              as Jack Cade, Hampden, the Pretender, &c., and so must
              maintain his principle.
          4. Because his mother quartereth the Arms of the candidate, and
              the like.
        2nd. He whose principles are CONVENTIONAL, as
          1. He who voteth because the candidate keepeth a pack of hounds.
          2. Because he was once insulted by a scoundrel of the same name
              as the opposite candidate.
          3. Because the candidate is of a noble family.
          4. Because the candidate laid the first brick of Zion Chapel,
              and the like.
          5. Because he knoweth the candidate's cousin.
          6. Because the candidate directed to him--"Esq."
        3rd. He whose principles are PHILOSOPHICAL, which may be
              considered as
          1st. He that is IMPARTIAL, as
            1. He that voteth on both sides.
            2. Because he tossed up with himself.
            3. He who loveth the majority and therefore voteth for him who
                hath most votes.
            4. Because he is asked to vote one way, and so voteth the
                other, to show that he is not influenced.
            5. Because he hateth the multitude, and so voteth against the
                popular candidate.
          2nd. He that is INDEPENDENT, as
            1. He who cannot be trusted.
            2. He who taketh money from one side, and voteth on the other.
            3. He who is not worth bribing.
            4. He who voteth against his own opinion, because his letter
                was not answered.
            5. He who, being promised a place last election, was deceived,
                and the like.
  2nd. He that voteth ACCIDENTALLY, which is divisible into
    1st. He that voteth through the BLUNDERS OF HIMSELF, which may be
          considered as
      1. He who is drunk, and forgetteth who gave him the bribe.
      2. He who goeth to the wrong agent, who leadeth him astray.
      3. He who is confused and giveth the wrong name.
      4. He who is bashful, and assenteth to any name suggested.
      5. He who promiseth both parties, and voteth for all the candidates,
          and the like.
    2nd. He that voteth through the BLUNDERS OF OTHERS, which may be
          considered as
      1. He who is mistaken for his servant when he is canvassed, and so
          incensed into voting the opposite way.
      2. He who is attempted to be bribed before many people, and so
          outraged into honesty.
      3. He who hath too much court paid by the canvasser to his wife, and
          so, out of jealousy, voteth for the opposite candidate.
      4. He who is called down from dinner to be canvassed, and being
          enraged thereat, voteth against his conviction.
      5. He who bringeth the fourth seat in a hackney-coach to him who
          keepeth a carriage and the like.

       *       *       *       *       *


Have any of PUNCH'S readers ever met one of the above _genus_--or
rather, have they not? They must; for the race is imbued with the most
persevering _hic et ubique_ powers. Like the old mole, these
Truepennies "work i' th' dark:" at the Theatres, the Opera, the Coal Hole,
the Cider Cellars, and the whole of the Grecian, Roman, British, Cambrian,
Eagle, Lion, Apollo, Domestic, Foreign, Zoological, and Mythological
Saloons, they "most do congregate." Once set your eyes upon them, once
become acquainted with their habits and manners, and then mistake them if
you can. They are themselves, alone: like the London dustmen, the Nemarket
jockeys, the peripatetic venders, or buyers of "old clo'," or the Albert
continuations at _one pound one_, they appear to be _made to
measure for the same_. We must now describe them (to speak
theatrically) with decorations, scenes, and properties! The entirely new
dresses of a theatre are like the habiliments of the professional singer,
i.e. neither one nor the other ever _were entirely new_, and never
will be allowed to grow entirely old. The double-milled Saxony of these
worthies is generally _very_ blue or _very_ brown; the cut
whereof sets a man of a contemplative turn of mind wondering at what
precise date those tails were worn, and vainly speculating on the
probabilities of their being fearfully indigestible, as that alone could
to long have kept them from Time's remorseless maw. The collars are always
velvet, and always greasy. There is a slight ostentation manifested in the
seams, the stitches whereof are so apparent as to induce the beholders to
believe they must have been the handiwork of some cherished friend, whose
labours ought not to be entombed beneath the superstructure. The
buttons!--oh, for a pen of steam to write upon those buttons! They,
indeed, are the aristocracy--the yellow turbans, the sun, moon, and stars
of the woollen system! They have nothing in common with the coat--they are
_on it_, and that's all--they have no further communion--they decline
the button-holes, and eschew all right to labour for their living--they
announce themselves as "the last new fashion"--they sparkle for a week,
retire to their silver paper, make way for the new comers, and, years
after, like the Sleeping Beauty, rush to life in all their pristine
splendour, and find (save in the treble-gilt aodication and their own
accession) the coat, the immortal coat, unchanged! The waistcoat is of a
material known only to themselves--a sort of nightmare illusion of velvet,
covered with a slight tracery of refined mortar, curiously picked out and
guarded with a nondescript collection of the very greenest green pellets
of hyson-bloom gunpowder tea. The buttons (things of use in this garment)
describe the figure and proportions of a large turbot. They consist of two
rows (leaving imagination to fill up a lapse of the absent), commencing,
to all appearance, at the _small of the back_, and reaching down even
to the hem of the garment, which is invariably a double-breasted one, made
upon the good old dining-out principle of leaving plenty of room in the
victualling department. To complete the catalogue of raiment, the
untalkaboutables have so little right to the name of drab, that it would
cause a controversy on the point. Perhaps nothing in life can more
exquisitely illustrate the Desdemona feeling of divided duty, than the
portion of manufactured calf-skin appropriated to the peripatetic purposes
of these gentry; they are, in point of fact, invariably that description
of mud-markers known in the purlieus of Liecester-square, and at
all denominations of "boots"--great, little, red, and yellow--as
eight-and-sixpenny Bluchers. But the afore-mentioned drabs are strapped
down with such pertinacity as to leave the observer in extreme doubt
whether the Prussian hero of that name is their legitimate sponsor, or the
glorious Wellington of our own sea-girt isle. Indeed, it has been rumoured
that (as there never was a _pair_ of either of the illustrious
heroes) these gentlemen, for the sake of consistency, invariably
perambulate in _one of each_. We scarcely know whether it be so or
not--we merely relate what we have heard; but we incline to the _two
Bluchers_, _because_ of the _eight-and-six_. The only
additional expense likely to add any emolument to the _tanner's_
interest (we mean no pun) is the immense extent of sixpenny straps
generally worn. These are described by a friend of ours as belonging to
the great class of _coaxers_; and their exertions in bringing (as a
nautical man would say) the trowsers _to bear_ at all, is worthy of
notice. There is a legend extant (a veritable legend, which emanated from
one of the fraternity who had been engaged three weeks at her Majesty's
theatre, as one of twenty in an unknown chorus, the chief peculiarity of
the affair being the close approximation of some of his principal foreign
words to "Tol de rol," and "Fal the ral ra"), in which it was asserted,
that from a violent quarrel with a person in the grass-bleached line, the
body corporate determined to avoid any unnecessary use of that commodity.
In the way of wristbands, the malice of the above void is beautifully
nullified, inasmuch as the most prosperous linen-draper could never wish
to have less linen on hand. As we are describing the _genus_ in
_black_ and _white_, we may as well state at once, _those_
are the colours generally casing the throats from whence their sweet
sounds issue; these _ties_ are garnished with union pins, whose
strong _mosaic tendency_ would, in the Catholic days of Spain (had
they been residents), have consigned them to the lowest dungeons of the
Inquisition, and favoured them with an exit from this breathing world,
amid all the uncomfortable pomp of an _auto-da-fe_.

It is a fact on record, that no one of the body ever had a cold in his
head; and this peculiarity, we presume, exempts them from carrying
pocket-handkerchiefs, a superfluity we never witnessed in their hands,
though they indulge in snuff-boxes which assume the miniture form of
French plum-cases, richly embossed, with something round the edges about
as much in proportion to _the box_ as _eighteen insides_ are to
a small tax-cart. This testimonial is generally (as the engraved
inscription purports) given by "several gentlemen" (who are,
unfortunately, in these instances, always anonymous--which circumstance,
as they are invariably described as "admirers of talent," is much to be
regretted, and, we trust, will soon be rectified). We believe, like the
immortal Jack Falstaff, they were each born at four o'clock of the
morning, with a bald head, and something of a round belly; certain it is,
they are universally thin in the hair, and exhibit strong manifestation of

The further marks of identity consist in a ring very variously chased, and
the infallible insignia of a tuning-fork: without this no professional
singer does or can exist. The thing has been tried, and found a failure.
Its uses are remarkable and various: like the "death's-head and
cross-bones" of the pirates, or the wand, globe, and beard of the
conjuror, it is their sure and unvarying sign. We have in our mind's eye
one of the species even now--we see him coquetting with the fork,
compressing it with gentle fondness, and then (that all senses may be
called into requisition) resting it against his eye-tooth to catch the
proper tone. Should this be the prelude to his own professional
performance, we see it returned, with a look of profound wisdom, to the
right-hand depository of the nondescript and imaginary velvet
double-breaster--we follow his eyes, till, with peculiar fascination, they
fix upon the far-off cornice of the most distant corner of the
smoke-embued apartment--we perceive the extension of the dexter hand
employed in innocent dalliance with the well-sucked peel of a quarter of
an orange, whilst the left is employed with the links of what would be a
watch-guard, _if_ the professional singer _had a watch_. We hear
the three distinct hems--oblivion for a moment seizes us--the glasses
jingle--two auctioneers' hammers astonish the mahogany--several dirty
hands are brought in violent and noisy contact--we are near a friend of
the vocalist--our glass of gin-and-water (literally warm without) empties
itself over our lower extremities, instigated thereto by the gymnastic
performances of the said zealous friend--and with an exclamation that,
were Mawworn present, would cost us a shilling, we find the professional
singer has concluded, and is half stooping to the applause, and half
lifting his diligently-stirred grog, gulping down the "creature comfort"
with infinite satisfaction.

       *       *       *       *       *

--There goes the hammer again! (Rubins has a sinecure compared to that fat
man). "A glee, gents!--a glee!"--Ah! there they are--three coats--three
collars--Heaven knows how many buttons!--three bald heads, three stout
stomachs, three mouths, stuffed with three tuning-forks, nodding and
conferring with a degree of mystery worthy of three Guy Faux."--What is
the subject?

  "_Hail_ smi_lig_ _b_orn."

That's a good guess! By the way, the vulgar notion of singing
_ensemble_ is totally exploded by these gentry--each professional
singer, as a professional singer, sings his very loudest, in _justice to
himself_; if his brethren want physical power, that's no fault of
_his_, _he don't_. Professional singers indulge in small
portions of classic lore: among the necessary acquirements is, "Non
nobis," &c. &c.; that is, they consider they ought to know the airs. The
words are generally delivered as follows:--_Don--dobis--do--by--de_.
A clear enunciation is not much cultivated among the clever in this line.

In addition to the few particulars above, it may be as well to mention,
they treat all tavern-waiters with great respect, which is more
Christian-like, as the said waiters never return the same--sit anywhere,
just to accommodate--eat everything, to prove they have no squeamish
partialities--know to a toothful what a bottom of brandy _should
be_--the exact quantity they may drink, free gratis, and the most
likely victim to _drop upon_ for any further nourishment they may
require. Their acquirements in the musical world are rendered clear, by
the important information that "Harry Phillips knows what he's
about"--"Weber was up to a thing or two." A _baritone_ ain't the sort
of thing for tenor music: and when _they_ sung with some man (nobody
ever heard of), they showed him the difference, and wouldn't mind--"A
cigar?" "Thank you, sir!--seldom smoke--put it in my
pocket--(_aside_) that makes a dozen! Your good health, sir!--don't
dislike cold, though I generally take it warm--didn't mean that as a hint,
but, since you _have ordered it_, I'll give you a toast--Here's--THE


       *       *       *       *       *



  Bards of old have sung the vine
  Such a theme shall ne'er be mine;
  Weaker strains to me belong,
  Pæans sung to thee, Souchong!
  What though I may never sip
  Rubies from my tea-cup's lip;
  Do not milky pearls combine
  In this steaming cup of mine?
  What though round my youthful brow
  I ne'er twine the myrtle's bough?
  For such wreaths my soul ne'er grieves.
  Whilst I own my Twankay's leaves.
  Though for me no altar burns,
  Kettles boil and bubble--urns
  In each fane, where I adore--
  What should mortal ask for more!
  I for Pidding, Bacchus fly,
  Howqua shall my cup supply;
  I'll ne'er ask for amphoræ,
  Whilst my tea-pot yields me tea.
  Then, perchance, above my grave,
  Blooming Hyson sprigs may wave;
  And some stately sugar-cane,
  There may spring to life again:
  Bright-eyed maidens then may meet,
  To quaff the herb and suck the sweet.

       *       *       *       *       *



DEAR SIR,--I was a-sitting the other evening at the door of my kennel,
thinking of the dog-days and smoking my pipe (blessings on you, master,
for teaching me that art!), when one of your prospectuses was put into my
paw by a spaniel that lives as pet-dog in a nobleman's family. Lawk, sir!
what misfortunes can have befallen you, that you are obleeged to turn

I remember the poor devil as used to supply us with _dialect_--what a
face he had! It was like a mouth-organ turned edgeways; and he looked as
hollow as the big drum, but warn't half so round and noisy. You can't have
dwindled down to that, sure_ly_! I couldn't bear to see your hump and
_pars pendula_ (that's dog Latin) shrunk up like dried almonds, and
titivated out in msty-fusty toggery--I'm sure I couldn't! The very thought
of it is like a pound weight at the end of my tail.

I whined like any thing, calling to my missus--for you must know that I've
married as handsome a Scotch terrier as you ever see. "Vixen," says I,
"here's the poor old governor up at last--I knew that Police Act would
drive him to something desperate."

"Why he hasn't hung himself in earnest, and summoned you on his inquest!"
exclaimed Mrs. T.

"Worse nor that," says I; "he's turned author, and in course is stewed up
in some wery elevated apartment during this blessed season of the year,
when all nature is wagging with delight, and the fairs is on, and the
police don't want nothing to do to warm 'em, and consequentially sees no
harm in a muster of infantry in bye-streets. It's very hawful."

Vixen sighed and scratched her ear with her right leg, so I know'd she'd
something in her head, for she always does that when anything tickles her.
"Toby," says she, "go and see the old gentleman; perhaps it might comfort
him to larrup you a little."

"Very well," says I, "I'll be off at once; so put me by a bone or two for
supper, should any come out while I'm gone; and if you can get the puppies
to sleep before I return, I shall be so much obleeged to you." Saying
which, I toddled off for Wellington-street. I had just got to the
coach-stand at Hyde Park Corner, when who should I see labelled as a
waterman but the one-eyed chap we once had as a orchestra--he as could
only play "Jim Crow" and the "Soldier Tired." Thinks I, I may as well pass
the compliment of the day with him; so I creeps under the hackney-coach he
was standing alongside on, intending to surprise him; but just as I was
about to pop out he ran off the stand to un-nosebag a cab-horse. Whilst I
was waiting for him to come back, I hears the off-side horse in the
wehicle make the following remark:--

OFF-SIDE HORSE--(_twisting his tail about like anything_)--Curse the

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--You may say that. I've had one fellow tickling me this

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--Ours is a horrid profession! Phew! the sun actually
penetrates my vertebra.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Werterbee! What's that?

OFF-SIDE HORSE--(_impatiently_).--The spine, my friend (_whish!

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Ah! it is a shameful thing to _dock_ us as they
does. If the marrow in one's backbone should melt, it would be sartin to
run out at the tip of one's tail. I say, how's your _feed?_

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--Very indifferent--the chaff predominates--(_munch_)
not _bene_ by any means.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Beany! Lord bless your ignorance! I should be satisfied
if they'd only make it _oaty_ now and then. How long have you been in
the hackney line?

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I have occupied my present degraded position about two
years. Little thought my poor mama, when I was foaled, that I should ever
come to this.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Ah! it ain't very respectable, is it?--especially since
the cabs and busses have druv over our heads. What was you put to?--you
look as if you had been well brought up.

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--My mama was own sister to _Lottery_, but
unfortunately married a horse much below her in pedigree. I was the
produce of that union. At five years old I entered the army under Ensign

NEAR-SIDE HORSE--Bless me, how odd! I was bought at Horncastle, to serve
in the dragoons; but the wetternary man found out I'd a splint, and
wouldn't have me! I say, ain't that stout woman with a fat family looking
at us?

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I'm afraid she is. People of her grade in society are
always partial to a dilatory shillingworth.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE--Ay, and always lives up Snow-hill, or Ludgate-hill, or
Mutton-hill, or a _hill_ somewhere.


NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--She's ahailing us! I wonder whether she's narvous? I'll
let out with my hind leg a bit--(_kick_)--O Lord! the rheumatiz!

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--Pray don't. I abjure subterfuges; they are unworthy of a

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Thoroughbred? I like that! Haven't you just acknowledged
that you were a cocktail? Thank God! she's moving on. Hallo! there's old
Readypenny!--a willanous Tory.

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I beg to remark that my principles are Conservative.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--And I beg to remark that mine isn't. I sarved Readypenny
out at Westminster 'lection the other day. He got into our coach to go to
the poll, and I wouldn't draw an inch. I warn't agoing to take up a
plumper for Rous.

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I declare the obese female returns.

WOMAN.--Coach! Hallo! Coach!

WATERMAN.--Here you is, ma'am. Kuck! kuck! kuck!--Come along!--(_Pulling
the coach and horses_).

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--O heavens! I am too stiff to move, and this brute will
pull my head off.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Keep it on one side, and you spiles his purchase.

WATERMAN--Come up, you old brute!

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--Old brute! What evidence of a low mind!--[_The stout
woman and fat family ascend the steps of the coach_].

COACH.--O law! oh, law! Week! week! O law!--O law! Week! week!

NEAR-SIDE HORSE--Do you hear how the poor old thing's a sufferin'?--She
must feel it a good deal to have her squabs sat on by everybody as can pay
for her. She was built by Pearce, of Long-acre, for the Duchess of
Dorsetshire. I wonder her perch don't break--she has been crazy a long

WATERMAN.--Snow-hill--opposite the Saracen's Head.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--I know'd it!

COACHMAN.--Kuck! kuck!

WHIP.--Whack! whack!

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--Pull away, my dear fellow; a little extra exertion may
save us from flagellation.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Well, I'm pulling, ain't I?

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I don't like to dispute your word;
but--(_whack_)--Oh! that was an abrasion on my shoulder.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--A _raw_ you mean. Who's not pulling now, I should
like to know!

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I couldn't help hopping then; you know what a
_grease_ I have in my hind leg.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Well, haven't I a splint and a corn, and ain't one of my
fore fetlocks got a formoses, and my hind legs the stringhalt?

WOMAN.--Stop! stop!

COACHMAN.--Whoo up!--d--n you!

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--There goes my last masticator!

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--And I'm blow'd if he hasn't jerked my head so that he's
given me a crick in the neck; but never mind; if she does get out here, we
shall save the hill.

WOMAN.--Three doors higher up.

COACHMAN.--Chuck! chuck!

WHIP.--Whack! whack!

COACHMAN.--Come up, you varmint!

OFF-SIDE HORSE--Varmint! and to me! the nephew of the great Lottery! O
Pegasus! what shall I come to next!

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Alamode beef, may be, or perhaps pork sassages!

       *       *       *       *       *

The old woman was so long in that house where she stopped, that I was
obleeged to toddle home, for my wife has a rather unpleasant way of taking
me by the scruff of my neck if I ain't pretty regular in my hours.

Yours, werry obediently, TOBY.

       *       *       *       *       *


Communicated exclusively to this Journal by MASTER JONES, whose services
we have succeeded in retaining, though opposed by the enlightened manager
of a metropolitan theatre, whose anxiety to advance the interest of the
drama is only equalled by his ignorance of the means.

       *       *       *       *       *

Since the dissolution of Parliament, Lord Melbourne has confined himself
entirely to _stews_.

Stalls have been fitted up in the Royal nursery for the reception of two
Alderney cows, preparatory to the weaning of the infant Princess; which
delicate duty Mrs. Lilly commences on Monday next.

Sir Robert Peel has been seen several times this week in close
consultation with the chief cook. Has he been offered the

Mr. Moreton Dyer, "_the amateur turner_," has been a frequent visitor
at the palace of late. Palmerston, it is whispered, has been receiving
lessons in the art. We are surprised to hear this, for we always
considered his lordship a Talleyrand in _turning_.

       *       *       *       *       *



  By winter's chill the fragrant flower is nipp'd,
    To be new-clothed with brighter tints in spring;
  The blasted tree of verdant leaves is stripp'd,
    A fresher foliage on each branch to bring;

  The aërial songster moults his plumerie,
    To vie in sleekness with each feather'd brother:
  A twelvemonth's wear hath ta'en thy nap from thee,
    My seedy coat!--When shall I get another?

NOTE.--Confiding tailors are entreated to send their addresses, pre-paid,
to PUNCH'S office.

P.S.--None need apply who _refuse_ three years' acceptances. If the
bills be made _renewable_, by agreement, "continuations" will be
taken in any quantity.--FITZROY FIPS.

       *       *       *       *       *



(_Enter_ PUNCH.)



  "Wheel about and turn about,
    And do jes so;
  Ebery time I turn about,
    I jump Jim Crow."

MANAGER.--Hollo, Mr. Punch! your voice is rather husky to-day.

PUNCH.--Yes, yes; I've been making myself as hoarse as a hog, bawling to
the free and independent electors of Grogswill all the morning. They have
done me the honour to elect me as their representative in Parliament. I'm
an M.P. now.

MANAGER.--An M.P.! Gammon, Mr. Punch.

THE DOG TOBY.--Bow, wow, wow, wough, wough!

PUNCH.--Fact, upon my honour. I'm at this moment an unit in the collective
stupidity of the nation.

DOG TOBY.--R-r-r-r-r-r--wough--wough!

PUNCH.--Kick that dog, somebody. Hang the cur, did he never see a
legislator before, that he barks at me so?

MANAGER.--A legislator, Mr. Punch? with that wooden head of yours! Ho! ho!
ho! ho!

PUNCH.--My dear sir, I can assure you that wood is the material generally
used in the manufacture of political puppets. There will be more
blockheads than mine in St. Stephen's, I can tell you. And as for oratory,
why I flatter my whiskers I'll astonish them in that line.

MANAGER.--But on what principles did you get into Parliament, Mr. Punch?

PUNCH.--I'd have you know, sir, I'm above having any principles but those
that put money in my pocket.

MANAGER.--I mean on what interest did you start?

PUNCH.--On self-interest, sir. The only great, patriotic, and noble
feeling that a public man can entertain.

MANAGER.--Pardon me, Mr. Punch; I wish to know whether you have come in as
a Whig or a Tory?

PUNCH.--As a Tory, decidedly, sir. I despise the base, rascally, paltry,
beggarly, contemptible Whigs. I detest their policy, and--

THE DOG TOBY.--Bow, wow, wough, wough!

MANAGER.--Hollo! Mr. Punch, what are you saying? I understood you were
always a staunch Whig, and a supporter of the present Government.

PUNCH.--So I was, sir. I supported the Whigs as long as they supported
themselves; but now that the old house is coming down about their ears, I
turn my back on them in virtuous indignation, and take my seat in the
opposition 'bus.

MANAGER.---But where is your patriotism, Mr. Punch?

PUNCH.--Where every politician's is, sir--in my breeches' pocket.

MANAGER.--And your consistency, Mr. Punch?

PUNCH.--What a green chap you are, after all. A public man's consistency!
It's only a popular delusion, sir. I'll tell you what's consistency, sir.
When one gentleman's _in_ and won't come _out_, and when another
gentleman's _out_ and can't get _in_, and when both gentlemen
persevere in their determination--that's consistency.

MANAGER.--I understand; but still I think it is the duty of every public
man to----


  "Wheel about and turn about,
    And do jes so;
  Ebery time he turn about,
    He jumps Jim Crow."

MANAGER.--Then it is your opinion that the prospects of the Whigs are not
very flattering?

PUNCH.--'Tis all up with them, as the young lady remarked when Mr. Green
and his friends left Wauxhall in the balloon; they haven't a chance. The
election returns are against them everywhere. England deserts
them--Ireland fails them--Scotland alone sticks with national attachment
to their backs, like a--

THE DOG TOBY.--Bow, wow, wow, wough!

MANAGER.--Of course, then, the Tories will take office--?

PUNCH.--I rayther suspect they will. Have they not been licking their
chops for ten years outside the Treasury door, while the sneaking Whigs
were helping themselves to all the fat tit-bits within? Have they not
growled and snarled all the while, and proved by their barking that they
were the fittest guardians of the country? Have they not wept over the
decay of our ancient and venerable constitution--? And have they not
promised and vowed, the moment they got into office, that they would--Send
round the hat.

MANAGER.--Very good, Mr. Punch; but I should like to know what the Tories
mean to do about the corn-laws? Will they give the people cheap food?

PUNCH.--No, but they'll give them cheap drink. They'll throw open the
Thames for the use of the temperance societies.

MANAGER.--But if we don't have cheap corn, our trade must be destroyed,
our factories will be closed, and our mills left idle.

PUNCH.--There you're wrong. Our tread-mills will be in constant work; and,
though our factories should be empty, our prisons will be quite full.

MANAGER.--That's all very well, Mr. Punch; but the people will grumble a
_leetle_ if you starve them.

PUNCH.--Ay, hang them, so they will; the populace have no idea of being
grateful for benefits. Talk of starvation! Pooh!--I've studied political
economy in a workhouse, and I know what it means. They've got a fine plan
in those workhouses for feeding the poor devils. They do it on the
homoeopathic system, by administering to them oatmeal porridge in
infinitessimal doses; but some of the paupers have such proud stomachs
that they object to the diet, and actually die through spite and villany.
Oh! 'tis a dreadful world for ingratitude! But never mind--Send round the

MANAGER.--What is the meaning of the sliding scale, Mr. Punch?

PUNCH.--It means--when a man has got nothing for breakfast, he may slide
his breakfast into his lunch; then, if he has got nothing for lunch, he
may slide that into his dinner; and if he labours under the same
difficulties with respect to the dinner, he may slide all three meals into
his supper.

MANAGER.--But if the man has got no supper?

PUNCH.--Then let him wish he may get it.

MANAGER.--Oh! that's your sliding scale?

PUNCH.--Yes; and a very ingenious invention it is for the suppression of
victuals. R-r-r-roo-to-tooit-tooit! Send round the hat.

MANAGER.--At this rate, Mr. Punch, I suppose you would not be favourable
to free trade?

PUNCH.--Certainly not, sir. Free trade is one of your new-fangled notions
that mean nothing but free plunder. I'll illustrate my position. I'm a boy
in a school, with a bag of apples, which, being the only apples on my
form, I naturally sell at a penny a-piece, and so look forward to pulling
in a considerable quantity of browns, when a boy from another form, with a
bigger bag of apples, comes and sells his at three for a penny, which, of
course, knocks up my trade.

MANAGER.--But it benefits the community, Mr. Punch.

PUNCH.--D--n the community! I know of no community but PUNCH and Co. I'm
for centralization--and individualization--every man for himself, and
PUNCH for us all! Only let me catch any rascal bringing his apples to my
form, and see how I'll cobb him. So now--send round the hat--and three
cheers for


       *       *       *       *       *


No. 1.

  O Reveal, thou fay-like stranger,
    Why this lonely path you seek;
  Every step is fraught with danger
    Unto one so fair and meek.
  Where are they that _should_ protect thee
    In this darkling hour of doubt?
  Love _could_ never thus neglect thee!--
    _Does your mother know you're out?_

  Why so pensive, Peri-maiden?
    Pearly tears bedim thine eyes!
  Sure thine heart is overladen,
    When each breath is fraught with sighs.
  Say, hath care life's heaven clouded,
    Which hope's stars were wont to spangle?
  What hath all thy gladness shrouded?--
    _Has your mother sold her mangle?_

       *       *       *       *       *


We are requested to state, by the Marquis of W----, that, for the
convenience of the public, he has put down one of his carriages, and given
orders to Pearce, of Long-acre, for the construction of an easy and elegant

       *       *       *       *       *



    CANVASSING. What a love of a child
    THE DEPUTATION. If you think me worthy
    THE SUCCESSFUL CANDIDATE. Constituents--rascals
    THE HUSTINGS. Don't mention it I beg
    THE PUBLIC DINNER. The proudest moment of my life]

       *       *       *       *       *


PUNCH begs most solemnly to assure his friends and the artists in general,
that should the violent cold with which he has been from time immemorial
afflicted, and which, although it has caused his voice to appear like an
infant Lablache screaming through horse-hair and thistles, yet has not
very materially affected him otherwise--should it not deprive him of
existence--please Gog and Magog, he will, next season, visit every
exhibition of modern art as soon as the pictures are hung; and further,
that he will most unequivocally be down with his _coup de baton_ upon
every unfortunate nob requiring his peculiar attention.

That he independently rejects the principles upon which these matters are
generally conducted, he trusts this will be taken as an assurance: should
the handsomest likeness-taker gratuitously offer to paint PUNCH'S portrait
in any of the most favourite and fashionable styles, from the purest
production of the general mourning school--and all performed by
scissars--to the exquisitely gay works of the President of the Royal
Academy, even though his Presidentship offer to do the nose with real
carmine, and throw Judy and the little one into the back-ground, PUNCH
would not give him a single eulogistic syllable unmerited. A word to the
landscape and other perpetrators: none of your little bits for PUNCH--none
of your insinuating cabinet gems--no Art-_ful_ Union system of doing
things--Hopkins to praise for one reason, Popkins to censure for
another--and as PUNCH has been poking his nose into numberless unseen
corners, and, notwithstanding its indisputable dimensions, has managed to
screen it from observation, he has thereby smelt out several pretty little
affairs, which shall in due time be exhibited and explained in front of
his proscenium, for special amusement. In the mean time, to prove that
PUNCH is tolerably well up in this line of pseudo-criticism, he has
prepared the following description of the private view of either the Royal
Academy or the Suffolk-street Gallery, or the British Institution, for
1842, for the lovers of this very light style of reading; and to make it
as truly applicable to the various specimens of art forming the collection
or collections alluded to, he has done it after the peculiar manner
practised by the talented conductor of a journal purporting to be
exclusively set apart to that effort. To illustrate with what strict
attention to the nature of the subject chosen, and what an intimate
knowledge of technicalities the writer above alluded to displays, and with
what consummate skill he blends those peculiarities, the reader will have
the kindness to attach the criticism to either of the works (hereunder
catalogued) most agreeably to his fancy. It will be, moreover, shown that
this is a thoroughly impartial way of performing the operation of soft


  Portrait of the miscreant who          \
  attempted to assassinate Mr. Macreath.  |
                    VALENTINE VERMILION.  |
  Portrait of His Majesty the             | The head is extremely
  King of Hanover.                        | well painted, and the light
                            BY THE SAME.  | and shade distributed with
                                          | the artist's usual judgement.
  Portrait of the boy who got into        |
  Buckingham Palace.                      |
                        GEOFFERY GLAZEM.  |       OR THUS:
  Portrait of Lord John Russell.          |
                            BY THE SAME.  | An admirable likeness of
                                          \ the original, and executed
  Portrait of W. Grumbletone, Esq.,       / with that breadth and clearness
  in the character of Joseph Surface.     | so apparent in this clever
                          PETER PALETTE.  | painter's works.
  Portrait of Sir Robert Peel.            |
                            BY THE SAME.  |       OR THUS:
  Portrait of the Empress of Russia.      |
                          VANDYKE BROWN.  | A well-drawn and brilliantly
                                          | painted portrait, calculated
  Portrait of the infant Princess.        | to sustain the fame already
                            BY THE SAME.  | gained by this our favourite
                                          | painter.
  Portrait of Mary Mumblegums,            |
  aged 170 years.                         |
                            BY THE SAME. /


  The Death of Abel.                     \
                        MICHAEL McGUELP.  |
  Dead Game.                              |
                    THOMAS TICKLEPENCIL.  |
  Vesuvius in Eruption.                   | This picture is well arranged,
                   CHARLES CARMINE, R.A.  | and coloured with much truth
                                          | to nature; the chiaro-scuro
  Portraits of Mrs. Punch and Child.      | is admirably managed.
                              R.W. BUSS.  |
  Cattle returning from the Watering      |       OR THUS:
  Place.                                  \
                             R. BOLLOCK.  /
                                          | This is one of the cleverest
  "We won't go home till Morning."        | productions in the Exhibition;
                    M. WATERFORD, R.H.S.  | there is a transparency in the
                                          | shadows equal to Rembrandt.
  The infant Cupid sleeping.              |
                                R. DADD.  |
  Portrait of Lord Palmerston.            |
                           A.L.L. UPTON.  |
  Coast Scene: Smugglers on the look      |
  out.                                    |
                              H. PARKER.  |
  Portrait of Captain Rous, M.P.          |
                                J. WOOD.  |

Should the friends of any of the artists deem the praise a little too
oily, they can easily add such a tag as the following:--"In our humble
judgment, a little more delicacy of handling would not be altogether out
of place;" or, "Beautiful as the work under notice decidedly is, we
recollect to have received perhaps as much gratification in viewing
previous productions by the same."


This artist is, we much fear, on the decline; we no longer see the vigour
of handling and smartness of conception formerly apparent in his works:
or, "A little stricter attention to drawing, as well as composition, would
render this artist's works more recommendatory."


Either of the following, taken conjointly or separately: "A perfect daub,
possessing not one single quality necessary to create even the slightest
interest--a disgrace to the Exhibition--who allowed such a wretched
production to disgrace these walls?--woefully out of drawing, and as badly
coloured," and such like.

       *       *       *       *       *



  Well, lawks-a-day! things seem going on uncommon queer,
  For they say that the Tories are bowling out the Whigs almost everywhere;
  And the blazing red of my beadle's coat is turning to pink through fear,
  Lest I should find myself and staff out of Office some time about the
          end of the year.
  I've done nothing so long but stand under the magnificent portico
  Of Somerset House, that I don't know what I should do if I was for to go!
  What the electors are at, I can't make out, upon my soul,
  For it's a law of natur' that the _whig_ should be atop of
          the _poll_.
  I've had a snug berth of it here for some time, and don't want to cut
          the connexion;
  But they _do_ say the Whigs must go out, because they've NO OTHER
  What they mean by that, I _don't_ know, for ain't they been
  That is, they've been canvassing, and spouting, and pledging, and
          ginning, and beering.
  Hasn't Crawford and Pattison, Lyall, Masterman, Wood, and Lord John
  For ever so long been keeping the Great Metropolis in one alarming
  Ain't the two _first_ retired into private life--(that's the genteel
          for being rejected)?
  And what's more, the _last_ four, strange to say, have all been elected.
  Then Finsbury Tom and Mr. Wakley, as wears his hair all over his
          coat collar,
  Hav'n't they frightened Mr. Tooke, who once said he could beat them
  Then at Lambeth, ain't Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Cabbell been both on 'em
  By Mr. D'Eyncourt and Mr. Hawes, who makes soap yellow and mottled!
  And hasn't Sir Benjamin Hall, and the gallant Commodore Napier,
  Made such a cabal with Cabbell and Hamilton as would make any chap queer?
  Whilst Sankey, who was backed by a _Cleave_-r for Marrowbone
          looks cranky,
  Acos the electors, like lisping babbies, cried out "_No Sankee?_"
  Then South'ark has sent Alderman Humphrey and Mr. B. Wood,
  Who has promised, that if ever a member of parliament did his duty--he
  Then for the Tower Hamlets, Robinson, Hutchinson, and Thompson, find
          that they're in the wrong box,
  For the electors, though turned to Clay, still gallantly followed
          the Fox;
  Whilst Westminster's chosen Rous--not Rouse of the Eagle--tho' I once
          seed a
  Picture where there was a great big bird, very like a _goose_, along
          with a Leda.
  And hasn't Sir Robert Peel and Mr. A'Court been down to Tamworth to be
  They ought to get an act of parliament to save them such fatigue, for
          its always--ditto repeated.
  Whilst at Leeds, Beckett and Aldam have put Lord Jocelyn into a
          considerable fume,
  Who finds it no go, though he's added up the poll-books several times
          with the calculating boy, Joe Hume.
  So if there's been _no other election_, I should like to find out
  What all the late squibbing and fibbing, placarding, and blackguarding,
          losing and winning, beering and ginning, and every other _et
          cetera_, has been about!

       *       *       *       *       *


  Black bottles at Brighton,
    To darken your fame;
  Black Sundays at Hounslow,
    To add to your shame.
  Black balls at the club,
    Show Lord Hill's growing duller:
  He should change your command
    To the _guards_ of that colour.

       *       *       *       *       *



English--it has been remarked a thousand and odd times--is one of the few
languages which is unaccompanied with gesticulation. Your veritable
Englishman, in his discourse, is as chary as your genuine Frenchman is
prodigal, of action. The one speaks like an oracle, the other like a

Mr. Brown narrates the death of a poor widower from starvation, with his
hands fast locked in his breeches' pocket, and his features as calm as a
horse-pond. M. le Brun tells of the _debut_ of the new _danseuse_, with
several kisses on the tips of his fingers, a variety of taps on the left
side of his satin waistcoat, and his head engulfed between his two
shoulders, like a cock-boat in a trough of the sea.

The cause of this natural diversity is not very apparent. The deficiency
of gesture on our parts may be a necessary result of that prudence which
is so marked a feature of the English character. Mr. Brown, perhaps,
objects to using two means to attain his end when one is sufficient, and
consequently looks upon all gesticulation during conversation as a wicked
waste of physical labour, which that most sublime and congenial science of
Pol. Econ. has shown him to be the source of all wealth. To indulge in
pantomime is, therefore, in his eyes, the same as throwing so much money
in the dirt--a crime which he regards as second in depravity only to that
of having none to throw. Napoleon said, many years back, we were a nation
of shopkeepers; and time seems to have increased, rather than diminished,
our devotion to the ledger. Gold has become our sole standard of
excellence. We measure a man's respectability by his banker's account, and
mete out to the pauper the same punishment as the felon. Our very nobility
is a nobility of the breeches' pocket; and the highest personage in the
realm--her most gracious Majesty--the most gracious Majesty of
500,000l. per annum! Nor is this to be wondered at. To a martial
people like the Romans, it was perfectly natural that animal courage
should be thought to constitute heroic virtue: to a commercial people like
ourselves, it is equally natural that a man's worthiness should be
computed by what he is worth. We fear it is this commercial spirit, which,
for the reason before assigned, is opposed to the introduction of
pantomime among us; and it is therefore to this spirit that we would
appeal, in our endeavours to supply a deficiency which we cannot but look
upon as a national misfortune and disgrace. It makes us appear as a
cold-blooded race of people, which we assuredly are not; for, after all
our wants are satisfied, what nation can make such heroic sacrifices for
the benefit of their fellow creatures as our own? A change, however, is
coming over us: a few pantomimic signs have already made their appearance
amongst us. It is true that they are at present chiefly confined to that
class upon whose manners politeness places little or no
restraint--barbarians, who act as nature, rather than as the book of
etiquette dictates, (and among whom, for that very reason, such a change
would naturally first begin to show itself:) yet do we trust, by pointing
out to the more refined portion of the "British public," the advantage
that must necessarily accrue from the general cultivation of the art of
pantomime, by proving to them its vast superiority over the comparatively
tedious operations of speech, and exhibiting its capacity of conveying a
far greater quantity of thought in a considerably less space of time, and
that with a saving of one-half the muscular exertion--a point so perfectly
consonant with the present prevailing desire for cheap and rapid
communication--that we say we hope to be able not only to bring the higher
classes to look upon it no longer as a vulgar and extravagant mode of
expression, but actually to introduce and cherish it among them as the
most polite and useful of all accomplishments.


But in order to exhibit the capacities of this noble art in all their
comprehensive excellence, it is requisite that we should, in the first
place, say a few words on language in general.

It is commonly supposed that there are but two kinds of language among
men--the written and the spoken: whereas it follows, from the very nature
of language itself, that there must necessarily be as many modes of
conveying our impressions to our fellow-creatures, as there are senses or
modes of receiving impressions in them. Accordingly, there are five senses
and five languages; to wit, the audible, the visible, the olfactory, the
gustatory, and the sensitive. To the two first belong speech and
literature. As illustrations of the third, or olfactory language, may be
cited the presentation of a pinch of Prince's Mixture to a stranger, or a
bottle of "Bouquet du Roi" to a fair acquaintance; both of which are but
forms of expressing to them nasally our respect. The nose, however, is an
organ but little cultivated in man, and the language which appeals to it
is, therefore, in a very imperfect state; not so the gustatory, or that
which addresses itself to the palate. This, indeed, may be said to be
imbibed with our mother's milk. What words can speak affection to the
child like elecampane--what language assures us of the remembrance of an
absent friend like a brace of wood-cocks? Then who does not comprehend the
eloquence of dinners? A rump steak, and bottle of old port, are not these
to all guests the very emblems of esteem--and turtle, venison, and
champagne, the unmistakeable types of respect? If the citizens of a
particular town be desirous of expressing their profound admiration of the
genius of a popular author, how can the sentiment be conveyed so fitly as
in a public dinner? or if a candidate be anxious to convince the "free and
independent electors" of a certain borough of his disinterested regard for
the commonweal, what more persuasive language could he adopt than the
general distribution of unlimited beer? Of the sensitive, or fifth and
last species of language, innumerable instances might be quoted. All
understand the difference in meaning between cuffs and caresses--between
being shaken heartily by the hand and kicked rapidly down stairs. Who,
however ignorant, could look upon the latter as a compliment? or what fair
maiden, however simple, would require a master to teach her how to
construe a gentle compression of her fingers at parting, or a tender
pressure of her toe under the dinner table?

Such is an imperfect sketch of the five languages appertaining to man.
There is, however, one other--that which forms the subject of the present
article--Pantomime, and which may be considered as the natural form of the
visible language--literature being taken as the artificial. This is the
most primitive as well as most comprehensive, of all. It is the earliest,
as it is the most intuitive--the smiles and frowns of the mother being the
first signs understood by the infant. Indeed, if we consider for a moment
that all existence is but a Pantomime, of which Time is the harlequin,
changing to-day into yesterday, summer into winter, youth into old age,
and life into death, and we but the clowns who bear the kicks and buffets
of the scene, we cannot fail to desire the general cultivation of an art
which constitutes the very essence of existence itself. "Speech," says
Talleyrand, that profound political pantomimist, "was given to
_conceal_ our thoughts;" and truly this is the chief use to which it
is applied. We are continually clamouring for acts in lieu of words. Let
but the art of Pantomime become universal, and this grand desideratum must
be obtained. Then we shall find that candidates, instead of being able, as
now, to become legislators by simply professing to be patriots, will be
placed in the awkward predicament of having first to _act_ as such;
and that the clergy, in lieu of taking a tenth part of the produce for the
mere preaching of Christianity, will be obliged to sacrifice at least a
portion to charitable purposes, and _practise_ it.

Indeed, we are thoroughly convinced, that when the manifold advantages of
this beautiful art shall be generally known, it cannot fail of becoming
the principle of universal communication. Nor do we despair of ultimately
finding the elegant Lord A. avowing his love for the beautiful Miss B., by
gently closing one of his eyes, and the fair lady tenderly expressing that
doubt and incredulity which are the invariable concomitants of "Love's
young dream," by a gentle indication with the dexter hand over the
sinister shoulder.


       *       *       *       *       *


An action was recently brought in the Court of Queen's Bench against Mr.
Walter, to recover a sum of money expended by a person named Clark, in
wine, spirits, malt liquors, and other refreshments, during a contest for
the representation of the borough of Southwark. One of the witnesses, who
it appears was chairman of Mr. Walter's committee, swore that _every
thing the committee had to eat or drink went through him._ By a
remarkable coincidence, the counsel for the plaintiff in this tippling
case was _Mr. Lush._

       *       *       *       *       *



Cum notis variorum.

"Excise Court.--An information was laid against Mr. Killpack, for selling
spirituous liquor. Mr. James (the counsel for the defendant) stated that
there was a club held there, of which Mr. Keeley, the actor, was
treasurer, and many others of the theatrical profession were members, and
that they had a store of brandy, whiskey, and other spirits. Fined £5 in
each case."--_Observer_

[ILLUSTRATION: Best British Brandy not Permitted]


  Assist, ye jocal nine[1], inspire my soul!
  (Waiter! a go of Brett's best alcohol,
  A light, and one of Killpack's mild Havannahs).
  Fire me! again I say, while loud hosannas
  I sing of what we were--of what we _now_ are.
      Wildly let me rave,
      To imprecate the knave
  Whose curious _information_ turned our porter sour,
  Bottled our stout, doing it (ruthless cub!)
  Knocking our snug, unlicensed club;
  Changing, despite our _belle esprit_, at one fell _swop_,
  Into a legal coffee-crib, our contraband cook-shop!


      Then little Bob arose,
      And doff'd his clothes,
  Exclaiming, "Momus! Stuff!
  I've played him long enough,"
  And, as the public seems inclined to sack us,
  Behold me ready _dressed_ to play young Bacchus.
    He said[2] his legs the barrel span,
    And thus the Covent Garden god began;--
  "GENTLEMEN,--I am--ahem--!--I beg your pardon,
  But, ahem! as first low com. of Common Garden--
  No, I don't mean that, I mean to say,
  That if we were--ahem!--to pay
  So much per quarter for our quarterns, [Cries of 'Hear!']
  Import our own champagne and ginger-beer;
  In short, _small_ duty pay on all we sup--
  Ahem!--you understand--I give it up."
      The speech was ended,
      And Bob descended.
  The club was formed. A spicy club it was--
  Especially on Saturdays; because
  They dined extr'ordinary cheap at five o'clock:
  When there were met members of the Dram. A. Soc.
  Those of the sock and buskin, artists, court gazetteers--
  Odd fellows all--_odder_ than all their club compeers.
  Some were sub-editors, others reporters,
  And more _illuminati_, joke-importers.
      The club was heterogen'ous
      By strangers seen as
  A refuge for destitute _bons mots_--
  _Dépôt_ for leaden jokes and pewter pots;
  Repertory for gin and _jeux d'esprit_,
  Literary pound for vagrant rapartee;
  Second-hand shop for left-off witticisms;
  Gall'ry for Tomkins and Pitt-icisms;[3]
  Foundling hospital for every bastard pun;
  In short, a manufactory for all sorts of fun!
  *             *             *             *
  Arouse my muse! such pleasing themes to quit,
      Hear me while I say
      "_Donnez-moi du frenzy, s'il vous plait!_"[4]
  Give me a most tremendous fit
  Of indignation, a wild volcanic ebullition,
      Or deep anathema,
      Fatal as J--d's bah!
  To hurl excisemen downward to perdition.
  May genial gin no more delight _their_ throttles--
  _Their_ casks grow leaky, bottomless _their_ bottles;
  May smugglers _run_, and they ne'er make a seizure;
  May _they_--I'll curse them further at my leisure.
      But for our club,
      "Ay, there's the rub."
  "We mourn it dead in its father's halls:"[5]--
  The sporting prints are cut down from the walls;
      No stuffing there,
      Not even in a chair;
  The spirits are all _ex_(or)_cised_,
  The coffee-cups capsized,
  The coffee _fine_-d, the snuff all taken,
  The mild Havannahs are by lights forsaken:
  The utter ruin of the club's achieven--
  Our very chess-boards are ex-_chequered_ even.
  "Where is our club?" X--sighs,[6] and with a stare
  Like to another echo, answers "Where?"

    [1] "Ye jocal nine," a happy modification of "Ye vocal nine."
        The nine here so classically invocated are manifestly nine
        of the members of the late club, consisting of, 1. Mr. D--s
        J--d. 2. The subject of the engraving, treasurer and
        store-keeper. 3. Mr. G--e S--h, sub-ed. J---- B----. 4. Mr.
        B--d, Mem. Dram. Author's Society. 5. C--s S--y, ditto. 6.
        Mr. C--e. 7. Mr. C--s, T--s, late of the firm of T--s and
        P--t. 8. Mr. J--e A--n, Mem. Soc. British Artists. 9, and
        lastly, "though not least," the author of "You loved me not
        in happier days."

    [2] "He said."--Deeply imbued with the style of the most polished
        of the classics, our author will be found to exhibit in some
        passages an imitation of it which might be considered
        pedantic, for ourselves, we admire the severe style. The
        literal rendering of the '_dixit_' of the ancient epicists,
        strikes us as being eitremely forcible here.--PUNCH.

    [3] A play-bill reminiscence, viz. "The scenery by Messrs. Tomkins
        and Pitt."--THE AUTHORS OF "BUT, HOWEVER."

    [4] "Donnez-moi," &c.--The classics of all countries are aptly
        drawn upon by the universal erudition of our bard. A fine
        parody this upon the exclamation of Belmontel's starving
        author: "La Gloire--donnez-moi do pain!"--FENWICK DE

    [5] "They mourn it dead," &c.--A pretty, but perhaps too literal
        allusion to a popular song--J. RODWELL.

    [6] "X--sighs."--Who "X" may happen to be we have not the remotest
        idea. But who would not forgive a little mystification for
        so brilliant a pun?--THE GHOST OF PUNCH'S THEATRE.

       *       *       *       *       *


We are requested by Mr. Hume to state, that being relieved from his
parliamentary duties, he intends opening a day-school in the neighbourhood
of the House of Commons, for the instruction of members only, in the
principles of the illustrious Cocker; and to remedy in some measure his
own absence from the Finance Committees, he is now engaged in preparing a
Parliamentary Ready-reckoner. We heartily wish him success.

       *       *       *       *       *


"In the event of the Tories coming into power, it is intended to confer
the place of Postmaster-General upon Lord Clanwilliam. It would be
difficult to select an individual more _peculiarly_ fitted for the
situation than his lordship, whose _love of letters_ is notorious in
the Carlton Club."--_Extract from an Intercepted Letter._

       *       *       *       *       *


It is currently reported at the Conservative Clubs, that if their party
should come into power, Sir Robert Peel will endeavour to conciliate the
Whigs, and to form a coalition with their former opponents. We have no
doubt the cautious baronet sees the necessity of the step, and would feel
grateful for support from any quarter; but we much doubt the
practicability of the measure. It would indeed he a strange sight to see
Lord Johnny and Sir Bobby, the two great leaders of the opposition
engines, with their followers, meeting amicably on the floor of the House
of Commons. In our opinion, an infernal crash and smash would be the
result of these


       *       *       *       *       *


The "star system" has added another victim to the many already sacrificed
to its rapacity and injustice. Mr. Phelps, an actor whose personation of
_Macduff_, the _Hunchback, Jaques_, &c., would have procured for
him in former times no mean position, has been compelled to secede from
the Haymarket Theatre from a justifiable feeling of disgust at the
continual sacrifices he was required to make for the aggrandisement of one
to whom he may not possibly ascribe any superiority of genius. The part
assigned to Mr. Phelps (_Friar Lawrence_) requires an actor of
considerable powers, and under the old _régime_ would have
deteriorated nothing from Mr. Phelps' position; but we can understand the
motives which influenced its rejection, and whilst we deprecate the
practice of actors refusing parts on every caprice, we consider Mr.
Phelps' opposition to this ruinous system of "starring" as commendable and
manly. The real cause of the decline of the drama is the upholding of this
system. The "stars" are paid so enormously, and cost so much to maintain
them in their false position, that the manager cannot afford (supposing
the disposition to exist) to pay the working portion of his company
salaries commensurate with their usefulness, or compatible with the
appearance they are expected to maintain out of the theatre; whilst
opportunities of testing their powers as actors, or of improving any
favourable impression they may have made upon the public, is denied to
them, from the fear that the influence of the greater, because more
fortunate actor, may be diminished thereby. These facts are now so well
known, that men of education are deterred from making the stage a
profession, and consequently the scarcity of rising actors is referable to
this cause.

The poverty of our present dramatic literature may also be attributable to
this absurd and destructive system. The "star" must be considered alone in
the construction of the drama; or if the piece be not actually made to
measure, the actor, _par excellence_, must be the arbiter of the
author's creation. Writers are thus deterred from making experiments in
the higher order of dramatic writing, for should their subject admit of
this individual display, its rejection by the "star" would render the
labour of months valueless, and the dramatist, driven from the path of
fame, degenerates into a literary drudge, receiving for his wearying
labour a lesser remuneration than would be otherwise awarded him, from the
pecuniary monopoly of the "star."

It is this system which has begotten the present indifference to the
stage. The public had formerly _many_ favourites, because all had an
opportunity of contending for their favour--now they have only Mr. A. or
Mrs. B., who must ultimately weary the public, be their talent what it
may, as the sweetest note would pall upon the ear, were it continually
sounded, although, when harmonised with others, it should constitute the
charm of the melody.

We have made these remarks divested of any personal consideration. We
quarrel only with the system that we believe to be unjust and injurious to
an art which we reverence.

       *       *       *       *       *

VAUXHALL.--Vauxhall! region of Punch, both liquid and corporeal!--Elysium
of illumination lamps!--Paradise of Simpson!--we have been permitted once
again to breathe your oily atmosphere, to partake of an imaginary repast
of impalpable ham and invisible chicken--to join in the eruption of
exclamations at thy pyrotechnic glories--to swallow thy mysterious arrack

[Illustration: PUNCH A LA ROMAINE.]

We have seen Jullien, the elegant, pantomimic Jullien, exhibit his
six-inch wristbands and exquisitely dressed head--we have roved again amid
those bowers where, with Araminta Smith, years ago,

  "We met the daylight after seven hours' sitting."

But we were not happy. There was a something that told us it was not
Vauxhall: the G R's were V R's--the cocked hats were round hats--the
fiddlers were foreigners--the Rotunda was Astley's--the night was
moon-shiny--and there was not--our pen weeps whilst we trace the mournful
fact--there was not "Simpson" to exclaim, "Welcome to the royal property!"
Urbane M.A.C., wouldst that thou hadst been a Mussulman, then wouldst thou
doubtlessly be gliding about amid an Eden of Houris, uttering to the verge
of time the hospitable sentence which has rendered thy name
immortal--Peace to thy manes!

STRAND.--The enterprising managers of this elegant little theatre have
produced another mythological drama, called "The Frolics of the Fairies;
or, the Rose, Shamrock, and Thistle," from the pen of Leman Rede, who is,
without doubt, the first of this class of writers. The indisposition of
Mr. Hall was stated to be the cause of the delay in the production of this
piece; out, from the appearance of the bills, we are led to infer that it
arose from the _indisposition_ of Mrs. Waylett to shine in the same
hemisphere with that little brilliant, Mrs. Keeley, and "a gem of the
first water" she proved herself to be on Wednesday night. It would be
useless to enter into the detail of the plot of an ephemeron, that depends
more upon its quips and cranks than dramatic construction for its success.
It abounds in merry conceits, which that merriest of--dare we call her
mere woman?--little Mrs. Bob rendered as pointed as a Whitechapel needle
of the finest temper. The appointments and arrangements of the stage
reflect the highest credit on the management, and the industry which can
labour to surmount the difficulties which we know to exist in the
production of anything like scenic effect in the Strand Theatre, deserve
the encouragement which we were gratified to see bestowed upon this little
Temple of Momus.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Olympic Theatre has obtained an extension of its licence from the Lord
Chamberlain, and will shortly open with a company selected from Ducrow's
late establishment; but whether the _peds_ are _bi_ or _quadru_,
rumour sayeth not.


MESSRS. FUDGE and VAMP beg to inform novelists and writers of tales in
general, that they supply _dénouements_ to unfinished stories, on the
most reasonable terms. They have just completed a large stock of
catastrophes, to which they respectfully solicit attention.


Discovery of the real murderers, and respite of the accused.

Ditto very superior, with return of the supposed victim.

Ditto, ditto, extra superfine, with punishment of vice and reward of


Mollification of flinty-hearted fathers and union of lovers, &c. &c. &c.


Fictitious bankruptcy of the hero, and sudden reinstatement of fortune.

Ditto, ditto, with exposure of false friends.

Non-recognition of son by father, ultimate discovery of former by latter.

Ditto, ditto, very fine, "with convenient cordial," and true gentlemen,
illustrated by an old _debauchee_.

N.B.--On hand, a very choice assortment of interesting parricides,
strongly recommended for Surrey use.

       *       *       *       *       *


    Young Kean's a bad cigar--because
    The more he's puff'd, the worse he draws.

A new farce, entitled "My Friend the Captain," is to be produced tonight,
at the Haymarket Theatre.

MR. HAMMOND will take a benefit at the English Opera House, on Monday
next. We are happy to see that this very deserving actor's professional
brethren are coming forward to lend him that assistance which he has
always been ready to afford to others.


  Thou sweet, to whom all bend the knee,
  No wonder men run after thee;
  There's something in a name, perhaps,
  For _Honey's_ often good for _chaps_.

A MR. GRAHAM has appeared at the Surrey. He is reported to be a very
chaste and clever actor. If so, he certainly will not suit the taste of
Mr. Davidge's patrons. How they have tolerated Wilson, Leffler, and Miss
Romer so long, we are utterly at a loss to divine. It must be, that "music
hath charms."

We are authorised to state that Rouse of the Eagle Tavern is not the Rous
who was lately returned for Westminster.


_Berthelda_.--Sanguine, you have killed your _mother_!!!

_Fruitwoman_.--Any apples, oranges, biscuits, ginger-beer!

(_Curtain falls_.)

       *       *       *       *       *


We give the following list of qualifications for a member of parliament
for Westminster, as a logical curiosity, extracted from a handbill very
liberally distributed by Captain Rons's party, during the late contest:--

1st. Because "he is _brother to the Earl_ of Stradbroke."

2nd. Because "his _family_ have always been hearty Conservatives."

3rd. Because "they have been established in _Suffolk_ from the time
of the _Heptarchy_."

4th. Because "he entered the navy in 1808."

5th. Because "he _brought home Lord Aylmer_ in the Pique, in 1835."

6th. Because "he ran the Pique aground in the Straits of Belleisle."

7th. Because "after beating there for eleven hours, he got her off again."

8th. Because "he brought her into Portsmouth without a rudder or forefoot,
lower-masts all sprung, and leaking at the rate of two feet per hour!"
ergo, he is the fittest man for the representative of Westminster.--Q.E.D.


LORD LONDONDERRY, in a letter to Colonel Fitzroy, begs of the gallant
member to "go the whole hog." This is natural advice from a _thorough
bore_ like his lordship.

       *       *       *       *       *


VOL. 1.


       *       *       *       *       *



[Illustration: P] Poor Mr. Dyer! And so this gentleman has been dismissed
from the commission of the peace for humanely endeavouring to obtain the
release of Medhurst from confinement. Two or three thousand pounds, he
thought, given to some public charity, might persuade the Home Secretary to
remit the remainder of his sentence, and dispose the public to look upon
the prisoner with an indulgent eye.

Now, Mr. Punch, incline thy head, and let me whisper a secret into thine
ear. If the Whig ministry had not gone downright mad with the result of the
elections, instead of dismissing delectable Dyer, they would have had him
down upon the Pension List to such a tune as you wot not of, although of
tunes you are most curiously excellent. For, oh! what a project did he
unwittingly shadow forth of recruiting the exhausted budget! Such a one as
a sane Chancellor of the Exchequer would have seized upon, and shaken in
the face of "Robert the Devil," and his crew of "odious monopolists." Peel
must still have pined in hopeless opposition, when Baring opened his plan.

Listen! Mandeville wrote a book, entitled "Private Vices Public Benefits."
Why cannot public crimes, let me ask, be made so? you, perhaps, are not on
the instant prepared with an answer--but I am.

Let the Chancellor of the Exchequer forthwith prepare to discharge all the
criminals in Great Britain, of whatever description, from her respective
prisons, on the payment of a certain sum, to be regulated on the principle
of a graduated or "sliding scale."

A vast sum will be thus instantaneously raised,--not enough, however, you
will say, to supply the deficiency. I know it. But a moment's further
attention. Mr. Goulburn, many years since, being then Chancellor of the
Exchequer, and, like brother Baring, in a financial hobble, proposed that
on the payment, three years in advance, of the dog and hair-powder tax, all
parties so handsomely coming down with the "tin," should henceforth and for
ever rejoice in duty-free dog, and enjoy untaxed cranium. Now, why not a
proposition to this effect--that on the payment of a good round sum (let it
be pretty large, for the ready is required), a man shall be exempt from the
present legal consequences of any crime or crimes he may hereafter commit;
or, if this be thought an extravagant scheme, and not likely to take with
the public, at least let a list of prices be drawn up, that a man may know,
at a glance, at what cost he may gratify a pet crime or favourite little
foible. Thus:--

For cutting one's own child's head off--so much. (I really think I would
fix this at a high price, although I am well aware it has been done for

For murdering a father or a mother--a good sum.

For ditto, a grand ditto, or a great-grand ditto--not so much: their
leases, it is presumed, being about to fall in.

Uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, companions, and the community in
general--in proportion.

The cost of assaults and batteries, and other diversions, might be easily
arranged; only I must remark, that for assaulting policemen I would charge
high; that being, like the Italian Opera, for the most part, the
entertainment of the nobility.

You may object that the propounding such a scheme would be discreditable,
and that the thing is unprecedented. Reflect, my dear PUNCH, for an
instant. Surely, nothing can be deemed to be discreditable by a Whig
government, after the cheap sugar, cheap timber, cheap bread rigs. Why,
this is just what might have been expected from them. I wonder they had not
hit upon it. How it would have "agitated the masses!"

As to the want of a precedent, that is easily supplied. Pardons for all
sorts and sizes of crimes were commonly bought and sold in the reign of
James I.; nay, pardon granted in anticipation of crimes to be at a future
time committed.

After all, you see, Mr. Dyer's idea was not altogether original.

Your affectionate friend,


_Pump_ Court.

P.S.--Permit me to congratulate you on the determination you have come to,
of entering the literary world. Your modesty may be alarmed, but I must
tell you that several of our "popular and talented" authors are commonly
thought to be greatly indebted to you. They are said to derive valuable
hints from you, particularly in their management of the pathetic.

Keep a strict eye upon your wife, Judith. You say she will superintend your
notices of the fashions, &c.; but I fear she has been already too long and
exclusively employed on certain newspapers and other periodicals. Her style
is not easily mistaken.

       *       *       *       *       *


  The Whigs must go: to reign instead
    The Tories will be call'd;
  The Whigs should ne'er be at the head--
    _Dear me, I'm getting bald_!

  The Whigs! they pass'd that Poor Law Bill;
    That's true, beyond a doubt;
  The poor they've treated very ill--
    _There, kick that beggar out_!

  The Whigs about the sugar prate!
    They do not care one dump
  About the blacks and their sad state--
    _Just please to pass the lump_!

  Those niggers, for their sufferings here,
    Will angels be when dying;
  Have wings, and flit above us--dear--
    _Why, how those blacks are flying_!

  The Whigs are in a state forlorn;
    In fact, were ne'er so low:
  They make a fuss about the corn--
    _My love, you're on my toe_!

  The Whigs the timber duty say
    They will bring down a peg;
  More wooden-pated blockheads they!
    _Fetch me my wooden leg_!

       *       *       *       *       *


Deaf Burke took an airing yesterday afternoon in an open cart. He was
accompanied by Jerry Donovan. They afterwards stood up out of the rain
under the piazzas in Covent Garden. In the evening they walked through the

The dinner at the Harp, yesterday, was composed of many delicacies of the
season, including bread-and-cheese and onions. The hilarity of the evening
was highly increased by the admirable style in which Signor Jonesi sang
"Nix my dolly pals."

Despatches yesterday arrived at the house of Reuben Martin, enclosing a
post order for three-and six-pence.

The Signor and Deaf Burke walked out at five o'clock. They after wards
tossed for a pint of half-and-half.

Jerry Donovan and Bill Paul were seen in close conversation yesterday. It
is rumoured that the former is in treaty with the latter for a pair of
left-off six-and-eightpenny Clarences.

Paddy Green intends shortly to remove to a three-pair back-room in Little
Wild-street, Drury-lane, which he has taken for the summer. His loss will
be much felt in the neighbourhood.

       *       *       *       *       *


  Rundell! pride of Ludgate Hill!
  I would task thine utmost skill;
  I would have a bowl from thee
  Fit to hold my Howqua tea.
  And oh! leave it not without
  Ivory handle and a spout.
  Where thy curious hand must trace
  Father Mathew's temperate face,
  So that he may ever seem
  Spouting tea and breathing steam.
  On its sides do not display
  Fawns and laughing nymphs at play
  But portray, instead of these,
  Funny groups of fat Chinese:
  On its lid a mandarin,
  Modelled to resemble Lin.
  When completed, artisan,
  I will pay you--if I can.

       *       *       *       *       *



On Thursday, July 8, 1841, the celebrated pack of Knocker Boys met at the
Cavendish, in Jermyn Street. These animals, which have acquired for
themselves a celebrity as undying as that of Tom and Jerry, are of a fine
powerful breed, and in excellent condition. The success which invariably
attends them must be highly gratifying to the distinguished nobleman who,
if he did not introduce this particular species into the metropolis, has at
least done much to bring it to its present extraordinary state of

As there may be some of our readers who are ignorant of the purposes for
which this invaluable pack has been organised, it may be as well to state a
few particulars, before proceeding to the detail of one of the most
splendid nights upon record in the annals of disorderism.

The knocker is a thing which is generally composed of brass or iron. It has
frequently a violent resemblance to the "human face divine," or the
ravenous expressiveness of a beast of prey. It assumes a variety of phases
under peculiar _vinous_ influences. A gentleman, in whose veracity and
experience we have the most unlimited confidence, for a series of years
kept an account of the phenomena of his own knocker; and by his permission
the following extracts are now submitted to the public:--


    Nov. 12--Dined with Captain ----. Capital spread--exquisite
    _liqueurs_--magnificent wines--unparalleled cigars--drank _my_
    four bottles--should have made it five, but found I had eaten
    something which disagreed with me--Home at four.

    _State of Knocker_.--Jumping up and down the surface of the door
    like a rope dancer, occasionally diverging into a zig-zag, the
    key-hole partaking of the same eccentricities.

    Nov. 13.--Supped with Charley B----. Brandy, _genuine
    cognac_--Cigars _principè_. ESTIMATED CONSUMPTION: brandy and
    water, eighteen glasses--cigars, two dozen--porter with a cabman,
    two pots.

    _State of Knocker_.--Peripatetic--moved from our house to the
    next--remained till it roused the family--returned to its own
    door, and became duplicated--wouldn't wake the house-porter till

    N.B. Found I had used my own thumb for a sounding-plate, and had
    bruised my nail awfully.

    Nov. 14.--Devoted the day to soda-water and my tailor's bill--gave
    a draught for the amount, and took another on my own account.

    Nov. 15.--Lectured by the "governor"--left the house savage--met
    the Marquess--got very drunk unconsciously--fancied myself a
    merman, and that the gutter in the Haymarket was the
    Archipelago--grew preposterous, and felt that I should like to be
    run over--thought I was waltzing with Cerito, but found I was
    being carried on a stretcher to the station-house--somebody sent
    somewhere for bail, and somebody bailed me.

    _State of Knocker_.--Very indistinct--then became uncommonly like
    the "governor" in his nightcap--_could_ NOT reach it--presume it
    was filial affection that prevented me--knocked of its own accord,
    no doubt agitated by sympathy--reverberated in my ears all night,
    and left me with a confounded head-ache in the morning.

The above examples are sufficient to show the variability of this singular

Formerly the knocker was devoted entirely to the menial occupation of
announcing, by a single dab, or a variation of raps, the desire of persons
on the door-step to communicate with the occupants of the interior of a
mansion. Modern genius has elevated it into a source of refined pleasure
and practical humour, affording at the same time employment to the artisan,
excitement to the gentleman, and broken heads and dislocations of every
variety to the police!

We will now proceed to the details of an event which PUNCH alone is worthy
to record:--

Notice of a meet having been despatched to all the members of the "Knocker
Hunt," a splendid field--no _street_--met at the Cavendish--the hotel of
the hospitable Marquess. The white damask which covered the mahogany was
dotted here and there with rich and invigorating viands; whilst decanters
of port and sherry--jugs of Chateau Margaux--bottles of exhilarating
spirits, and boxes of cigars, agreeably diversified the scene. After a
plentiful but orderly discussion of the "creature comforts," (for all
ebullitions at home are strictly prohibited by the Marquess) it was
proposed to _draw_ St. James's Square. This suggestion was, however,
abandoned, as it was reported by Captain Pepperwell, that a party of snobs
had been hunting bell-handles in the same locality, on the preceding night.
Clarges Street was then named; and off we started in that direction, trying
the west end of Jermyn Street and Piccadilly in our way; but, as was
expected, both coverts proved blank. We were almost afraid of the same
result in the Clarges Street gorse; for it was not until we arrived at No.
33, that any one gave tongue. Young Dashover was the first, and clearly and
beautifully came his shrill tone upon the ear, as he exclaimed "Hereth a
knocker--thuch a one, too!" The rush was instantaneous; and in the space of
a moment one feeling seemed to have taken possession of the whole pack. A
more splendid struggle was never witnessed by the oldest knocker-hunter! A
more pertinacious piece of cast-iron never contended against the prowess of
the Corinthian! After a gallant pull of an hour and a half, "the affair
came off," and now graces the club-room of the "Knocker Hunt."

The pack having been called off, were taken to the kennel in the Haymarket,
when one young dog, who had run counter at a bell-handle, was found to be
missing; but the gratifying intelligence was soon brought, that he was safe
in the Vine-street station-house.

The various compounds known as champagne, port, sherry, brandy, &c., having
been very freely distributed, Captain Pepperwell made a proposition that
will so intimately connect his name with that of the immortal Marquess,
that, like the twin-born of Jupiter and Leda, to mention one will be to
imply the other.

Having obtained silence by throwing a quart measure at the waiter, he
wriggled himself into an upright position, and in a voice tremulous from
emotion--perhaps brandy, said--

"Gentlemen of--the Knocker Hunt--there are times when a man can't make--a
speech without con-considerable inconvenience to himself--that's my case at
the present moment--but my admiration for the distinguished foun--der of
the Knocker Hunt--compels me--to stand as well as I can--and propose, that
as soon as we have knockers enough--they be melted down--by some other
respectable founder, and cast into a statue of--the Marquess of Waterford!"

Deafening were the cheers which greeted the gallant captain! A meeting of
ladies has since been held, at which resolutions were passed for the
furtherance of so desirable an object, and a committee formed for the
selection of a design worthy of the originator of the Knocker Hunt. To that
committee we now appeal.


_Mem_. The hunt meet again on Monday next, as information has been
received that a splendid knocker occupies the door of Laing's shooting
gallery in the Haymarket.

       *       *       *       *       *


Our _printer's devil_, with a laudable anxiety for our success, has
communicated the following pathetic story. As a specimen of
stenotypography, or compositor's short-hand, we consider it _unique_.



Seraphina Popps was the daughter of Mr. Hezekiah Popps, a highly
respectable pawnbroker, residing in ---- Street, Bloomsbury. Being an only
child, from her earliest infancy she wanted for 0, as everything had been
made ready to her [Symbol: hand hand].

She grew up as most little girls do, who live long enough, and became the
universal ![1] of all who knew her, for

  "None but herself could be her ||."[2]

Amongst the most devoted of her admirers was Julian Fitzorphandale.
Seraphina was not insensible to the worth of Julian Fitzorphandale; and
when she received from him a letter, asking permission to visit her, she
felt some difficulty in replying to his ?[3]; for, at this very critical
.[4], an unamiable young man, named Augustus St. Tomkins, who possessed
considerable £. _s._ _d._ had become a suitor for her [Symbol: hand]. She
loved Fitzorphandale +[5] St. Tomkins, but the former was [Symbol: empty]
of money; and Seraphina, though sensitive to an extreme, was fully aware
that a competency was a very comfortable "appendix."

She seized her pen, but found that her mind was all 6's and 7's. She spelt
Fitzorphandale, P-h-i-t-z; and though she commenced ¶[6] after ¶, she never
could come to a "finis." She upbraided her unlucky * *, either for making
Fitzorphandale so poor, or St. Tomkins so ugly, which he really was. In
this dilemma we must leave her at present.

Although Augustus St. Tomkins was a [Symbol: Freemason][7], he did not
possess the universal benevolence which that ancient order inculcates; but
revolving in his mind the probable reasons for Seraphina's hesitation, he
came to this conclusion: she either loved him -[8] somebody else, or she
did not love him at all. This conviction only X[9] his worst feelings, and
he resolved that no [Symbol: scruple scruple][10] of conscience should
stand between him and his desires.

On the following day, Fitzorphandale had invited Seraphina to a pic-nic
party. He had opened the &[11] placed some boiled beef and ^^[12] on the
verdant grass, when Seraphina exclaimed, in the mildest ``´´[13], "I like
it well done, Fitzorphandale!"

As Julian proceeded to supply his beloved one with a §[14]
of the provender, St. Tomkins stood before them with a [Symbol: dagger][15]
in his [Symbol: hand].

Want of space compels us to leave the conclusion of this interesting
romance to the imagination of the reader, and to those ingenious
playwrights who so liberally supply our most popular authors with
gratuitous catastrophes.


    1. Admiration. 2. Parallel. 3. Note of Interrogation. 4. Period.
    5. More than. 6. Paragraph. 7. Freemason. 8. Less than.
    9. Multiplied. 10. Scruples. 11. Hampers-and. 12. Carets.
    13. Accents. 14. Section. 15. Dagger.

       *       *       *       *       *


A mechanic in Berlin has invented a balance of extremely delicate
construction. Sir Robert Peel, it is said, intends to avail himself of the
invention, to keep his political principles so nicely balanced between Whig
and Tory, that the most accurate observer shall be unable to tell which way
they tend.

The London Fire Brigade have received directions to hold themselves in
readiness at the meeting of Parliament, to extinguish any conflagration
that may take place, from the amazing quantity of inflammatory speeches and
political fireworks that will be let off by the performers on both sides of
the house.

The following extraordinary inducement was held out by a solicitor, who
advertised last week in a morning paper, for an office-clerk; "A small
salary will be given, but he will have enough of _over-work_ to make up for
the deficiency."

       *       *       *       *       *


The incomplete state of the Treasury has been frequently lamented by all
lovers of good taste. We are happy to announce that a tablet is about to be
placed in the front of the building, with the following inscription:--


       *       *       *       *       *


Why is the common chord in music like a portion of the
Mediterranean?--Because it's the E G & C (Ægean Sea).

       *       *       *       *       *



        Now crescendo:--
  Thus play the furious band,
  Led by the kid-gloved hand
  Of Jullien--that Napoleon of quadrille,
  Of Piccolo-nians shrillest of the shrill;
        Perspiring raver
        Over a semi-quaver;
  Who tunes his pipes so well, he'll tell you that
  The natural key of Johnny Bull's--A flat.
  Demon of discord, with mustaches cloven--
  Arch impudent _improver_ of Beethoven--
  Tricksy professor of _charlatanerie_--
  Inventor of musical artillery--
  Barbarous rain and thunder maker--
  Unconscionable money taker--
  Travelling about both near and far,
  Toll to exact at every _bar_--
    What brings thee here again,
    To desecrate old Drury's fane?
      Egregious attitudiniser!
      Antic fifer! com'st to advise her
  'Gainst intellect and sense to close her walls?
      To raze her benches,
      That Gallic wenches
  Might play their brazen antics at masked balls?
      _Ci-devant_ waiter
      Of a _quarante-sous traiteur_,
  Why did you leave your stew-pans and meat-oven,
  To make a fricassee of the great Beet-hoven?
  And whilst your piccolos unceasing squeak on,
  Saucily serve Mozart with _sauce-piquant_;
  Mawkishly cast your eyes to the cerulean--
  Turn Matthew Locke to _potage à la julienne_!
      Go! go! sir, do,
      Back to the _rue_,
      Where lately you
  Waited upon each hungry feeder,
  Playing the _garçon_, not the leader.
      Pray, put your hat on,
      _Coupez votre bâton._

       *       *       *       *       *


It is now pretty well understood, that if the Tories come into office,
there will be a regular turn out of the present royal household. Her
Majesty, through the gracious condescension of the new powers, will be
permitted to retain her situation in the royal establishment, but on the
express condition that there shall be--


       *       *       *       *       *


A subscription has been opened for a medal to commemorate the return of
Lord John Russell for the city of London. We would suggest that his speech
to the citizens against the corn-laws would form an appropriate inscription
for the face of the medal, while that to the Huntingdonshire farmers in
favour of them would be found just the thing for the _reverse_.

       *       *       *       *       *


"Boots? Boots!" Yes, Boots! we can write upon boots--we can moralise upon
boots; we can convert them, as _Jacques_ does the weeping stag in "As You
Like It," (or, whether you like it or not,) into a thousand similes. First,
for--but, "our _sole's_ in arms and eager for the fray," and so we will at
once head our dissertation as we would a warrior's host with



These are the most judicious species of manufactured calf-skin; like their
great "godfather," they are perfect as a whole; from the binding at the top
to the finish at the toe, there is a beautiful unity about their
well-conceived proportions: kindly considerate of the calf, amiably
inclined to the instep, and devotedly serviceable to the whole foot, they
shed their protecting influence over all they encase. They are walked about
in not only as protectors of the feet, but of the honour of the wearer.
Quarrel with a man if you like, let your passion get its steam up even to
blood-heat, be magnificent while glancing at your adversary's Brutus, grand
as you survey his chin, heroic at the last button of his waistcoat,
unappeased at the very knees of his superior kersey continuations,
inexorable at the commencement of his straps, and about to become abusive
at his shoe-ties, the first cooler of your wrath will be the Hoby-like
arched instep of his genuine Wellingtons, which, even as a drop of oil upon
the troubled ocean, will extend itself over the heretofore ruffled surface
of your temper.--Now for



Well, we don't like them. They are shocking impostors--walking discomforts!
They had no right to be made at all; or, if made, 'twas a sin for them to
be so christened (are Bluchers Christians?).

They are Wellingtons cut down; so, in point of genius, was their baptismal
sponsor: but these are _vilely tied_, and that the hardy old Prussian would
never have been while body and soul held together. He was no beauty, but
these are decidedly ugly commodities, chiefly tenanted by swell purveyors
of cat's-meat, and burly-looking prize-fighters. They have the _fortiter in
re_ for kicking, but not the _suaviter in modo_ for corns. Look at them
villanously treed out at the "Noah's Ark" and elsewhere; what are they but
eight-and-six-penny worth of discomfort! They will no more accommodate a
decent foot than the old general would have turned his back in a charge, or
cut off his grizzled mustachios. If it wasn't for the look of the thing,
one might as well shove one's foot into a box-iron. We wouldn't be the man
that christened them, and take a trifle to meet the fighting old marshal,
even in a world of peace; in short, they are ambulating humbugs, and the
would-be respectables that wear 'em are a huge fraternity of "false
pretenders." Don't trust 'em, reader; they are sure to do you! there's
deceit in their straps, prevarication in their trousers, and connivance in
their distended braces. We never met but one exception to the above
rule--it was John Smith. Every reader has a friend of the name of John
Smith--in confidence, that _is_ the man. We would have sworn by him; in
fact, we did swear by him, for ten long years he was our oracle. Never
shall we forget the first, the only time our faith was shaken. We gazed
upon and loved his honest face; we reciprocated the firm pressure of his
manly grasp; our eyes descended in admiration even unto the ground on which
he stood, and there, upon that very ground--the ground whose upward growth
of five feet eight seemed Heaven's boast, an "honest man"--we saw what
struck us sightless to all else--a pair of Bluchers!

We did not dream _his_ feet were in them; ten years' probation seemed to
vanish at the sight!--we wept! He spoke--could we believe our ears? "Marvel
of marvels!" despite the propinquity of the Bluchers, despite their
wide-spreading contamination, his voice was unaltered. We were puzzled! we
were like the first farourite when "he has a leg," or, "a LEG has him,"
i.e., nowhere!

John Smith coughed, not healthily, as of yore; it was a hollow emanation
from hypocritical lungs: he sneezed; it was a vile imitation of his
original "hi-catch-yew!" he invited us to dinner, suggested the best cut of
a glorious haunch--we had always had it in the days of the Wellingtons--now
our imagination conjured up cold plates, tough mutton, gravy thick enough
in grease to save the Humane Society the trouble of admonitory
advertisements as to the danger of reckless young gentlemen skating
thereon, and a total absence of sweet sauce and currant-jelly. We
paused--we grieved--John Smith saw it--he inquired the cause--we felt for
him, but determined, with Spartan fortitude, to speak the truth. Our native
modesty and bursting heart caused our drooping eyes once more to scan the
ground, and, next to the ground, the wretched Bluchers. But, joy of joys!
we saw them all! ay, all!--all--from the seam in the sides to the
leech-like fat cotton-ties. We counted the six lace-holes; we examined the
texture of the stockings above, "curious three-thread"--we gloated over the
trousers uncontaminated by straps, we hugged ourselves in the contemplation
of the naked truth.

John Smith--our own John Smith--your John Smith--everybody's John
Smith--again entered the arm-chair of our affections, the fire of our love
stirred, like a self-acting poker, the embers of cooling good fellowship,
and the strong blaze of resuscitated friendship burst forth with all its
pristine warmth. John Smith wore Bluchers but he wore them like an honest
man; and he was the only specimen of the _genus homo_ (who sported
trowsers) that was above the weakness of tugging up his suspenders and
stretching his broadcloth for the contemptible purpose of giving a
fictitious, Wellingtonian appearance to his eight-and-sixpennies.



to indulge in the sporting phraseology of the _Racing Calendar_, appear to
be "got by Highlows out of Bluchers." They thrive chiefly in the
neighbourhoods of Houndsditch, Whitechapel, and Billingsgate. They attach
themselves principally to butchers' boys, Israelitish disposers of _vix_
and _pinthils_, and itinerant misnomers of "live fish." On their first
introduction to their masters, by prigging or purchase, they represent some
of the glories of "Day and Martin;" but, strange to say, though little
skilled in the penman's art, their various owners appear to be imbued with
extraordinary veneration for the wholesome advice contained in the
round-text copy, wherein youths are admonished to "avoid useless
repetition," hence that polish is the Alpha and Omega of their shining
days. Their term of servitude varies from three to six weeks: during the
first they are fastened to the topmost of their ten holes; the next
fortnight, owing to the breaking of the lace, and its frequent knotting,
they are shorn of half their glories, and upon the total destruction of the
thong (a thing never replaced), it appears a matter of courtesy on their
parts to remain on at all. On some occasions various of their wearers have
transferred them as a legacy to very considerable mobs, without
particularly stating for which especial individual they were intended. This
kicking off their shoes "because they wouldn't die in them," has generally
proved but a sorry method of lengthening existence.



are little more than ambitious Wellingtons, curved at the top--wrinkled at
the bottom (showing symptoms of superannuation even in their infancy), and
betasselled in the front, offering what a _Wellington_ never did--a weak
point for an enemy to seize and shake at his pleasure.

There's no "speculation" in them--they are entirely superficial: like a
shallow fellow, you at once see through, and know all about them. There is
no mystery as to the height they reach, how far they are polished, or the
description of leg they cling round. Save Count D'Oraay, we never saw a
calf in a pair of them--that is, we never saw a leg with a calf. Their
general tenants are speculative Jew clothesmen who have bought them "vorth
the monish" (at tenth hand), seedy chamber counsel, or still more seedy
collectors of rents. They are fast falling into decay; like _dogs_, they
have had their "Day (and Martin's") Acts, but both are past. But woh! ho!



Derby!--Epsom!--Ledger!--Spring Summer, Autumn Meetings--Miles,
Half-miles--T.Y.C.--Hurdles, Heats, names, weights, colours of the
riders--jockies, jackets,--Dead
Heats--sweats--distances--trainings--scales--caps, and all--what would you
be without Top Boots? What! and echo answers--nothing!

Ay, worse than nothing--a chancery suit without money--an Old Bailey
culprit without an _alibi_--a debtor without an excuse--a new play without
a titled author--a manager without impudence--a thief without a
character--a lawyer without a wig--or a Guy Faux without matches!

Tops, you must be "made to measure." Wellingtons, Hessians, Bluchers,
Ankle-Jacks, and Highlows, can be chosen from, fitted, and tried on; but
_you_ must be measured for, lasted, back-strapped, top'd, wrinkled and
bottomed, according to order.

So it is with your proprietors--the little men who ride the great running
horses. There's an impenetrable mystery about those little men--they _are_,
we know that, but we know not how. Bill Scott is in the secret--Chifney is
well aware of it--John Day could enlighten the world--but they won't! They
know the value of being "light characters"--their fame is as "a feather,"
and _downey_ are they, even as the illustration of that fame. They conspire
together like so many little Frankensteins. The world is treated with a
very small proportion of very small jockeys; they never increase beyond a
certain number, which proves they are not born in the regular way: as the
old ones drop off, the young ones just fill their places, and not one to
spare. Whoever heard of a "mob of jockeys," a glut of "light-weights," or
even a handful of "feathers?"--no one!

It's like Freemasonry--it's an awful mystery! Bill Scott knows all about
the one, and the Duke of Sussex knows all about the other, but the
uninitiated know nothing of either! Jockeys are wonders--so are their
boots! Crickets have as much calf, grasshoppers as much ostensible thigh;
and yet these superhuman specimens of manufactured leather fit like a
glove, and never pull the little gentlemen's legs off. That's the
extraordinary part of it; they never even so much as dislocate a joint!
Jockey bootmakers are wonderful men! Jockeys ain't men at all!

Look, look, look! Oh, dear! do you see that little fellow, with his
merry-thought-like looking legs, clinging round that gallant bright
chesnut, thoro'bred, and sticking to his ribs as if he meant to crimp him
for the dinner of some gourmand curious in horse-flesh! There he is,
screwing his sharp knees into the saddle, sitting well up from his loins,
stretching his neck, curving his back, stiffening the wire-like muscles of
his small arms, and holding in the noble brute he strides, as a
saftey-valve controls the foaming steam; only loosing him at his very

Look, look! there's the grey filly, with the other made-to-measure feather
on her back; do you notice how she has crawled up to the chesnut? Mark,
mark! his arms appear to be India-rubber! Mercy on us, how they stretch!
and the bridle, which looked just now like a solid bar of wrought iron,
begins to curve! See how gently he leans over the filly's neck; while the
chesnut's rider turns his eyes, like a boiled lobster, almost to the back
of his head! Oh, he's awake! he still keeps the lead: but the grey filly is
nothing but a good 'un. Now, the Top-boots riding her have become excited,
and commence tickling her sides with their flashing silver spurs, putting
an extra foot into every bound. She gains upon the chesnut! This is
something like a race! The distance-post is reached! The Top-boots on the
grey are at work again. Bravo! the tip of the white nose is beyond the
level of the opposing boots! Ten strides, and no change! "She must win!"
"No, she can't!" "Grey for ever!" "Chesnut for a hundred!" "Done!
done!"--Magnificent!--neck and neck!--splendid!--any body's race! Bravo
grey!--bravo chesnut!--bravo both! Ten yards will settle it. The chesnut
rider throws up his arms--a slight dash of blood soils the "Day and
Martin"--an earth-disdaining bound lands chesnut a winner of three thousand
guineas! and all the world are in raptures with the judgment displayed in
the last kick of the little man's TOP BOOTS.


       *       *       *       *       *


It has often struck us forcibly that the science of melo-dramatic music has
been hitherto very imperfectly understood amongst us. The art of making
"the sound an echo of the sense"--of expressing, by orchestral effects, the
business of the drama, and of forming a chromatic commentary to the
emotions of the soul and the motions of the body, has been shamefully
neglected on the English stage. Ignorant composers and ignoble fiddlers
have attempted to develop the dark mysteries and intricate horrors of the
melo-drama; but unable to cope with the grandeur of their subject, they
have been betrayed into the grossest absurdities. What, for instance, could
be more preposterous than to assign the same music for "storming a fort,"
and "stabbing a virtuous father!" Equally ridiculous would it be to express
"the breaking of the sun through a fog," and "a breach of promise of
marriage;" or the "rising of a ghost," and the "entrance of a lady's maid,"
in the same keys.

The adaptation of the different instruments in the orchestra to the
circumstance of the drama, is also a matter of extreme importance. How
often has the effect of a highly-interesting suicide been destroyed by an
injudicious use of the trombone; and a scene of domestic distress been
rendered ludicrous by the intervention of the double-drum!

If our musical composers would attend more closely than they have been in
the habit of doing, to the minutiæ of the scene which is intrusted to them
to illustrate, and study the delicate lights and shades of human nature, as
we behold it nightly on the Surrey stage, we might confidently hope, at no
very distant period, to see melo-drama take the lofty position it deserves
in the histrionic literature of this country. We feel that there is a wide
field here laid open for the exercise of British talent, and have
therefore, made a few desultory mems. on the subject, which we subjoin;
intended as modest hints for the guidance of composers of melodramatic
music. The situations we have selected from the most popular Melos. of the
day; the music to be employed in each instance, we have endeavoured to
describe in such a manner as to render it intelligible to all our readers.

Music for the entrance of a brigand in the dark, should be slow and
mysterious, with an effective double _bass_ in it.

Ditto, for taking wine--an allegro, movement, with _da capo_ for the second

Ditto, for taking porter, beer, or any other inferior swipes--a similar
movement, but not _con spirito_.

Ditto, for the entrance of an attorney--a _coda_ in one sharp, 6-8 time. If
accompanied by a client, an accidental _flat_ may be introduced.

Ditto, for discovering a lost babby--a simply _affettuoso_ strain, in a
_minor_ key.

Ditto, for recognising a disguised count--a flourish of trumpets, and three
bars rest, to allow time for the countess to faint in his arms.

Ditto, for concealing a lover in a closet, and the sudden appearance of the
father, guardian, or husband, as the case may be--a _prestissimo_ movement,
with an agitated _cadenza_.

Ditto, for taking an oath or affidavit--slow, solemn music, with a marked
emphasis when the deponent kisses the book.

Ditto, for a lover's vow--a tender, broken _adagio_.

Ditto, for kicking a low comedy man--a brisk rapid _stoccato_ passage, with
a running accompaniment on the kettle-drums.

The examples we have given above will sufficiently explain our views; but
there are a vast number of dramatic situations that we have not noticed,
which might be expressed by harmonious sounds, such as music for the
appearance of a dun or a devil--music for paying a tailor--music for
serving a writ--music for an affectionate embrace--music for ditto, very
warm--music for fainting--music for coming-to--music for the death of a
villain, with a confession of bigamy; and many others "too numerous to
mention;" but we trust from what we have said, that the subject will not be
lost sight of by those interested in the elevation of our national drama.

       *       *       *       *       *


The residence of Sir Robert Peel has been so besieged of late by
place-hunters, that it has been aptly termed the _New Post Office_.

       *       *       *       *       *


    In presenting the following epistle to my readers, it may be
    necessary to apprise them, that it is the genuine production of my
    eldest daughter, Julia, who has lately obtained the situation of
    lady's-maid in the house of Mr. Samuel Briggs, an independent wax
    and tallow-chandler, of Fenchurch-street, City, but who keeps his
    family away from business, in fashionable style, in
    Russell-square, Bloomsbury. The example of many of our most
    successful literary _chiffonniers_, who have not thought it
    disgraceful to publish scraps of private history and unedited
    scandal, picked up by them in the houses to which they happened to
    be admitted, will, it is presumed, sufficiently justify my
    daughter in communicating, for the amusement of an enlightened
    public, and the benefit of an affectionate parent, a few
    circumstances connected with Briggs' family, with such
    observations and reflections of her own as would naturally suggest
    themselves to a refined and intelligent mind. Should this first
    essay of a timid girl in the thorny path of literature be
    favourably received by my friends and patrons, it will stimulate
    her to fresh exertions; and, I fondly hope, may be the means of
    placing her name in the same rank by those of Lady Morgan, Madame
    Tussaud, Mrs. Glasse, the Invisible Lady, and other national
    ornaments of the feminine species.--[PUNCH.

Russl Squear, July 14.

Dear PA,--I nose yew will he angxious to ear how I get on sins I left the
wing of the best of feathers. I am appy to say I am hear in a very
respeckble fammaly, ware they keeps too tawl footmen to my hand; one of
them is cawld John, and the other Pea-taw,--the latter is as vane as a
P-cock of his leggs, wich is really beutyful, and puffickly
streight--though the howskeaper ses he has bad angles; but some pipple loox
at things with only 1 i, and sea butt there defex. Mr. Wheazey is the
ass-matick butler and cotchman, who has lately lost his heir, and can't get
no moar, wich is very diffycult after a serting age, even with the help of
Rowland's Madagascar isle. Mrs. Tuffney, the howsekeaper, is a prowd and
oystere sort of person. I rather suspex that she's jellows of me and
Pea-taw, who as bean throwink ship's i's at me. She thinks to look down on
me, but she can't, for I hold myself up; and though we brekfists and t's at
the same _board_, I treat with a _deal_ of _hot-tar_, and shoes her how
much I dispeyses her supper-silly-ous conduck. Besides these indyvidules,
there's another dome-stick, wich I wish to menshun particlar--wich is the
paige Theodore, that, as the poat says, as bean

  "--contrived a double debt to pay,
  A _paige_ at night--a _tigger_ all the day."

In the mornink he's a tigger, drest in a tite froc-cote, top-boots, buxkin
smawl-closes, and stuck up behind Master Ahghustusses cab. In the heavening
he gives up the tigger, and comes out as the paige, in a fansy jackit, with
too rose of guilt buttings, wich makes him the perfeck immidge of Mr.
Widdycomb, that ice sea in the serkul at Hashley's Amphitheatre. The
paige's bisiness is to _weight_ on the ladies, wich is naterally _light_
work; and being such a small chap, you may suppose they can never make
enuff of him. These are all the upper servants, of coarse, I shan't lower
myself by notusing the infearyour crechurs; such as the owsmade, coke,
_edcett rar_, but shall purceed drackly to the other potion of the fammaly,
beginning with the old guv'nor (as Pee-taw cawls him), who as no idear of i
life, and, like one of his own taller lites, has only _dipped_ into good
sosiety. Next comes Missus:--in fact, I ot to have put her fust, for the
grey mayor is the best boss in our staybill, (Exkews the wulgarisrm.) After
Missus, I give persedince to Mr. Ahghustuss, who, bean the only sun in the
house, is natrally looked up to by everybody in it. He as bean brot up a
perfick genelman, at Oxfut, and is consekently fond of spending his knights
in _le trou de charbon_, and afterwards of skewering the streets--twisting
double knockers, pulling singlebelles, and indulging in other fashonable
divertions, to wich the low-minded polease, and the settin madgistrets have
strong objexions. His Pa allows him only sicks hundred a-year, wich isn't
above 1/2 enuff to keep a cabb, a cupple of hosses, and other thinks, which
it's not necessary to elude to here. Isn't it ogious to curb so fine a
spirit? I wish you see him, Pa; such i's, and such a pear of beutyful black
musquitoes on his lip--enuff to turn the hidds of all the wimming he meats.
The other membranes of this fammaly are the 3 dorters--Miss Sofiar, Miss
Selinar, and Miss Jorgina, wich are all young ladyes, full groan, and goes
in public characters to the Kaledonian bawls, and is likewise angxious to
get off hands as soon as a feverable opportunity hoffers. It's beleaved the
old guv'nor can give them ten thowsand lbs. a-peace, wich of coarse will
have great weight with a husband. There's some Qrious stoaries going--Law!
there's Missuses bell. I must run up-stairs, so must conclewd obroply, but
hope to resoom my pen necks weak.

Believe me, my dear Pa,
Your affeckshnt

       *       *       *       *       *


The following notes actually passed between two (_now_) celebrated

  Dear J----, Send me a shilling.
            Yours, B----,
      P.S.--On second thoughts, make it _two_.

To which his friend replied--

  Dear B----, I have but one shilling in the world.
            Yours, J----,
      P.S.--On second thoughts, I want that for dinner.

       *       *       *       *       *

A young artist in Picayune takes such perfect likenesses, that a lady
married the portrait of her lover instead of the original.

       *       *       *       *       *


Arcades ambo.

READER.--God bless us, Mr. PUNCH! who is that tall, fair-haired, somewhat
parrot-faced gentleman, smiling like a schoolboy over a mess of treacle,
and now kissing the tips of his five fingers as gingerly as if he were
doomed to kiss a nettle?

PUNCH.--That, Mr. Reader, is the great cotton-plant, Sir Robert Peel; and
at this moment he has, in his own conceit, seized upon "the white wonder"
of Victoria's hand, and is kissing it with Saint James's devotion.

READER.--What for, Mr. PUNCH?

PUNCH.--What for! At court, Mr. Reader, you always kiss when you obtain an
honour. 'Tis a very old fashion, sir--old as the court of King David. Well
do I recollect what a smack Uriah gave to his majesty when he was appointed
to the post which made Bathsheba a widow. Poor Uriah! as we say of the
stag, that was when his horns were in the velvet.

READER.--_You_ recollect it, Mr. PUNCH!--_you_ at the court of King David!

PUNCH.--I, Mr. Reader, I!--and at every court, from the court of Cain in
Mesopotamia to the court of Victoria in this present, flinty-hearted
London; only the truth is, as I have travelled I have changed my name.
Bless you, half the _Proverbs_ given to Solomon are mine. What I have lost
by keeping company with kings, not even Joseph Hume can calculate.

READER.--And are you really in court confidence at this moment?

PUNCH.--Am I? What! Hav'n't you heard of the elections? Have you not heard
the shouts _Io Punch_? Doesn't my nose glow like coral--ar'n't my chops
radiant as a rainbow--hath not my hunch gone up at least two inches--am I
not, from crown to toe-nails, brightened, sublimated? Like Alexander--he
was a particular friend of mine, that same Alexander, and therefore stole
many of my best sayings--I only know that I am mortal by two sensations--a
yearning for loaves and fishes, and a love for Judy.

READER.--And you really take office under Peel?

PUNCH.--Ha! ha! ha! A good joke! Peel takes office under _me_. Ha! ha! I'm
only thinking what sport I shall have with the bedchamber women. But out
they must go. The constitution gives a minister the selection of his own
petticoats; and therefore there sha'n't be a yard of Welsh flannel about
her Majesty that isn't of my choice.

READER.--Do you really think that the royal bedchamber is in fact a third
house of Parliament--that the affairs of the state are always to be put in
the feminine gender?

PUNCH.--Most certainly: the ropes of the state rudder are nothing more than
cap-ribbons; if the minister hav'n't hold of them, what can he do with the
ship? As for the debates in parliament, they have no more to do with the
real affairs of the country than the gossip of the apple-women in
Palace-yard. They're made, like the maccaroni in Naples, for the poor to
swallow; and so that they gulp down length, they think, poor fellows, they
get strength. But for the real affairs of the country! Who shall tell what
correspondence can be conveyed in a warming-pan, what intelligence--for

  "There may be wisdom in a papillote"--

may be wrapt up in the curl-papers of the Crown? What subtle, sinister
advice may, by a crafty disposition of royal pins, be given on the royal
pincushion? What minister shall answer for the sound repose of Royalty, if
he be not permitted to make Royalty's bed? How shall he answer for the
comely appearance of Royalty, if he do not, by his own delegated hands,
lace Royalty's stays? I shudder to think of it; but, without the key of the
bedchamber, could my friend Peel be made responsible for the health of the
Princess? Instead of the very best and most scrupulously-aired diaper,
might not--by negligence or design, it matters not which--the Princess
Royal be rolled in an Act of Parliament, wet from Hansard's press?

READER.--Dreadful, soul perturbing suggestion! Go on, Mr. PUNCH.

PUNCH.--Not but what I think it--if their constitution will stand damp
paper--an admirable way of rearing young princesses. Queen Elizabeth--my
wife Judy was her wet nurse--was reared after that fashion.

READER.--David Hume says nothing of it.

PUNCH.--David Hume was one of the wonders of the earth--he was a lazy
Scotchman; but had he searched the State Paper Office, he would have found
the documents there--yes, the very Acts of Parliament--the very printed
rollers. To those rollers Queen Elizabeth owed her knowledge of the English

READER.--Explain--I can't see how.

PUNCH.--Then you are very dull. Is not Parliament the assembled wisdom of
the country?

READER.--By a fiction, Mr. PUNCH.

PUNCH--Very well, Mr. Reader; what's all the world but a fiction? I say,
the assembled wisdom; an Act of Parliament is the sifted wisdom of the
wise--the essence of an essence. Very well; know you not the mystic, the
medicinal effects of printer's ink? The devil himself isn't proof to a
blister of printer's ink. Well, you take an Act of Parliament--and what is
it but the finest plaster of the finest brains--wet, reeking wet from the
press. Eschewing diaper, you roll the Act round the royal infant; you roll
it up and pin it in the conglomerated wisdom of the nation. Now, consider
the tenderness of a baby's cuticle; the pores are open, and a rapid and
continual absorption takes place, so that long before the Royal infant cuts
its first tooth, it has taken up into its system the whole body of the

READER.--Might not some patriots object to the application of the wisdom of
the country to so domestic a purpose?

PUNCH.--Such patriots are more squeamish than wise. Sir, how many grown up
kings have we had, who have shown no more respect for the laws of the
country, than if they had been swaddled in 'em?

READER.--Do you think your friend Sir Robert is for statute rollers?

PUNCH.--I can answer for Sir Robert on every point. His first attack before
he kisses hands--and he has, as you perceive, been practising this
half-hour--will be upon the women of the bedchamber. The war with
China--the price of sugar--the corn-laws--the fourteen new Bishops about to
be hatched--timber--cotton--a property tax, and the penny post--all these
matters and persons are of secondary importance to this greater
question--whether the female who hands the Queen her gown shall think Lord
Melbourne a "very pretty fellow in his day;" or whether she shall believe
my friend Sir Robert to be as great a conjuror as Roger Bacon or the Wizard
of the North--if the lady can look upon O'Connell and not call for burnt
feathers or scream for _sal volatile_; or if she really thinks the Pope to
be a woman with a naughty name, clothed in most exceptionable scarlet. It
is whether Lady Mary thinks black, or Lady Clementina thinks white; whether
her father who begot her voted with the Marquis of Londonderry or Earl
Grey--_that_ is the grand question to be solved, before my friend Sir
Robert can condescend to be the saviour of his country. To have the
privilege of making a batch of peers, or a handful of bishops is nothing,
positively nothing--no, the crowning work is to manufacture a lady's maid.
What's a mitre to a mob-cap--what the garters of a peer to the garters of
the Lady Adeliza?

READER.--You are getting warm, Mr. PUNCH--very warm.

PUNCH.--I always do get warm when I talk of the delicious sex: for though
now and then I thrash my wife before company, who shall imagine how cosy we
are when we're alone? Do you not remember that great axiom of Sir
Robert's--an axiom that should make Machiavelli howl with envy--that "_the
battle of the Constitution is to fought in the bedchamber_."

READER.--I remember it.

PUNCH.--That was a great sentence. Had Sir Robert known his true fame, he
would never after have opened his mouth.

READER.--Has the Queen sent for Sir Robert yet?

PUNCH.--No: though I know he has staid at home these ten days, and answers
every knock at the door himself, in expectation of a message.

READER.--They say the Queen doesn't like Sir Robert.

PUNCH.--I'm also told that her Majesty has a great antipathy to physic--yet
when the Constitution requires medicine, why--

READER.--Sir Robert must be swallowed.

PUNCH.--Exactly so. We shall have warm work of it, no doubt--but I fear
nothing, when we have once got rid of the women. And then, we have a few
such nice wenches of our own to place about her Majesty; the Queen shall
take Conservatism as she might take measles--without knowing it.

READER.--And when, Mr. PUNCH--when you have got rid of the women, what do
you and Sir Robert purpose then?

PUNCH.--I beg your pardon: we shall meet again next week: it's now two
o'clock. I have an appointment with half-a-dozen of my godsons; I have
promised them all places in the new government, and they're come to take
their choice.

READER.--Do tell me this: Who has Peel selected for Commander of the

PUNCH.--Who? Colonel Sibthorp.

READER.--And who for Chancellor of the Exchequer?

PUNCH.--Mr. Henry Moreton Dyer!

       *       *       *       *       *




APOLLODORUS relates that THESEUS sat so long on a rock, that at length he
grew to it, so that when HERCULES tore him forcibly away, he left all the
nether part of the man behind him.]

       *       *       *       *       *



We have been at considerable expense in procuring the subjoined account of
the election which has just terminated in the borough of Ballinafad, in
Ireland. Our readers may rest assured that our report is perfectly
exclusive, being taken, as the artists say, "on the spot," by a special
bullet-proof reporter whom we engaged, at an enormous expense, for this
double hazardous service.


_Tuesday Morning, Eight o'clock._--The contest has begun! The struggle for
the independence of Ballinafad has commenced! Griggles, the opposition
candidate, is in the field, backed by a vile faction. The rank, wealth, and
independence of Ballinafad are all ranged under the banner of Figsby and
freedom. A party of Griggles' voters have just marched into the town,
preceded by a piper and a blind fiddler, playing the most obnoxious tunes.
A barrel of beer has been broached at Griggles' committee-rooms. We are all
in a state of the greatest excitement.

_Half-past Eight._--Mr. Figsby is this moment proceeding from his hotel to
the hustings, surrounded by his friends and a large body of the independent
teetotal electors. A wheelbarrow full of rotten eggs has been sent up to
the hustings, to be used, as occasion requires, by the Figsby voters, who
are bent upon

[Illustration: "GOING THE WHOLE HOG."]

A serious riot has occurred at the town pump, where two of the independent
teetotalers have been ducked by the opposite party. Stones are beginning to
fly in all directions. A general row is expected.

_Nine o'clock._--Polling has commenced. Tom Daly, of Galway, the fighting
friend of Mr. Figsby, has just arrived, with three brace of duelling
pistols, and a carpet-bag full of powder and ball. This looks like
business. I have heard that six of Mr. Figsby's voters have been locked up
in a barn by Griggles' people. The poll is proceeding vigorously.

_Ten o'clock._--State of the poll to this time:--

    Figsby          19
    Griggles        22

The most barefaced bribery is being employed by Griggles. A lady, known to
be in his interest, was seen buying half-a-pound of tea, in the shop of Mr.
Fad, the grocer, for which she paid with a whole sovereign, _and took no
change_. _Two legs of mutton_ have also been sent up to Griggles' house, by
Reilly, the butcher. Heaven knows what will be the result. The voting is
become serious--four men with fractured skulls have, within these ten
minutes, been carried into the apothecary's over the way. A couple of
policemen have been thrown over the bridge; but we are in too great a state
of agitation to mind trifles.

_Half-past Twelve o'clock._--State of the poll to this time:--

    Figsby          27
    Griggles        36

You can have no idea of the frightful state of the town. The faction are
employing all sorts of bribery and intimidation. The wife of a liberal
greengrocer has just been seen with the Griggles ribbons in her cap. Five
pounds have been offered for a sucking-pig. Figsby must come in,
notwithstanding two cart-loads of the temperance voters are now riding up
to the poll, most of them being too drunk to walk. Three duels have been
this morning reported. Results not known. The coroner has been holding
inquests in the market-house all the morning.

_Three o'clock._--State of the poll to this time:--

    Figsby          45
    Griggles        39

The rascally corrupt assessor has decided that the temperance electors who
came up to vote for the Liberal candidate, being too drunk to speak, were
disentitled to vote. Some dead men had been polled by Griggles.

The verdict of the coroner's inquest on those who unfortunately lost their
lives this morning, has been, "Found dead." Everybody admires the sagacious
conclusion at which the jury have arrived. It is reported that Figsby has
resigned! I am able to contradict the gross falsehood. Mr. F. is now
addressing the electors from his committee-room window, and has this
instant received a plumper--in the eye--in the shape of a rotten potato. I
have ascertained that the casualties amount to no more than six men, two
pigs, and two policemen, killed; thirteen men, women, and children,

_Four o'clock_--State of the poll up to this time:--

    Figsby          29
    Griggles        41

The poll-clerks on both sides are drunk, the assessor has closed the
booths, and I am grieved to inform you that Griggles has just been duly

_Half past Four o'clock._--Figsby has given Grigglcs the lie on the open
hustings. Will Griggles fight?

_Five o'clock._--His wife insists he shall; so, of course, he must. I hear
that a message has just been delivered to Figsby. Tom Daly and his
carpet-bag passed under my window a few minutes ago.

_Half-past Five o'clock._--Two post-chaises have just dashed by at full
speed--I got a glimpse of Tom Daly smoking a cigar in one of them.

_Six o'clock._--I open my letter to tell you that Figsby is the favourite;
3 to 1 has been offered at the club, that he wings his man; and 3 to 2 that
he drills him. The public anxiety is intense.

_Half-past Six._--I again open my letter to say, that I have nothing
further to add, except that the betting continues in favour of the popular

_Seven o'clock._--Huzza!--Griggles is shot! The glorious principles of
constitutional freedom have been triumphant! The town is in an uproar of
delight! We are making preparations to illuminate. BALLINAFAD IS SAVED!

       *       *       *       *       *


  Lord Johnny from Stroud thought it best to retreat.
  Being certain of getting the sack,
  So he ran to the City, and begged for a seat,
  Crying, "Please to _re-member Poor Jack_!"

       *       *       *       *       *


Why is a tall nobleman like a poker?--Because he's a _high'un_ belonging to
the _great_.

Why is a defunct mother like a dog?--Because she's a _ma-stiff_.

When is _a horse_ like _a herring?_--When he's _hard rode_.

       *       *       *       *       *


  One morn, two friends before the Newgate drop,
  To see a culprit throttled, chanced to stop:
  "Alas!" cried one as round in air he spun,
  "That miserable wretch's _race is run_."
  "True," said the other drily, "to his cost,
  The race is run--but, by a _neck_ 'tis lost."

       *       *       *       *       *


Lord John Russell has arrived at a conviction--that the Whigs are not so
popular as they were.

Sir Peter Laurie has arrived at the conclusion--that Solon was a greater
man than himself.

       *       *       *       *       *


  To win the maid the poet tries,
  And sonnets writes to Julia's eyes;--
  She likes a _verse_--but cruel whim,
  She still appears _a-verse_ to him.

       *       *       *       *       *

A most cruel hoax has recently been played off upon that deserving class
the housemaids of London, by the insertion of an advertisement in the
morning papers, announcing that a servant in the above capacity was wanted
by Lord Melbourne. Had it been for a _cook_, the absurdity would have been
too palpable, as Melbourne has frequently expressed his opposition to

       *       *       *       *       *


  Now B--y P--l has beat the Whigs,
    The Church can't understand
  Why Bot'ny Bay should be all sea,
    And have no _see_ on land.

  For such a lamentable want
    Our good Archbishop grieves;
  'Tis very strange the Tories should
    Remind him _of the thieves!_

       *       *       *       *       *


An American paper tells us of a woman named Dobbs, who was killed in a
preaching-house at Nashville, by the fall of a chandelier on her head.
Brett's Patent Brandy poet, who would as soon make a witticism on a cracked
crown as a cracked bottle, has sent us the following:--

  "The _light of life_ comes from above,"
  Old Dingdrum snuffling said;
  "The _light_ came down on Peggy Dobbs,
  And Peggy Dobbs was _dead_."

       *       *       *       *       *

A man in Kentucky was so absent, that he put himself on the toasting-fork,
and did not discover his mistake until he was _done brown_.

       *       *       *       *       *


  No wonder Tory landlords flout
    "Fix'd Duty," for 'tis plain,
  With them the Anti-Corn-Law Bill
    Must _go against the grain._

       *       *       *       *       *

The anticipated eruption of Mount Vesuvius is said to have been prevented
by throwing a box of Holloway's Ointment into the crater.

       *       *       *       *       *


In the year--let me see--but no matter about the date--my father and mother
died of a typhus fever, leaving me to the care of an only relative, and
uncle, by my father's side. His name was Box, as my name is Box. I was a
babby in long clothes at that time, not even so much as christened; so
uncle, taking the hint, I suppose, from the lid of his sea-chest, had me
called Bellophron Box. Bellophron being the name of the ship of which he
was sailing-master.

I sha'n't say anything about my education; though I was brought up in


It's not much to boast of; but as soon as I could bear the weight of a
cockade and a dirk, uncle got me a berth as midshipman on board his own
ship. So there I was, _Mr._ Bellophron Box. I didn't like the sea or the
service, being continually disgusted at the partiality shown towards me,
for in less than a month I was put over the heads of all my superior
officers. You may stare--but it's true; for _I was mast-headed_ for a week
at a stretch. When we put into port, Captain ---- called me into his cabin,
and politely informed me that if I chose to go on shore, and should find it
inconvenient to return, no impertinent inquiries should be made after me. I
availed myself of the hint, and exactly one year and two months after
setting foot on board the Bellophron, I was _Master_ Bellophron Box again.

Well, now for my story. There was one Tom Johnson on board, a _fok'sell_
man, as they called him, who was very kind to me; he tried to teach me to
turn a quid, and generously helped me to drink my grog. As I was
unmercifully quizzed in the cockpit, I grew more partial to the society of
Tom than to that of my brother middies. Tom always addressed me,'Sir,' and
they named me Puddinghead; till at last we might be called friends. During
many a night-watch, when I have sneaked away for a snooze among the
hen-coops, has Tom saved me from detection, and the consequent pleasant
occupation of carrying about a bucket of water on the end of a capstan bar.

I had been on board about a month--perhaps two--when the order came down
from the Admiralty, for the men to cut off their tails. Lord, what a scene
was there! I wonder it didn't cause a mutiny! I think it would have done
so, but half the crew were laid up with colds in their heads, from the
suddenness of the change, though an extra allowance of rum was served out
to rub them with to prevent such consequences; but the purser not giving
any definite directions, whether the application was to be external or
internal, the liquor, I regret to say, for the honour of the British navy,
was applied much lower down. For some weeks the men seemed half-crazed, and
were almost as unmanageable as ships that had lost their rudders. Well, so
they had! It was a melancholy sight to see piles of beautiful tails with
little labels tied to them, like the instructions on a physic-bottle; each
directed to some favoured relative or sweetheart of the _curtailed_ seamen.
What a strange appearance must Portsmouth, and Falmouth, and Plymouth, and
all the other mouths that are filled with sea-stores, have presented, when
the precious remembrances were distributed! I wish some artist would
consider it; for I think it's a shame that there should be no record of
such an interesting circumstance.

One night, shortly after this visitation, it blew great guns. Large black
clouds, like chimney-sweepers' feather-beds, scudded over our heads, and
the rain came pouring down like--like winking. Tom had been promoted, and
was sent up aloft to reef a sail, when one of the horses giving way, down
came Tom Johnson, and snap went a leg and an arm. I was ordered to see him
carried below, an office which I readily performed, for I liked the
man--and they don't allow umbrellas in the navy.

"What's the matter?" said the surgeon.

"Nothing particular, sir; on'y Tom's broke his legs and his arms by a fall
from the yard," replied a seaman.

Tom groaned, as though he _did_ consider it something _very_ particular.

He was soon stripped and the shattered bones set, which was no easy matter,
the ship pitching and tossing about as she did. I sat down beside his
berth, holding on as well as I could. The wind howled through the rigging,
making the vessel seem like an infernal Eolian harp; the thunder rumbled
like an indisposed giant, and to make things more agreeable, a gun broke
from its lashings, and had it all its own way for about a quarter of an
hour. Tom groaned most pitiably. I looked at him, and if I were to live for
a thousand years, I shall never forget the expression of his face. His lips
were blue, and--no matter, I'm not clever at portrait painting: but imagine
an old-fashioned Saracen's Head--not the fine handsome fellow they have
stuck on Snow Hill, but one of the griffins of 1809--and you have Tom's
phiz, only it wants touching with all the colours of a painter's palette. I
was quite frightened, and could only stammer out, "Why T-o-o-m!"

"It's all up, sir," says he; "I must go; I feel it."

"Don't be foolish," I replied; "Don't die till I call the surgeon." It was
a stupid speech, I acknowledge, but I could not help it at the time.

"No, no; don't call the surgeon, Mr. Box; he's done all he can, sir. But
it's here--it's here!" and then he made an effort to thump his heart, or
the back of his head, I couldn't make out which.

I trembled like a jelly. I had once seen a melodrama, and I recollected
that the villain of the piece had used the same action, the same words.

"Mr. Box," groaned Tom, "I've a-a-secret as makes me very uneasy, sir,"

"Indeed, Tom," I replied; "hadn't you better confess the mur--" murder, I
was a going to say, but I thought it might not be polite, considering Tom's

The ruffian, for such he looked then, tried to raise himself, but another
lurch of the Bellophron sent him on his back, and myself on my beam-ends.
As soon as I recovered my former position, Tom continued--

"Mr. Box, dare I trust you, sir? if I could do so, I'm sartin as how I
should soon be easier."

"Of course," said I, "of course; out with it, and I promise never to betray
your confidence."

"Then come, come here," gasped the suffering wretch; "give us your hand,

I instinctively shrunk back with horror!

"Don't be long, Mr. Box, for every minute makes it worse," and then his
Saracen's Head changed to a feminine expression, and resembled the _Belle

I couldn't resist the appeal; so placing my hand in his, Tom put it over
his shoulder, and, with a ghastly smile, said, "Pull it out, sir!"

"Pull what out?"

"My secret, Mr. Box; it's hurting on me!"

I thought that he had grown delirious; so, in order to soothe him as much
as possible, I forced my hand under his shirt-collar, and what do you think
I found? Why, a PIGTAIL--his pigtail, which he had contrived to conceal
between his shirt and his skin, when the barbarous order of the Admiralty
had been put into execution.

[Illustration: A NAUTICAL TALE.]

       *       *       *       *       *


No. II.

  You say you would find
    But one, and one only,
  Who'd feel without you
    That the revel was lonely:
  That when you were near,
    Time ever was fleetest,
  And deem your loved voice
    Of all music the sweetest.
  Who would own her heart thine,
    Though a monarch beset it,
  And love on unchanged--
    Don't you wish you may get it?

  You say you would rove
    Where the bud cannot wither;
  Where Araby's perfumes
    Each breeze wafteth thither.
  Where the lute hath no string
    That can waken a sorrow;
  Where the soft twilight blends
    With the dawn of the morrow;
  Where joy kindles joy,
    Ere you learn to forget it,
  And care never comes--
    Don't you wish you may get it?

       *       *       *       *       *


JOEY HUME is about to depart for Switzerland: for, finding his flummery of
no avail at Leeds, we presume he intends to go to _Schaff_-hausen, to try
the _Cant_-on.


We beg to congratulate Lord John Russell on his approaching union with Lady
Fanny Elliot. His lordship is such a persevering votary of Hymen, that we
think he should be named "_Union-Jack_."

       *       *       *       *       *


LORD PALMERSTON, on his road to Windsor, narrowly escaped being upset by a
gentleman in a gig. We have been privately informed that the party with
whom he came in collision was--Sir Robert Peel.

       *       *       *       *       *


        If you ever should be
        In a state of _ennui_,
        Just listen to me,
        And without any fee
    I'll give you a hint how to set yourself free.
    Though dearth of intelligence weaken the news,
    And you feel an incipient attack of the blues,
    For amusement you never need be at a loss,
    If you take up the paper and _read it_ across.
        Here's the _Times_, apropos,
          And so,
        With your patience, I'll show
    What I mean, by perusing a passage or two.
  "Hem! Mr. George Robins is anxious to tell,
  In very plain prose, he's instructed to sell"--
  "A vote for the county"--"packed neatly in straw"--
  "Set by Holloway's Ointment"--"a limb of the law."
  "The army has had secret orders to seize"--
  "As soon as they can"--"the industrious fleas."
    For amusement you never need be at a loss,
    If you take a newspaper and read it across.

  "The opera opens with"--"elegant coats"--
  "For silver and gold we exchange foreign notes"--
  "Specific to soften mortality's ills"--
  "And cure Yorkshire bacon"--"take Morison's pills."
  "Curious coincidence"--"steam to Gravesend."
  "Tale of deep interest"--"money to lend"--
  "Louisa is waiting for William to send."
    For amusement you never need be at a loss,
    If you take a newspaper and read it across.

  "For relief of the Poles"--"an astounding feat!"--
  "A respectable man"--"for a water will eat"--
  "The Macadamised portion of Parliament-street."
  "Mysterious occurrence!"--"expected _incog_."
  "To be viewed by cards only"--"a terrible fog."
  "At eight in the morning the steam carriage starts"--
  "Takes passengers now"--"to be finished in parts."
    For amusement you never need be at a loss,
    If you take a newspaper and read it across.

  "Left in a cab, and"--"the number not known"
  "A famous prize ox, weighing 200 stone"--
  "He speaks with a lisp"--"has a delicate shape"--
  "And had _on_, when he quitted, a Macintosh cape."
  "For China direct, a fine"--"dealer in slops."
  "To the curious in shaving"--"new way to dress chops."
  "Repeal of the corn"--"was roasted for lunch"--
  "Teetotal beverage "--"Triumph of PUNCH!"
    For amusement you never need be at a loss,
    If you take a newspaper and read it across.

       *       *       *       *       *


"Why are four thousand eight hundred and forty yards of land obtained on
credit like a drinking song?"--"Because it's _an-acre-on-tic_."--"I think I
had you there!"

       *       *       *       *       *


A correspondent of one of the morning papers exultingly observes, that the
_wood-blocks_ which are about being removed from Whitehall are in
_excellent condition_. If this is an allusion to the present ministry, we
should say, emphatically, NOT.

       *       *       *       *       *


The Tories in Beverley have been wreaking their vengeance on their
opponents at the late election, by ordering their tradesmen who voted
against the Conservative candidate to _send in their bills_. Mr. Duncombe
declares that this is a mode of revenge he never would condescend to adopt.

       *       *       *       *       *

  If Farren, cleverest of men,
    Should go to the right about,
  What part of town will he be then?--
    Why, _Farren-done-without!_

       *       *       *       *       *


Cox, a pill-doctor at Leeds, it is reported, modestly requested a check for
£10, for the honour of his vote. Had his demand been complied with, we
presume the bribe would have been endorsed, "This draught to be taken at
poll time."

       *       *       *       *       *


Why do men who are about to fight a duel generally choose a _field_ for the
place of action?


I really cannot tell; unless it be for the purpose of allowing the balls to

       *       *       *       *       *


_Two Prize Essays_. By LORD MELBOURNE and SIR ROBERT PEEL. 8 vols. folio.
London: Messrs. SOFTSKIN and TINGLE, Downing-street.

We congratulate the refined and sensitive publishers on the production of
these elaborately-written gilt-edged folios, and trust that no remarks will
issue from the press calculated to affect the digestion of any of the
parties concerned. The sale of the volumes will, no doubt, be commensurate
with the public spirit, the wisdom, and the benevolence which has uniformly
characterised the career of their illustrated authors. Two more
_statesmanlike_ volumes never issued from the press; in fact, the books may
be regarded as typical of _all_ statesmen. The subject, or rather the line
of argument, is thus designated by the respective writers:--

ESSAY I.--"On the Fine Art of Government, or how to do the least possible
good to the country in the longest possible time, and enjoy, meanwhile, the
most ease and luxury." By LORD MELBOURNE.

ESSAY II.--"On the Science of Governing, or how to do the utmost possible
good for ourselves in the shortest possible time, under the name of our
altars, and our throne, and everybody that is good and wise." By SIR ROBERT

We are quite unable to enter into a review of these very costly
productions, an estimate of the _value_ of which the public will be sure to
receive from "authority," and be required to meet the amount, not only with
cheerful loyalty, but a more weighty and less noisy _acknowledgment_.

As to the Prize, it has been adjudged by PUNCH to be divided equally
between the two illustrious essayists; to the one, in virtue of his
incorrigible laziness, and to the other, in honour of his audacious

       *       *       *       *       *


PUNCH begs to inform the inhabitants of Great Britain, Ireland, and the
Isle of Dogs, that he has just opened on an entirely new line, an Universal
Comic Railroad, and Cosmopolitan Pleasure Van for the transmission of _bon
mots_, puns, witticisms, humorous passengers, and queer figures, to every
part of the world. The engines have been constructed on the most laughable
principles, and being on the high-pressure principle, the manager has
provided a vast number of patent anti-explosive fun-belts, to secure his
passengers against the danger of suddenly bursting.

The train starts every Saturday morning, under the guidance of an
experienced punster. The departure of the train is always attended with
immense laughter, and a tremendous rush to the booking-office. PUNCH,
therefore, requests those who purpose taking places to apply early, as
there will be no

[Illustration: RESERVED SEATS!]

N.B.--Light jokes booked, and forwarded free of expense. Heavy articles not
admitted at any price.

*** Wanted an epigrammatic porter, who can carry on a smart dialogue, and
occasionally deliver light jokes.

       *       *       *       *       *



  Time--old Time--whither away?
  Linger a moment with us, I pray;
  Too soon thou spreadest thy wings for flight;
          Dip, boy, dip
          In the bowl thy lip,
  And be jolly, old Time, with us to-night.
                          Dip, dip, &c.

  Time--old Time--thy scythe fling down;
  Garland thy pate with a myrtle crown,
  And fill thy goblet with rosy wine;--
          Fill, fill up,
          The joy-giving cup,
  Till it foams and flows o'er the brim like mine.
                          Fill, fill, &c.

  Time--old Time--sighing is vain,
  Pleasure from thee not a moment can gain;
  Fly, old greybeard, but leave us your glass
          To fill as we please,
          And drink at our ease,
  And count by our brimmers the hours as they pass.

       *       *       *       *       *



Italy! land of love and maccaroni, of pathos and puppets--tomb of Romeo and
Juliet--birth-place of Punch and Judy--region of romance--country of the
concentrated essences of all these;--carnivals--I, PUNCH, the first and
last, the alpha and omega of fun, adore thee! From the moment when I was
cast upon thy shores, like Venus, out of the sea, to this sad day, when I
am forced to descend from my own stage to mere criticism; have I preserved
every token that would endear my memory to thee! My nose is still Roman, my
mouth-organ plays the "genteelest of" Italian "tunes"--my scenes represent
the choicest of Italian villas--in "choice Italian" doth my devil swear--to
wit, "_shal-la-bella!_"

Longing to be still more reminded of thee, dear Italy, I threw a large
cloak over my hunch, and a huge pair of spectacles over my nose, and
ensconced myself in a box at the Haymarket Theatre, to witness the fourth
appearance of my rival puppet, Charles Kean, in Romeo. He is an actor! What
a deep voice--what an interesting lisp--what a charming whine--what a
vigorous stamp, he hath! How hard he strikes his forehead when he is going
into a rage--how flat he falls upon the ground when he is going to die! And
then, when he has killed Tybalt, what an attitude he strikes, what an
appalling grin he indulges his gaping admirers withal!

This is real acting that one pays one's money to see, and not such an
unblushing imposition as Miss Tree practises upon us. Do we go to the play
to see nature? of course not: we only desire to see the actors playing at
being natural, like Mr. Gallot, Mr. Howe, Mr. Worral, or Mr. Kean, and
other actors. This system of being too natural will, in the end, be the
ruin of the drama. It has already driven me from the Stage, and will, I
fear, serve the great performers I nave named above in the same manner. But
the Haymarket Juliet overdoes it; she is more natural than nature, for she
makes one or two improbabilities in the plot of the play seem like
every-day matters of fact. Whether she falls madly in love at the first
glance, agrees to be married the next afternoon, takes a sleeping draught,
throws herself lifeless upon the bed, or wakes in the tomb to behold her
poisoned lover, still in all these situations she behaves like a sensible,
high-minded girl, that takes such circumstances, and makes them appear to
the audience--quite as a matter of course! What let me ask, was the use of
the author--whose name, I believe, was Shakspere--purposely contriving
these improbabilities, if the actors do not make the most of them? I do
hope Miss Tree will no longer impose upon the public by pretending to _act_
Juliet. Let her try some of the characters in Bulwer's plays, which want
all her help to make them resemble women of any nation, kindred, or

Much as I admire Kean, I always prefer the acting of Wallack; there is more
variety in the tones of his voice, for Kean tunes his pipes exactly as my
long-drummer sets his drum;--to one pitch: but as to action, Wallack--more
like my drummer--beats him hollow; he points his toes, stands a-kimbo,
takes off his hat, and puts it on again, quite as naturally as if he
belonged to the really legitimate drama, and was worked by strings cleverly
pulled to suit the action to _every_ word. Wallack is an honest performer;
_he_ don't impose upon you, like Webster, for instance, who as the
Apothecary, speaks with a hungry voice, walks with a tottering step, moves
with a helpless gait, which plainly shows that he never studied the
part--he must have starved for it. Where will this confounded naturalness

The play is "got up," as we managers call it, capitally. The dresses are
superb, and so are the properties. The scenery exhibited views of different
parts of the city, and was, so far as I am a judge, well painted. I have
only one objection to the balcony scene. Plagiarism is mean and
contemptible--I despise it. I will not apply to the Vice-Chancellor for an
injunction, because the imitation is so vilely caricatured; but the balcony
itself is the very counterpart of PUNCH'S theatre!--PUNCH.

       *       *       *       *       *


When a new farce begins with duck and green peas, it promises well; the
sympathies of the audience are secured, especially as the curtain rises but
a short time before every sober play-goer is ready for his supper. Mr.
Gabriel Snoxall is seated before the comsstibles above mentioned--he is
just established in a new lodging. It is snug--the furniture is neat--being
his own property, for he is an _un_furnished lodger. A bachelor so situated
must be a happy fellow. Mr. Snoxall is happy--a smile radiates his face--he
takes wine with himself; but has scarcely tapped the decanter for his first
glass, before he hears a tap at his door. The hospitable "Come in!" is
answered by the appearance of Mr. Dunne Brown, a captain by courtesy, and
Snoxall's neighbour by misfortune. Here business begins.

The ancient natural historian has divided the _genus homo_ into the two
grand divisions of victimiser and victim. Behold one of each class before
you--the yeast and sweat-wort, as it were, which brew the plot! Brown
invites himself to dinner, and does the invitation ample justice; for he
finds the peas as green as the host; who he determines shall be done no
less brown than the duck. He possesses two valuable qualifications in a
diner-out--an excellent appetite, and a habit of eating fast, consequently
the meal is soon over. Mr. Brown's own tiger clears away, by the ingenious
method of eating up what is left. Mr. Snoxall is angry, for he is hungry;
but, good easy man, allows himself to be mollified to a degree of softness
that allows Mr. Brown to borrow, not only his tables and chairs, but his
coat, hat, and watch; just, too, in the very nick of time, for the bailiffs
are announced. What is the hunted creditor to do? Exit by the window to be

A character invented by farce-writers, and retained exclusively for their
use--for such folks are seldom met with out of a farce--lives in the next
street. He has a lovely daughter, and a nephew momentarily expected from
India, and with those persons he has, of course, not the slighest
acquaintance; and a niece, by marriage, of whose relationship he is also
entirely unconscious. His parlours are made with French windows; they are
open, and invite the bailiff-hunted Brown into the house. What so natural
as that he should find out the state of family affairs from a loquacious
Abigail, and should personate the expected nephew? Mr. Tidmarsh (the
property old gentleman of the farce-writers) is in ecstacics. Mrs. T. sees
in the supposed Selbourne a son-in-law for her daughter, whose vision is
directed to the same prospects. Happy, domestic circle! unequalled family
felicity! too soon, alas! to be disturbed by a singular coincidence. Mr.
Snoxall, the victim, is in love with Miss Sophia, the daughter. Ruin
impends over Brown; but he is master of his art: he persuades Snoxall not
to undeceive the family of Tidmarsh, and kindly undertakes to pop the
question to Sophia on behalf of his friend, whose sheepishness quite equals
his softness. Thus emboldened, Brown inquires after a "few loose
sovereigns," and Snoxall, having been already done out of his chairs,
clothes, and watch, of course lends the victimiser his purse, which
contains twenty.

Mr. Brown's career advances prosperously; he makes love in the dark to his
supposed cousin _pro_ Snoxall, in the hearing of the supposed wife (for the
real Selbourne has been married privately) and his supposed friend, both
supposing him false, mightily abuse him, all being still in the dark. At
length the real Selbourne enters, and all supposition ends, as does the
farce, poetical justice being administered upon the captain by courtesy, by
the bailiffs who arrest him. Thus he, at last, becomes really Mr. Dunne

The farce was successful, for the actors were perfect, and the audience
good-humoured. We need hardly say who played the hero; and having named
Wrench, as the nephew, who was much as usual, everybody will know how. Mr.
David Rees is well adapted for Snoxall, being a good figure for the part,
especially in the duck-and-green-peas season. The ladies, of whom there
were four, performed as ladies generally do in farces on a first night.

We recommend the readers of PUNCH to cultivate the acquaintance of "My
Friend the Captain." They will find him at home every evening at the
Haymarket. We suspect his paternity may be traced to a certain _corner_,
from whose merit several equally successful broad-pieces have been issued.

       *       *       *       *       *




"What romance is that which outght to be most admired in the kitchen?"


"Don Quixote; because it was written by _Cervantes_--(servantes).--Rather
low, Sir Ned."


"When is a lady's neck not a neck?"


"For shame now!--When it is a _little bare_ (bear), I suppose."

       *       *       *       *       *


The following is a correct report of a speech made by one of the candidates
at a recent election in the north of England.

    THOMAS SMITH, Esq., then presented himself, and said--" *   *   *
    *      *      *     *     *      crisis      *     *      *     *
    *      *      *     *     *     *     *     *      *    important
    dreadful   *     *     *     *      *     industry    *    *    *
    *     *     *    enemies     *     *         slaves      *      *
    independence      *     *     *     *       *      *      freedom
    *      *      *     *     *     firmly      *      *      *     *
    gloriously     *     *     *     *    contested    *     *      *
    *      *     *     support      *      *     *     *     victory,

Mr. Smith then sat down; but we regret that the uproar which prevailed,
prevents us giving a fuller report of his very eloquent and impressive

       *       *       *       *       *


COUNT D'ORSAY declares that no gentleman having the slightest pretensions
to fashionable consideration can be seen out of doors except on a Sunday,
as on that day bailiffs and other low people keep at home.

       *       *       *       *       *


    "All flesh is grass," so do the Scriptures say;
    But grass, when cut and dried, is turned to hay;
  Then, lo; if Death to thee his scythe should take,
  God bless us! what a haycock thou wouldst make.

       *       *       *       *       *

An author that lived somewhere has such a _brilliant_ wit, that he
contracted to light the parish with it, and did it.

"Our church clock," say the editors of a down-cast paper, "_keeps time_ so
well that we _get_ a day out of every week by it."

A man in Kentucky has a horse which is so slow, that his hind legs always
get first to his journey's end.

       *       *       *       *       *


VOL. 1.


       *       *       *       *       *


Let me earnestly implore you, good Mr. PUNCH, to give publicity to a new
invention in the art of poetry, which I desire only to claim the merit of
having discovered. I am perfectly willing to permit others to improve upon
it, and to bring it to that perfection of which I am delightedly aware, it
is susceptible.

It is sometimes lamented that the taste for poetry is on the decline--that
it is no longer relished--that the public will never again purchase it as a
luxury. But it must be some consolation to our modern poets to know (as no
doubt they do, for it is by this time notorious) that their productions
really do a vast deal of service--that they are of a value for which they
were never designed. They--I mean many of them--have found their way into
the pharmacopoeia, and are constantly prescribed by physicians as
soporifics of rare potency. For instance--

  "---- not poppy, nor mandragora,
  Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world.
  Shall ever usher thee to that sweet sleep"

to which a man shall be conducted by a few doses of Robert Montgomery's
Devil's Elixir, called "Satan," or by a portion, or rather a potion, of
"Oxford." Apollo, we know, was the god of medicine as well as of poetry.
Behold, in this our bard, his two divine functions equally mingled!

But waiving this, of which it was not my intention to speak, let me remark,
that the reason why poetry will no longer go down with the public, _as
poetry_, is, that the whole frame-work is worn out. No new rhymes can be
got at. When we come to a "mountain," we are tolerably sure that a
"fountain" is not very far off; when we see "sadness," it leads at once to
"madness"--to "borrow" is sure to be followed by "sorrow;" and although it
is said, "_when_ poverty comes in at the door, love flies out of the
window,"--a saying which seems to imply that poverty _may_ sometimes enter
at the chimney or elsewhere--yet I assure you, in poetry, "the poor"
_always_ come in, and always go out at "the door."

My new invention has closed the "door," for the future, against the vulgar
crew of versifiers. A man _must_ be original. He must write common-sense
too--hard exactions I know, but it cannot be helped.

I transmit you a specimen. Like all great discoveries, the chief merit of
my invention is its simplicity. Lest, however, "the meanest capacity"
(which cannot, by the way, be supposed to be addicted to PUNCH) should
boggle at it, it may be as well to explain that every letter of the final
word of each alternate line must be pronounced as though Dilworth himself
presided at the perusal; and that the last letter (or letters) placed in
_italics_ will be found to constitute the rhyme. Here, then, we have


  On going forth last night, a friend to see,
  I met a man by trade a s-n-o-_b_;
  Reeling along the path he held his way.
  "Ho! ho!" quoth I, "he's d-r-u-n-_k_."
  Then thus to him--"Were it not better, far,
  You were a little s-o-b-e-_r_?
  'Twere happier for your family, I guess,
  Than playing off such rum r-i-g-_s_.
  Besides, all drunkards, when policemen see 'em,
  Are taken up at once by t-h-_e_-_m_."
  "Me drunk!" the cobbler cried, "the devil trouble you!
  You want to kick up a blest r-o-_w_.
  Now, may I never wish to work for Hoby,
  If drain I've had!" (the lying s-n-o-_b_!)
  "I've just return'd from a tee-total party,
  Twelve on us jamm'd in a spring c-a-_r_-_t_.
  The man as lectured, now, _was_ drunk; why, bless ye,
  He's sent home in a c-h-a-i-_s_-_e_.
  He'd taken so much lush into his belly,
  I'm blest if he could t-o-dd-_l_-_e_.
  A pair on 'em--hisself and his good lady;--
  The gin had got into her h-e-_a_-_d_.
  (My eye and Betty! what weak mortals _we_ are;
  They said they took but ginger b-e-_e_-_r_!)
  But as for me, I've stuck ('twas rather ropy)
  All day to weak imperial p-o-_p_.
  And now we've had this little bit o'sparrin',
  Just stand a q-u-a-r-t-e-_r_-_n_!"

       *       *       *       *       *

A man in New-York enjoys such very _excellent spirits_ that he has only to
drink water to intoxicate himself.

       *       *       *       *       *


            MR. GEORGE ROBINS.
    with unparalleled gratification, begs to state that he has it in
  to announce, that in consequence of
  to the citizens of London having satisfactorily convinced her
        that a change of ministry
  be productive of a corresponding transformation of measures, and that
  the late
  for the guerdon of office could only have emanated from a highly
  commendatory desire on the part of the disinterested and patriotic
            or their country,
  ever solicitous to enchain the hearts of her devoted subjects, by an
  impartial exercise of her prerogative, has determined to submit to the
  some of those desirable _places_, so long known as the _stimuli_ to the
  of the nineteenth century.

            LOT 1.
  at present in possession of Lord Melbourne. This will be found a most
  eligible investment, as it embraces a considerable extent of female
  patronage, comprising the appointments of those valuable legislative
  together with those household desiderata,
  and an unlimited

            LOT 2.
  at present occupied by Lord John Russell. This lot must possess
  considerable attraction for a gastronomical experimentalist, as its
  present proprietor has for a long time been engaged in the discovery
  of how few pinches of oatmeal and spoonsful of gruel are sufficient
  for a human pauper, and will be happy to transfer his data to the
  next fortunate proprietor. Any gentleman desirous of embarking in the
  manufacture of
  would find this a desirable investment, more particularly should he
  wish to form either
  as there are plans for the one, and hints for the other, which will
  be thrown into the bargain, being of no further use to the present
  noble incumbent.

            LOT 3.
  at present the property of Lord Normanby. Is admirably calculated for
  any one of a literary turn of mind, offering resources peculiarly
  adapted for a proper cultivation of the Jack Sheppard and James
  Hatfield "men-of-elegant-crimes" school of novel-writing--the
  archives of Newgate and Horsemonger-lane being open at all times to
  the inspection of the favoured purchaser.
        "YES" OR "NO"
  will determine the sale of this desirable lot in a few days.

            LOT 4.
  now in the occupancy of Lord Palmerston. Possesses advantages rarely
  to be met with. From its connexion with the continental powers, Eau
  de Cologne, bear's grease, and cosmetics of unrivalled excellence,
  can be procured at all times, thus insuring the favour of the divine

    "From the rich peasant-cheek of bronze,
       And large black eyes that flash on you a volley
     Of rays, that say a thousand things at once,
       To the high dama's brow more melancholy."

  The only requisite (besides money) for this desirable lot is, that
  the purchaser must write a bold round hand for
  understand French and Chinese, and be an

            LOT 5.
  admirably adapted for younger sons and poor relatives.

  The whole of the proceeds (by the advice of her Majesty's Cabinet
  Council) will be devoted to the erection of a

  Cards to view may be had at the Treasury any day after the meeting of

       *       *       *       *       *

"Very like a whale!" as the schoolmaster said when he examined the boy's
back after severely flogging him.

       *       *       *       *       *


All the world is familiar with the "Diary of a Physician," the "Diary of an
Ennuyée," the "Diary of a Lady of Rank," and Heaven knows how many other
diaries besides! but who has ever heard of, or saw, the "_Diary of a Lord
Mayor_,--that day-book, or blotter, as it may be commercially termed, of a
gigantic mind? Who has ever perused the autobiography of the Lama of
Guildhall, Cham of Cripplegate, Admiral of Fleet Ditch, Great Turtle-hunter
and Herod of Michaelmas geese? We will take upon ourselves to answer--not
one! It was reserved for PUNCH to give to his dear friends, the public, the
first and only extract which has ever been made from the genuine diary of a
_late_ Lord Mayor of London, or, as that august individual was wont, when
in Paris, to designate himself on his visiting tickets--

       "Mr. ----

How the precious MS. came into our possession matters little to the reader;
suffice it to say, it is a secret which must ever remain confined to the
bosoms of PUNCH and his cheesemonger.


_Nov. 10, eight o'clock._--Dreamed a horrid dream--thought that I was
stretched in Guildhall with the two giants sitting on my chest, and
drinking rum toddy out of firemen's buckets--fancied the Board of Aldermen
were transformed into skittle-pins, and the police force into bottles of
_Harvey's sauce_. Tried to squeak, but couldn't. Then I imagined that I was
changed into the devil, and that Alderman Harmer was St. Dunstan, tweaking
my nose with a pair of red-hot tongs. This time, I think, I _did_ shout
lustily. Awoke with the fright, and found my wife pulling my nose
vigorously, and calling me "My Lord!" Pulled off my nightcap, and began to
have an idea I was somebody, but could not tell exactly who. Suddenly my
eye rested upon the civic gown and chain, which lay upon a chair by my
bed-side:--the truth flashed upon my mind--I felt I was a _real_ Lord
Mayor. I remembered clearly that yesterday I had been sworn into office. I
had a perfect recollection of the glass-coach, and the sheriffs, and the
men in armour, and the band playing "Jim along Josey," as we passed the
Fleet Prison, and the glories of the city barge at Blackfriars-bridge, and
the enthusiastic delight with which the assembled multitude witnessed--


I could also call to mind the dinner--the turtle, venison, and turbot--and
the popping of the corks from the throats of the champagne bottles. I was
conscious, too, that I had made a speech; but, beyond this point, all the
events of the night were lost in chaotic confusion. One thing, however, was
certain--I was a _bonâ fide_ Lord Mayor--and being aware of the arduous
duties I had to perform, I resolved to enter upon them at once. Accordingly
I arose, and as some poet says--

  "Commenced sacrificing to the Graces,
  By putting on my breeches."

Sent for a barber, and authorised him to remove the superfluous hair from
my chin--at the same time made him aware of the high honour I had conferred
upon him by placing the head of the city under his razor--thought I
detected the fellow's tongue in his cheek, but couldn't be certain. _Mem._
Never employ the rascal again.

_9 o'clock._--Dressed in full fig--sword very troublesome--getting
continually between my legs. Sat down to breakfast--her ladyship
complimented me on my appearance--said I looked the _beau ideal_ of a
mayor--took a side glance at myself in the mirror--her ladyship was
perfectly right. Trotter the shoemaker announced--walked in with as much
freedom as he used to do into my shop in Coleman-street--smelt awfully of
"best calf" and "heavy sole"--shook me familiarly by the hand, and actually
called me "Bob." The indignation of the Mayor was roused, and I hinted to
him that I did not understand such liberties, upon which the fellow had the
insolence to laugh in my face--couldn't stand his audacity, so quitted the
room with strong marks of disgust.

_10 o'clock._--Heard that a vagabond was singing "Jim Crow" on
Tower-hill--proceeded with a large body of the civic authorities to arrest
him, but after an arduous chase of half-an-hour we unfortunately lost him
in Houndsditch. Suppressed two illegal apple-stalls in the Minories, and
took up a couple of young black-legs, whom I detected playing at
chuck-farthing on Saffron-hill. Issued a proclamation against mad dogs,
cautioning all well-disposed persons to avoid their society.

_12 o'clock._--Waited upon by the secretary of the New River Company with a
sample of the water they supply to the City--found that it was much
improved by compounding it with an equal portion of cognac--gave a
certificate accordingly. Lunched, and took a short nap in my cocked hat.

_1 o'clock._--Police-court. Disposed of several cases summarily--everybody
in court amazed at the extraordinary acuteness I displayed, and the
rapidity with which I gave my decisions--they did not know that I always
privately tossed up--heads, complainant wins, and tails, defendant--this is
the fairest way after all--no being humbugged by hard swearing or innocent
looks--no sifting of witnesses--no weighing of evidence--no
deliberating--no hesitating--the thing is done in an instant--and, if the
guilty should escape, why the fault lies with fortune, and not with

_3 o'clock._--Visited the Thames Tunnel--found Brunel a devilish _deep_
fellow--he explained to me the means by which he worked, and said he had
got nearly over all his difficulties--I suppose he meant to say he had
nearly got _under_ them--at all events the tunnel, when completed, will be
a vast convenience to the metropolis, particularly to the _lower_ classes.
From the Tunnel went to Billingsgate-market--confiscated a basket of
suspicious shrimps, and ordered them to be conveyed to the Mansion-house.
_Mem._ Have them for breakfast to-morrow. Return to dress for dinner,
having promised to take the chair at the Grand Annual Metropolitan
Anti-Hydro-without-gin-drinking Association.

       *       *       *       *       *

Here a hiatus occurs in the MS.; but from cotemporary authorities we are
enabled to state that his lordship was conveyed home at two o'clock on the
following morning, by some jolly companions.

  "Slowly and sadly they smoothed his bed,
    And they told his wife and daughter
  To give him, next day, a couple of red-
    Herrings and soda-water."

       *       *       *       *       *


  The gay _Daffodilly_, an amorous blade,
    Stole out of his bed in the dark,
  And calling his brother, _Jon-Quil_, forth he stray'd
  To breathe his love vows to a _Violet_ maid
    Who dwelt in a neighbouring park.

  A spiteful old _Nettle-aunt_ frown'd on their love;
    But _Daffy_, who laugh'd at her power,
  A _Shepherd's-purse_ slipp'd in the nurse's _Fox-glove_,
  Then up _Jacob's-ladder_ he crept to his love,
    And stole to the young _Virgin's-bower_.

  The _Maiden's-blush Rose_--and she seem'd all dismay'd,
    Array'd in her white _Lady's-smock_,
  She call'd _Mignonette_--but the sly little jade,
  That instant was hearing a sweet serenade
    From the lips of a tall _Hollyhock_.

  The _Pheasant's eye_, always a mischievous wight,
    For prying out something not good,
  Avow'd that he peep'd through the keyhole that night;
  And clearly discern'd, by a glow-worm's pale light,
    Their _Two-faces-under-a-hood_.

  Old Dowager _Peony_, deaf as a door,
    Who wish'd to know more of the facts,
  Invited Dame _Mustard_ and Miss _Hellebore_,
  With Miss _Periwinkle_, and many friends more,
    One evening to tea and to tracts.

  The _Butter-cups_ ranged, defamation ran high,
    While every tongue join'd the debate;
  Miss _Sensitive_ said, 'twixt a groan and a sigh,
  Though she felt much concern'd--yet she thought her dear _Vi_--
    Had grown rather bulbous of late.

  Thus the tale spread about through the busy parterre:
    Miss _Columbine_ turn'd up her nose,
  And the prude Lady _Lavender_ said, with a stare,
  That her friend, _Mary-gold_, had been heard to declare,
    The creature had toy'd with the _Rose_.

  Each _Sage_ look'd severe, and each _Cocks-comb_ look'd gay,
    When _Daffy_ to make their mind easy,
  Miss _Violet_ married one morning in May,
  And, as sure as you live, before next Lady-day,
    She brought him a _Michaelmas-daisy_.

       *       *       *       *       *


The Duke of Normandie accounts for the non-explosion of his
percussion-shells, by the fact of having incautiously used some of
M'Culloch's pamphlets on the corn laws. If this be the case, no person can
be surprised at their _not going off_.

       *       *       *       *       *


The anxiety of the Whigs to repeal the timber duties is quite pardonable,
for, with their _wooden heads_, they doubtlessly look upon it in the light
of a _poll-tax_.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: Head of a Botecudo previous to disfigurement.]

[Illustration: Head of a Butecudo disfigured by chin and ear pendants.]

[Illustration: Head of a Botecudo disfigured by civilisation.]


"If an European," says Sir Joshua Reynolds, in one of his Discourses, "when
he has cut off his beard, and put false hair on his head, or bound up his
own hair in formal, hard knots, as unlike nature as he can make it, and
after having rendered them immoveable by the help of the fat of hogs, has
covered the whole with flour, laid on by a machine with the utmost
regularity--if, when thus attired, he issues forth and meets a Cherokee
Indian who has bestowed as much time at his toilet, and laid with equal
care and attention his yellow and red ochre on such parts of his forehead
and cheeks as he judges most becoming, whichever of these two despises the
other for this attention to the fashion of his country, whichever first
feels himself provoked to laugh, is the barbarian."

Granting this, the popular advocates of civilisation certainly are not the
most civilised of individuals. They appear to consider yellow ochre and
peacocks' feathers the climax of barbarism--marabouts and kalydor the acme
of refinement. A ring through the nose calls forth their deepest pity--a
diamond drop to the ear commands their highest respect. To them, nothing
can show a more degraded state of nature than a New Zealand chief, with his
distinctive coat of arms emblazoned on the skin of his face; nor anything
of greater social elevation than an English peer, with the glittering label
of his "nobility" tacked to his breast. To a rational mind, the one is not
a whit more barbarous than the other; they being, as Sir Joshua observes,
the real barbarians who, like these _soi-disant_ civilisers, would look
upon their own monstrosities as the sole standard of excellence.

The philosophy of the present age, however, is peculiarly the philosophy of
outsides. Few dive deeper into the human breast than the bosom of the
shirt. Who could doubt the heart that beats beneath a cambric front? or who
imagine that hand accustomed to dirty work which is enveloped in white kid?
What Prometheus was to the physical, Stultz is to the moral man--the one
made human beings out of clay, the other cuts characters out of
broad-cloth. Gentility is, with us, a thing of the goose and shears; and
nobility an attribute--not of the mind, but (supreme civilisation!) of _a

Certain modern advocates appear to be devout believers in this external
philosophy. They are touchingly eloquent upon the savage state of those who
indulge in yellow ochre, but conveniently mute upon the condition of those
who prefer carmine. They are beautifully alive to the degradation of that
race of people which crushes the feet of its children, but wonderfully dead
to the barbarism of that race, nearer home, which performs a like operation
upon the ribs of its females. By them, also, we are told that "words would
manifestly fail in portraying _so low a state of morals as is pictured in
the lineaments of an Australian chief_,"--a stretch of the outside
philosophy which we certainly were not prepared to meet with; for little
did we dream that this noble science could ever have attained such
eminence, that men of intellect would be able to discover immorality in
particular noses, and crime in a certain conformation of the chin.

That an over-attention to the adornment of the person is a barbarism all
must allow; but that the pride which prompts the Esquimaux to stuff bits of
stone through a hole in his cheek, is a jot less refined than that which
urges the dowager-duchess to thrust coloured crystals through a hole in her
ear, certainly requires a peculiar kind of mental squint to perceive.
Surely there is as great a want of refinement among us, in this respect, as
among the natives of New Zealand. Why rush for subjects for civilisation to
the back woods of America, when thousands may be found, any fine afternoon,
in Regent-street? Why fly to Biddy Salamander and Bulkabra, when the Queen
of Beauty and Count D'Orsay have equally urgent claims on the attention and
sympathies of the civiliser?

On the subject of civilisation, two questions naturally present
themselves--the one, what _is_ civilisation?--the other, have we such a
superabundance of that commodity among us, that we should think about
exporting it? To the former question, the journal especially devoted to the
subject has, to the best of our belief, never condescended a reply;
although, like the celebrated argument on the colour of the chameleon, no
two persons, perhaps, have the same idea of it. In what then, does
civilisation consist, and how is it to be generally promoted? Does it, as
Sir E.L. B---- would doubtlessly assure us, does it lie in a strict
adherence to the last month's fashions; and is it to be propagated
throughout the world only by missionaries from Nugee's, and by the
universal dissemination of curling-tongs and Macassar--patent leather boots
and opera hats--white cambric pocket-handkerchiefs and lavender-water? Or,
does it consist, as the Countess of B---- would endeavour to convince us,
in abstaining from partaking twice of fish, and from eating peas with the
knife? and is it to be made common among mankind only by distributing
silver forks and finger-glasses to barbarians, and printing the Book of
Etiquette for gratuitous circulation among them? Or, is it, as the mild and
humane Judge P---- would prove to us, a necessary result of the Statutes at
Large; and can it be rendered universal only by sending out Jack Ketch as a
missionary--by the introduction of rope-walks in foreign parts, and the
erection of gallows all over the world? Or, is it, as the Archbishop of
Canterbury contests, to be achieved solely by the dissemination of bishops,
and by diffusing among the poor benighted negroes the blessings of sermons,
tithes, and church rates? Christianity, it has, on the other hand, been
asserted, is the only practical system of civilisation; but this is
manifestly the idea of a visionary. For ourselves, we must confess we
incline to the opposite opinion; and think either the bishops or Jack Ketch
(we hardly know which we prefer) by far the more rational means. Indeed,
when we consider the high state of civilisation which this country has
attained, and imagine for an instant the awful amount of distress which
would necessarily accrue from the general practice of Christianity among
us, even for a week, it is clear that the idea never could be entertained
by any moral or religious, mind. A week's Christianity in England! What
_would_ become of the lawyer, and parsons? It is too terrible to

       *       *       *       *       *


These are the continental-trip days. All the world will be now a-_tour_ing.
But every one is not a Dr. Bowring, and it is rather convenient to be able
to edge in a word now and then, when these rascally foreigners will chatter
in their own beastly jargon. Ignorant pigs, not to accustom themselves to
talk decent English! Il Signor Marchese Cantini, the learned and
illustrious author of "Hi, diddlo-diddlino! Il gutto e'l violino!", has
just rendered immense service to the trip-loving natives of these lovely
isles, by preparing a "Guide to Conversation," that for utility and
correctness of idiom surpasses all previous attempts of the same kind. With
it in one hand, and a bagful of Napoléons or Zecchini in the other, the
biggest dunce in London--nay, even a schoolmaster--may travel from Boulogne
to Naples and back, with the utmost satisfaction to himself, and with
substantial profit to the people of these barbarous climes. The following
is a specimen of the way in which Il Signor has accomplished his
undertaking. It will be seen at a glance how well he has united the
classical with the utilitarian principle, clothing both in the purest
dialect; ex. gr.:--


Does your mother know    Madame, votre maman,    La vostra signora
you're out?              sait-elle que vous      madre sa che siete
                         n'êtes pas chez vous?   uscito di casa?

It won't do, Mr.         Cela nese passera,      Questo non fara
Ferguson.                Monsieur Ferguson,      cosi, il Signore
                         jamais!                 Fergusoni!

Who are you?             Est-ce que vous aviez   Chi è vossignoria?
                         jamais un père?

All round my hat.        Tout autour mon         Tutto all' interno
                         chapeau.                del mio capello!

Go it, ye cripples!      C'est ça! Battez-vous   Bravo! bravo,
                         bien--boiteux;          stroppiati!
                         cr-r-r-r-matin!         Ancora-ancora!

Such a getting           Diantre! comme on       Come si ha salito--
up-stairs!               monte l'escalier!       è maraviglioso!

Jump, Jim Crow.          Sautez, Monsiuer        Salti, pergrazia,
                         Jaques Corbeau!         Signor Giamomo

It would not be fair to rob the Signor of any more of his labour. It will
be seen that, on the principle of the Painter and his Cow, we have
distinctly written above each sentence the language it belongs to. It is
always better to obviate the possibility of mistakes.

       *       *       *       *       *


  The horrors of an omnibus,
    Indeed, I've cause to curse;
  And if I ride in one again,
    I hope 'twill be my hearse.
  If you a journey have to go,
    And they make no delay,
  'Tis ten to one you're serv'd like _curds_,
    They _spill you on the_ WHEY.

  A short time since my wife and I
    A short call had to make,
  And giving me a _kiss_, she said--
    "A _buss_ you'd better take!"
  We journey'd on--two lively cads,
    Were for our custom triers;
  And in a twinkling we were fix'd
    Fast by this _pair of pliers_!

  My wife's arm I had lock'd in mine,
    But soon they forced her from it;
  And she was lugg'd into the _Sun_,
    And I into the _Comet_!
  Jamm'd to a jelly, there I sat,
    Each one against me pushing;
  And my poor gouty legs seem'd made
    For each one's _pins--a cushion_!

  My wife some time had gone before:
    I urged the jarvey's speed,
  When all at once the bus set off
    At fearful pace, indeed!
  I ask'd the coachee what caused this?
    When thus his story ran:--
  "Vy, _a man shied at an oss_, and so
    _An oss shied at a man_!"

  Oh, fearful crash! oh, fearful smash!
    At such a rate we run,
  That presently the _Comet_ came
    In contact with the _Sun_.
  At that sad time each body felt,
    As parting with its soul,
  We were, indeed, _a little whirl'd_,
    And shook from _pole to pole_!

       *       *       *       *       *

Dunn, the miller of Wimbledon, has recently given his infant the
_Christian_ name of Cardigan. If there is truth in the adage of "_give a
dog a bad name and hang him_," the poor child has little else in
perspective than the gallows.

       *       *       *       *       *



  Why, y-e-s--'twas rather late last night;
    In fact, past six this morning.
  My rascal valet, in a fright,
    Awoke, and gave me warning.
  But what of that?--I'm very young.
    And you've "been in the Oven," or,
  Like me, you're wrong'd by rumour's tongue,
    So--pray don't tell the Governor.[1]

  I dined a quarter after seven,
    With Dashall of the Lancers;
  Went to the opera at eleven,
    To see the ballet-dancers.
  From thence I saunter'd to the club--
    Fortune to me's a sloven--or,
  I surely must have won one rub,
    But--mind! don't tell the Governor!

  I went to Ascot t'other day,
    Drove Kitty in a tandem;
  Upset it 'gainst a brewer's dray--
    I'd dined, so drove at random.
  I betted high--an "outside" won--
    I'd swear its hoofs were cloven, or
  It ne'er the favourite horse had done,
    But--don't you tell the Governor.

  My cottage ornée down at Kew,
    So picturesque and pretty,
  Cost me of thousands not a few,
    To fit it up for Kitty.
  She said it charm'd her fancy quite,
    But (still I can't help loving her)
  She bolted with the plate one night--
    You needn't tell the Governor.

  My creditors are growing queer,
    Nay, threaten to be furious;
  I'll scan their paltry bills next year,
    At present I'm not curious.
  Such fellows are a monstrous bore,
    So I and Harry Grosvenor
  To-morrow start for Gallia's shore,
    And leave duns--to the Governor.

    [1] The author is aware there exists a legitimate rhyme for
        _Porringer_, but believes a match for governor lies still in
        the _terra incognita_ of allowable rhythm.

       *       *       *       *       *


Sir Hussey Vivian was relating to Sir Robert Peel the failure of the Duke
of Normandie's experiment with a terrible self-explosive box, which he had
buried in a mound at Woolwich, in the expectation that it would shortly
blow up, but which still remains there, to the great terror of the
neighbourhood, who are afraid to approach the spot where this destructive
engine is interred. Sir Robert, on hearing the circumstance, declared that
Lord John Russell had served him the same trick, by burying the corn-law
question under the Treasury bench. No one knew at what moment it might
explode, and blow them to ----. "The question," he added, "now is--who will
dig it out?"

       *       *       *       *       *


(_From_ OUR _West-end and "The Observer's" Correspondent._)

We have every reason to believe, unless a very respectable authority, on
whom we are in the habit of relying, has grievously imposed upon us, that a
very illustrious personage has consulted a certain exalted individual as to
whether a certain other person, no less exalted than the latter, but not so
illustrious as the former, shall be employed in a certain approaching
event, which at present is involved in the greatest uncertainty. Another
individual, who is more dignified than the third personage above alluded
to, but not nearly so illustrious as the first, and not half so exalted as
the second, has nothing whatever to do with the matter above hinted at, and
it is not at all probable that he will be ever in the smallest way mixed up
with it. For this purpose we have cautiously abstained from giving his
name, and indeed only allude to him that there may be no misapprehension on
this very delicate subject.

       *       *       *       *       *


The _Times_ gives a horrible description of some mesmeric experiments by a
M. Delafontaine, by which a boy was deprived of _all sensation_. We suspect
that some one has been operating upon the Poor Law Commissioners, for their
_total want of feeling_ is a mesmeric phenomenon.

       *       *       *       *       *


  That Bulwer's from fair Lincoln bann'd,
    Doth threaten evil days;
  For, having much waste time on hand,
    Alas! he'll scribble plays.

       *       *       *       *       *


"This is the House that Jack (Bull) built."

  Once there lived, as old histories learnedly show, a
  Great sailor and shipbuilder, named MISTER NOAH,
  Who a hulk put together, so wondrous--no doubt of it--
  That all sorts of creatures could creep in and out of it.
  Things with heads, and without heads, things dumb, things loquacious,
  Things with tails, and things tail-less, things tame, and things pugnacious;
  Rats, lions, curs, geese, pigeons, toadies and donkeys,
  Bears, dormice, and snakes, tigers, jackals, and monkeys:
  In short, a collection so curious, that no man
  E'er since could with NOAH compare as a show-man
  At length, JOHNNY BULL, with that clever fat head of his,
  Design'd a much stranger and comical edifice,
  To be call'd his "NEW HOUSE"--a queer sort of menagerie
  To hold all his beasts--with an eye to the Treasury.
  Into this he has cramm'd such uncommon monstrosities,
  Such animals rare, such unique curiosities,
  That we wager a CROWN--not to speak it uncivil--
  This HOUSE of BULL'S beats Noah's Ark to the devil.
  Lest you think that we bounce--the great fault, we confess, of men--
  We proceed to detail some few things, as a specimen
  Of what are to be found in this novel museum;
  As it opens next month, you may all go and see 'em.
  Five _Woods_, of five shades, grain, and polish, and gilding,
  Are used this diversified chamber in building.
  Not a nail, bolt, or screw, you'll discover to lurk in it,
  Though six _Smiths_ you will find every evening at work in it.
  A _Forman_ and _Master_ you'll see there appended too,
  Whose words or instructions are never attended to.
  A _Leader_, whom nobody follows; a pair o' _Knights_,
  With courage at ninety degrees of old Fahrenheit's;
  Full a hundred "Jim Crows," wheeling round about--round about,
  Yet only one _Turner_'s this House to be found about.
  Of hogs-heads, Lord knows, there are plenty to spare of them,
  But only one _Cooper_ is kept to take care of them.
  A _Ryder's_ maintain'd, but he's no horse to get upon;
  There's a _Packe_ too, and only one _Pusey_ to set upon.
  Two _Palmers_ are kept, holy men, in this ill, grim age,
  To make every night their Conservative pilgrimage.
  A _Fuller_, for scouring old coats and redressing them;
  A _Taylor_ to fashion; and _Mangles_ for pressing them.
  Two _Stewarts_, two _Fellowes_, a _Clerk_, and a _Baillie_,
  To keep order, yet each call'd to order are, daily.
  A _Duke_, without dukedom--a matter uncommon--
  And _Bowes_, the delight, the enchantment of woman.
  This house has a _Tennent_, but ask for the rent of it,
  He'd laugh at, and send you to Brussels or Ghent for it.
  Of the animals properly call'd so, a sample
  We'll give to you gentlefolks now, for example:--
  There are _bores_ beyond count, of all ages and sizes,
  Yet only one _Hogg_, who both learned and wise is.
  There's a _Buck_ and a _Roebuck_, the latter a wicked one,
  Whom few like to play with--he makes such a kick at one.
  There are _Hawkes_ and a _Heron_, with wings trimm'd to fly upon,
  And claws to stick into what prey they set eye upon.
  There's a _Fox_, a smart cove, but, poor fellow, no tail he has;
  And a _Bruen_--good tusks for a feed we'll be bail he has.
  There's a _Seale_, and four _Martens_, with skins to our wishes;
  There's a _Rae_ and two _Roches_, and all sorts of fishes;
  There's no sheep, but a _Sheppard_--"the last of the pigtails"--
  And a _Ramsbottom_--chip of the old famous big tails.
  Now to mention in brief a few trifles extraneous,
  By connoisseurs class'd, "odds and ends miscellaneous:"--
  There's a couple of _Bells_--frights--nay, Hottentots real!
  A _Trollope_, of elegance _le beau ideal_.
  Of _Browne_, _Green_, and _Scarlett_ men, surely a sack or more,
  Besides three whole _White_ men, preserved with a _Blakemore_.
  There's a _Hill_, and a _Hutt_, and a _Kirk_, and--astounding!
  The entire of old _Holland_ this house to be found in.
  There's a _Flower_, with a perfume so strong 'twould upset ye all;
  And the beauty of _Somers_ is here found perpetual.
  There's a _Bodkin_, a _Patten_, a _Rose_, and a _Currie_,
  And a man that's still _Hastie_, though ne'er in a hurry.
  There is _Cole_ without smoke, a "sou'-_West_" without danger;
  And a _Grey_, that to place is at present a stranger.
  There's a _Peel_,--but enough! if you're a virtuoso
  You'll see for yourself, and next month you may do so;
  When, if you don't say this _New House_ is a wonder,
  We're Dutchmen--that's all!--and at once knuckle under.

       *       *       *       *       *


  The Tories at Waterford carried the day,
    And the reign of the Rads is for ever now past;
  For one who was _Wyse_ he got out of the way,
    And the hopes of the other proved _Barron_ at last.

       *       *       *       *       *


We are sorry to perceive that trade was never in a more alarming state than
at present. A general _strike_ for wages has taken place amongst the
smiths. The carpenters have been dreadfully _cut up_; and the shoemakers
find, at the _last_, that it is impossible to make both _ends_ meet. The
bakers complain that the pressure of the times is so great, that they
cannot get the bread to _rise_. The bricklayers swear that the monopolists
ought to be brought to the _scaffold_. The glaziers, having taken some
_pains_ to discover the cause of the distress, declare that they can _see
through_ the whole affair. The gardeners wish to get at the _root_ of the
evil, and consequently have become _radical_ reformers. The laundresses
have _washed_ their hands clean of the business. The dyers protest that
things never looked so _blue_ in their memory, as there is but a slow
demand for

[Illustration: FAST COLOURS.]

The butchers are reduced to their last _stake_. The weavers say their lives
hang by a single _thread_. The booksellers protest we must _turn over a new
leaf_. The ironmongers declare that the times are very _hard_ indeed. The
cabmen say business is completely at a _stand_. The watermen are all
_aground_. The tailors object to the government _measures_;--and the
undertakers think that affairs are assuming a _grave_ aspect. Public
credit, too, is tottering;--nobody will take doctors' _draughts_, and it is
difficult to obtain cash for the best bills (of the play). An extensive
brandy-ball merchant in the neighbourhood of Oxford-street has called a
meeting of his creditors; and serious apprehensions are entertained that a
large manufacturer of lollypops in the Haymarket will be unable to meet his
heavy liabilities. Two watchmakers in the city have stopped this morning,
and what is more extraordinary, their watches have "_stopped_" too.

       *       *       *       *       *


The figure, stuffed with shavings, of a French grenadier, constructed by
the Duke of Normandie, and exhibited by him recently at Woolwich, which he
stated would explode if fired at by bullets of his own construction,
possitively objected to being blown up in such a ridiculous manner; and
though several balls were discharged at the man of shavings, he showed no
disposition to move. The Duke waxed exceedingly wroth at the coolness of
his soldier, and swore, if he had been a true Frenchman, he would have
_gone off_ at the first fire.

       *       *       *       *       *


"What's the difference between the top of a mountain and a person afflicted
with any disorder?"--"One's a _summit of a hill_, and the other's _ill of a

       *       *       *       *       *


[Greek: To bakchikhon doraema labe, se gar philo.].--EURIPIDES.


"Accept this gift of To-_Baccha_--cigar fellow."

       *       *       *       *       *


Though the dog-days have not yet commenced, _muzzlin_ is very general, and
a new sort of _shally_, called _shilly-shally_, is getting remarkably
prevalent. _Shots_ are still considered the greatest hits, for those who
are anxious to make a good impression; flounces are _out_ in the morning,
and _tucks in_ at dinner-parties, the latter being excessively full, and
much sought after. At _conversaziones_, puffs are very usual, and sleeves
are not so tight as before, to allow of their being laughed in; jewels are
not now to be met with in the head, which is left _au naturel_--that is to
say, as vacant as possible.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Why is the _Gazette_ like a Frenchman's letter?"--"Because it is full of
_broken English_."

       *       *       *       *       *


In the strangers' gallery in the American house of representatives, the
following notice is posted up:--"Gentlemen will be pleased not to place
their feet on the boards in front of the gallery, _as the dirt from them
falls down on the senators' heads_." In our English House of Commons, this
pleasant _penchant_ for dirt-throwing is practised by the members instead
of the strangers. It is quite amusing to see with what energy O'Connell and
Lord Stanley are wont to bespatter and heap dirt on each other's heads in
their legislative squabbles!

       *       *       *       *       *


Sir Peter Laurie has made a sad complaint to the Lord Mayor, of the
slippery state of the wooden pavement in the Poultry, and strongly
recommended the immediate removal of the _blocks_. This is most barbarous
conduct on the part of Sir Peter. Has he lost all natural affection for his
kindred, that he should seek to injure them in public estimation? Has he no
secret sympathy for the poor blocks whom he has traduced? Let him lay his
hand upon his _head_ and confess that--

  "A fellow feeling; makes us wondrous kind."

       *       *       *       *       *



PUNCH.--Well, Sir Robert, have you yet picked your men? Come, no mystery
between friends. Besides, consider your obligations to your old crony,
Punch. Do you forget how I stood by you on the Catholic question? Come,
name, name! Who are to pluck the golden pippins--who are to smack lips at
the golden fish--who are to chew the fine manchet loaves of Downing-street?

PEEL.--The truth is, my dear Punch--

PUNCH.--Stop. You may put on that demure look, expand your right-hand
fingers across the region where the courtesy of anatomy awards to
politicians a heart, and talk about truth as a certain old lady with a
paper lanthorn before her door may talk of chastity--you may do all this on
the hustings; but this is not Tamworth: besides, you are now elected; so
take one of these cigars--they were smuggled for me by my revered friend
Colonel Sibthorp--fill your glass, and out with the list.

PEEL.--(_Rises and goes to the door, which he double locks; returns to his
seat, and takes from his waistcoat pocket a small piece of ass's skin._) I
have jotted down a few names.

PUNCH.--And, I see, on very proper material. Read, Robert, read.

PEEL.--(_In a mild voice and with a slight blush._)--"First Lord of the
Treasury, and Chancellor of the Exchequer, Sir Robert Peel!"

PUNCH.--Of course. Well?

PEEL.--"First Lord of the Admiralty--Duke of Buckingham."

PUNCH.--An excellent man for the Admiralty. He has been at sea in politics
all his life.

PEEL.--"Secretary for Foreign Affairs--Earl of Aberdeen."

PUNCH.--An admirable person for Foreign Affairs, especially if he
transacted 'em in Sierra Leone. Proceed.

PEEL.--"Lord Lieutenant of Ireland--Lord Wharncliffe."

PUNCH.--Nothing could be better. Wharncliffe in Ireland! You might as well
appoint a red-hot poker to guard a powder magazine. Go on.

PEEL.--"Secretary for Home Department--Goulburn."

PUNCH.--A most domestic gentleman; will take care of home, I am sure. Go

PEEL.--"Lord Chancellor--Sir William Follett."

PUNCH.--A capital appointment: Sir William loves the law as a spider loves
his spinning; and for the same reason Chancery cobwebs will be at a

PEEL.--"Secretary for the Colonies--Lord Stanley."

PUNCH.--Would make a better Governor of Macquarrie Harbour; but go on.

PEEL.--"President of the Council--Duke of Wellington."

PUNCH.--Think twice there.--The Duke will be a great check upon you. The
Duke is now a little too old a mouser to enjoy Tory tricks. He has
unfortunately a large amount of common sense; and how fatal must that
quality be to the genius of the Wharncliffes, the Goulburns, and the
Stanleys! Besides, the Duke has another grievous weakness--he won't lie.

PEEL.--"Secretary for Ireland--Sir H. Hardinge."

PUNCH.--Come, that will do. Wharncliffe, the flaming torch of Toryism, and
Hardinge the small lucifer. How Ireland will be enlightened, and how
oranges will go up!

PEEL.--"Lord Chamberlain--Duke of Beaufort."

PUNCH.--Capital! The very politician for a Court carpet. Besides, he knows
the etiquette of every green-room from the Pavilion to the Haymarket. He
is, moreover, a member of the Garrick Club; and what, if possible, speaks
more for his State abilities--he used to drive the Brighton coach!

PEEL.--"Ambassador at Paris--Lord Lyndhurst."

PUNCH.--That's something like. How the graces of the Palais Royal will
rejoice! There is a peculiar fitness in this appointment; for is not his
Lordship son-in-law to old Goldsmid, whilom editor of the _Anti-Galliean_,
and for many years an honoured and withal notorious resident of Paris! Of
course BEN D'ISRAELI, his Lordship's friend, will get a slice of
secretaryship--may be allowed to nib a state quill, if he must not use one.
Well, go on.

PEEL.--That's all at present. How d'ye think they read?

PUNCH.--Very glibly--like the summary of a Newgate Calendar. But the truth
is, I think we want a little new blood in the next Cabinet.

PEEL.--New blood! Explain, dear Punch.

PUNCH.--Why, most of your people are, unfortunately, tried men. Hence, the
people, knowing them as well as they know the contents of their own
breeches' pockets, may not be gulled so long as if governed by those whose
tricks--I mean, whose capabilities--have not been so strongly marked. With
new men we have always the benefit of hope; and with hope much swindling
may be perpetrated.

PEEL.--But my Cabinet contains known men.

PUNCH.--That's it; knowing _them_, hope is out of the question. Now, with
Ministers less notorious, the Cabinet farce might last a little longer. I
have put down a few names; here they are on a blank leaf of _Jack

PEEL.--A presentation copy, I perceive.

PUNCH.---Why, it isn't generally known; but all the morality, the wit, and
the pathos, of that work I wrote myself.

PEEL.--And I must say they're quite worthy of you.

PUNCH.--I know it; but read--read Punch's Cabinet.

PEEL (_reads_).--"First Lord of the Treasury, and Chancellor of the
Exchequer--the _Wizard of the North_."

PUNCH.--And, wizard as he is, he'll have his work to do. He, however,
promises that every four-pound loaf shall henceforth go as far as eight, so
that no alteration of the Corn Laws shall be necessary. He furthermore
promises to plant Blackheath and Government waste grounds with sugar-cane,
and to raise the penny post stamp to fourpence, in so delicate a manner
that nobody shall feel the extra expense. As for the opposition, what will
a man care for even the speeches of a Sibthorp--who can catch any number of
bullets, any weight of lead, in his teeth? Go on.

PEEL.--"First Lord of the Admiralty--_T.P. Cooke_."

PUNCH.--Is he not the very man? Who knows more about the true interests of
the navy? Who has beaten so many Frenchmen? Then think of his hornpipe--the
very shuffling for a minister.

PEEL.--"Secretary for Foreign Affairs--_Gold dust Solomons_."

PUNCH.--Show me a better man. Consider the many dear relations he has
abroad; and then his admirable knowledge of the rates of exchange? Think of
his crucible. Why, he'd melt down all the crowns of Europe into a coffee
service for our gracious Queen, and turn the Pope's tiara into coral bells
for the little Princess! And I ask you if such feats ain't the practical
philosophy of all foreign policy? Go on.

PEEL.--"Lord Lieutenant of Ireland--_Henry Moreton Dyer_."

PUNCH.--An admirable person. As Ireland is the hotbed of all crimes, do we
not want a Lord Lieutenant who shall be able to assess the true value of
every indiscretion, from simple murder to compound larceny? As every
Irishman may in a few months be in prison, I want a Lord Lieutenant who
shall be emphatically the prisoner's friend. Go on.

PEEL.--"Secretary for Home Department--_George Robins_."

PUNCH.--A man so intimately connected with the domestic affairs of the
influential classes of the country. Go on.

PEEL.--"Lord Chancellor--_Mr. Dunn, barrister_."

PUNCH.--As it appears to me, the best protector of rich heiresses and
orphans. Go on.

PEEL.--"Secretary for the Colonies--_Money Moses_."

PUNCH.--A man, you will allow, with a great stake, in fact, with all he
has, in one of our colonial possessions. Go on.

PEEL.--"President of the Council--_Mrs. Fry_."

PUNCH.--A lady whose individual respectability may give a convenient cloak
to any policy. Go on.

PEEL.--"Secretary for Ireland--_Henry Moreton Dyer's footman_."

PUNCH.--On the venerable adage of "like master like man." Go on.

PEEL.--"Lord Chamberlain--_The boy Jones_."

PUNCH.--As one best knowing all the intricacies, from the Royal bed-chamber
to the scullery, of Buckingham Palace. Besides he will drive a donkey-cart.
Go on.

PEEL.--"Ambassador at Paris--_Alfred Bunn, or any other translator of
French Operas_."

PUNCH.--A person who will have a continual sense of the necessities of his
country at home; and therefore, by his position, be enabled to send us the
earliest copies of M. Scribe's printed dramas; or, in cases of exigency,
the manuscripts themselves. And now, Bobby, what think you of Punch's

PEEL.--Why, really, I did not think the country contained so much state

PUNCH.--That's the narrowness of your philosophy; if you were to look with
an enlarged, a thinking mind, you'd soon perceive that the distance was not
so great from St. James's to St. Giles's--from the House of Commons to the
House of Correction. Well, do you accept my list?

PEEL.--Excuse me, my dear Punch, I must first try my own; when if that

PUNCH.--You'll try mine? That's a bargain.

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: THE EVENING PARTY.



       *       *       *       *       *


In compliance with my usual practice, I send you this letter, containing a
trifling biographical sketch, and an offer of my literary services. I don't
suppose you will accept them, treating me as for forty-three years past all
the journals of this empire have done; for I have offered my contributions
to them all--all. It was in the year 1798, that escaping from a French
prison (that of Toulon, where I had been condemned to the hulks for
forgery)--I say, from a French prison, but to find myself incarcerated in
an English dungeon (fraudulent bankruptcy, implicated in swindling
transactions, falsification of accounts, and contempt of court), I began to
amuse my hours of imprisonment by literary composition.

I sent in that year my "Apology for the Corsican," relative to die murder
of Captain Wright, to the late Mr. Perry, of the _Morning Chronicle_,
preparing an answer to the same in the _Times_ journal; but as the apology
was not accepted (though the argument of it was quite clear, and much to my
credit), so neither was the answer received--a sublime piece, Mr. PUNCH, an
unanswerable answer.

In the year 1799, I made an attempt on the journal of the late Reverend Mr.
Thomas Hill, then fast sinking in years; but he had ill-treated my father,
pursuing him before Mr. Justice Fielding for robbing him of a snuff-box, in
the year 1740; and he continued his resentment towards my father's
unoffending son. I was cruelly rebuffed by Mr. Hill, as indeed I have been
by every other newspaper proprietor.

No; there is not a single periodical print which has appeared for
forty-three years since, to which I did not make some application. I have
by me essays and fugitive pieces in fourteen trunks, seven carpet bags of
trifles in verse, and a portmanteau with best part of an epic poem, which
it does not become me to praise. I have no less than four hundred and
ninety-five acts of dramatic composition, which have been rejected even by
the Syncretic Association.

Such is the set that for forty-three years has been made against a man of
genius by an envious literary world! Are you going to follow in its wake?
Ha, ha, ha! no less than seven thousand three hundred times (the exact
number of my applications) have I asked that question. Think well before
you reject me, Mr. PUNCH--think well, and at least listen to what I have to

It is this: I am not wishing any longer to come forward with tragedies,
epics, essays, or original compositions. I am old now--morose in temper,
troubled with poverty, jaundice, imprisonment, and habitual indigestion. I
hate everybody, and, with the exception of gin-and-water, everything. I
know every language, both in the known and unknown worlds; I am profoundly
ignorant of history, or indeed of any other useful science, but have a
smattering of all. I am excellently qualified to judge and lash the vices
of the age, having experienced, I may almost say, every one of them in my
own person. The immortal and immoral Goethe, that celebrated sage of
Germany, has made exactly the same confession.

I have a few and curious collection of Latin and Greek quotations.

And what is the result I draw from this? This simple one--that, of all men
living, I am the most qualified to be a CRITIC, and hereby offer myself to
your notice in that capacity.

Recollect, I am always at Home--Fleet Prison, Letter L, fourth staircase,
paupers'-ward--for a guinea, and a bottle of Hodges' Cordial, I will do
anything. I will, for that sum, cheerfully abuse my own father or mother. I
can smash Shakspeare; I can prove Milton to be a driveller, or the
contrary: but, for preference, take, as I have said, the abusive line.

Send me over then, Mr. P., any person's works whose sacrifice you may
require. I will cut him up, sir; I will flay him--flagellate him--finish
him! You had better not send me (unless you have a private grudge against
the authors, when I am of course at your service)--you had better not send
me any works of real merit; for I am infallibly prepared to show that there
is not any merit in them. I have not been one of the great unread for
forty-three years, without turning my misfortunes to some account. Sir, I
know how to make use of my adversity. I have been accused, and rightfully
too, of swindling, forgery, and slander. I have been many times kicked down
stairs. I am totally deficient in personal courage; but, though I can't
fight, I can rail, ay, and well. Send me somebody's works, and you'll see
how I will treat them.

Will you have personal scandal? I am your man. I will swear away the
character, not only of an author, but of his whole family--the female
members of it especially. Do you suppose I care for being beaten? Bah! I no
more care for a flogging than a boy does at Eton: and only let the flogger
beware--I will be a match for him, I warrant you. The man who beats me is a
coward; for he knows I won't resist. Let the dastard strike me then, or
leave me, as he likes; but, for a choice, I prefer abusing women, who have
no brothers or guardians; for, regarding a thrashing with indifference, I
am not such a ninny as to prefer it. And here you have an accurate account
of my habits, history, and disposition.

Farewell, sir; if I can be useful to you, command me. If you insert this
letter, you will, of course, pay for it, upon my order to that effect. I
say this, lest an unprincipled wife and children should apply to you for
money. They are in a state of starvation, and will scruple at no dastardly
stratagem to procure money. I spent every shilling of Mrs. Jenkinson's
property forty-five years ago.

I am, sir, your humble servant,


Son of the late Ephraim Jenkinson, well known to Dr. O. Goldsmith; the
Rev. ---- Primrose, D.D., Vicar of Wakefield; Doctor Johnson, of
Dictionary celebrity; and other literary gentlemen of the last century.

    [We gratefully accept the offer of Mr. Diogenes Jenkinson, whose
    qualifications render him admirably adapted to fill a situation
    which Mr. John Ketch has most unhandsomely resigned, doubtlessly
    stimulated thereto by the probable accession to power of his old
    friends the Tories. We like a man who dares to own himself--a

       *       *       *       *       *


His Royal Highness Prince Albert, who has occasionally displayed a
knowledge and much liking for the Fine Arts, some time since expressed an
intimation to display his ability in sketching landscape from nature. The
Royal Academicians immediately assembled _en masse_; and as they wisely
imagined that it would be impolitic in them to let an opportunity slip of
not being the very foremost in the direction of matters connected with
royalty and their profession, offered, or rather thrust forward, their
services to arrange the landscape according to the established rules of art
laid down by this self-elected body of the professors of the beauties of
nature. St. James's-park, within the enclosure, having been hinted as the
nearest and most suitable spot for the royal essay, the Academicians were
in active service at an early hour of the appointed day: some busied
themselves in making foreground objects, by pulling down trees and heaping
stones together from the neighbouring macadamized stores; others were most
fancifully spotting the trees with whitewash and other mixtures, in
imitation of moss and lichens. The classical Howard was awfully industrious
in grouping some swans, together with several kind-hearted ladies from the
adjoining purlieus of Tothill-street, who had been most willingly secured
as models for water-nymphs. The most rabidly-engaged gentleman was Turner,
who, despite the remonstrances of his colleagues upon the expense attendant
upon his whimsical notions, would persist in making the grass more natural
by emptying large buckets of treacle and mustard about the ground. Another
old gentleman, whose name we cannot at this moment call to recollection,
spent the whole of his time in placing "a little man a-fishing," that
having been for many years his fixed belief as the only illustration of the
pastoral and picturesque. In the meantime, to their utter disappointment,
however, his Royal Highness quietly strolled with his sketch-book into
another quarter.

       *       *       *       *       *


Mr. Briefless begs to inform the public and his friends in general, that he
has opened chambers in Pump-court.--N.B. Please to go down the area steps.

In consequence of the general pressure for money, Mr. Briefless has
determined to do business at the following very reduced scale of prices;
and flatters himself, that having been very long a member of a celebrated
debating society, he will be found to possess the qualities so essential to
a legal advocate.

  Motions of cause, 6s. 6d.--Usual charge, 10s. 5d.
  Undefended actions, (from) 15s.--Usually (from) 2l. 2s.
  Actions for breach of promise (from) 1l. 1s.--Usually (from) 5l. 5s. to 500l.
  Ditto, with appeals to the feelings, (from) 3l. 3s.
  Ditto, ditto, very superior, 5l. 5s.
  Ditto, with tirades against the law (a highly approved mixture), 3l. 3s.

N.B. To the three last items there is an addition of five shillings for a
reply, should one be rendered requisite. Mr. Briefless begs to call
attention to the fact, that feeling the injustice that is done to the
public by the system of refreshers, he will in all cases, where he is
retained, take out his refreshers in brandy, rum, gin, ale, or porter.

Injured innocence carefully defended. Oppression and injustice punctually
persecuted. A liberal allowance to attorneys and solicitors.

A few old briefs wanted as dummies. Any one having a second-hand coachman's
wig to dispose of may hear of a purchaser.

       *       *       *       *       *



  "Ah! sure a _pair_ was never seen,
  More justly form'd--"


[Illustration: J]Jack, said my uncle Ned to me one evening, as we sat
facing each other, on either side of the old oak table, over which, for the
last thirty years, my worthy kinsman's best stories had been told, "Jack,"
said he, "do you remember the pair of yellow-topped boots that hung upon
the peg in the hall, before you went to college?"

"Certainly, uncle; they were called by every one, 'The Wife Catchers.'"

"Well, Jack, many a title has been given more undeservedly--many a rich
heiress they were the means of bringing into our family. But they are no
more, Jack. I lost the venerated relics just one week after your poor dear
aunt departed this life."

My uncle drew out his bandanna handkerchief and applied it to his eyes; but
I cannot be positive to which of the family relics this tribute of
affectionate recollection was paid.

"Peace be with their _soles_!" said I, solemnly. "By what fatal chance did
our old friends slip off the peg?"

"Alas!" replied my uncle, "it was a melancholy accident; and as I perceive
you take an interest in their fate, I will relate it to you. But first fill
your glass, Jack; you need not be afraid of this stuff; it never saw the
face of a gauger. Come, no skylights; 'tis as mild as new milk; there's not
a head-ache in a hogshead of it."

To encourage me by his example, my uncle grasped the huge black case-bottle
which stood before him, and began to manufacture a tumbler of punch
according to Father Tom's popular receipt.

Whilst he is engaged in this pleasing task, I will give my readers a
pen-and-ink sketch of my respected relative. Fancy a man declining from his
fiftieth year, but fresh, vigorous, and with a greenness in his age that
might put to the blush some of our modern hotbed-reared youths, with the
best of whom he could cross a country on the back of his favourite hunter,
_Cruiskeen_, and when the day's sport was over, could put a score of them
under the aforementioned oak table--which, by the way, was frequently the
only one of the company that kept its legs upon these occasions of
Hibernian hospitality. I think I behold him now, with his open, benevolent
brow, thinly covered with grey hair, his full blue eye and florid cheek,
which glowed like the sunny side of a golden-pippin that the winter's frost
had ripened without shrivelling. But as he has finished the admixture of
his punch, I will leave him to speak for himself.

"You know, Jack," said he, after gulping down nearly half the newly-mixed
tumbler, by way of sample, "you know that our family can lay no claim to
antiquity; in fact, our pedigree ascends no higher, according to the most
authentic records, than Shawn Duffy, my grandfather, who rented a small
patch of ground on the sea-coast, which was such a barren, unprofitable
spot, that it was then, and is to this day, called 'The Devil's Half-acre.'
And well it merited the name, for if poor Shawn was to break his heart at
it, he never could get a better crop than thistles or ragweed off it. But
though the curse of sterility seemed to have fallen on the land, Fortune,
in order to recompense Shawn for Nature's niggardliness, made the caverns
and creeks of that portion of the coast which bounded his farm towards the
sea the favourite resort of smugglers. Shawn, in the true spirit of
Christian benevolence, was reputed to have favoured those enterprising
traders in their industry, by assisting to convey their cargoes into the
interior of the country. It was on one of those expeditions, about five
o'clock on a summer's morning, that a gauger unluckily met my grandfather
carrying a bale of tobacco on his back."

Here my uncle paused in his recital, and leaning across the table till his
mouth was close to my ear, said, in a confidential whisper--

"Jack, do _you_ consider killing a gauger--murder?"

"Undoubtedly, sir."

"You do?" he replied, nodding his head significantly. "Then heaven forgive
my poor grandfather. However, it can't be helped now. The gauger was found
dead, with an ugly fracture in his skull, the next day; and, what was
rather remarkable, Shawn Duffy began to thrive in the world from that time
forward. He was soon able to take an extensive farm, and, in a little time,
began to increase in wealth and importance. But it is not so easy as some
people imagine to shake off the remembrance of what we have been, and it is
still more difficult to make our friends oblivious on that point,
particularly if we have ascended in the scale of respectability. Thus it
was, that in spite of my grandfather's weighty purse, he could not succeed
in prefixing _Mister_ to his name; find he continued for a long time to be
known as plain 'Shawn Duffy, of the Devil's Half-acre.' It was undoubtedly
a most diabolic address; but Shawn was a man of considerable strength of
mind, as well as of muscle, and he resolved to become a _juntleman_,
despite this damning reminiscence. Vulgarity, it is said, sticks to a man
like a limpet to a rock. Shawn knew the best way to rub it off would be by
mixing with good society. Dress, he always understood, was the best
passport he could bring for admission within the pale of gentility;
accordingly, he boldly attempted to pass the boundary of plebeianism, by
appearing one fine morning at the fair of Ballybreesthawn in a flaming red
waistcoat, an elegant _oarline_[2] hat, a pair of buckskin breeches, and a
new pair of yellow-topped boots, which, with the assistance of large plated
spurs, and a heavy silver-mounted whip, took the shine out of the smartest
squireens at the fair.

    [2] A beaver hat.

"Fortunately for the success of my grandfather's invasion of the
aristocratic rights, it occurred on the eve of a general election, and as
he had the command of six or eight votes in the county, his interest was a
matter of some importance to the candidates. Be that as it may, it was with
feelings little short of absolute dismay, that the respectable inhabitants
of the extensive village of Ballybreesthawn beheld the metamorphosed tenant
of 'The Devil's Half-acre,' walking arm-in-arm down the street with Sir
Denis Daly, the popular candidate. At all events, this public and familiar
promenade had the effect of establishing _Mister_ John Duffy's dubious
gentility. He was invited to dine the same day by the attorney; and on the
following night the apothecary proposed his admission as a member of the
Ballybreesthawn Liberal reading-room. It was even whispered that Bill
Costigan, who went twice a-year to Dublin for goods, was trying to strike
up a match between Shawn, who was a hale widower, and his aunt, an ancient
spinster, who was set down by report as a fortune of seven hundred pounds.
Negotiations were actually set on foot, and several preliminary bottles of
potteen had been drunk by the parties concerned, when, unfortunately, in
the high road to happiness, my poor grandfather caught a fever, and popped
off, to the inexpressible grief of the expectant bride, who declared her
intention of dying in the virgin state; to which resolution, there being no
dissentient voice, it was carried _nem. con._

"Thus died the illustrious founder of our family; but happy was it for
posterity that the yellow-topped boots did not die along with him; these,
with the red waistcoat, the leather breeches, and plated spurs, remained to
raise the fortunes of our house to a higher station. The waistcoat has been
long since numbered with the waistcoats before the flood; the buckskins,
made of 'sterner stuff,' stood the wear and tear of the world for a length
of time, but at last were put out of commission; while the boots, more
fortunate or tougher than their leathern companions, endured more than
forty years of actual service through all the ramifications of our
extensive family. In this time they had suffered many dilapidations; but by
the care and ingenuity of the family cobbler, they were always kept in
tolerable order, and performed their duty with great credit to themselves,
until an unlucky accident deprived me of my old and valued friends."

       *       *       *       *       *


That knowing jockey Sir Robert Peel has stated that the old charger, John
Bull, is, from over-feeding, growing restive and unmanageable--kicking up
his heels, and playing sundry tricks extremely unbecoming in an animal of
his advanced age and many infirmities. To keep down this playful spirit,
Sir Robert proposes that a new burthen be placed upon his back in the shape
of a house-tax, pledging himself that it shall be heavy enough to effect
the desired purpose. Commend us to these Tories--they are rare fellows for

[Illustration: BREAKING A HORSE.]

       *       *       *       *       *


Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer has frequently been accused of identifying himself
with the heroes of his novels. His late treatment at Lincoln leaves no
doubt of his identity with

[Illustration: THE DISOWNED.]

       *       *       *       *       *


"So Lord John Russell is married," said one of the Carlton Club loungers to
Colonel Sibthorp the other morning. "Yes," replied that gallant punster;
"his Lordship is at length convinced that his talents will be better
employed in the management of the _Home_ than the _Colonial_ department."

       *       *       *       *       *



I.--_Hours of the Starting of the Boats of the Iron Steam Boat Company_.
London: 1841.

II.--_Notes of a Passenger on Board the Bachelor, during a Voyage from Old
Swan Pier, London Bridge, to the Red House, Battersea_. CATNACH: 1840.

III.--_Rule Britannia, a Song_. London: 1694.

IV.--_Two Years before the Mast_. CUNNINGHAM. London.

V.--_Checks issued by the London and Westminster Steam Boat Company_.

At a time when the glory of England stands--like a door shutting or opening
either way--entirely upon a pivot; when the hostile attitude of enemies
abroad threatens not more, nor perhaps less, than the antagonistic posture
of foes at home--at such a time there is at least a yet undug and hitherto
unexplored mine of satisfaction in the refreshing fact, that the Thames is
fostering in his bosom an entirely new navy, calculated to bid defiance to
the foe--should he ever come--in the very heart and lungs, the very bowels
and vitals, the very liver and lungs, or, in one emphatic word, the very
pluck of the metropolis. There is not a more striking instance of the
remarkable connexion between little--very little--causes, and
great--undeniably great--effects, than the extraordinary origin, rise,
progress, germ, development, and maturity, of the _above-bridge navy_, the
bringing of which prominently before the public, who may owe to that navy
at some future--we hope so incalculably distant as never to have a chance
of arriving--day, the salvation of their lives, the protection of their
hearths, the inviolability of their street-doors, and the security of their
properties. Sprung from a little knot of (we wish we could say "_jolly
young_," though truth compels us to proclaim) far from jolly, and decidedly
old, "watermen," the _above-bridge navy_, whose shattered and unfrequented
wherries were always "in want of a fare," may now boast of covering the
bosom of the Thames with its fleet of steamers; thus, as it were, bringing
the substantial piers of London Bridge within a stone's throw--if we may be
allowed to pitch it so remarkably strong--of the once remote regions of the
Beach[3], and annihilating, as it were, the distance between sombre
southwark and bloom-breathing Battersea.

    [3] Chelsea.

The establishment of this little fleet may well be a proud reflection to
those shareholders who, if they have no dividend in specie, have another
species of dividend in the swelling gratification with which the heart of
every one must be inflated, as, on seeing one of the noble craft dart with
the tide through the arches--supposing, of course, it does not strike
against them--of Westminster Bridge, he is enabled mentally to exclaim,
"There goes some of _my_ capital!" But if the pride of the proprietor--if
_he_ can be called a proprietor who derives nothing from his property--be
great, what must be the feelings of the captain to whose guidance the bark
is committed! We can scarcely conceive a nobler subject of contemplation
than one of those once indigent--not to say absolutely done up--watermen,
perched proudly on the summit of a paddle-box, and thinking--as he very
likely does, particularly when the vessel swags and sways from side to
side--of the height he stands upon.

It may be, and has been, urged by some, that the Thames is not exactly the
place to form the naval character; that a habit of braving the "dangers of
the deep" is hardly to be acquired where one may walk across at low tide,
on account of the water being so confoundedly _shallow_: but these are
cavillings which the lofty and truly patriotic mind will at once and
indignantly repudiate. The humble urchin, whose sole duty consists in
throwing out a rope to each pier, and holding hard by it while the vessel
stops, may one day be destined for some higher service: and where is the
English bosom that will not beat at the thought, that the dirty lad below,
whose exclamation of "Ease her!--stop her!--one turn ahead!"--may one day
be destined to give the word of command on the quarterdeck, and receive, in
the shape of a cannon-ball, a glorious full-stop to his honourable

Looking as we do at the _above-bridge navy_, in a large and national light,
we are not inclined to go into critical details, such as are to be met
with, _passim_, in the shrewd and amusing work of "The Passenger on board
the Bachelor." There may be something in the objection, that there is no
getting comfortably into one of these boats when one desires to go by it.
It may be true, that a boy's neglecting "to hold" sufficiently "hard," may
keep the steamer vibrating and Sliding about, within a yard of the pier,
without approaching it. But these are small considerations, and we are not
sure that the necessity of keeping a sharp look out, and jumping aboard at
precisely the right time, does not keep up that national ingenuity which is
not the least valuable part of the English character. In the same light are
we disposed to regard the occasional running aground of these boats, which,
at all events, is a fine practical lesson of patience to the passengers.
The collisions are not so much to our taste, and these, we think, though
useful to a certain extent for inculcating caution, should be resorted to
as rarely as possible.

We have not gone into the system of signals and "_hand motions_," if we may
be allowed to use a legal term, by which the whole of this navy is
regulated; but these, and other details, may, perhaps, be the subject of
some future article for we are partial to

[Illustration: TAKING IT EASY.]

       *       *       *       *       *


_Newcastle-street, July --, 1841._

MR. PUNCH,--Little did I think wen i've bin a gaping and starin' at you in
the streats, that i shud ever happli to you for gustice. Isntet a shame
that peeple puts advurtusmints in the papers for a howsmaid for a lark, as
it puts all the poor survents out of plaice into a dredfool situashun.

As i alwuss gets a peep at the paper on the landin' as i takes it up for
breckfus, i was unfoughtunite enuf to see a para--thingem-me-bob--for a
howsmaid, wanted in a nobbleman's fameli. On course, a young woman has a
rite to better hursef if she can; so I makes up my mind at wunce--has i
oney has sicks pouns a ear, and finds my own t and shuggar--i makes up my
mind to arsk for a day out; which, has the cold mutting was jest enuf for
mastur and missus without me, was grarnted me. I soon clears up the
kitshun, and goes up stares to clean mysef. I puts on my silk gronin-napple
gownd, and my lase pillowrin, likewise my himitashun vermin tippit, (give
me by my cussen Harry, who keeps kumpany with me on hot-dinner days), also
my tuskin bonnit, parrersole, and blacbag; and i takes mysef orf to
South-street, but what was my felines, wen, on wringing the belle, a boy
anser'd the daw, with two roes of brarse beeds down his jacket.

"Can i speek a word with the futman?" says i, in my ingaugingist manner.

"i'm futman," says he.

"Then the cook," says i.

"We arn't no cook," says he.

"No cook!" says i, almose putrifide with surprise; "you must be jokin'"--

"Jokin'," says he; "do you no who lives here?"

"Not exacly," says i.

"Lord Milburn," says he.

i thort i shud have dropt on the step, as a glimmerin' of the doo shot
aX my mine.

"Then you don't want no howsmaid?" says i.

"Howsmaid!" says the boy; "go to blazes: (What could he mean by

[Illustration: GOING TO BLAZES?)]

"No; i've toled fifty on ye so this mornin'--it's a oaks."

"Then more shame of Lord Milborn to do it," says i; "he may want a place
hissef some day or other," sayin' of which i bounsed off the doorstep, with
all tho dignity i could command.

Now, what i wants to no is, wether i can't summons his lordship for my day
out. Harry sais, should i ever come in contract with Lord Milborn, i'm to
trete him with the silent kontempt of

Yours truly,


       *       *       *       *       *


The present occupants of the government premises in Downing-street, whose
leases will expire in a few days, are busily employed packing up their
small affairs before the new tenants come into possession. It is a pitiful
sight to behold these poor people taking leave of their softly-stuffed
seats, their rocking-chairs, their footstools, slippers, cushions, and all
those little official comforts of which they nave been so cruelly deprived.
That man must, indeed, be hard-hearted who would refuse to sympathise with
their sorrows, or to uplift his voice in the doleful Whig chorus, when he

[Illustration:  THE PACK IN FULL CRY.]

       *       *       *       *       *



When, in a melo-drama, the bride is placing her foot upon the first step of
the altar, and Ruffi_aa_no tears her away, far from the grasp of her lover;
when a rich uncle in a farce dies to oblige a starving author in a garret;
when, two rivals duellise with toasting-forks; when such things are plotted
and acted in the theatre, hypercritics murmur at their improbability; but
compare them with the haps of the drama off the stage, and they become the
veriest of commonplaces. This is a world of change: the French have invaded
Algiers, British arms are doing mortal damage in the Celestial Empire,
Poulett Thomson has gone over to Canada, and oh! wonder of wonders!
Astley's has removed to Sadler's Wells!! The pyrotechnics of the former
have gone on a visit to the hydraulics of the latter, the red fire of
Astley's has come in contact with the real water of the Wells, yet, marvel
superlative! the unnatural meeting has been successful--there has not been
a single _hiss_.

What was the use of Sir Hugh Middleton bringing the New River to a "head,"
or of King Jamie buying shares in the speculation on purpose to supply
Sadler's Wells with real water, if it is to be drained off from under the
stage to make way for horses? Shade of Dibdin! ghost of Grimaldi! what
would you have said in your day? To be sure ye were guilty of pony races:
they took place _outside_ the theatre, but within the walls, in the very
_cella_ of the aquatic temple, till now, never! We wonder ye do not rise up
and "pluck bright Honner from the vasty deep" of his own tank.

Sawdust at Sadler's Wells! What next, Mr. Merriman?


If Macready had been engaged for Clown, and set down to sing "hot codlins;"
were Palmerston "secured" for Pierrot, or Lord Monteagle for Jim Crow, who
would have wondered? But to saddle "The Wells" with horses--profanity

Spitefully predicting failure from this terrible declension of the drama,
we went, in a mood intensely ill-natured, to witness how the "Horse of the
Pyrenees" would behave himself at Sadler's Wells. From the piece so called
we anticipated no amusement; we thought the regular company would make but
sorry equestrians, and, like the King of Westphalia's hussars, would prove
totally inefficient, from not being habituated to mount on horseback.
Happily we were mistaken; nothing could possibly _go_ better than both the
animals and the piece. The actors acquitted themselves manfully, even
including the horses. The mysterious Arab threw no damp over the
performances, for he was personated by Mr. Dry. The little Saracen was
performed so well by _le petit Ducrow_, that we longed to see _more_ of
him. The desperate battle fought by about sixteen supernumeraries at the
pass of Castle Moura, was quite as sanguinary as ever: the combats were
perfection--the glory of the red fire was nowise dimmed! It was magic, yes,
it _was_ magic! Mr. Widdicomb was there!!

Thinking of magic and Mr. Widdicomb (of whom dark hints of identification
with the wandering Jew have been dropped--who, _we know_, taught Prince
George of Denmark horsemanship--who is mentioned by Addison in the
"Spectator," by Dr. Johnson in the "Rambler," and helped to put out each of
the three fires that have happened at Astley's during the last two
centuries), brought by these considerations to a train of mind highly
susceptible of supernatural agency, we visited--


the illustrious professor of _Phoenixsistography_, and other branches of
the black art, the names of which are as mysterious as their performance.

One only specimen of his prowess convinced us of his supernatural talents.
He politely solicited the loan of a bank-note--he was not choice as to the
amount or bank of issue. "It may be," saith the play-bill, "a Bank of
England or provincial note, for any sum from five pounds to one thousand."
His is better magic than Owen Glendower's, for the note "did come when he
did call it!" for a confiding individual in the boxes (dress circle of
course) actually did lend him, the Wizard, a cool hundred! Conceive the
power, in a metaphysical sense, the conjuror must have had over the
lender's mind! Was it animal magnetism?--was it terror raised by his
extraordinary performances, that spirited the cash out of the pocket of the
man? who, perhaps, thought that such supernatural talents _might_ be
otherwise employed against his very existence, thus occupying his perturbed
soul with the alternative, "Your money or your life!"

This subject is deeply interesting to actors out of engagements, literary
men, and people who "have seen better days"--individuals who have brought
this species of conjuration to a high state of perfection. It is a new and
important chapter in the "art of borrowing." We perceive in the Wizard's
advertisements he takes pupils, and offers to make them proficient in any
of his delusions at a guinea per trick. We intend to put ourselves under
his instructions for the bank-note trick, the moment we can borrow
one-pound-one for that purpose.

Besides this, the Wizard does a variety of things which made our hair stand
on end, even while reading their description in his play-bill. We did not
see him perform them. There was no occasion--the bank-note trick convinced
us--for the man who can borrow a hundred pounds whenever he wants it can do

Everybody ought to go and see him. Young ladies having a taste for
sentimental-looking men, who wear their hair _à la jeune France_; natural
historians who want to see guinea-pigs fly; gamesters who would like to be
made "fly" to a card trick or two; _connoisseurs_, who wish to see how
plum-pudding may be made in hats, will all be gratified by a visit to the

       *       *       *       *       *


We heard the "Macbeth choruses" exquisitely performed, and saw the
concluding combat furiously fought at this theatre. This was all,
appertaining unto Macbeth in which we could detect a near approach to the
meaning and purpose of the text, except the performance of the _Queen_, by
Mrs. H. Vining, who seemed to understand the purport of the words she had
to speak, and was, consequently, inoffensive--a rare merit when Shakspere
is attempted on the other side of the Thames.

The qualifications demanded of an actor by the usual run of Surrey
audiences are lungs of undeniable efficiency, limbs which will admit of
every variety of contortion, and a talent for broad-sword combats. How,
then, could the new Macbeth--a Mr. Graham--think of choosing this theatre
for his first appearance? His deportment is quiet, and his voice weak. It
has, for instance, been usually thought, by most actors, that after a
gentleman has murdered his sovereign, and caused a similar peccadillo to be
committed upon his dearest friend, he would be, in some degree, agitated,
and put out of the even tenor of his way, when the ghost of Banquo appears
at the banquet. On such an occasion, John Kemble and Edmund Kean used to
think it advisable to start with an expression of terror or horror; but Mr.
Graham indulges us with a new reading. He carefully places one foot
somewhat in advance of the other, and puts his hands together with the
utmost deliberation. Again, he says mildly--

  "Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee!"

in a tone which would well befit the situation, if the text ran thus:--

  "Dear me, how singular! Pray go!"

When he does attempt to vociferate, the asthmatic complaint under which he
evidently labours prevents him from delivering the sentences in more
copious instalments than the following:--

  "I'll fight--till--from my bones--my flesh--be hacked!"

We may be told that Mr. Graham cannot help his physical defects; but he can
help being an actor, and, above all, choosing a part which requires great
prowess of voice. In less trying characters, he may prove an acquisition;
for he showed no lack of judgment nor of acquaintance with the conventional
rules of the stage. At the Surrey, and in "Macbeth," he is entirely out of
his element. Above all, let him never play with Mr. Hicks, whose energy in
the combat scene, and ranting all through _Macduff_, brought down "_Brayvo,
Hicks!_" in showers. The contrast is really too disadvantageous.

But the choruses! Never were they more be_witch_ingly performed. Leffler
sings the part of _Hecate_ better than his best friends could have
anticipated; and, apart from the singing, Miss Romer's _acting_ in the
_soprano_ witch, is picturesque in the extreme.

       *       *       *       *       *


Fanny Elsler has made an enormous fortune by her _trips_ in America. Few
_pockets_ are so crammed by _hops_ as hers.

Oscar Byrne, professor of the College Hornpipe to the London University,
had a long interview yesterday with Lord Palmerston to give his lordship
lessons in the new waltz step. The master complains that, despite a long
political life's practice, the pupil does not turn _quick enough_. A change
was, however, apparent at the last lesson, and his lordship is expected
soon to be able to effect a complete rota-_tory_ motion.

Mademoiselle Taglioni has left London for Germany, her fatherland, the
country of her _pas_.

The society for the promotion of civilization have engaged Mr. Tom Matthews
to teach the Hottentots the minuet-de-la-Cour and tumbling. He departs with
the other missionaries when the hot weather sets in.

       *       *       *       *       *

Charles Kean is becoming so popular with the jokers of the day, that we
have serious thoughts of reserving a corner entirely to his use. Amongst
the many hits at the young tragedian, the two following are not the


"Kean's juvenile probation at Eton has done him good service with the
aristocratic patrons of the drama," remarked a lady to a witty friend of
ours. "Yes, madam," was the reply, "he seems to have gained by _Eaton_ what
his father lost by _drinking_."


"How Webster puffs young Kean--he seems to monopolise the walls!" said
Wakley to his colleague, Tom Duncombe. "Merely a realisation of the
adage,--_The weakest always goes to the wall_," replied the idol of

       *       *       *       *       *


VOL. 1.


       *       *       *       *       *



_In Four Chapters._

  "His name 'tis proper you should hear,
    'Twas Timothy Thady Mulligin:
  And whenever he finish'd his tumbler of punch,
    He always wished it full agin."


[Illustration: Y]"You can have no idea, Jack, how deeply the loss of those
venerated family retainers affected me."

My uncle paused. I perceived that his eyes were full, and his tumbler
empty; I therefore thought it advisable to divert his sorrow, by reminding
him of our national proverb, "_Iss farr doch na skeal_[1]."

    [1] A drink is better than a story.

The old man's eyes glistened with pleasure, as he grasped my hand, saying,
"I see, Jack, you are worthy of your name. I was afraid that
school-learning and college would have spoiled your taste for honest
drinking; but the right drop is in you still, my boy. I mentioned,"
continued he, resuming the thread of his story, "that my grandfather died,
leaving to his heirs the topped boots, spurs, buckskin-breeches, and red
waistcoat; but it is about the first-mentioned articles I mean especially
to speak, as it was mainly through their respectable appearance that so
many excellent matches and successful negotiations have been concluded by
our family. If one of our cousins was about to wait on his landlord or his
sweetheart, if he meditated taking a farm or a wife, 'the tops' were
instantly brushed up, and put into requisition. Indeed, so fortunate had
they been in all the matrimonial embassies to which they had been attached,
that they acquired the name of 'the wife-catchers,' amongst the young
fellows of our family. Something of the favour they enjoyed in the eyes of
the fair sex should, perhaps, be attributed to the fact, that all the
Duffys were fine strapping fellows, with legs that seemed made for setting
off topped boots to the best advantage.

"Well, years rolled by; the sons of mothers whose hearts had been won by
the irresistible buckism of Shawn Duffy's boots, grew to maturity, and, in
their turn, furbished up 'the wife-catchers,' when intent upon invading the
affections of other rustic fair ones. At length these invaluable relics
descended to me, as the representative of our family. It was ten years on
last Lady-day since they came into my possession, and I am proud to say,
that during that time the Duffys and 'the wife-catchers' lost nothing of
the reputation they had previously gained, for no less than nineteen
marriages and ninety-six christenings have occurred in our family during
the time. I had every hope, too, that another chalk would have been added
to the matrimonial tally, and that I should have the pleasure of completing
the score before Lent; for, one evening, about four months ago, I received
a note from your cousin Peter, informing me that he intended riding over,
on the following Sunday, to Miss Peggy Haggarty's, for the purpose of
popping the question, and requesting of me the loan of the lucky
'wife-catchers' for the occasion.

"I need not tell you I was delighted to oblige poor Peter, who is the best
fellow and surest shot in the county, and accordingly took down the boots
from their peg in the hall. Through the negligence of the servant they have
been hung up in a damp state, and had become covered with blue mould. In
order to render them decent and comfortable for Peter, I placed them to dry
inside the fender, opposite the fire; then lighting my pipe, I threw myself
back in my chair, and as the fragrant fumes of the Indian weed curled and
wreathed around my head, with half-closed eyes turned upon the renowned
'wife-catchers,' I indulged in delightful visions of future weddings and
christenings, and recalled, with a sigh, the many pleasant ones I had
witnessed in their company."

Here my uncle applied the tumbler to his face to conceal his emotion. "I
brought to mind," he continued (ordering; in a parenthesis, another jug of
boiling water), "I brought to mind the first time I had myself sported the
envied 'wife-catchers' at the _pattron_ of Moycullen. I was then as wild a
blade as any in Connaught, and the 'tops' were in the prime of their
beauty. In fact, I am not guilty of flattery or egotism in saying, that the
girl who could then turn up her nose at the boots, or their master, must
have been devilish hard to please. But though the hey-day of our youth had
passed, I consoled myself with the reflection that with the help of the
saints, and a pair of new soles, we might yet hold out to marry and bury
three generations to come.

"As these anticipations passed through my mind, I was startled by a sudden
rustling near me. I raised my eyes to discover the cause, and fancy my
surprise when I beheld 'the wife-catchers,' by some marvellous power,
suddenly become animated, gradually elongating and altering themselves,
until they assumed the appearance of a couple of tall gentlemen clad in
black, with extremely sallow countenances; and what was still more
extraordinary, though they possessed separate bodies, their actions seemed
to be governed by a single mind. I stared, and doubtless so would you,
Jack, had you been in my place; but my astonishment was at its height, when
the partners, keeping side by side as closely as the Siamese twins, stepped
gracefully over the fender, and taking a seat directly opposite me,
addressed me in a voice broken by an irrepressible chuckle--

"'Here we are, old boy. Ugh, ugh, ugh, hoo!'

"So I perceive, gentlemen," I replied, rather drily.

"'You look a little alarmed--ugh, ugh, hoo, hoo, hoo!' cried the pair.
'Excuse our laughter--hoo! hoo! hoo! We mean no offence--none whatever.
Ugh, hoo, hoo, hoo! We know we are somewhat changed in appearance.'

"I assured the transformed 'tops' I was delighted in being honoured with
their company, under any shape; hoped they would make themselves quite at
home, and take a glass with me in the friendly way. The friends shook their
heads simultaneously, declining the offer; and he whom I had hitherto known
as the _right_ foot, said in a grave voice:--

"'We feel obliged, sir, but we never take anything but water; moreover, our
business now is to relate to you some of the singular adventures of our
life, convinced, that in your hand they will be given to the world in three
handsome volumes.'

"My curiosity was instantly awakened, and I drew my chair closer to my
communicative friends, who, stretching out their legs, prepared to commence
their recital."

"'Hem!' cried the right foot, who appeared to be the spokesman, clearing
his throat and turning to his companion--'hem! which of our adventures
shall I relate first, brother?'

"'Why,' replied the left foot, after a few moments' reflection, 'I don't
think you can do better than tell our friend the story of Terence Duffy and
the heiress.'

"'Egad! you're right, brother; that was a droll affair:' and then,
addressing himself to me, he continued, 'You remember your Uncle Terence? A
funny dog he was, and in his young days the very devil for lovemaking and
fighting. Look here,' said the speaker, pointing to a small circular
perforation in his side, which had been neatly patched. 'This mark, which I
shall carry with me to my grave, I received in an affair between your uncle
and Captain Donovan of the North Cork Militia. The captain one day asserted
in the public library at Ballybreesthawn, that a certain Miss Biddy
O'Brannigan had hair red as a carrot. This calumny was not long in reaching
the ears of your Uncle Terence, who prided himself on being the champion of
the _sex_ in general, and of Miss Biddy O'Brannigan in particular.
Accordingly he took the earliest opportunity of demanding from the captain
an apology, and a confession that the lady's locks were a beautiful auburn.
The militia hero, who was too courageous to desert his _colours_,
maintained they were red. The result was a meeting on the daisies at four
o'clock in the morning, when the captain's ball grazed your uncle's leg,
and in return he received a compliment from Terence, in the hip, that
spoiled his dancing for life.

"'I will not insult your penetration by telling you what I perceive you are
already aware of, that Terence Duffy was the professed admirer of Miss
Biddy. The affair with Captain Donovan raised him materially in her
estimation, and it was whispered that the hand and fortune of the heiress
were destined for her successful champion. There's an old saying, though,
that the best dog don't always catch the hare, as Terence found to his
cost. He had a rival candidate for the affections of Miss Biddy; but such a
rival--however I will not anticipate.'"

       *       *       *       *       *


  I am thine in _my_ gladness,
    I'm thine in _thy_ tears;
  My love it can change not
    With absence or years.
  Were a dungeon thy dwelling,
    My home it should be,
  For its gloom would be sunshine
    If I were with thee.
  But the light has no beauty
    Of thee, love bereft:
  I am thine, and thine only!
    _Thine!_--over the left!
                    Over the left!

  As the wild Arab hails,
    On his desolate way,
  The palm-tree which tells
    Where the cool fountains play,
  So thy presence is ever
    The herald of bliss,
  For there's love in thy smile,
    And there's joy in thy kiss.
  Thou hast won me--then wear me!
    Of thee, love, bereft,
  I should fade like a flower,
    _Yes!_--over the left!
                  Over the left!

       *       *       *       *       *

A gentleman in Mobile has a watch that goes so fast, he is obliged to
calculate a week back to know the time of day.

A new bass singer has lately appeared at New Orleans, who sings so
remarkably _deep_, it takes nine Kentucky lawyers to understand a single

       *       *       *       *       *


  Why S--e is long-lived at once appears--
  The ass was always famed for _length of ears_.

       *       *       *       *       *




"Creation's heir--the world, the world is mine."--GOLDSMITH.

Philosophers, moralists, poets, in all ages, have never better pleased
themselves or satisfied their readers than when they have descanted upon,
deplored, and denounced the pernicious influence of money upon the heart
and the understanding. "Filthy lucre"--"so much trash as may be grasped
thus"--"yellow mischief," I know not, or choose not, to recount how many
justly injurious names have been applied to coin by those who knew, because
they had felt, its consequences. Wherefore, I say at once, it is better to
have none on't--to live without it. And yet, now I think better upon that
point, it is well not altogether to discourage its approach. On the
contrary, lay hold upon it, seize it, rescue it from hands which in all
probability would work ruin with it, and resolutely refuse, when it is once
got, to let it go out of your grasp. Let no absurd talk about quittance,
discharge, remuneration, payment, induce the holder to relax from his
inflexible purpose of palm. Pay, like party, is the madness of many for the
gain of a few.

Unhappily, vile gold, or its representation or equivalent, has been, during
many centuries, the sole medium through which the majority of mankind have
supplied their wants, or ministered to their luxuries. It is high time that
a sage should arise to expound how the discerning few--those who have the
wit and the will (both must concur to the great end) may live--LIVE--not
like him who buys and balances himself by the book of the groveller who
wrote "How to _Live_ upon Fifty Pounds a Year"--(O shame to manhood!)--but
live, I say--"be free and merry"--"laugh and grow fat"--exchange the
courtesies of life--be a pattern of the "minor morals"--and yet: all this
without a doit in bank, bureau, or breeches' pocket.

I am that sage. Let none deride. Haply, I shall only remind some, but I may
teach many. Those that come to scoff, may perchance go home to prey.

Let no gentleman of the old school (for whom, indeed, my brief treatise is
not designed) be startled when I advance this proposition: That more
discreditable methods are daily practised by those who live to get money,
than are resorted to by those who without money are nevertheless under the
necessity of living. If this proposition be assented to--as, in truth, I
know not how it can be gainsaid,--nothing need be urged in vindication of
my art of _free_ living. Proceed I then at once.

Here is a youth of promise--born, like Jaffier, with "elegant desires"--one
who does not agnize a prompt alacrity in carrying burdens--one, rather, who
recognizes a moral and physical unfitness for such, and indeed all other
dorsal and manual operations--one who has been born a Briton, and would
not, therefore, sell his birthright for a mess of pottage; but, on the
contrary, holds that his birthright entitles him to as many messes of
pottage as there may be days to his mortal span, though time's fingers
stretched beyond the distance allotted to extreme Parr or extremest
Jenkins. "Elegant desires" are gratified to the extent I purpose treating
of them, by handsome clothes--comfortable lodgings--good dinners.

1st. _Of Handsome Clothes._--Here, I confess, I find myself in some
difficulty. The man who knows not how to have his name entered in the
day-book of a tailor, is not one who could derive any benefit from
instruction of mine. He must be a born natural. Why, it comes by instinct.

2nd. _Of Comfortable Lodgings._--Easily obtained and secured. The easiest
thing in life. But the wit without money must possess very little more of
the former than of the latter, if he do not, even when snugly ensconced in
one splendid suite of apartments, have his eye upon many others; for
landladies are sometimes vexatiously impertinent, and novelty is desirable.
Besides, his departure may be (nay, often is) extremely sudden. When in
quest of apartments, I have found tarnished cards in the windows
preferable. They imply a length of vacancy of the floor, and a consequent
relaxation of those narrow, worldly (some call them prudent) scruples,
which landladies are apt to nourish. Hints of a regular income, payable
four times a year, have their weight; nay, often convert weekly into
quarterly lodgings. Be sure there are no children in your house. They are
vociferous when you would enjoy domestic retirement, and inquisitive when
you take the air. Once (_horresco referens!_) on returning from my
peripatetics, I was accosted with brutally open-mouthed clamour, by my
landlady, who, dragging me in a state of bewilderment into her room,
pointed to numerous specimens of granite, which her "young people" had, in
their unhallowed thirst for knowledge, discovered and drawn from my trunk,
which, by some strange mischance, had been left unlocked! In vain I mumbled
something touching my love of mineralogy, and that a lapidary had offered I
knew not what for my collection. I was compelled to "bundle," as the
idiomatic, but ignorant woman expressed herself. To resume.

Let not the nervous or sensitive wit imagine that, in a vast metropolis
like London, his chance of securing an appropriate lodging and a confiding
landlady is at all doubtful. He might lodge safe from the past, certain of
the future, till the crash of doom. I shall be met by Ferguson's case.
Ferguson I knew well, and I respected him. But he had a most unfortunate
countenance. It was a very solemn, but by no means a solvent face; and yet
he had a manner with him too, and his language was choice, if not
persuasive. That the matter of his speech was plausible, none ever presumed
to deny. "It is all very well, Mr. Ferguson,"--_that_ was always conceded.
I do not wish to speak ill of the dead; but Ferguson never entered a
lodging without being compelled to pay a fortnight in advance, and always


3rd. _Of Good Dinners._--Wits, like other men, are distinguished by a
variety of tastes and inclinations. Some prefer dining at taverns and
eating-houses; others, more discreet or less daring, love the quiet
security of the private house, with its hospitable inmates, courteous
guests, and no possibility of "bill transactions." I confess when I was
young and inexperienced, wanting that wisdom which I am now happy to
impart, I was a constant frequenter of taverns, eating-houses,
oyster-rooms, and similar places of entertainment. I am old now, and have
been persecuted by a brutal world, and am grown timid. But I was ever a
peaceable man--hated quarrels--never came to words if I could help it. _I
do not recommend the tavern, eating-house, oyster-room system._ These are
the words of wisdom. The waiters at these places are invariably sturdy,
fleet, abusive rascals, who cannot speak and will not listen to reason. To
eat one's dinner, drink a pint of sherry, and then, calling for the bill,
take out one's pocket-book, and post it in its rotation in a neat hand,
informing the waiter the while, that it is a simple debt, and so forth;
this really requires nerve. Great spirits only are equal to it. It is an
innovation upon old, established forms, however absurd--and innovators
bring down upon themselves much obloquy. To run from the score you have run
up--not to pay your shot, but to shoot from payment--this is not always
safe, and invariably spoils digestion. No; it is not more honourable--far
from it--but it is better; for you should strive to become, what is
commonly called--"A Diner Out"--that is to say, one who continues to sit
at the private tables of other men every day of his life, and by his so
potent art, succeeds in making them believe that they are very much
obliged to him.

How to be this thing--this "Diner Out"--I shall teach you, by a few short
rules next week. Till then--farewell!

       *       *       *       *       *

Lord William Paget has applied to the Lord Chancellor, to inquire whether
the word "jackass" is not opprobrious and actionable. His lordship says,
"No, decidedly, in this case only synonymous."

       *       *       *       *       *


Sir Robert Peel has convinced us of one thing by his Tamworth speech, that
whatever danger the constitution may be in, he will not proscribe for the
patient until he is _regularly called in_. A beautiful specimen of the old
Tory leaven. Sir Robert objects to give _Advice gratis_.

       *       *       *       *       *


A large assortment of peculiarly fine oyster-shells, warranted fire-proof
and of first-rate quality; exquisitely adapted for the construction of
grottoes. May be seen by cards only, to be procured of Mr. George Robins,
or the clerks of Billingsgate or Hungerfofd markets.

N.B.--Some splendid ground at the corners of popular and well-frequented
streets, to be let on short leases for edifices of the above description.
Apply as before.

       *       *       *       *       *


The following invaluable literary recipes have been most kindly forwarded
by the celebrated Ude. They are the produce of many years' intense study,
and, we must say, the very best things of the sort we have ever met with.
There is much delicacy in M. Ude leaving it to us, as to whether the
communication should be anonymous. We think not, as the peculiarity of the
style would at once establish the talented authorship, and, therefore,
attempted concealment would be considered as the result of a too morbidly
modest feeling.


Take a consummate puppy--M.P.s preferable (as they are generally the
softest, and don't require much pressing)--baste with self-conceit--stuff
with slang--season with maudlin sentiment--hash up with a popular
publisher--simmer down with preparatory advertisements. Add six reams of
gilt-edged paper--grate in a thousand quills--garnish with marble covers,
and morocco backs and corners. Stir up with magazine puffs--skim off
sufficient for preface. Shred scraps of French and small-talk, very fine.
Add "superfine coats"--"satin stocks"--"bouquets"--"opera-boxes"--"a
duel"--an elopement--St. George's Church--silver bride favours--eight
footmen--four postilions--the like number of horses--a "dredger" of
smiles--some filtered tears--half-mourning for a dead uncle (the better if
he has a twitch in his nose), and serve with anything that will bear


(_By the same Author._)

Take a young lady--dress her in blue ribbons--sprinkle with innocence,
spring flowers, and primroses. Procure a Baronet (a Lord if in season); if
not, a depraved "younger son"--trim him with écarté, rouge et noir, Epsom,
Derby, and a slice of Crockford's. Work up with rustic cottage, an aged
father, blind mother, and little brothers and sisters in brown holland
pinafores. Introduce mock abduction--strong dose of virtue and repentance.
Serve up with village church--happy parent--delighted daughter--reformed
rake--blissful brothers--syren sisters--and perfect _dénouement_.

N.B. Season with perspective christening and postponed epitaph.


Take a small boy, charity, factory, carpenter's apprentice, or otherwise,
as occasion may serve--stew him well down in vice--garnish largely with
oaths and flash songs--boil him in a cauldron of crime and improbabilities.
Season equally with good and bad qualities--infuse petty larceny,
affection, benevolence, and burglary, honour and housebreaking, amiability
and arson--boil all gently. Stew down a mad mother--a gang of
robbers--several pistols--a bloody knife. Serve up with a couple of
murders--and season with a hanging-match.

N.B. Alter the ingredients to a beadle and a workhouse--the scenes may be
the same, but the whole flavour of vice will be lost, and the boy will turn
out a perfect pattern.--Strongly recommended for weak stomachs.


Take a young man six feet high--mix up with a horse--draw a squire from his
father's estate (the broad-shouldered and loquacious are the best
sort)--prepare both for potting (that is, exporting). When abroad,
introduce a well-pounded Saracen--a foreign princess--stew down a couple of
dwarfs and a conquered giant--fill two sauce-tureens with a prodigious
ransom. Garnish with garlands and dead Turks. Serve up with a royal
marriage and cloth of gold.


Take a distant village--follow with high-road--introduce and boil down
pedlar, gut his pack, and cut his throat--hang him up by the heels--when
enough, let his brother cut him down--get both into a stew--pepper the real
murderer--grill the innocent for a short time--then take them off, and put
delinquents in their place (these can scarcely be broiled too much, and a
strong fire is particularly recommended). When real perpetrators are
_done_, all is complete.

If the parties have been poor, serve up with mint sauce, and the name of
the enriched sufferer.


Lay in a large stock of "gammon" and pennyroyal--carefully strip and pare
all the tainted parts away, when this can be done without destroying the
whole--wrap it up in printed paper, containing all possible virtues--baste
with flattery, stuff with adulation, garnish with fictitious attributes,
and a strong infusion of sycophancy.

Serve up to prepared courtiers, who have been previously well seasoned with
long-received pensions or sinecures.



Take a beautiful and highly-accomplished young female, imbued with every
virtue, but slightly addicted to bigamy! Let her stew through the first act
as the bride of a condemned convict--then season with a benevolent but very
ignorant lover--add a marriage. Stir up with a gentleman in dusty boots and
large whiskers. _Dredge_ in a meeting, and baste with the knowledge of the
dusty boot proprietor being her husband. Let this steam for some time;
during which, prepare, as a covering, a pair of pistols--carefully insert
the bullet in the head of him of the dusty boots. Dessert--general offering
of LADIES' FINGERS! Serve up with red fire and tableaux.


Take an enormous hero--work him up with improbabilities--dress him in
spangles and a long train--disguise his head as much as possible, as the
great beauty of this dish is to avoid any resemblance to the "_tête de veau
au naturel_."

[Illustration: A TETE A TETE.]

Grill him for three acts. When well worked up, add a murder or large dose
of innocence (according to the palate of the guests)--Season, with a strong
infusion of claqueurs and box orders. Serve up with twelve-sheet posters,
and imaginary Shaksperian announcements.

N.B. Be careful, in cooking the heroes, not to turn their backs _to the
front range_--should you do so the dish will be spoiled.


(_A Domestic Sketch._)

Take a young woman--give her six pounds a year--work up her father and
mother into a viscous paste--bind all with an abandoned poacher--throw in a
"dust of virtue," and a "handful of vice." When the poacher is about to
boil over, put him into another saucepan, let him simmer for some time, and
then he will turn out "lord of the manor," and marry the young woman. Serve
up with bludgeons, handcuffs, a sentimental gaoler, and a large tureen of
innocence preserved.


Take a big man with a loud voice, dress him with a pair of ducks, and, if
pork is comeatable, a pigtail--stuff his jaws with an imitation quid, and
his mouth with a large assortment of _dammes_. Garnish with two
broad-swords and a hornpipe. Boil down a press-gang and six or seven
smugglers, and (if in season) a bo'swain and large
cat-o'-nine-tails.--Sprinkle the dish with two lieutenants, four
midshipmen, and about seven or eight common sailors. Serve up with a pair
of epaulettes and an admiral in a white wig, silk stockings, smalls, and
the Mutiny Act.

       *       *       *       *       *


We have no arrivals to-day, but are looking out anxiously for the overland
mail from Battersea. It is expected that news will be brought of the state
of the mushroom market, and great inconvenience in the mean time is felt by
the dealers, who are holding all they have got, in the anticipation of a
fall; while commodities are, of course, every moment getting heavier.

The London and Westminster steam-boat _Tulip_, with letters from Milbank,
was planted in the mud off Westminster for several hours, and those who
looked for the correspondence, had to look much longer than could have been

The egg market has been in a very unsettled state all the week; and we have
heard whispers of a large breakage in one of the wholesale houses. This is
caused by the dead weight of the packing-cases, to which every house in the
trade is liable. In the fruit market, there is positively nothing doing;
and the _growers_, who are every day becoming _less_, complain bitterly.
Raspberries were very slack, at 2-1/2d. per pottle; but dry goods still
brought their prices. We have heard of several severe smashes in currants,
and the bakers, who, it is said, generally contrive to get a finger in the
pie, are among the sufferers.

The salmon trade is, for the most part, in a pickle; but we should regret
to say anything that might be misinterpreted. The periwinkle and wilk
interest has sustained a severe shock; but potatoes continue to be _done_
much as usual.

       *       *       *       *       *


    "A dinner is to be given to Captain Rous on the 20th inst., at
    which Sir Francis Burdett has promised to preside."--_Morning

  Egyptian revels often boast a guest
  In sparkling robes and blooming chaplets drest;
  But, oh! what loathsomeness is hid beneath--
  A fleshless, mould'ring effigy of death;
  A thing to check the smile and wake the sigh,
  With thoughts that living excellence can die.
  How many at the coming feast will see

       *       *       *       *       *


  "Laselato ogni speranza, voi ch' intrate!"


MR. JOBTICKLER said he had to move in this cause for an injunction to
restrain the Peel Place-hunting Company from entering into possession of
the estates of plaintiff. It appeared from the affidavits on which he
moved, that the defendants, though not in actual possession, laid an
equitable claim to the fee simple of the large estates rightfully belonging
to the plaintiff, over which they were about to exercise sovereign
dominion. They had entered into private treaty with the blind old man who
held the post of chief law-grubber of the Exchequer, offering him a bribe
to pretend illness, and take half his present pay, in order to fasten one
of the young and long-lived leeches--one Sir Frederick Smal-luck--to the
vacant bench. They were about to compel a decentish sort of man, who did
the business of Chancery as well as such business can be done under the
present system, to retire upon half allowance, in order to make room for
one Sir William Fullhat, who had no objection to £14,000 a year and a
peerage. They were about to fill two sub-chancellorships, which they would
not on any account allow the company in the present actual possession of
the estates to fill up with a couple of their own shareholders; and were,
in fine, proceeding to dispose of, by open sale, and by private contract,
the freehold, leasehold, and funded property of plaintiff, to the
incalculable danger of the estate, and to the disregard of decency and
justice. What rendered this assumption and exercise of power the more
intolerable, was, that the persons the most unfit were selected; and as if,
it would appear, from a "hateful love of contraries," the man learned in
law being sent to preside over the business of equity, of which he knew
nothing, and the man learned in equity being entrusted with the direction
of law of which he knew worse than nothing; being obliged to unlearn all he
had previously learnt, before he began to learn his new craft.

LORD HIGH INQUISITOR.--Don't you know, sir, that _poeta nascitur non fit?_
Is not a judge a judge the moment he applies himself to the seat of

MR. JOBTICKLER.--Most undoubtedly it is so, my lord, as your lordship is a
glorious example, but--

LORD HIGH INQUISITOR.--But me no buts, sir. I'll have no allusions made to
my person. What way are the cases on the point you would press on the

MR. JOBTICKLER.--The cases, I am sorry to say, are all in favour of the
Peel Place-hunting Company's proceedings; but the principle, my lord, the

LORD HIGH INQUISITOR.--Principle! What has principle to do with law, Sir?
Really the bar is losing all reverence for authority, all regard for
consistency. I must put a stop to such revolutionary tendencies on the part
of gentlemen who practise in my court. Sit down, sir.

MR. JOBTICKLER.--May my client have the injunction?

LORD HIGH INQUISITOR.--No-o-o-o! But he shall pay all the costs, and I only
wish I could double them for his impertinence. You, sir, you deserve to be
stripped of your gown for insulting the ears of the court with such a

CRIER.--Any more appeals, causes, or motions, in the Supreme Court of the
Lord High Inquisitor Punch, to-day? (A dead silence.)

LORD HIGH INQUISITOR (bowing gracefully to the bar).--Good morning,
gentlemen. You behold how carefully we fulfil the letter of Magna Charta.

  "Nulli vendemus, nulli negabimus, aut differemus rectum vel
  justitiam." [_Exit._]

CRIER.--This Court will sit the next time it is the Lord High Inquisitor's
pleasure that it should sit, and at no other period or time.--God save the

       *       *       *       *       *


[Greek: EIS LYRAN.]

  Apollo! ere the adverse fates
  Gave thy lyre to Mr. Yates[2],
  I have melted at thy strain
  When Bunn reign'd o'er Drury-lane;
  For the music of thy strings
  Haunts the ear when Romer sings.
  But to me _that_ voice is mute!
  Tuneless kettle-drum and flute
  I but hear _one_ liquid lyre--
  Kettle bubbling on the fire,
  Whizzing, fizzing, steaming out
  Music from its curved spot,
  Wak'ning visions by its song
  Of thy nut-brown streams, Souchong;
  Lumps of crystal saccharine--
  Liquid pearl distill'd from kine;
  Nymphs whose gentle voices mingle
  With the silver tea-spoons' jingle!
  Symposiarch I o'er all preside,
  The Pidding of the fragrant tide.
  Such the dreams that fancy brings,
  When my tuneful kettle sings!

    [2] This celebrated instrument now crowns the chaste yet elaborate
        front of the Adelphi Theatre, where full-length effigies of Mr.
        and Mrs. Yates may be seen silently inviting the public to walk

       *       *       *       *       *



7th mo. 29th, 1841.

Friend Reuben,--I am in rect. of thine of 27th inst., and note contents. It
affordeth me consolation that the brig _Hazard_ hath arrived safely in thy
port--whereof I myself was an underwriter--also, that a man-child hath been
born unto thee and to thy faithful spouse Rebecca. Nevertheless, the house
of Crash and Crackitt hath stopped payment, which hath caused sore
lamentation amongst the faithful, who have discounted their paper. It hath
pleased Providence to raise the price of E.I. sugars; the quotations of
B.P. coffee are likewise improving, in both of which articles I am a large
holder. Yet am I not puffed up with foolish vanity, but have girded myself
round with the girdle of lowliness, even as with the band which is all
round my hat! In token whereof, I offered to hand 20 puncheons of the
former, as [Symbol: profit] margin.

There are serious ferments and heartburnings amongst the great ones of this
land: and those that sit on the benches called "The Treasury" are become
sore afraid, for he whom men call Lord John Russell hath had notice to
quit. Thereat, the Tories rejoice mightily, and lick their chops for the
fat morsels and the sops in the pan that Robert the son of _Jenny_ hath
promised unto his followers. Nevertheless, tidings have reached me that a
good spec. might be made in Y.C. tallow, whereon I desire thy opinion; as
also on the practice of stuffing roast turkey with green walnuts, which
hath been highly recommended by certain of the brethren here, who have with
long diligence and great anxiety meditated upon the subject.

And now, I counsel thee, hold fast the change which thou hast, striving
earnestly for that which thou hast not, taking heed especially that no man
comes the "artful" over thee; whereby I caution thee against one Tom
Kitefly of Manchester, whose bills have returned back unto me, clothed with
that unseemly garment which the notary calleth "a protest." Assuredly he is
a viper in the paths of the unwary, and will bewray thee with his fair
speeches; therefore, I say, take heed unto him.

I remain thy friend,
Mincing Lane.

       *       *       *       *       *


Sir,--Seeing in the first number of your paper an announcement from Mr.
Thomas Hood, that he was in want of a laugher, I beg to offer my services
in that comic capacity, and to hand you my card and certificates of my
cachinnatory powers.



    Mr. Toady Chuckle begs to inform wits, punsters, and jokers in
    general that he


   His truly invaluable zest for bad jokes has been patronised by
   several popular farce-writers and parliamentary Pasquins.

   Mr. T.C. always has at command smiles for satire, simpers for
   repartee, sniggers for conundrums, titters for puns, and guffaws for
   jocular anecdotes. By Mr. T.C.'s system, cues for laughter are
   rendered unnecessary, as, from a long course of practical
   experience, the moment of cachinnation is always judiciously

   N.B. The worst Jokes laughed at, and rendered successful. Old Joes
   made to tell as well as new.

           *       *       *       *       *



    Sir,--I feel myself bound in justice to you and your invaluable
    laughter, as well as to others who may be suffering, as I have
    been, with a weakly farce, to inform you of its extraordinary
    results in my case. My bantling was given up by all the faculty,
    when you were happily shown into the boxes. One laugh removed all
    sibillatory indications; a second application of your invaluable
    cachinnation elicited slight applause; whilst a third, in the form
    of a _guffaw_, rendered it perfectly successful.

    From the prevalence of dulness among dramatic writers, I have no
    doubt that your services will be in general requisition.

    I am, yours, very respectfully,
    J.R. Planche.
    C---- C----.

    Sir,--I beg to inform you, for the good of other bad jokers, that I
    deem the introduction of your truly valuable cachinnation one of
    the most important ever made; in proof of which, allow me to state,
    that after a joke of mine had proved a failure for weeks, I was
    induced to try your cachinnation, by the use of which it met with
    unequivocal success; and, I declare, if the cost were five guineas
    a _guffaw_, I would not be without it.

    Yours truly,
    Charles Delaet Waldo Sibthorp (Colonel).

       *       *       *       *       *

"MY NAME'S THE DOCTOR"--(_vide_ Peel's Speech at Tamworth.)

The two doctors, Peel and Russell, who have been so long engaged in
renovating John Bull's "glorious constitution!" though they both adopt the
lowering system at present, differ as to the form of practice to be
pursued. Russell still strenuously advocates his _purge_, while Sir Robert
insists upon the efficacy of _bleeding_.

  "Who shall decide when doctors disagree?"

       *       *       *       *       *



Our opinion is, that science cannot be too familiarly dealt with; and
though too much familiarity certainly breeds contempt, we are only
following the fashion of the day, in rendering science somewhat
contemptible, by the strange liberties that publishers of _Penny
Cyclopædias_, three-halfpenny _Informations_, and twopenny _Stores of
Knowledge_, are prone to take with it.

In order to show that we intend going at high game, we shall begin with the
stars; and if we do not succeed in levelling the heavens to the very
meanest capacity--even to that of

[Illustration: AN INFANT IN ARMS--]

we shall at once give up all claims to the title of an enlightener of the

Every body knows there are planets in the air, which are called the
_planetary_ system. Every one knows our globe goes upon its axis, and has
two poles, but what is the axis, and what the poles are made of--whether of
wood, or any other material--are matters which, as far as the mass are
concerned, are involved in the greatest possible obscurity.

The north pole is chiefly remarkable for no one having ever succeeded in
reaching it, though there seems to have been a regular communication to it
by post in the time of Pope, whose lines--

  "Speed the soft intercourse from zone to zone.
  And waft a sigh from Indus _to the pole_,"

imply, without doubt, that packages reached the pole; not, however, without
regard to the _size_ (SIGHS), which may have been limited.

The sun, every body knows, is very large, and indeed the size has been
ascertained to an inch, though we must say we should like to see the
gentleman who measured it. Astronomers declare there are spots upon it,
which may be the case, unless the _savans_ have been misled by specks of
dirt on the bottom of their telescopes. As these spots are said to
disappear from time to time, we are strongly inclined to think our idea is
the correct one. Some insist that the sun is liquid like water, but if it
were, the probability is, that from its intense heat, the whole must have
boiled away long ago, or put itself out, which is rather more feasible.

We do not think it necessary to go into the planets, for, if we did, it is
not unlikely we should be some time time before we got out again; but we
shall say a few words about our own Earth, in which our readers must, of
course, take a special interest.

It has been decided, that, viewed from the moon, our globe presents a
mottled appearance; but, as this assertion can possibly rest on no better
authority than that of the Man in the Moon, we must decline putting the
smallest faith in it.

It is calculated that a day in the moon lasts just a fortnight, and that
the night is of the same duration. If this be the case, the watchmen in the
moon must be horridly over-worked, and daily labourers must be fatigued in
proportion. When the moon is on the increase, it is seen in the crescent;
but whether Mornington-crescent or Burton-crescent, or any other crescent
in particular, has not been mentioned by either ancient or modern
astronomers. The only articles we get from the moon, are moonlight and
madness. _Lunar_ caustic is not derived from the planet alluded to.

Of the stars, one of the most brilliant is _Sirius_, or _the Dog-star_,
which it is calculated gives just one-twenty-millionth part of the light of
the sun, or about as much as that of a farthing rushlight. It would seem
that such a shabby degree of brilliancy was hardly worth having; but when
it is remembered that it takes three years to come, it really seems hardly
worth while to travel so far to so very little purpose.

The most magnificent of the starry phenomena, is the Milky Way or _Whey_;
and, indeed, the epithet seems superfluous, for all _whey_ is to a certain
extent milky. The _Band of Orion_ is familiar to all of us by name; but it
is not a musical band, as most people are inclined to think it is. Perhaps
the allusion to the _music of the spheres_ may have led to this popular
error, as well as to that which regards Orion's _band_ as one of _wind_

We shall not go into those ingenious calculations that some astronomers
have indulged in, as to the time it would take for a cannon-ball to come
from the sun to the earth, for we really hope the earth will never be
troubled by so unwelcome a visitor. Nor shall we throw out any suggestions
as to how long a bullet would be going from the globe to the moon; for we
do not think any one would be found goose enough to take up his rifle with
the intention of trying the experiment.

Comets are, at present, though very luminous bodies, involved in
considerable obscurity. Though there is plenty of light in comets, we are
almost entirely in the dark concerning them. All we know about them is,
that they are often coming, but never come, and that, after frightening us
every now and then, by threatening destruction to our earth, they turn
sharp off, all of a sudden, and we see no more of them. Astronomers have
spied at them, learned committees have sat upon them, and old women have
been frightened out of their wits by them; but, notwithstanding all this,
the _comet_ is so utterly mysterious, that "thereby _hangs a tail_" is all
we are prepared to say respecting it.

We trust the above remarks will have thrown a light on the sun and moon,
illustrated the stars, and furnished a key to the skies in general; but
those who require further information are referred to Messrs. Adams and
Walker, whose plans of the universe, consisting of several yellow spots on
a few yards of black calico, are exactly the things to give the students of
astronomy a full development of those ideas which it has been our aim to
open out to him.

       *       *       *       *       *


    "With too much blood and too little brain, these two may run mad;
    but if with too much brain and too little blood, they do, I'll be a
    curer of madmen."--_Troilus and Cressida_.

MR. PETER BORTHWICK and Colonel Sibthorpe are both named as candidates for
the Speaker's chair. Peter has a certificate of being "a _bould_ speaker,"
from old Richardson, in whose company he was engaged as parade-clown and
check-taker. The gallant Colonel, however, is decidedly the favourite,
notwithstanding his very ungracious summary of the Whigs some time ago. We
would give one of the buttons off our hump to see


       *       *       *       *       *

MR. JOSEPH MUGGINS begs to inform his old crony, PUNCH, that the report of
Sir John Pullon, "as to the possibility of elevating an ass to the head of
the poll by bribery and corruption" is perfectly correct, provided there is
no abatement in the price. Let him canvass again, and Mr. J.M. pledges
himself, whatever his weight, if he will only stand "one penny more, up
goes the donkey!"


       *       *       *       *       *


Robbed--Melbourne's butcher of his twelvemonth's billings.

Verdict--Stealing under forty shillings.

       *       *       *       *       *


The Chancery bar has been lately occupied with a question relating to a
patent for pins' heads. The costs are estimated at £5000. The lawyers are
the best boxers, after all. Only let them get a _head in chancery_, even a
_pin's_, and see how they make the proprietor _bleed_.

       *       *       *       *       *


Died, Eagle Rouse--Verdict, _Felo de se_.

Induced by being ta'en for--Ross, M.P.

       *       *       *       *       *


When Mr. Rumball was at the Surrey Theatre, the treasurer paid him the
proceeds of a share of a benefit in half-crowns, shillings, and sixpences,
which Rumball boasted that he had carried home on his head. His friends,
from that day, accounted for his _silvery_ hair!

       *       *       *       *       *


We beg to invite attention to the aspect of our Foreign Affairs. It is
dark, lowering, gloomy--some would say, alarming. When it smiles, its
smiles deceive. To use the very mildest term, it is exceedingly suspicious.
Let John Bull look to his pockets.

It is, nevertheless, but a piece of justice to state, that, formidable as
the appearance of Foreign Affairs may be, no blame whatever can, in our
opinion, be attached to Lord Palmerston.

The truth is, that the Foreign Affairs of PUNCH are not the Foreign Affairs
of Politics. They are certain living beings; and we call them Affairs, by
way of compromise with some naturalists, to whom the respective claims of
man and the ape to their relationship may appear as yet undecided.

In their anatomical construction they undoubtedly resemble mankind; they
are also endowed with the faculty of speech. Their clothes, moreover, do
not grow upon their backs, although they look very much as if they did.
They come over here in large numbers from other countries, chiefly from
France; and in London abound in Leicester-square, and are constantly to be
met with under the Quadrant in Regent-street, where they grin, gabble,
chatter, and sometimes dance, to the no small diversion of the passengers.

As these Foreign Affairs have long been the leaders of fashion, and
continue still to give the tone to the manners and sentiments of the
politer circles, where also their language is, perhaps, more frequently
spoken than the vernacular tongue; and as there is something about them--no
matter what--which renders them great favourites with a portion of the
softer sex, we shall endeavour to point out, for the edification of those
who may be disposed to copy them, those peculiarities of person,
deportment, and dress, by which their tribe is distinguished.

We address ourselves more particularly to those whose animal part--every
man is said to resemble, in some respect, one of the lower animals--is made
up of the marmozet and the puppy.

Be it known, then, to all those whom it may concern, that there are, to
speak in a general way, two great classes of Foreign Affairs--the shining
and the dingy.

The characteristic appearance of the former might, perhaps, be obtained by
treating the apparel with a preparation of plumbago or black lead; that of
the latter by the use of some fuliginous substance, as a dye, or, perhaps,
by direct fumigation. The gloss upon the cheeks might be produced by
perseverance in the process of dry-rubbing; the more humid style of visage,
by the application of emollient cataplasms. General sallowness would
result, as a matter of course, from assiduous dissipation. Young gentlemen
thus glazed and varnished, _French_-polished, in fact, from top to toe,
might glitter in the sun like beetles; or adopt, if they preferred it, as
being better adapted for lady-catching, the more sombre guise of the

Foreign Affairs have two opposite modes of wearing the hair; we can
recommend both to those studious of elegance. The locks may be suffered to
flow about the shoulders in ringlets, resembling the tendrils of the vine,
by which means much will be done towards softening down the asperities of
sex; or they may be cropped close to the scalp in such a manner as to
impart a becoming prominence to the ears. When the development of those
appendages is more than usually ample, and when nature has given the head a
particularly stiff and erect covering, descending in two lateral
semicircles, and a central point on the forehead, the last mentioned style
is the more appropriate By its adoption, the most will be made of certain
personal, we might almost say generic, advantages;--we shall call it, in
the language of the Foreign Affairs themselves, the _coiffure à-la-singe_.

Useful hints, with respect to the management of the whiskers, may be
derived from the study of Foreign Affairs. The broad, shorn, smooth extent
of jaw, darkened merely on its denuded surface, and the trimmed regular
fringe surrounding the face, are both, in perhaps equal degrees, worthy of
the attention of the tasteful. The shaggy beard and mustachios, especially,
if aided by the effect of a ferocious scowl, will admirably suit those who
would wish to have an imposing appearance; the chin, with its pointed tuft
_à la capricorne_, will, at all events, ensure distinction from the human
herd; and the decorated upper lip, with its downy growth dyed black, and
gummed (the cheek at the same time having been faintly tinged with rouge,
the locks parted, perfumed, and curled, the waist duly compressed, a slight
addition, if necessary, made to the breadth of the hips, and the feet
confined by the most taper and diminutive _chausserie_ imaginable), will
just serve to give to the _tout ensemble_ that one touch of the masculine
character which, perhaps, it may be well to retain.

The remarkable tightness and plumpness of limbs and person exhibited by
Foreign Affairs cannot have escaped observation. This attractive quality
may be acquired by purchasing the material out of which the clothes are to
be made, and giving the tailor only just as much as may exactly suffice for
the purpose. Its general effect will be much aided by wearing wristbands
turned up over the cuff, and collars turned down upon the stock. An
agreeable contrast of black and white will thus also be produced. Those who
are fonder of harmony will do well to emulate the closely-buttoned sables
likewise worn by a large class of Foreign Affairs, who, affecting a uniform
tint, eschew the ostentation of linen.

The diminution of the width of their coat collars, and the increase of the
convexity of their coat tails, an object which, by artificial assistance,
might easily be gained, are measures which we would earnestly press on all
who are ambitious of displaying an especial resemblance to Foreign Affairs.
We also advise them to have lofty, napless, steeple-crowned hats.

He who would pass for a shining specimen, in every sense of the word, of a
Foreign Affair, should wear varnished boots, which, if composed partly of
striped cloth, or what is much prettier, of silk, will display the ancles
to the better advantage.

With regard to colours in the matter of costume, the contemplation of
Foreign Affairs will probably induce a preference for black, as being
better suited to the complexion, though it will, at the same time, teach
that the hues of the rainbow are capable, under certain circumstances, of
furnishing useful suggestions.

It will have been perceived that the Foreign Affairs of which we have been
treating are the Affairs of one particular nation: beside these, however,
there are others; but since all of their characteristics may be acquired by
letting the clothes alone, never interfering with the hair, abstaining from
the practice of ablution, and smoking German pipes about the streets, they
are hardly worth dwelling upon. Those who have light and somewhat shaggy
locks will study such models with the best success.

Not only the appearance, but the manners also, of Foreign Affairs, may be
copied with signal benefit. Two of their accomplishments will be found
eminently serviceable--the art of looking black, and that of leering. These
physiognomical attainments, exhibited by turns, have a marvellous power of
attracting female eyes--those of them, at least, that have a tendency to
wander abroad. The best way of becoming master of these acquisitions is, to
peruse with attention the features of bravoes and brigands on the one hand,
and those of opera-dancers on the other. The progress of Foreign Affairs
should be attentively watched, as the manner of it is distinguished by a
peculiar grace. This, perhaps, we cannot better teach anyone to catch, than
by telling him to endeavour, in walking, to communicate, at each step, a
lateral motion to his coat tail. The gait of a popular actress, dressed as
a young officer, affords, next to that actually in question, the best
exemplification of our meaning. Habitual dancing before a looking-glass, by
begetting a kind of second nature, which will render the movements almost
instinctive, will be of great assistance in this particular.

In order to secure that general style and bearing for which Foreign Affairs
are so remarkable, the mind must be carefully divested of divers
incompatible qualities--such as self-respect, the sense of shame, the
reverential instinct, and that of conscience, as certain feelings are
termed. It must also be relieved of any inconvenient weight of knowledge
under which it may labour; though these directions are perhaps needless, as
those who have any inclination to form themselves after the pattern of
Foreign Affairs, are not very likely to have any such moral or intellectual
disqualifications to get rid of. However, it would only be necessary to
become conversant with the Affairs themselves, in order, if requisite, to
remove all difficulties of the sort. "There is a thing," reader, "which
thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name
of pitch;" we need not finish the quotation.

To defend the preceding observations from misconstruction, we will make, in
conclusion, one additional remark; Foreign _Affairs_ are one thing--Foreign
_Gentlemen_ another.

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration:  FOREIGN AFFAIRS by (a drawing of an ink bottle)]

       *       *       *       *       *


Some of our big mothers of the broad-sheet have expressed their surprise
that Lord John Russell should have penned so long an address to the
citizens of London, only the day before his wedding. For ourselves, we
think, it would have augured a far worse compliment to Lady John had he
written it the day after. These gentlemen very properly look upon marriage
as a most awful ceremony, and would, therefore, indirectly compliment the
nerve of a statesman who pens a political manifesto with the torch of Hymen
in his eyes, and the whole house odorous of wedding-cake. In the like
manner have we known the last signature of an unfortunate gentleman, about
to undergo a great public and private change, eulogized for the firmness
and clearness of its letters, with the perfect mastery of the supplementary
flourish. However, what is written is written; whether penned to the
rustling of bridesmaids' satins, or the surplice of the consolatory
ordinary--whether to the anticipated music of a marriage peal, or to the
more solemn accompaniment of the bell of St. Sepulchre's.

Ha! Lord John, had you only spoken out a little year ago--had you only told
her Majesty's Commons what you told the Livery of London--then, at this
moment, you had been no moribund minister--then had Sir Robert Peel been as
far from St. James's as he has ever been from Chatham. But so it is: the
Whig Ministry, like martyr Trappists, have died rather than open their
mouths. They would not hear the counsel of their friends, and they refused
to _speak out_ to their enemies. They retire from office with, at least,
this distinction--they are henceforth honorary members of the Asylum for
the Deaf and Dumb!

Again, the Whigs are victims to their inherent sense of politeness--to
their instinctive observance of courtesy towards the Tories. There has been
no bold defiance--no challenge to mortal combat for the cause of public
good; but when Whig has called out Tory, it has been in picked and holiday

  "As if a brother should a brother dare,
  To gentle exercise and proof of arms."

For a long time the people have expected to see "cracked crowns and bloody
noses," and at length, with true John Bull disgust, turned from the ring,
convinced that the Whigs, whatever play they might make, would never go in
and fight.

But have the Tories been correspondingly courteous? By no means; the
generosity of politeness has been wholly with the Whigs. They, like
frolicsome youths at a carnival, have pelted their antagonists with nothing
harder than sugar-plums--with egg-shells filled with rose-water; while the
Tories have acknowledged such holiday missiles with showers of brickbats,
and eggs _not_ filled with aromatic dew. What was the result? The Tories
increased in confidence and strength with every new assault; whilst the
battered Whigs, from their sheer pusillanimity, became noisome in the
nostrils of the country.

At length, the loaves and fishes being about to be carried off, the Whigs
speak out: like sulky Master Johnny, who, pouting all dinner-time, with his
finger in his mouth, suddenly finds his tongue when the apple-dumplings are
to be taken from the table. Then does he advance his plate, seize his ivory
knife and fork, put on a look of determined animation, and cry aloud for
plenty of paste, plenty of fruit, and plenty of sugar! And then _Mrs. Tory_
(it must be confessed a wicked old _Mother Cole_ in her time), with a face
not unlike the countenance of a certain venerable paramour at a baptismal
rite, declares upon her hopes of immortality that the child shall have
nothing of the sort, there being nothing so dangerous to the constitution
as plenty of flour, plenty of fruit, and plenty of sugar. Therefore, there
is a great uproar with Master Johnny: the House, to use a familiar phrase,
is turned out of the windows; the neighbourhood is roused; Master Johnny
rallies his friends about him, that is, all the other boys of _the court_,
and the fight begins. Johnny and his mates make a very good fight, but
certain heavy Buckinghamshire countrymen--fellows of fifty stone--are
brought to the assistance of that screaming beldame _Mother Tory_, and poor
Master Johnny has no other election than to listen to the shouts of triumph
that declare there never shall be plenty of flour, plenty of sugar, or, in
a word, plenty of pudding.

However, Lord Russell is not discouraged. No; he says "there _shall_ be
cakes and ale, and ginger shall be hot i' the mouth, too!" We only trust
that his Lordship's manifesto is not tinged by those feelings of hope (and
in the case of his lordship we may add, resignation) that animate most men
about to enter wedlock. We trust he does not confound his own anticipations
of happiness with the prospects of the country; for in allusion to the
probable policy of the Tories, he says--"Returned to office--they may adopt
our measures, and submit to the influence of reason." Reason from the
Stanleys--reason from the Goulburns--reason from the Aberdeens! When the
Marquis of Londonderry shall have discovered the longitude, and Colonel
Sibthorp have found out the philosopher's stone, we may then begin to
expect the greater miracle.

The Whigs, according to Lord Russell's letter, have really done so much
when out of power, and--as he insinuates, are again ready to do so much the
instant they are expelled the Treasury--that for the sake of the country,
it must be a matter of lamentation if ever they get in again.

       *       *       *       *       *


Punch, we regret to state, was taken into custody on Monday night at a late
hour, on a warrant, for the purpose of being bound over to keep the peace
towards Sir John Pollen, Bart. The circumstances giving rise to this affair
will be better explained by a perusal of the following correspondence,
which took place between ourselves and Sir John, on the occasion, a copy of
which we subjoin:--

_Wellington Street, July_ 30, 1841.

SIR,--I have this moment read in the _Morning Chronicle_, the
correspondence between you and Lord William Paget, wherein you are reported
to say, that your recent defeat at the Andover election was effected by
"tampering with some of the smaller voters, who would have voted for _Punch
or any other puppet_;" and that such expressions were not intended to be
_personally offensive_ to Lord William Paget! The members of her Majesty's
puppetry not permitting derogatory conclusions to be drawn at their
expense, I call upon you to state whether the above assertions are correct;
and if so, whether, in the former case, you intended to allude personally
to myself, or my friend Colonel Sibthorp; or, in the latter, to infer that
you considered Lord W. Paget in any way our superior.

I have the honour to be, Sir, your obedient servant,

Sir John Pollen, Bart.

_Redenham, July 30, 1841._

SIGNOR,--I have just received a note in which you complain of a speech made
by me at Andover. I have sent express for my Lord Wilkshire, and will then
endeavour to recollect what I did say.

I have the honour to be, your admirer,

To Signor Punch.

_White Hart._

SIGNOR,--My friend Lord Wilkshire has just arrived. It is his opinion that:
I did use the terms "Punch, or any other puppet;" but I intended them to
have been highly complimentary, as applied to Lord William Paget.

I have the honour to be, your increased admirer,

To Signor Punch.

_Wellington Street._

SIR,--I and the Colonel are perfectly satisfied. Yours ever,


_Wellington Street._

MY LORD,--It would have afforded me satisfaction to have consulted the
wishes of Sir John Pollen in regard to the publication of this
correspondence. The over-zeal of Sir John's friends have left me no choice
in the matter, I shall print.

Your obedient servant,

Earl of Wilkshire.

Thus ended this--


       *       *       *       *       *

HUMFERY CHEAT-'EM.--(_Vide_ Ainsworth's "Guy Fawkes.")

A city friend met us the other morning: "Hark 'ee," said he, "Alderman
Humfery has been selling shares of the Blackwall Railway, which were not in
his possession; and when the directors complained, and gave him notice that
they would bring his conduct before a full meeting, inviting him at the
same time to attend, and vindicate or explain his conduct as he best might,
he not only declined to do so, but hurried off to Dublin. Now, I want to
know this," and he took me by the button, "why was Alderman Humfery, when
he ran away to Dublin, like the boy who ripped up his goose which laid
golden eggs?"--We were fain to give it up.--"Because," said he, with a
cruel dig in the ribs, "because he _cut his lucky!_"

       *       *       *       *       *



The following interesting narrative of the sufferings of the youth Jones,
whose indefatigable pursuit of knowledge, under the most discouraging
circumstances, has been the cause of his banishment to a distant shore, was
lately picked up at sea, in a sealed bottle, by a homeward-bound East
Indiaman, and since placed in our hands by the captain of the vessel; who
complimented us by saying, he felt such confidence in PUNCH'S honour and
honesty! (these were his very words), that he unhesitatingly confided to
him the precious document, in order that it might be given to the world
without alteration or curtailment.

We hasten to realise the captain's flattering estimate of our character.

_At see, on board the ship Apollo._

_June 30._--So soon as the fust aggytation of my mind is woar off, I take
up my pen to put my scentiments on peaper, in hops that my friends as nose
the misfortin wich as oc-_curd_ to me, may think off me wen I'm far a
_whey_. Halass! sir, the wicktim of that crewel blewbeard, Lord Melbun, who
got affeard of my rising poplarity in the Palass, and as sent me to _see_
for my _peeping_, though, heaven nose, I was acktyated by the pewrest
motiffs in what I did. The reel fax of the case is, I'm a young man of an
ighly cultiwated mind and a very _ink_-wisitive disposition, wich naturally
led me to the use of the _pen_. I ad also bean in the abit of reading "Jak
Sheppard," and I may add, that I O all my eleygant tastes to the perowsal
of that faxinating book. O! wot a noble mind the author of these wollums
must have!--what a frootful inwention and fine feelings he displays!--what
a delicat weal he throws over the piccadillys of his ero, making petty
larceny lovely, and burglarly butiful.

However, I don't mean now to enter into a reglar crickitism of this
egxtrornary work, but merely to observe, when I read it fust I felt a thust
for literrerry fame spring up in my buzzem; and I thort I should to be an
orthor. Unfortinnet delusion!--that thort has proved my rooin. It was the
_bean_ of my life, and the destroyer of my _pease_. From that moment I
could think of nothink else; I neglekted my wittles and my master, and
wanderd about like a knight-errand-boy who had forgotten his message. Sleap
deserted my lowly pillar, and, like a wachful shepherd, I lay all night
awake amongst my _flocks_. I had got hold of a single idear--it was the
axle of my mind, and, like a wheelbarrow, my head was always turning upon
it. At last I resolved to rite, and I cast my i's about for a subject--they
fell on the Palass! Ear, as my friend Litton Bulwer ses, ear was a field
for genus to sore into;--ear was an area for fillophosy to dive into;--ear
was a truly magnificient and comprehensive desine for a great _nash_-ional
picture! I had got a splendid title, too--not for myself--I've a sole above
such trumperry--but for my book. Boox is like humane beings--a good title
goes a grate way with the crowd:--the one I ad chose for my _shed-oove_,
was "Pencillings in the Palass; or, a Small Voice from the Royal Larder,"
with commick illustriations by Fiz or Krokvill. Mr. Bentley wantid to be
engaged as monthly nuss for my expected projeny; and a nother gen'leman,
whose "name" shall be "never heard," offered to go _shears_ with me, if I'd
consent to _cut-uup_ the Cort ladies. "No," ses I, indignantly, "I leave
Cort scandle to my betters--I go on independent principals into the Palass,
and that's more than Lord Melbun, or Sir Robert Peal, or any one of the
insiders or outsiders ever could or ever can say of theirselves.

That's what I said _then_,--but now I think, what a cussed fool I was. All
my eye-flown bubbles were fated to be busted and melted, like the _wigs_,
"into thin _hair_."

_Nong port!_ We gets wiser as we gets      *       *       *

Genteel Reader,--I beg your parding. I'm better now. Bless me, how the ship
waggles! It's reelly hawful; the sailors only laff at it, but I suppose as
they're all _tars_ they don't mind being _pitched_ a little.

The capting tells me we are now reglarly at see, having just passt the
North 4 land; so, ackording to custom, I begin my journal, or, as
naughtical men call it--to keep my log.

_12 o'clock._--Wind.--All in my eye. Mate said we had our larburd tax
aboard--never herd of that tax on shore. Told me I should learn to box the
compass--tried, but couldn't do it--so boxt the cabbing boy insted. Capting
several times calld to a man who was steering--"_Port, port_;" but though
he always anserd, "Eye, eye, sir," he didn't bring him a drop. The black
cook fell into the hold on the topp of his hed. Everybody sed he was gone
to Davy Jones's locker; but he warn't, for he soon came to again, drank 1/2
a pint of rumm, and declared it was--


Saw a yung salor sitting on the top of one of the masts--thort of Dibdings
faymos see-song, and asked if he warn't

  "The sweet little cherub that sits up aloft?"

Man laff'd, and said it wor only Bill Junk clearing the pennant halliards.

_1 o'clock._--Thort formerly that every sailer wore his pigtale at the back
of his head, like Mr. Tippy Cook--find I labored under a groce
mistake--they all carry their pigtale in their backy-boxes. When I beheld
the sailors working and heaving, and found that I was also beginning to
heave-too, I cuddn't help repeting the varse of the old song--which fitted
my case egsactly:--

  "There's the capt'n he is our kimmander,
    There's the bos'n and all the ship's crew,
  There's the married men as well as the single,
    Ken-ows what we poor sailors goes through."

However, I made up my mind not to look inward on my own wose any longer, so
I put my head out of a hole in the side of the ship--and, my wiskers! how
she did whizz along. Saw the white cliffs of Halbion a long way off, wich
brought tiers in my i, thinking of those I had left behind, particular
Sally Martin the young gal I was paying my attentions to, who gave me a
_lock_ of her air when I was a leaving of the _key_. Oh! Lord Melbun, Lord
Melbun! how can you rest in youre 4-post bed at nite, nowing you have broke
the tize of affexion and divided 2 fond arts for hever! This mellancholly
reflexion threw me into a poeticle fitte, and though I was werry uneasy in
my _stommik_, and had nothing to rite on but my _chest_. I threw off as
follows in a few 2nds, and arterards sung it to the well-none hair of
"Willy Reilly:"--

  Oakum to me[3], ye sailors bold,
    Wot plows upon the sea;
  To you I mean for to unfold
    My mournful histo-ree.
  So pay attention to my song,
    And quick-el-ly shall appear,
  How innocently, all along,
    I vos in-weigle-ed here.

  One night, returnin home to bed,
    I walk'd through Pim-li-co,
  And, twigging of the Palass, sed,
    "I'm _Jones_ and _In-i-go_."
  But afore I could get out, my boys
    Pollise-man 20 A,
  He caught me by the corderoys,
    And lugged me right a-way.

  My cuss upon Lord Melbun, and
    On Jonny Russ-all-so,
  That forc'd me from my native land
    Across the vaves to go-o-oh.
  But all their spiteful arts is wain,
    My spirit down to keep;
  I hopes I'll soon git back again,
    To take another peep.

    [3] The nautical mode of writing--"Oh! come to me."--PRINTER'S

_2 o'clock._--Bell rung for all hands to come down to dinner. Thought I
never saw dirtier hands in my life. They call their dinner "a mess" on
broad ship, and a preshious mess it did look--no bread but hard biskit and
plenty of ship's _rolls_, besides biled pork and P-soop--both these
articles seemed rayther queer--felt my stommick growing quear too--got on
deck, and asked where we were--was told we were in the Straits of Dover. I
never was in such dreadful straits in my life--ship leaning very much on
one side, which made me feel like a man


_3 o'clock._--Weather getting rather worse than better. Mind very uneasy.
Capting says we shall have plenty of squalls to-night; and I heard him just
now tell the mate to look to the main shrouds, so I spose it's all dickey
with us, and that this log will be my sad epilog. The idear of being made
fish meat was so orrible to my sensitive mind, that I couldn't refrain from
weaping, which made the capting send me down stairs, to vent my sorros in
the cable _tiers_.

_5 o'clock._--I'm sure we shan't srwive this night, therefore I av
determined to put my heavy log into an M T rum-bottle, and throw it
overbord, in bops it may be pickd up by some pirson who will bare my sad
tail to my dear Sally. And now I conclewd with this short advice:--Let awl
yung men take warning by my crewel fate. Let them avide bad kumpany and
keep out of the Palass; and above all, let them mind their bissnesses on
dri land, and never cast their fortunes on any _main_, like their


       *       *       *       *       *




        O, Gemini-
  Representatives of the Tartan hero,
  Who wildly tear a passion into rags
  More ragged than the hags
  That round about the cauldron go!
  Murderers! who murder Shakspeare so,
  That 'stead of murdering sleep, ye do not do it;
  But, _vice versa_, send the audience to it.
          And, oh!--
          But no--
        Illustrious Mac-
        Beth, or -ready,
        And thou, small quack,
        Of plaudits greedy!
  Our pen, deserted by the tuneful Muses,
  To write on such a barren theme refuses.

       *       *       *       *       *

  The most splendid night of the season! Friday, the 20th of August.
  British Champagne and the British Constitution!--The Church, the
  State, and Real Turtle!

  The performances will commence with
          FISH OUT OF WATER,
    Sam Savory--Captain Rous, R.N.
            After which,
  Which will embrace the whole strength of THE STEWARDS.
  In the course of the Evening, the ENLIGHTENED
  (Those zealous admirers of _true British spirit_) will parade the
  room amid

  To be followed by a GRAND PANTOMIME, called
            OR, BRAVO ROUS!
  OLD GLORY (afterwards Pantaloon) SIR F. BURDETT,
  who has kindly offered his services on this occasion.
  HARRY HUMBUG (a true British Sailor, afterwards Harlequin), CAPT. ROUS.
  The whole to conclude with a grand _mélange_ of


  Stretchers to be at the doors at half-past 2, and policemen to take
  up with their heads towards Bow-street.

            VIVAT REGINA.

       *       *       *       *       *


The experiments of M. Delafontaine having again raised an outcry against
this noble science, from the apparent absence of any benefit likely to
arise from it, beyond converting human beings into pincushions and galvanic
dummies. We, who look deeper into things than the generality of the world,
hail it as an inestimable boon to mankind, and proceed at once to answer
the numerous enquirers as to the _cui bono_ of this novel soporific.

By a judicious application of the mesmeric fluid, the greatest domestic
comfort can be insured at the least possible trouble. The happiest Benedict
is too well aware that ladies will occasionally exercise their tongues in a
way not altogether compatible with marital ideas of quietude. A few passes
of the hand ("in the way of kindness for he who would," &c. _vide_ Tobin)
will now silence the most powerful oral battery; and Tacitus himself might,
with the aid of mesmerism, pitch his study in a milliner's work-room.
Hen-pecked husbands have now other means at their command, to secure quiet,
than their razors and their garters. We have experimentalised upon our
Judy, and find it answer to a miracle. Mrs. Johnson may shut up her
laboratory for American Soothing Syrup; mesmerism is the only panacea for
those morning and evening infantile ebullitions which affectionate mammas
always assign to the teeth, the wind, or a pain in the stomach, and never
to that possible cause, a pain in the temper. Mesmerism is "the real
blessing to mothers," and Elliotson the Mrs. Johnson of the day. We have
tried it upon our Punchininny, and find it superior to our old practice of
throwing him out of the window.

Lovers, to you it is a boon sent by Cupid. Mammas, who will keep in the
room when your bosoms are bursting with adoration--fathers, who will wake
on the morning of an elopement, when the last trunk and the parrot are
confided to you from the window--bailiffs, who will hunt you up and down
their bailiwick, even to the church-door, though an heiress is depending
upon your character for weekly payments--all are rendered powerless and
unobtrusive by this inexplicable palmistry. Candidates, save your money;
mesmerise your opponents instead of bribing them, and you may become a
patriot by a show of hands.

These are a few of its social advantages--its political uses are unbounded.
Why not mesmerise the Chinese? and, as for the Chartists, call out
Delafontaine instead of the magistrates--a few mesmeric passes would be an
easy and efficient substitute for the "Riot Act." Then the powers of
_clairvoyance_--the faculty of seeing with their eyes shut--that it gives
to the patient. Mrs. Ratsey, your royal charge might be soothed and
instructed at the same time, by substituting a sheet of PUNCH for the
purple and fine linen of her little Royal Highness's nautilus-shell.

Lord John Russell, the policy of your wily adversary would no longer be
concealed. Jealous husbands, do you not see a haven of security, for brick
walls may be seen through, and letters read in the pocket of your rival, by
this magnetic telescope? whilst studious young gentleman may place Homer
under their arms, and study Greek without looking at it.

[Illustration: MESMERISM.]

       *       *       *       *       *


The Marquis of Waterford and party visited Vauxhall Gardens on Monday. The
turnpike man on the bridge was much _struck_ by their easy manner of
dealing with their inferiors.

Alderman Magnay laid the first shell of an oyster grotto one night this
week in the Minories. There was a large party of boys, who, with the worthy
Alderman, repaired to a neighbouring fruit-stall, where the festivity of
the occasion was kept up for several minutes.

The New Cut was, as usual, a scene of much animation on Saturday last, and
there was rather a more brilliant display than customary of new and elegant
baked-potato stands. The well-known turn-out, with five lanterns and four
apertures for the steam, was the general admiration of the host of
pedestrians who throng the Cut between the hours of eight and twelve on

       *       *       *       *       *


SIR R. PEEL, in the celebrated medicinal metaphor with which he lately
favoured his constituents at Tamworth, concludes by stating, "that he
really believes he does more than any political physician ever did by
referring to the prescriptions which he offered in 1835 and 1840, and by
saying that he sees no reason to alter them." This is, to carry out the
physical figure, only another version of "_the mixture as before_." We are
afraid there are no hopes of the patient.

"Why are the Whigs like the toes of a dancing-master?"--"Because they
_must_ be turned out."

"Why are Colonel Sibthorp and Mr. Peter Borthwick like the covering of the
dancing-master's toes?"--"Because they are a _pair of pumps_."

"Why are the Whigs and Tories like the scarlet fever and the
measles?"--"Because there's no telling which is the worst."

       *       *       *       *       *


My uncle Septimus Snagglegrable is no more! Excellent old man! no one knew
his worthiness whilst he was of the living, for every one called him a

It is reserved for me to do justice to his memory, and one short sentence
will be sufficient for the purpose--he has left me five thousand pounds! I
have determined that his benevolence shall not want an imitator, and I have
resolved, at a great personal sacrifice, to benefit that portion of my
fellow creatures who are denominated ugly. I am particularly so. My
complexion is a bright snuff-colour; my eyes are grey, and unprotected by
the usual verandahs of eye-lashes; my nose is _retroussé_, and if it has a
bridge, it must be of the suspension order, for it is decidedly concave. I
wish Rennie would turn his attention to the state of numerous noses in the
metropolis. I am sure a lucrative company might he established for the
purpose of erecting bridges to noses that, like my own, have been
unprovided by nature. I should be happy to become a director. _Revenons
nous_--my mouth is decidedly large, and my teeth singularly irregular. My
father was violently opposed to Dr. Jenner's "repeal of the small-pox,"[4]
and would not have me vaccinated; the consequence of which has been that my
chin is full of little dells, thickly studded with dark and stunted
bristles. I have bunions and legs that (as "the right line of beauty's a
curve") are the perfection of symmetry. My poor mother used to lament what
she, in the plenitude of her ignorance, was pleased to denominate my
disadvantages. She knew not the power of genius. To me these--well, I'll
call them _defects_--have been the source of great profit. For years I have
walked about the great metropolis without any known or even conjectural
means of subsistence; my coat has always been without a patch--my linen
without spot!

    [4] Baylis.

Ugly brothers, I am about to impart to you the secret of my existence! I
have lived by the fine arts--yes, by sitting as

  A model for door-knockers and cherubim for tomb-stones.

The latter may perhaps surprise you, but the contour of my countenance is
decidedly infantile--for when had a babby a bridge?--and the addition of a
penny trumpet completes the full-blown expression of the light-headed
things known to stone-masons as cherubim.

But it is to the art of knocker-designing that I flatter myself I have been
of most service. By the elevation of my chin, and the assistance of a long
wig, I can present an excellent resemblance of a lion, with this great
advantage over the real animal--I can vary the expression according to

  "As mild as milk, or raging as the storm."

So that nervous single ladies need not be terrified out of their senses
every time they knock at their door, by the grim personification of a Nero
at feeding time; or a tender-hearted poor-law guardian be pestered during
dinner by invitations afforded to the starving poor by the benevolent
expression of his knocker.

Ugly ones! I have now imparted to you my secret.

       *       *       *       *       *


  Oh, Mr. Punch! what glorious times
  Are these, for humbly gifted mimes;
    When, spite of each detracter,
  Paternal name and filial love,
  Assisted by "the powers above,"
    Have made C----s K----n an actor!

  "'Tis true," his generous patrons say,
  "Of genius he ne'er had a ray;
    Yet, all his faults to smother,
  The youth inherits, from his sire,
  A name which all the world admire,
    And dearly loves his mother!"

  Stripp'd of his adventitious aid,
  He ne'er ten pounds a week had made;
    Yet every Thespian brother
  Is now kept down, or put to flight,
  While _he_ gets fifty pounds a night,
    Because--he loves his mother!

  Though I'm, in heart and soul, a friend
  To genuine talent, Heaven forefend
    That I should raise a pother,
  Because the philanthropic folks
  Wink and applaud a pious hoax,
    For one who--loves his mother!

  No! Heaven prolong his parent's life
  And grant that no untimely strife
    May wean them from each other!
  For soon he'd find the golden fleece
  Slip from his grasp, should he e'er cease
    To _keep_ and--love his mother!

       *       *       *       *       *


Why is a chesnut horse, going at a rapid pace up an inclined plane, like an
individual in white trousers presenting a young lady in book muslin with an
infantine specimen of the canine species?--Because he is giving _a gallop
up_ (a girl a pup).

       *       *       *       *       *



The distresses of actors distress nobody but themselves. A tale of woe told
off the stage by a broad comedian, begets little sympathy; and if he is in
the "heavy line," people say he is used to it, and is only acting--playing
off upon you a melancholy joke, that he may judge how it will _tell_ at
night. Thus, when misfortune takes a benefit, charity seldom takes tickets;
for she is always sceptical about the so-called miseries of the most giddy,
volatile, jolly, careless, uncomplaining (where managers and bad parts are
not concerned) vainest, and apparently, happiest possible members of the
community, who are so completely associated with fiction, that they are
hardly believed when telling the truth. _Par exemple_--nothing can be more
true than that Astley's Theatre was burnt down the other day; that the
whole of that large establishment were suddenly thrown out of employ; that
their wardrobes were burnt to rags, their properties reduced to a cinder,
and their means of subsistence roasted in a too rapid fire. True also is
it, that to keep the wolf from their own doors, those of the Olympic have
been opened, where the really dismounted cavalry of Astley's are continuing
their campaign, having appealed to the public to support them. Judging from
the night we were present, that support has been extended with a degree of
lukewarmness which is exactly proportionate to the effect produced by the
appeals of actors when misfortune overtakes them.

But, besides public sympathy, they put forth other claims for support. The
amusements they offer are of extraordinary merit. The acting of Mr. H.
Widdicomb, of Miss Daly, and Mr. Sidney Forster, was, in the piece we
saw--"The Old House at Home"--full of nature and quiet touches of feeling
scarcely to be met with on any other stage. Still these are qualifications
the "general" do not always appreciate; though they often draw tears, they
seldom draw money. Very well, to meet that deficiency, other and more
popular actors have come forward to offer their aid. Mr. T.P. Cooke has
already done his part, as he always does it, nobly. The same may be said of
Mr. Hammond. When we were present, Mrs. H.L. Grattan and Mr. Balls appeared
in the "Lady of Munster." Mr. Sloan, a popular Irish comedian from the
provinces, has lent a helping hand, by coming out in a new drama. Mr.
Keeley is also announced.

The pieces we saw were well got up and carefully acted; so that the patrons
of the drama need not dread that, in this instance, the Astleyan-Olympic
actors believe that "charity covers a multitude of sins." They don't care
who sees their faults--the more the better.

       *       *       *       *       *


When a certain class of persons, whose antipathy to gratis sea-voyages is
by no means remarkable, are overtaken by the police and misfortune; when
the last legal quibble has been raised upon their case and failed; when,
indeed, to use their own elegant phraseology, they are "regularly stumped
and done up;" then--and, to do them justice, not till then--they resort to
confession, and to turning king's evidence against their accomplices.

This seems to be exactly the case with the drama, which is evidently in the
last stage of decline; the consumption of new subjects having exhausted the
supply. The French has been "taken from" till it has nothing more to give;
the Newgate Calendar no longer affords materials; for an entire dramatic
edition of it might be collected (a valuable hint this for the Syncretic
Society, that desperate association for producing un-actable dramas)--the
very air is exhausted in a theatrical sense; for "life in the clouds" has
been long voted "law;" whilst the play-writing craft have already robbed
the regions below of every spark of poetic fire; devils are decidedly out
of date. In short, and not to mince the matter, as hyenas are said to stave
off starvation by eating their own haunches, so the drama _must_ be on its
last legs, when actors turn king's evidence, and exhibit to the public how
they flirt and quarrel, and eat oysters and drink porter, and scandalise
and make fun--how, in fact, they disport themselves "Behind the Scenes."

A visit to the English Opera will gratify those of the uninitiated, who are
anxious to get acquainted with the manners and customs of the ladies and
gentlemen of the _corps dramatique_ "at the wing." Otherwise than as a sign
of dramatic destitution, the piece called "Behind the Scenes" is highly
amusing. Mr. Wild's acting displays that happy medium between jocularity
and earnest, which is the perfection of burlesque. Mrs. Selby plays the
"leading lady" without the smallest effort, and invites the first tragedian
to her treat of oysters and beer with considerable _empressement_, though
supposed to be labouring at the time _under_ the stroke of the headsman's
axe. Lastly, it would be an act of injustice to Mr. Selby to pass his
_Spooney Negus_ over in silence. PUNCH has too brotherly an affection for
his fellow-actors, to hide their faults; in the hope that, by shewing them
_veluti in speculum_, they may be amended. In all kindness, therefore, he
entreats Mr. Selby, if he be not bent upon hastening his own ruin, if he
have any regard for the feelings of unoffending audiences, who always
witness the degradation of human nature with pain--he implores him to
provide a substitute for _Negus_. Every actor knows the difference between
portraying imbecility and _being_ silly himself--between puerility, as
characteristic of a part _in posse_, and as being a trait of the performer
_in esse_. To this rule Mr. Selby, in this part, is a melancholy exception;
for he seems utterly ignorant of such a distinction, broad as it is--he is
silly himself, instead of causing silliness in _Spooney_. This is the more
to be regretted, as whoever witnessed, with us, the first piece, saw in Mr.
Selby a respectable representative of an old dandy in "Barnaby Rudge."
Moreover, the same gentleman is, we understand, the adapter of the drama
from Boz's tale. That too proves him to be a clever contriver of
situations, and an ingenious adept with the pen and scissors.

       *       *       *       *       *


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

       *       *       *       *       *


VOL. 1.


       *       *       *       *       *



_In Four Chapters._


[Illustration: T]The conversation now subsided into "private and
confidential" whispers, from which I could learn that Miss O'Brannigan had
consented to quit her father's halls with Terence that very night, and,
before the priest, to become his true and lawful wife.

It had been previously understood that those of the guests who lived at a
distance from the lodge should sleep there that night. Nothing could have
been more favourable for the designs of the lovers; and it was arranged
between them, that Miss Biddy was to steal from her chamber into the yard,
at daybreak, and apprise her lover of her presence by flinging a handful of
gravel against his window. Terence's horse was warranted to carry double,
and the lady had taken the precaution to secure the key of the stable where
he was placed.

It was long after midnight before the company began to separate;--cloaks,
shawls, and tippets were called for; a jug of punch of extra strength was
compounded, and a _doch an dhurris_[1] of the steaming beverage
administered to every individual before they were permitted to depart. At
length the house was cleared of its guests, with the exception of those who
were to remain and take beds there. Amongst the number were the haberdasher
and your uncle. The latter was shown into a chamber in which a pleasant
turf fire was burning on the hearth.

    [1] A drink at the door;--a farewell cup.

Although Terence's mind was full of sweet anticipations and visions of
future grandeur, he could not avoid feeling a disagreeable sensation
arising from the soaked state of his boots; and calculating that it still
wanted three or four hours of daybreak, he resolved to have us dry and
comfortable for his morning's adventure. With this intention he drew us
off, and placed us on the hearth before the fire, and threw himself on the
bed--not to sleep--he would sooner have committed suicide--but to meditate
upon the charms of Miss Biddy and her thousand pounds.

But our strongest resolutions are overthrown by circumstances--the ducking,
the dancing, and the _potteen_, had so exhausted Terence, that he
unconsciously shut, first, one eye, then the other, and, finally, he fell
fast asleep, and dreamed of running away with the heiress on his back,
through a shaking bog, in which he sank up to the middle at every step. His
vision was, however, suddenly dispelled by a smart rattle against his
window. A moment was sufficient to recall him to his senses--he knew it was
Miss Biddy's signal, and, jumping from the bed, drew back the cotton
window-curtains and peered earnestly out: but though the day had begun to
break, it was still too dark to enable him to distinguish any person on the
lawn. In a violent hurry he seized on your humble servant, and endeavoured
to draw me on; but, alas! the heat of the fire had so shrank me from my
natural dimensions, that he might as well have attempted to introduce his
leg and foot into an eel-skin. Flinging me in a rage to the further corner
of the room, he essayed to thrust his foot into my companion, which had
been reduced to the same shrunken state as myself. In vain he tugged,
swore, and strained; first with one, and then with another, until the
stitches in our sides grinned with perfect torture; the perspiration rolled
down his forehead--his eyes were staring, his teeth set, and every nerve in
his body was quivering with his exertions--but still he could not force us

"What's to be done!" he ejaculated in despairing accents. A bright thought
struck him suddenly, that he might find a pair of boots belonging to some
of the other visitors, with which he might make free on so pressing an
emergency. It was but sending them back, with an apology for the mistake,
on the following day. With this idea he sallied from his room, and groped
his way down stairs to find the scullery, where he knew the boots were
deposited by the servant at night. This scullery was detached from the main
building, and to reach it it was necessary to cross an angle of the yard.
Terence cautiously undid the bolts and fastenings of the back door, and was
stealthily picking his steps over the rough stones of the yard, when he was
startled by a fierce roar behind him, and at the same moment the teeth of
Towser, the great watch-dog, were fastened in his nether garments. Though
very much alarmed, he concealed his feelings, and presuming on a slight
previous intimacy with his assailant, he addressed him in a most familiar
manner, calling him "poor fellow" and "old Towser," explained to him the
ungentlemanly liberty he was taking with his buckskins, and requested him
to let go his hold, as he had quite enough of that sport. Towser was,
however, not to be talked out of his private notions; he foully suspected
your uncle of being on no good design, and replied to every remonstrance he
made with a growl and a shake, that left no doubt he would resort to more
vigorous measures in case of opposition. Afraid or ashamed to call for
help, Terence was kept in this disagreeable state, nearly frozen to death
with cold and trembling with terror, until the morning was considerably
advanced, when he was discovered by some of the servants, who released him
from the guardianship of his surly captor. Without waiting to account for
the extraordinary circumstances in which he had been found, he bolted into
the house, rushed up to his bed-chamber, and, locking the door, threw
himself into a chair, overwhelmed with shame and vexation.

But poor Terence's troubles were not half over. The beautiful heiress,
after having discharged several volleys of sand and small pebbles against
his window without effect, was returning to her chamber, swelling with
indignation, when she was encountered on the stairs by Tibbins, who, no
doubt prompted by the demon of jealousy, had been watching her movements.
He could not have chosen a more favourable moment to plead his suit; her
mortified vanity, and her anger at what she deemed the culpable
indifference of her lover, made her eager to be revenged on him. It
required, therefore, little persuasion to obtain her consent to elope with
the haberdasher. The key of the stable was in her pocket, and in less than
ten minutes she was sitting beside him in his gig, taking the shortest road
to the priest's.

I cannot attempt to describe the rage that Terence flew into, as soon as he
learned the trick he had been served; he vowed to be the death of Tibbins,
and it is probable he would have carried his threat into effect, if the
haberdasher had not prudently kept out of his way until his anger had grown

"So," said I, addressing the narrator, "you lost the opportunity of
figuring at Miss Biddy's wedding?"

"Yes," replied the 'wife-catcher;' "but Terence soon retrieved his credit,
for in less than three months after his disappointment with the heiress, we
were legging it as his wedding with Miss Debby Doolan, a greater fortune
and a prettier girl than the one he had lost: and, by-the-bye, that reminds
me of a funny scene which took place when the bride came to throw the
stocking--hoo! hoo! hoo! hoo!"

Here my friends, the boots, burst into a long and loud fit of laughter;
while I, ignorant of the cause of their mirth, looked gravely on, wondering
when it would subside. Instead, however, of their laughter lessening, the
cachinnations became so violent that I began to feel seriously alarmed.

"My dear friends!" said I.

"Hoo! hoo! hoo! hoo! hoo!" shouted the pair.

"This excessive mirth may be dangerous"--

A peal of laughter shook their leathern sides, and they rolled from side to
side on their chair. Fearful of their falling, I put out my hand to support
them, when a sense of acute pain made me suddenly withdraw it. I started,
opened my eyes, and discovered that I had laid hold of the burning remains
of the renowned "wife-catchers," which I had in my sleep placed upon the

As I gazed mournfully upon the smoking relics of the ancient allies of our
house, I resolved to record this strange adventure; but you know I never
had much taste for writing, Jack, so I now confide the task to you. As he
concluded, my uncle raised his tumbler to his lips, and I could perceive a
tear sparkling in his eye--a genuine tribute of regard to the memory of the
venerated "_Wife Catchers_."

       *       *       *       *       *


  Wrote Paget to Pollen,
    With face bright as brass,
  "T'other day in the Town Hall
    You mention'd an ass:

  "Now, for family reasons,
    I'd like much to know,
  If on me you intended
    That name to bestow?"

  "My lord," says Jack Pollen,
    "Believe me, ('tis true,)
  I'd be sorry to slander
    A donkey or you."

  "Being grateful," says Paget,
    "I'd ask you to lunch;
  But just, Sir John, tell me.
    Did you call me PUNCH?"

  "In wit, PUNCH is equalled,"
    Says Pollen, "by few;
  In naming him, therefore,
    I couldn't mean you,"

  "Thanks! thanks! To bear malice,"
    Save Paget, "I'm loath;
  Two answers I've got, and I'm
    Charm'd with them both."

       *       *       *       *       *



  Lisette has lost her wanton wiles--
    What secret care consumes her youth,
  And circumscribes her smiles?--
    _A spec on a front tooth!_


  Fitzsmall, who drinks with knights and lords,
    To steal a share of notoriety,
  Will tell you, in important words,
    He _mixes_ in the best society.

       *       *       *       *       *


We find, by the _Times_ of Saturday, the British _teasel_ crops in the
parish of Melksham have fallen entirely to the ground, and from their
appearance denote a complete failure. Another paragraph in the same paper
speaks quite as discouragingly of the appearance of the American _Teazle_
at the Haymarket.

       *       *       *       *       *



_To be said or sung by the Infant Princess._


A stands for ARISTOCRACY, a thing I should admire;


B stands for a BISHOP, who is clothed in soft attire;


C beginneth CABINET, where Mamma keeps her _tools_;


D doth stand for DOWNING-STREET, the "Paradise of Fools;"


E beginneth ENGLAND, that granteth the supplies;


F doth stand for FOREIGNERS, whom I should patronize;


G doth stand for GOLD--good gold!--for which man freedom barters;


H beginneth HONORS--that is, ribbons, stars, and garters;


I stands for my INCOME (several thousand pounds per ann.);


J stands for JOHNNY BULL, a soft and easy kind of man;


K beginneth KING, who rules the land by "right divine;"


L's for MRS. LILLY, who was once a nurse of mine.


M beginneth MELBOURNE, who rules _the roast_ and State;


N stands for a NOBLEMAN, who's _always_ good and great.


O is for the OPERA, that I should only grace;


P stands for the PENSION LIST, for "servants out of place."


Q's the QUARTER'S SALARY, for which true patriots long;


R's for MRS. RATSEY, who taught _me_ this pretty song;


S stands for the SPEECH, which Mummy learns to say;


T doth stand for TAXES, which the people ought to pay;


U's for the UNION WORK-HOUSE, which horrid paupers shun;


V is for VICTORIA, "the Bess of forty-one;"


W stands for WAR, the "noble game" which Monarchs play;


X is for the TREBLE X--Lilly drank three times a day;


And Y Z's for the WISE HEADS, who admire all I say.

       *       *       *       *       *




A popular encyclopædia of the requisites for gentility--a companion to the
toilet, the _salons_, the Queen's Bench, the streets, and the
police-stations, has long been felt to be a desideratum by every one
aspiring to good-breeding. The few works which treat on the subject have
all become as obselete as "hot cockles" and "crambo." "The geste of King
Horne," the "[Greek: BASILIKON]" of King Jamie, "Peacham's Complete
Gentleman," "The Poesye of princelye Practice," "Dame Juliana Berners' Book
of St. Alban's," and "The Jewel for Gentrie," are now confined to
bibliopoles and bookstalls. Even more modern productions have shared the
same fate. "The Whole Duty of Man" has long been consigned to the
trunk-maker, "Chesterfield's Letters" are now dead letters, and the "Young
Man" lights his cigar with his "Best Companion." It is true, that in lieu
of these, several works have emanated from the press, adapted to the change
of manners, and consequently admirably calculated to supply their places.
We need only instance "The Flash Dictionary," "The Book of Etiquette," "A
Guide to the Kens and Cribs of London," "The whole Art of Tying the
Cravat," and "The Hand-book of Boxing;" but it remains for us to remove the
disadvantages which attend the acquirement of each of these noble arts and
sciences in a detached form.

The possessor of an inquiring and genteel mind has now to wander for his
politeness to Paternoster-row[2]; to Pierce Egan, for his knowledge of men
and manners; and to Owen Swift, for his knightly accomplishments, and
exercises of chivalry.

    [2] "Book of Etiquette." Longman and Co.

We undertake to collect and condense these scattered radii into one
brilliant focus, so that a gentleman, by reading his "own book," may be
made acquainted with the best means of ornamenting his own, or disfiguring
a policeman's, person--how to conduct himself at the dinner-table, or at
the bar of Bow-street--how to turn a compliment to a lady, or carry on a
chaff with a cabman.

These are high and noble objects! A wider field for social elevation cannot
well be imagined. Our plan embraces the enlightenment and refinement of
every scion of a noble house, and all the junior clerks in the government
offices--from the happy recipient of an allowance of 50£ per month from
"the Governor," to the dashing acceptor of a salary of thirty shillings a
week from a highly-respectable house in the City--from the gentleman who
occupies a suite of apartments in the Clarendon, to the lodger in the
three-pair back, in an excessively back street at Somers Town.

With these incentives, we will proceed at once to our great and glorious
task, confident that our exertions will be appreciated, and obtain for us
an introduction into the best circles.


We trust that our polite readers will commence the perusal of our pages
with a pleasure equal to that which we feel in sitting down to write them;
for they call up welcome recollections of those days (we are literary and
seedy now!) when our coats emanated from the laboratory of Stultz, our
pantaloons from Buckmaster, and our boots from Hoby, whilst our glossy
beaver--now, alas! supplanted by a rusty goss--was fabricated by no less a
thatcher than the illustrious Moore. They will remind us of our Coryphean
conquests at the Opera--our triumphs in Rotten row--our dinners at Long's
and the Clarendon--our nights at Offley's and the watch-house--our glorious
runs with the Beaufort hounds, and our exhilarating runs from the sheriffs'
officers--our month's sporting on the heathery moors, and our day rule when
rusticating in the Bench!

We are in "the sear and yellow leaf"--there is nothing green about us now!
We have put down our seasoned hunter, and have mounted the winged Pegasus.
The brilliant Burgundy and sparkling Hock no longer mantle in our glass;
but Barclay's beer--nectar of gods and coalheavers--mixed with
hippocrene--the Muses' "cold without"--is at present our only beverage. The
grouse are by us undisturbed in their bloomy mountain covert. We are now
content to climb Parnassus and our garret stairs. The Albany, that
sanctuary of erring bachelors, with its guardian beadle, are to us but
memories, for we have become the denizens of a roomy attic (ring the top
bell twice), and are only saluted by an Hebe of all-work and our printer's

ON DRESS IN GENERAL.--_L'habit fait le moine_.--It has been laid down by
Brummel, Bulwer, and other great authorities, that "the tailor makes the
man;" and he would be the most daring of sceptics who would endeavour to
controvert this axiom. Your first duty, therefore, is to place yourself in
the hands of some distinguished schneider, and from him take out your
patent of gentility--for a man with an "elegant coat" to his back is like a
bill at sight endorsed with a good name; whilst a seedy or ill-cut garment
resembles a protested note of hand labelled "No effects." It will also be
necessary for you to consult "The Monthly Book of Fashions," and to
imitate, as closely as possible, those elegant and artistical productions
of the gifted _burin_, which show to perfection "What a piece of work is
man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties!" &c.--You must not
consult your own ease and taste (if you have any), for nothing is so vulgar
as to suit your convenience in these matters, as you should remember that
you dress to please others, and not yourself. We have heard of some
eccentric individuals connected with noble families, who have departed from
this rule; but they invariably paid the penalty of their rashness, being
frequently mistaken for men of intellect; and it should not be forgotten,
that any exercise of the mind is a species of labour utterly incompatible
with the perfect man of fashion.

The confiding characters of tailors being generally acknowledged, it is
almost needless to state, that the _faintest_ indication of seediness will
be fatal to your reputation; and as a presentation at the Insolvent Court
is equally fashionable with that of St. James, any squeamishness respecting
your inability to pay could only be looked upon as a want of moral courage
upon your part, and


[The subject of _dress in particular_ will form the subject of our next

       *       *       *       *       *



  If I had a thousand a-year,
    (How my heart at the bright vision glows!)
  I should never be crusty or queer,
    But all would be _couleur de rose_.
  I'd pay all my debts, though _outré_,
    And of duns and embarrassments clear,
  Life would pass like a bright summer day,
    If I had a thousand a-year.

  I'd have such a spicy turn-out,
    And a horse of such mettle and breed--
  Whose points not a jockey should doubt,
    When I put him at top of his speed.
  On the foot-board, behind me to swing,
    A tiger so small should appear,
  All the nobs should protest "'twas the thing!"
    If I had a thousand a-year.

  A villa I'd have near the Park,
    From Town just an appetite-ride;
  With fairy-like grounds, and a bark
    O'er its miniature waters to glide.
  There oft, 'neath the pale twilight star,
    Or the moonlight unruffled and clear,
  My meerschaum I'd smoke, or cigar,
    If I had a thousand a-year.

  I'd have pictures and statues, with taste--
    Such as ladies unblushing might view--
  In my drawing and dining-rooms placed,
    With many a gem of virtù.
  My study should be an affair
    The heart of a book-worm to cheer--
  All compact, with its easy spring chair,
    If I had a thousand a-year.

  A cellar I'd have quite complete
    With wines, so _recherché_, well stored;
  And jovial guests often should meet
    Round my social and well-garnish'd board.
  But I would have a favourite few,
    To my heart and my friendship _more_ dear;
  And I'd marry--I mustn't tell who--
    If I had a thousand a-year.

  With comforts so many, what more
    Could I ask of kind Fortune to grant?
  Humph! a few olive branches--say four--
    As pets for my old maiden aunt.
  Then, with health, there'd be nought to append.
    To perfect my happiness here;
  For the _utile et duloc_ would blend.
    If I had a thousand a-year.

       *       *       *       *       *


The Buckets are a large family! I am one of them--my uncle Job Bucket is
another. We, the Buckets, are atoms of creation; yet we, the Buckets, are
living types of the immensity of the world's inhabitants. We illustrate
their ups and downs--their fulness and their emptiness--their risings and
their falling--and all the several goods and ills, the world's denizens in
general, and Buckets in particular, are undoubted heirs to.

It hath ever been the fate of the fulness of one Bucket to guarantee the
emptiness of another; and (mark the moral!) the rising Bucket is the
richly-stored one; its sinking brother's attributes, like Gratiano's wit,
being "an infinite deal of nothing." Hence the adoption of our name for the
wooden utensils that have so aptly fished up this fact from the deep well
of truth.

There be certain rods that attract the lightning. We are inclined to think
there be certain Buckets that invite kicking, and our uncle Job was one of
them. He was birched at school for everybody but himself, for he never
deserved it! He was plucked at college--because some practical joker placed
a utensil, bearing his name, outside the door of the examining master, and
our uncle Job Bucket being unfortunately present, laughed at the consequent
abrasion of his, the examining master's, shins. He was called to the bar.
His first case was, "Jane Smith _versus_ James Smith" (no relations). His
client was the female. She had been violently assaulted. He mistook the
initial--pleaded warmly for the opposing Smith, and glowingly described the
disgraceful conduct of the veriest virago a legal adviser ever had the pain
of speaking of. The verdict was, as he thought, on his side. The lady
favoured him with a living evidence of all the attributes he was pleased to
invent for her benefit, and left him with a proof impression of her nails
upon his face, carrying with her, by way of _souvenir_, an ample portion of
the skin thereof. Had the condensed heels of all the horses whose
subscription hairs were wrought into his wig, with one united effort
presented him with a kick in his abdominals, he could not have been more
completely "knocked out of time" than he was by the mistake of those cursed
initials. "_What about Smith?_" sent him out of court! At length he

  "Cursed the bar, and declined."

He next turned his attention to building. Things went on swimmingly during
the erection--so did the houses when built. The proprietorship of the
ground was disputed--our uncle Job had paid the wrong person. The buildings
were knocked down (by Mr. Robins), and the individual who had benefited by
the suppositionary ownership of the acres let on the building lease "bought
the lot," and sent uncle Job a peculiarly well-worded legal notice,
intimating, "his respectable presence would, for the future, approximate to
a nuisance and trespass, and he (Job) would be proceeded against as the
statutes directed, if guilty of the same."

It is impossible to follow him through all his various strivings to do
well: he commenced a small-beer brewery, and the thunder turned it all into
vinegar; he tried vinegar, and nothing on earth could make it sour; he
opened a milk-walk, and the parish pump failed; he invented a waterproof
composition--there was fourteen weeks of drought; he sold his patent for
two-and-sixpence, and had the satisfaction of walking home for the next
three months wet through, from his gossamer to his _ci-devant_ Wellingtons,
now literally, from their hydraulic powers, "_pumps_."

He lost everything but his heart! And uncle Bucket was all heart! a red
cabbage couldn't exceed it in size, and, like that, it seemed naturally
predestined to be everlastingly in a pickle! Still it was a heart! You were
welcomed to his venison when he had it--his present saveloy was equally at
your service. He must have been remarkably attached to facetious elderly
poultry of the masculine gender, as his invariable salute to the tenants of
his "heart's core" was, "How are you, my jolly old cock?" Coats became
threadbare, and defunct trousers vanished; waistcoats were never replaced;
gossamers floated down the tide of Time; boots, deprived of all hope of
future renovation by the loss of their _soles_, mouldered in obscurity; but
the clear voice and chuckling salute were changeless as the statutes of the
Medes and Persians, the price and size of penny tarts, or the accumulating
six-and-eightpences gracing a lawyer's bill.

Poor uncle Job Bucket's fortune had driven "him down the rough tide of
power," when first and last we met; all was blighted save the royal heart;
and yet, with shame we own the truth, we blushed to meet him. Why? ay, why?
We own the weakness!--the heart, the goodly heart, was almost cased in


Right, reader, right; we were a puppy. Lash on, we richly deserve it! but,
consider the fearful influence of worn-out cloth! Can a long series of
unchanging kindness balance patched elbows? are not cracked boots receipts
in full for hours of anxious love and care? does not the kindness of a life
fade "like the baseless fabric of a vision" before the withering touch of
poverty's stern stamp? Have you ever felt--

"Eh? what? No--stuff! Yes, yes--go on, go on."

We will!--we blushed for our uncle's coat! His heart, God bless it, never
caused a blush on the cheek of man, woman, child, or even angel, to rise
for that. We will confess. Let's see, we are sixty now (we don't look so
much, but we are sixty). Well, be it so. We were handsome once--is this
vanity at sixty? if so, our grey hairs are a hatchment for the past. We
were "swells once!--hurrah!--we were!" Stop, this is indecent--let us be
calm--our action was like the proceeding of the denuder of well-sustained
and thriving pigs, he who deprives them of their extreme obesive
selvage--_vulgo_, "_we cut it fat_." Bond-street was cherished by our
smile, and Ranelagh was rendered happy by the exhibition of our symmetry.
Behold us hessianed in our haunts, touching the tips of well-gloved fingers
to our passing friends; then fancy the opening and shutting of our back,
just as Lord Adolphus Nutmeg claimed the affinity of "kid to kid," to find
our other hand close prisoner made by our uncle Bucket.

"How are you, old cock?"

"Who's that, eh?"

"A lunatic, my lord (what lies men tell!), and dangerous!"

"Good day! [_Exit my lord_]. This way." We followed our uncle--the end of a
blind alley gave us a resting-place.

"Bravo!" exclaimed our uncle Bucket, "this is rare! I live here--dine with

A mob surrounded us--we acquiesced, in hopes to reach a place of shelter.

"All right!" exclaimed he of the maternal side, "stand three-halfpence for
your feed."

We shelled the necessary out--he dived into a baker's shop--the mob
increased--he hailed us from the door.

"Thank God, this is your house, then."

"Only my kitchen. Lend a hand!"

A dish of steaming baked potatoes, surmounted by a fractional rib of
consumptive beef, was deposited between the lemon-coloured receptacles of
our thumbs and fingers--an outcry was raised at the court's end--we were
almost mad.

"Turn to the right--three-pair back--cut away while it's warm, and make
yourself at home! I'll come with the beer!"

We wished our _I_ had been in that bier! We rushed out--the gravy basted
our _pants_, and greased our hessians! Lord Adolphus Nutmeg appeared at the
entrance of the court. As we proceeded to our announced
destination,--"Great God!" exclaimed his lordship, "the Bedlamite has
bitten him!" A peal of laughter rang in our ears--we rushed into the wrong
room, and our uncle Job Bucket picked us, the shattered dish, the reeking
potatoes, and dislodged beef, from the inmost recesses of a wicker-cradle,
where, spite the thumps and entreaties of a distracted parent, we were all
engaged in overlaying a couple of remarkably promising twins! We can say no
more on this frightful subject. But--

  "Once again we met!"

Our pride wanted cutting, and fate appeared determined to perform the
operation with a jagged saw!

Tom Racket died! His disease was infectious, and we had been the last
person to call upon him, consequently we were mournful. Thick-coming
fancies brooded in our brain--all things conspired against us; the day was
damp and wretched--the church-bells emulated each other in announcing the
mortalities of earth's bipeds--each _toll'd_ its tale of death. We thought
upon our "absent friend." A funeral approached. We were still more gloomy.
Could it be his? if so, what were his thoughts? Could ghosts but speak,
what would he say? The coffin was coeval with us--sheets were rubicund
compared to our cheeks. A low deep voice sounded from its very bowels--the
words were addressed to us--they were, "Take no notice; it's the first
time; it will soon be over!"

"Will it?" we groaned.

"Yes. I'm glad you know me. I'll tell you more when I come back."

"Gracious powers! do you expect to return?"

"Certainly! We'll have a screw together yet! There's room for us both in my
place. I'll make you comfortable."

The cold perspiration streamed from us. Was there ever anything so awful!
Here was an unhappy subject threatening to call and see us at night, and
then screw us down and make us comfortable.

"Will you come?" exclaimed the dead again.

"Never!" we vociferated with fearful energy.

"Then let it alone; I didn't think you'd have cut me now; but wait till I
show you my face."

Horror of horrors!--the pall moved--a long white face peered from it. We
gasped for breath, and only felt new life when we recognised our uncle Job
Bucket, as the author of the conversation, and one of the bearers of the
coffin! He had turned mute!--but that was a failure--no one ever died in
his parish after his adopting that profession!

       *       *       *       *       *

He has been seen once since in the backwoods of America. His fate seemed
still to follow him, and his good temper appeared immortal--his situation
was more peculiar than pleasant. He was seated on a log, three hundred
miles from any civilised habitation, smiling blandly at a broken axe (his
only one), the half of which was tightly grasped in his right hand,
pointing to the truant iron in the trunk of a huge tree, the first of a
thriving forest of fifty acres he purposed felling; and, thus occupied, a
solitary traveller passed our uncle Job Bucket, serene as the melting
sunshine, and thoughtless as the wild insect that sported round the owner
"of the lightest of light hearts."--PEACE BE WITH HIM.   FUSBOS.

       *       *       *       *       *


A gentleman of the name of Stuckey has discovered a new filtering process,
by which "a stream from a most impure source may be rendered perfectly
translucent and fit for all purposes." In the name of our rights and
liberties! in the name of Judy and our country! we call upon the proper
authorities to have this invaluable apparatus erected in the lobby of the
House of Commons, and so, by compelling every member to submit to the
operation of filtration, cleanse the house from its present accumulation of
corruption, though we defy Stuckey himself to give it _brightness_.

       *       *       *       *       *


  New honours heaped on _roué_ Segrave's name!
  A cuckold's horn is then the trump of fame.

       *       *       *       *       *



Under this head it is our intention, from time to time, to revert to
numberless free exhibitions, which, in this advancement-of-education age,
have been magnanimously founded with a desire to inculcate a knowledge of,
and disseminate, by these liberal means, an increased taste for the arts in
this vast metropolis. We commence not with any feelings of favouritism, nor
in any order of ability, our pleasures being too numerously divided to be
able to settle as to which ought to be No. 1, but because it is necessary
to commence--consequently we would wish to settle down in company with the
amiable reader in front of a tobacconist's shop in the Regent Circus,
Piccadilly; and as the principal attractions glare upon the astonishment of
the spectators from the south window, it is there in imagination that we
are irresistibly fixed. Before we dilate upon the delicious peculiarities
of the exhibition, we deem it absolutely a matter of justice to the
noble-hearted patriot who, imitative of the Greeks and Athenians of old,
who gave the porticoes of their public buildings, and other convenient
spots, for the display of their artists' productions, has most generously
appropriated the chief space of his shop front to the use and advantage of
the painter, and has thus set a bright example to the high-minded havannah
merchants and contractors for cubas and c'naster, which we trust will not
be suffered to pass unobserved by them.

The principal feature, or, rather mass of features, which enchain the
beholder, is a whole-length portrait of a gentleman (_par excellence_)
seated in a luxuriating, Whitechapel style of ease, the envy, we venture to
affirm, of every omnibus cad and coachman, whose loiterings near this spot
afford them occasional peeps at him. He is most decidedly the greatest
cigar in the shop--not only the mildest, if his countenance deceive us not,
but evidently the most full-flavoured. The artist has, moreover, by some
extraordinary adaptation or strange coincidence, made him typical of the
locality--we allude to the Bull-and-Mouth--seated at a table evidently made
and garnished for the article. The said gentleman herein depicted is in the
act of drinking his own health, or that of "all absent friends," probably
coupling with it some little compliment to a favourite dog, one of the true
Regent-street-and-pink-ribbon breed, who appears to be paying suitable
attention. A huge pine-apple on the table, and a champagne cork or two upon
the ground, contribute a gallant air of reckless expenditure to this
spirited work. In reference to the artistic qualities, it gives us
immoderate satisfaction to state that the whole is conceived and executed
with that characteristic attention so observable in the works of this
master[3], and that the fruit-knife, fork, cork-screw, decanter, and
chiaro-scuro (as the critic of the _Art Union_ would have it), are truly
excellent. The only drawback upon the originality of the subject is the
handkerchief on the knee, which (although painted as vigorously as any
other portion of the picture) we do not strictly approve of, inasmuch as it
may, with the utmost impartiality, be assumed as an imitation of Sir Thomas
Lawrence's portrait of George the Fourth; nevertheless, we in part excuse
this, from the known difficulty attendant upon the representation of a
gentleman seated in enjoyment, and parading his bandana, without
associating it with a veritable footman, who, upon the occasion of his
"Sunday out," may, perchance, be seen in one of the front lower tenements
in Belgrave-square, or some such _locale_, paying violent attentions to the
housemaid, and the hot toast, decorated with the order of the handkerchief,
to preserve his crimson plush in all its glowing purity. We cannot take
leave of this interesting work without declaring our opinion that the
composition (of the frame) is highly creditable.

    [3] We have forgotten the artist's name--perhaps never knew it; but
        we believe it is the same gentleman who painted the great
        author of "Jack Sheppard."

Placed on the right of the last-mentioned work of art, is a representation
of a young lady, as seen when presenting a full-blown flower to a favourite
parrot. There is a delicate simplicity in the attitude and expression of
the damsel, which, though you fail to discover the like in the tortuous
figures of Taglioni or Cerito, we have often observed in the conduct of
ladies many years in the seniority of the one under notice, who, ever
mindful of the idol of their thoughts and affections--a feline
companion--may be seen carrying a precious morsel, safely skewered, in
advance of them; this gentleness the artist has been careful to retain to
eminent success. We are, nevertheless, woefully at a loss to divine what
the allegory can possibly be (for as such we view it), what the analogy
between a pretty poll and a pol-yanthus. We are unlearned in the language
of flowers, or, perhaps, might probe the mystery by a little floral
discussion. We are, however, compelled to leave it to the noble order of
freemasons, and shall therefore wait patiently an opportunity of
communicating with his Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex. In the meantime
we shall not he silent upon the remaining qualities of the work as a
general whole--the young lady--the parrot--the polyanthus, and the
chiaro-scuro, are as excellent as usual in this our most amusing painter's

As a pendant to this, we are favoured with the portrait of a young
gentleman upon a half-holiday--and, equipped with cricket means, his
dexter-hand grasps his favourite bat, whilst the left arm gracefully
encircles a hat, in which is seductively shown a genuine "Duke." The
sentiment of this picture is unparalleled, and to the young hero of any
parish eleven is given a stern expression of Lord's Marylebone ground. We
can already (aided by perspective and imagination) see him before a future
generation of cricketers, "shoulder his bat, and show how games were won."
The bat is well drawn and coloured with much truth, and with that strict
observance of harmony which is so characteristic of the excellences of art.
The artist has felicitously blended the tone and character of the bat with
that of the young gentleman's head. As to the ball, we do not recollect
ever to have seen one in the works of any of the old masters so true to
nature. In conclusion, the buttons on the jacket, and the button-holes,
companions thereto, would baffle the criticism of the most hyper-fastidious
stab-rag; and the shirt collar, with every other detail--never forgetting
the chiaro-scuro--are equal to any of the preceding.

       *       *       *       *       *


We had prepared an announcement of certain theatricals extraordinary, with
which we had intended to favour the public, when the following bill reached
us. We feel that its contents partake so strongly of what we had heretofore
conceived the exclusive character of PUNCH, that to avoid the charge of
plagiarism, as well as to prevent any confusion of interests, we have
resolved to give insertion to both.

As PUNCH is above all petty rivalry, we accord our _collaborateurs_ the

_Red Lion Court, Fleet Street._

SIR,--Allow me to solicit your kindness so far, as to give publicity to
this bill, by _placing it in some conspicuous part of your Establishment_.
The success of the undertaking will prove so advantageous to the public at
large, that I fear not your compliance in so good a cause.

I am, Sir, your's very obediently,

       *       *       *       *       *





_Conducted by the Council of the Dramatic Authors' Theatre, established for
the full encouragement of English Living Dramatists._


The generous National feelings of the British Public are proverbially
interested in every endeavour to obtain "a Free Stage and Fair Play." The
Council of the Dramatic Authors' Theatre seek to achieve both, for every
English Living Dramatist. Compelled, by the state of the _Law_, to present
on the Stage a high Tragic Composition IN AN IRREGULAR FORM (in effecting
which, nevertheless, regard has been had to those elements of human nature,
which must constitute the essential principles of every genuine Dramatic
Production), they hope for such kind consideration as may be due to a work
brought forward in obedient accordance with the regulations of _Acts of
Parliament_, though labouring thereby under some consequent difficulties;
the _Law_ for the Small Theatres Royal, and the _Law_ for the Large
Theatres Royal, _not_ being one and the same _Law_. If, by these efforts, a
beneficial alteration in such Law, which presses so fatally on Dramatic
Genius, and which militates against the revival of the highest class of
Drama, should be effected, they feel assured that the Public will
Participate in their Triumph.

On THURSDAY, the 26th of AUGUST, will be presented, for the First Time,

(_Interspersed with Songs and Music_).



Taken by him from his "magnificent" Dramatic Poem, entitled, _The Hungarian

The Solos, Duets, Chorusses, and every other Musical arrangement the _Law_
may require, by Mr. DAVID LEE.

The following Opinions of the Press on the Actable qualities of the
Dramatic Poem, are selected from a vast mass of similar notices.

"Worthy of _the Stage_ in its best days."--The Courier.

"Effective situations; if well acted, it _could not fail of
success_."--_New Bell's Messenger_.

"The mantle of the Elizabethan Poets seems to have fallen on Mr. Stephens,
for we have scarcely ever met with, in the works of modern dramatists, the
truthful delineations of human passion, the chaste and splendid imagery,
and continuous strain of fine poetry to be found in _The Hungarian
Daughter_."--_Cambridge Journal_.

"Equal to Goethe. All is impassioned and effective. The Poet has availed
himself of every tragic point, and brought together every element; nor,
with the exception, of Mr. Knowles's _Love_, has there been a single Drama,
within the last four years, presented on _the Stage_ at all
comparable."--_Monthly Magazine_.

After which will be performed, also for the First Time, An Original
Entertainment in One Act, Entitled


By the Author of _Jacob Faithful_, _Peter Simple_, _&c. &c._

No Orders admitted.--No Free List, the Public Press excepted.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now for _our_ penny trumpet.


READER,--Allow us to solicit your kindness so far as to give publicity to
the following announcement, _by buying up and distributing among your
friends the whole of the unsold copies of this number_. The success of this
undertaking will prove so advantageous to the public at large, and of so
little benefit to ourselves, that we fear not your compliance in so good a

Yours obediently,






_Conducted by the Council of the Fanatic Association established for the
full encouragement of Timber Actors and Wooden-headed Dramatists_.



The general National feelings of the British Public are proverbially
interested in every endeavour to obtain "a blind alley, and no Fantoccini."
Compelled by the New Police Act to move on, and so present our high tragic
composition by small instalments (in effecting which, nevertheless, regard
has been had--_This parenthesis to be continued in our next_), we hope for
such kind consideration as may be due, when it is remembered that the _law_
for the _out-door_ PUNCH and the _law_ for the _in-door_ PUNCH is not one
and the same _law_. Oh, law!

On SATURDAY, the 28th of AUGUST, will be presented,

(_Interspersed with Drum and Mouth Organ_),



Taken from his "magnificent" Dramatic Poem, entitled, "PUNCH NUTS UPON

The following Opinions on the Actable qualities of _Punchinuzzi_, are
selected from a vast mass of similar notices.

"This ere play 'ud draw at ony fare."--_The late Mr. Richardson_.

"This happy poetic drama would be certain to command crowded and elegant
_courts_."--_La Belle Assemblée_.

"We have read _Punchinuzzi_, and we fearlessly declare that the mantle of
that metropolitan bard, the late Mr. William Waters, has descended upon the
gifted author."--_Observer_.

"Worthy of the _streets_ in their best days."--_Fudge_.

No Orders! No Free List! No Money!!.

       *       *       *       *       *


It is with no common pride that PUNCH avails himself of the opportunity
presented to him, from sources exclusively his own, of laying before his
readers a copy of the original draft of the Speech decided upon at a late
Cabinet Council. There is a novelty about it which pre-eminently
distinguishes it from all preceding orations from the throne or the
woolsack, for it has a purpose, and evinces much kind consideration on the
part of the Sovereign, in rendering this monody on departed Whiggism as
grateful as possible to its surviving friends and admirers.

There is much of the eulogistic fervour of George Robins, combined with the
rich poetic feeling of Mechi, running throughout the oration. Indeed, it
remained for the Whigs to add this crowning triumph to their policy; for
who but Melbourne and Co. would have conceived the happy idea of converting
the mouth of the monarch into an organ for puffing, and transforming
Majesty itself into a _National Advertiser_?



    I have the satisfaction to inform you, that, through the invaluable
    policy of my present talented and highly disinterested advisers, I
    continue to receive from foreign powers assurances of their
    amicable disposition towards, and unbounded respect for, my elegant
    and enlightened Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, and of
    their earnest desire to remain on terms of friendship with the rest
    of my gifted, liberal, and amiable Cabinet.

    The posture of affairs in China is certainly not of the most
    pacific character, but I have the assurance of my infallible Privy
    Council, and of that profound statesman my Secretary of State for
    Foreign Affairs, in particular, that the present disagreement
    arises entirely from the barbarous character of the Chinese, and
    their determined opposition to the progress of temperance in this
    happy country.

    I have also the satisfaction to inform you, that, by the acute
    diplomatic skill of my never-to-be-sufficiently-eulogised Secretary
    of State for Foreign Affairs, that, after innumerable and
    complicated negotiations, he has at length succeeded in seducing
    his Majesty the King of the French to render to England the tardy
    justice of commemorating, by a _fête_ and inauguration at Boulogne,
    the disinclination of the French, at a former period, to invade the
    British dominions.


    I have directed the _estimates for the next fortnight_ to be laid
    before you, which, I am happy to inform you, will be amply
    sufficient for the exigencies of my _present_ disinterested

    The unequalled fiscal and arithmetical talents of my Chancellor of
    the Exchequer have, by the most rigid economy, succeeded in
    reducing the revenue very considerably below the actual expenditure
    of the state.


    Measures will be speedily submitted to you for carrying out the
    admirable plans of my Secretary of State for the Colonial
    Department, and the brilliant author of "Don Carlos," for the
    prevention of apoplexy among paupers, and the reduction of the
    present extravagant dietary of the Unions.

    I have the gratification to announce that a commission is in
    progress, by which it is proposed by my _non_-patronage Ministers
    to call into requisition the talents of several literary
    gentlemen--all intimate friends or relations of my deeply erudite
    and profoundly philosophic Secretary of State for the Home
    Department, and author of "Yes and No," (three vols. Colburn) for
    the purpose of extending the knowledge of reading and writing, and
    the encouragement of circulating libraries all over the kingdom.

    My consistent and uncompromising Secretary of State for the
    Colonies, having, since the publication of his spirited "Essays by
    a gentleman who has lately left his lodgings," totally changed his
    opinions on the subject of the Corn Laws, a measure is in the
    course of preparation with a view to the repeal of those laws, and
    the continuance in office of my invaluable, tenacious, and
    incomparable ministry.

CAUTION.--We have just heard from a friend in Somerset House, that it is
the intention of the Commissioners of Stamps, from the glaring puffs
embodied in the above speech, to proceed for the advertisement duty against
all newspapers in which it is inserted. For ourselves, we will cheerfully

       *       *       *       *       *

A German, resident in New York, has such a remarkably hard name, that he
spoils a gross of steel pens indorsing a bill.

       *       *       *       *       *



Such, we are credibly assured, was the determination of these liberal and
enlightened leathers. They had heard frequent whispers of a general
indisposition on the part of all lovers of consistency to stand in their
master's shoes, and taking the insult to themselves, they lately came to
the resolution of cutting the connexion. They felt that his liberality and
his boots were all that constituted the idea of Burdett; and now that he
had forsaken his old party and joined Peel's, the "tops" magnanimously
decided to forsake him, and force him to take to--Wellingtons. We have been
favoured with a report of the conversation that took place upon the
occasion, and may perhaps indulge our readers with a copy of it next week.

In the mean time, we beg to subjoin a few lines, suggested by the
circumstance of Burdett taking the chair at Rous's feast, which strongly
remind us of Byron's Vision of Belshazzar.

  Burdett was in the chair--
    The Tories throng'd the hall--
  A thousand lamps were there,
    O'er that mad festival.
  His crystal cup contain'd
    The grape-blood of the Rhine;
  Draught after draught he drain'd,
    To drown his thoughts in wine.

  In that same hour and hall
    A shade like "Glory" came,
  And wrote upon the wall
    The records of his shame.
  And at its fingers traced
    The words, as with a wand,
  The traitorous and debased
    Upraised his palsied hand.

  And in his chair he shook,
    And could no more rejoice;
  All bloodless wax'd his look,
    And tremulous his voice.
  "What words are those appear,
    To mar my fancied mirth!
  What bringeth 'Glory' here
    To tell of faded worth?"

  "False renegade! thy name
    Was once the star which led
  The free; but, oh! what shame
    Encircles now thine head!
  Thou'rt in the balance weigh'd,
    And worthless found at last.
  All! all! thou hast betray'd!"--
    And so the spirit pass'd.

       *       *       *       *       *





       *       *       *       *       *



This is a cause of thorough orthodox equity standing, having commenced
before the time of legal memory, with every prospect of obtaining a final
decree on its merits somewhere about the next Greek Kalends. In the present

COUNSELLOR BAYWIG moved, on the part of the plaintiff, who sues _in formâ
pauperis_, for an injunction to restrain the Whig Justice Company from
setting a hungry Scotchman--one of their own creatures, without local or
professional knowledge--over the lands of which the plaintiff is the legal,
though unfortunately not the beneficial owner, as keeper and head manager
thereof, to the gross wrong of the tenants, the depreciation of the lands
themselves, the further reduction of the funds standing in the name of the
cause, the insult to the feelings and the disregard of the rights of
gentlemen living on the estate, and perfectly acquainted with its
management; and finally, to an unblushing and barefaced denial of justice
to all parties. The learned counsel proceeded to state, that the company,
in order to make an excuse for thus saddling the impoverished estates with
an additional incubus, had committed a double wrong, by forcing from the
office a man eminently qualified to discharge its functions--who had lived
and grown white with honourable years in the actual discharge of these
functions--and by thrusting into his place their own needy retainer, who,
instead of being the propounder of the laws which govern the estates, would
be merely the apprentice to learn them; and this too at a time when the
company was on the eve of bankruptcy, and when the possession which they
had usurped so long was about to pass into the hands of their official

LORD HIGH INQUISITOR.--What authorities can you cite for this application?

COUNSELLOR BAYWIG.--My lord, I fear the cases are, on the whole, rather
adverse to us. Men have, undoubtedly, been chosen to administer the laws of
this fine estate, and to guard it from waste, who have studied its customs,
been thoroughly learned in its statistics, and interested, by blood and
connexion, in its prosperity; but this number is very small. However, when
injustice of the most grievous kind is manifest, it should not be continued
merely because it is the custom, or because it is an "old institution of
the country."

LORD HIGH INQUISITOR.--I am quite astonished at your broaching such
abominable doctrines here, sir. You a lawyer, and yet talk of justice in a
Court of Equity! By Bacon, Blackstone, and Eldon, 'tis marvellous! Mr.
Baywig, if you proceed, I shall feel it my duty to commit you for a
contempt of court.

COUNSELLOR BAYWIG.--My lord, in that case I decline the honour of
addressing your lordship further; but certainly my poor client is wronged
in his land, in himself, and in his kindred. It is shocking personal insult
added to terrible pecuniary punishment.

LORD HIGH INQUISITOR.--_Serve_ him right! We dismiss the application with

       *       *       *       *       *


Some of the uninitiated in the art and mystery of book-making conceive the
chief tax must be upon the compiler's brain. We give the following as a
direct proof to the contrary--one that has the authority of Lord Hamlet,
who summed the matter up in three

  "Words! Words! Words!"

In one column we give a common-place household and familiar term--in the
other we render it into the true Bulwerian phraseology:

  Does your mother know | Is your maternal parent's natural solicitude
  you are out?          | allayed by the information, that you have for
                        | the present vacated your domestic roof?
  You don't lodge here, | You are geographically and statistically
  Mr. Ferguson.         | misinformed; this is by no means the
                        | accustomed place of your occupancy, Mr.
                        | Ferguson.
  See! there he goes    | Behold! he proceeds totally deprived of one
  with his eye out.     | moiety of his visual organs!
  Don't you wish you    | Pray confess, are you not really particularly
  may get it?           | anxious to obtain the desired object?
  More t'other.         | Infinitely, peculiarly, and most intensely
                        | the entire extreme and the absolute reverse.
  Quite different.      | Dissimilar as the far-extended poles, or the
                        | deep-tinctured ebon skins of the dark
                        | denizens of Sol's sultry plains and the fair
                        | rivals of descending flakes of virgin snow,
                        | melting with envy on the peerless breast of
                        | fair Circassia's ten-fold white-washed
                        | daughters.
  Over the left.        | Decidedly in the ascendant of the sinister.

       *       *       *       *       *

From the nobleman who is selected to move the address in the House of
Lords, it would seem that the Whigs, tired of any further experiments in
turning their coats, are about to try what effect they can produce with an
_old Spencer_.

       *       *       *       *       *

As the weather is to decide the question of the corn-laws, the rains that
have lately fallen may be called, with truth, the _reins_ of government.

       *       *       *       *       *



The extraordinary attachment which the Whigs have displayed for office has
been almost without parallel in the history of ministerial fidelity.
Zoologists talk of the local affection of cats, but in what animal shall we
discover such a strong love of place as in the present government? Lord
John is a very badger in the courageous manner in which he has resisted the
repeated attacks of the Tory terriers. The odds, however, are too great for
even _his_ powers of defence; he has given some of the most forward of the
curs who have tried to drag him from his burrow some shrewd bites and
scratches that they will not forget in a hurry; but, overpowered by
numbers, he must "come out" at last, and yield the victory to his numerous
persecutors, who will, no doubt, plume themselves upon their dexterity at
drawing a badger.

       *       *       *       *       *



The dramatic world has been in a state of bustle all the week, and parties
are going about declaring--not that we put any faith in what they say--that
Macready has already given a large sum for a manuscript. If he has done
this, we think he is much to blame, unless he has very good reasons, as he
most likely has, for doing so; and if such is the case, though we doubt the
policy of the step, there can be no question of his having acted very
properly in taking it. His lease begins in October, when, it is said, he
will certainly open, if he can; but, as he positively cannot, the reports
of his opening are rather premature, to say the least of them. For our
parts, we never think of putting any credit in what we hear, but we give
everything just as it reaches us.

       *       *       *       *       *


Tin is twopence a hundredweight dearer at Hamburgh than at Paris, which
gives an exchange of 247 mille in favour of the latter capital.

A good deal of conversation has been excited by a report of its being
intended by some parties in the City to establish a Bank of Issue upon
equitable principles. The plan is a novel one, for there is to be no
capital actually subscribed, it being expected that sufficient assets will
be derived from the depositors. Shares are to be issued, to which a nominal
price will be attached, and a dividend is to be declared immediately.

The association for supplying London with periwinkles does not progress
very rapidly. A wharf has been taken; but nothing more has been done, which
is, we believe, caused by the difficulty found in dealing with existing

       *       *       *       *       *


The Tories are coming into office, and the Parliament House is surrounded
with scaffolds!

       *       *       *       *       *


Want places, in either of the above lines, three highly practical and
experienced hands, fully capable and highly accomplished in the arduous
duties of "looking after any quantity of loaves and fishes." A ten years'
character can be produced from their last places, which they leave because
the concern is for the present disposed of to persons equally capable. No
objection to look after the till. Wages not so much an object as an
extensive trade, the applicants being desirous of keeping their hands in.
Apply to Messrs. Russell, Melbourne, and Palmerston, Downing-street

       *       *       *       *       *

"It is very odd," said Sergeant Channell to Thessiger, "that Tindal should
have decided against me on that point of law which, to me, seemed as plain
as A B C." "Yes," replied Thessiger, "but of what use is it that it should
have been A B C to you, if the judge was determined to be D E F to it?"

       *       *       *       *       *


The _Belfast Vindicator_ has a story of a sailor who pledged a sixpence for
threepence, having it described on the duplicate ticket as "a piece of
silver plate of beautiful workmanship," by which means he disposed of the
ticket for two-and-sixpence. The Tories are so struck with this display of
congenial roguery, that they intend pawning their "BOB," and having him
described as "a rare piece of vertu(e) _première qualité_" in the
expectation of securing a _crown_ by it.

       *       *       *       *       *


Mr. Muntz requests us to state, in answer to numerous inquiries as to the
motives which induce him to cultivate his beard, that he is actuated purely
by a spirit of economy, having, for the last few years, _grown his own
mattresses_, a practice which he earnestly recommends to the attention of
all prudent and hirsute individuals. He finds, by experience, that nine
square inches of chin will produce, on an average, about a sofa per annum.
The whiskers, if properly attended to, may be made to yield about an easy
chair in the same space of time; whilst luxuriant moustachios will give a
pair of anti-rheumatic attrition gloves every six months. Mr. M.
recommends, as the best mode of cultivation for barren soils, to plough
with a cat's-paw, and manure with Macassar.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Earl of Stair has been created Lord Oxenford. Theodore Hook thinks that
the more appropriate title for a _Stair_, in raising him a step higher,
would have been Lord _Landing-place_, or Viscount _Bannister_.

       *       *       *       *       *


The Augean task of cleansing the Treasury has commenced, and brooms and
scrubbing-brushes are at a premium--a little anticipative, it is true, of
the approaching turn-out; but the dilatory idleness and muddle-headed
confusion of those who will soon be termed its late occupiers, rendered
this a work of absolute time and labour. That the change in office had long
been expected, is evident from the number of hoards discovered, which the
unfortunate _employés_ had saved up against the rainy day arrived. The
routing-out of this conglomeration was only equalled in trouble by the
removal of the birdlime with which the various benches were covered, and
which adhered with most pertinacious obstinacy, in spite of every effort to
get rid of it. From one of the wicker baskets used for the purpose of
receiving the torn-up letters and documents, the following papers were
extracted. We contrived to match the pieces together, and have succeeded
tolerably well in forming some connected epistles from the disjointed
fragments. We offer no comment, but allow them to speak for themselves.
They are selected at random from dozens of others, with which the poor man
must have been overwhelmed during the past two months:--


MY LORD,--In the present critical state of your lordship's situation, it
behoves every lover of his country and her friends, to endeavour to
assuage, as much as possible, the awkward predicament in which your
lordship and colleagues will soon be thrown. My dining-rooms in
Broad-street, St. Giles's, have long been held in high estimation by my
customers, for

[Illustration: BEEF A-LA-MODE;]

and I can offer you an excellent basin of leg-of-beef soup, with bread and
potatoes, for threepence. Imitated by all, equalled by none.

N.B. Please observe the address--Broad-street, St. Giles's.


A widow lady, superintendent of a boarding-house, in an airy and cheerful
part of Kentish Town, will be happy to receive Lord Melbourne as an inmate,
when an ungrateful nation shall have induced his retirement from office.
Her establishment is chiefly composed of single ladies, addicted to
backgammon, birds, and bible meetings, who would, nevertheless, feel
delighted in the society of a man of Lord Melbourne's acknowledged
gallantry. The dinner-table is particularly well furnished, and a rubber is
generally got up every evening, at which Lord M. could play long penny
points if he wished it.

Address S.M., Post-office, Kentish Town.


Grosjean, Restaurateur, _Castle-street, Leicester-square_, a l'honneur de
prévenir Milord Melbourne qu'il se trouvera bien servi à son établissement.
Il peut commander un bon potage an choux, trois plats, avec pain à
discretion, et une pinte de demi-et-demi; enfin, il pourra parfaitement
avoir ses sacs soufflés[4] pour un schilling. La société est très
comme-il-faut, et on ne donne rien au garçon.

    [4] French idiom--"He will be well able to blow his bags
        out!"--PUNCH, with the assistance of his friend in the
        show--the foreign gentleman.


(Rose-coloured paper, scented. At first supposed to be from a lady of the
bedchamber, but contradicted by the sequel.)

Flattering deceiver, and man of many loves,

My fond heart still clings to your cherished memory. Why have I listened to
the honied silver of your seducing accents? Your adored image haunts me
night and day. How is the treasury?--can you still spare me ten shillings?



JOHN MARVAT respectfully begs to offer to the notice of Lord Melbourne his
Bachelor's Dispatch, or portable kitchen. It will roast, bake, boil, stew,
steam, melt butter, toast bread, and diffuse a genial warmth at one and the
same time, for the outlay of one halfpenny. It is peculiarly suited for
_lamb_, in any form, which requires delicate dressing, and is admirably
adapted for concocting mint-sauce, which delightful adjunct Lord Melbourne
may, ere long, find some little difficulty in procuring.

High Holborn.


May it plese my Lord,--i have gest time to Rite and let you kno' wot a sad
plite we are inn, On account off your lordship's inwitayshun to queen
Wictory and Prince Allbut to come and Pick a bit with you, becos There is
nothink for them wen they comes, and the Kitchin-range is chok'd up with
the sut as has falln down the last fore yeers, and no poletry but too old
cox, which is two tuff to be agreerble; But, praps, we Can git sum cold
meet from the in, wot as bin left at the farmers' markut-dinner; and may I
ask you my lord without fear of your

[Illustration: TAKING A FENCE]

on the reseat of this To send down sum ham and beef to me--two pound will
be Enuff--or a quarter kitt off pickuld sammun, if you can git it, and I
wish you may; and sum german silver spoons, to complement prince Allbut
with; and, praps, as he and his missus knos they've come to Take pot-luck
like, they won't be patickler, and I think we had better order the beer
from the Jerry-shop, for owr own Is rayther hard, and the brooer says, that
a fore and a harf gallon, at sixpence A gallon, won't keep no Time, unless
it's drunk; and so we guv some to the man as brort the bushel of coles, and
he sed It only wanted another Hop, and then it woud have hopped into water;
and John is a-going to set some trimmers in The ditches to kitch some fish;
and, praps, if yure lordship comes, you may kitch sum too, from

Yure obedient Humbl servent and housekeeper,



MY LORD,--Probably your cellars will be full of choke-damp when the door is
opened, from long disuse and confined air. I have men, accustomed to
descend dangerous wells and shafts, who will undertake the job at a
moderate price. Should you labour under any temporary pecuniary
embarrassment in paying me, I shall be happy to take it out in your wine,
which I should think had been some years in bottle. Your Lordship's most
humble servant,


Dealer in Marine Stores.


       *       *       *       *       *


  I've wander'd on the distant shore,
    I've braved the dangers of the deep,
  I've very often pass'd the Nore--
    At Greenwich climb'd the well-known steep;
  I've sometimes dined at Conduit House,
    I've taken at Chalk Farm my tea,
  I've at the Eagle talk'd with Rouse--
    But I have NOT _forgotten thee_!

  "I've stood amid the glittering throng"
    Of mountebanks at Greenwich fair,
  Where I have heard the Chinese gong
    Filling, with brazen voice, the air.
  I've join'd wild revellers at night--
    I've crouch'd beneath the old oak tree,
  Wet through, and in a pretty plight,
    But, oh! I've NOT _forgotten thee_!

  I've earn'd, at times, a pound a week--
    Alas! I'm earning nothing now;
  Chalk scarcely shames my whiten'd cheek,
    Grief has plough'd furrows in my brow.
  I only get one meal a day,
    And that one meal--oh, God!--my tea;
  I'm wasting silently away,
    But I have NOT _forgotten thee_!

  My days are drawing to their end--
    I've now, alas! no end in view;
  I never had a real friend--
    I wear a worn-out black _surtout_,
  My heart is darken'd o'er with woe,
    My trousers whiten'd at the knee,
  My boot forgets to hide my toe--
    But I have NOT _forgotten thee_!

       *       *       *       *       *


The business habits of her gracious Majesty have long been the theme of
admiration with her loving subjects. A further proof of her attention to
general affairs, and consideration for the accidents of the future, has
occurred lately. The lodge at Frogmore, which was, during the lifetime of
Queen Charlotte, an out-of-town nursery for little highnesses, has been
constructed (by command of the Queen) into a Royal Eccalleobion for a
similar purpose.

[Illustration: FAMILIES SUPPLIED.]

       *       *       *       *       *





"A clever fellow, that Horseleech!" "When Vampyre is once drawn out, what a
great creature it is!" These, and similar ecstatic eulogiums, have I
frequently heard murmured forth from muzzy mouths into tinged and tingling
ears, as I have been leaving a company of choice spirits. There never was a
greater mistake. Horseleech, to be candid, far from being a clever fellow,
is one of the most barren rascals on record. Vampyre, whether drawn out or
held in, is a poor creature, not a great creature--opaque, not luminous--in
a word, by nature, a very dull dog indeed.

But you see the necessity of appearing otherwise.--Hunger may be said to
be a moral Mechi, which invents a strop upon which the bluntest wits are
sharpened to admiration. Believe me, by industry and perseverance--which
necessity will inevitably superinduce--the most dreary dullard that ever
carried timber between his shoulders in the shape of a head, may speedily
convert himself into a seeming Sheridan--a substitutional Sydney Smith--a
second Sam Rogers, without the drawback of having written Jacqueline.

Take it for granted that no professed diner-out ever possessed a particle
of native wit. His stock-in-trade, like that of Field-lane chapmen, is all
plunder. Not a joke issues from his mouth, but has shaken sides long since
quiescent. Whoso would be a diner-out must do likewise.

The real diner-out is he whose card-rack or mantelpiece (I was going to say
groans, but) laughingly rejoices in respectful well-worded invitations to
luxuriously-appointed tables. I count not him, hapless wretch! as one who,
singling out "a friend," drops in just at pudding-time, and ravens horrible
remnants of last Tuesday's joint, cognizant of curses in the throat of his
host, and of intensest sable on the brows of his hostess. No struggle
there, on the part of the children, "to share the good man's knee;" but
protruded eyes, round as spectacles, and almost as large, fixed alternately
upon his flushed face and that absorbing epigastrium which is making their
miserable flesh-pot to wane most wretchedly.

To be jocose is not the sole requisite of him who would fain be a universal
diner-out. Lively with the light--airy with the sparkling--brilliant with
the blithe, he must also be grave with the serious--heavy with the
profound--solemn with the stupid. He must be able to snivel with the
sentimental--to condole with the afflicted--to prove with the practical--to
be a theorist with the speculative.

To be jocose is his most valuable acquisition. As there is a tradition that
birds may be caught by sprinkling salt upon their tails, so the best and
the most numerous dinners are secured by a judicious management of Attic

I fear me that the works of Josephus, and of his imitators--of that Joseph
and his brethren, I mean, whom a friend of mine calls "_The_ Miller and his
men"--I fear me, I say, that these are well-nigh exhausted. Yet I have
known very ancient jokes turned with advantage, so as to look almost equal
to new. But this requires long practice, ere the final skill be attained.

Etherege, Sedley, Wycherley, and Vanbrugh are very little read, and were
pretty fellows in their day; I think they may be safely consulted, and
rendered available. But, have a care. Be sure you mingle some of your own
dulness with their brighter matter, or you will overshoot the mark. You
will be too witty--a fatal error. True wits eat no dinners, save of their
own providing; and, depend upon it, it is not their wit that will
now-a-days get them their dinner. True wits are feared, not fed.

When you tell an anecdote, never ascribe it to a man well known. The time
is gone by for dwelling upon--"Dean Swift said"--"Quin, the actor,
remarked"--"The facetious Foote was once"--"That reminds me of what
Sheridan"--"Ha! ha! Sydney Smith was dining the other day with"--and the
like. Your ha! ha!--especially should it precede the name of Sam
Rogers--would inevitably cost you a hecatomb of dinners. It would be
changed into oh! oh! too surely, and too soon. _Verbum sat_.

I would have you be careful to _sort_ your pleasantries. Your soup jokes
(never hazard that one about Marshal _Turenne_, it is really _too_
ancient,) your fish, your flesh, your fowl jests--your side-shakers for the
side dishes--your puns for the pastry--your after-dinner excruciators.

Sometimes, from negligence (but be not negligent) or ill-luck, which is
unavoidable, and attends the best directed efforts, you sit down to table
with your stock ill arranged or incomplete, or of an inferior quality. Your
object is to make men laugh. It must be done. I have known a pathetic
passage, quoted timely and with a happy emphasis from a popular novel--say,
"Alice, or the Mysteries"--I have known it, I say, do more execution upon
the congregated amount of midriff, than the best joke of the evening.
(There is one passage in that "thrilling" performance, where Alice,
overjoyed that her lover is restored to her, is represented as frisking
about him like a dog around his long-absent proprietor, which, whenever I
have taken it in hand, has been rewarded with the most vociferous and
gleesome laughter.)

And this reminds me that I should say a word about laughers. I know not
whether it be prudent to come to terms with any man, however stentorian his
lungs, or flexible his facial organs, with a view to engage him as a
cachinnatory machine. A confederate may become a traitor--a rival he is
pretty certain of becoming. Besides, strive as you may, you can never
secure an altogether unexceptionable individual--one who will "go the whole
hyaena," and be at the same time the entire jackal. If he once start "lion"
on his own account, furnished with your original roar, with which you
yourself have supplied him, good-bye to your supremacy. "Farewell, my
trim-built wherry"--he is in the same boat only to capsise you.

  "And the first lion thinks the last a bore,"

and rightly so thinks. No; the best and safest plan is to work out your own
ends, independent of aid which at best is foreign, and is likely to be

I may perhaps resume this subject more at large at a future time. My space
at present is limited, but I feel I have hardly as yet entered upon the

       *       *       *       *       *


  Ye banks and braes o' Buckingham,
  How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair,
  When I am on my latest legs,
  And may not bask amang ye mair!
  And you, sweet maids of honour,--come,
  Come, darlings, let us jointly mourn,
  For your old flame must now depart,
  Depart, oh! never to return!

  Oft have I roam'd o'er Buckingham,
  From room to room, from height to height;
  It was such pleasant exercise,
  And gave me _such_ an appetite!
  Yes! when the _dinner-hour_ arrived,
  For me they never had to wait,
  I was the first to take my chair,
  And spread my ample napkin straight.

  And if they did not quickly come,
  After the dinner-bell had knoll'd,
  I just ran up my _private stairs_,
  To say the things were getting cold!
  But now, farewell, ye pantry steams,
  (The sweets of premiership to me),
  Ye gravies, relishes, and creams,
  Malmsey and Port, and Burgundy!

  Full well I mind the days gone by,--
  'Twas nought but sleep, and wake, and dine;
  Then _John_ and _Pal_ sang o' _their_ luck,
  And fondly sae sang I o' mine!
  But now, how sad the scene, and changed!
  _Johnny_ and _Pal_ are glad nae mair!
  Oh! banks and braes o' Buckingham!
  How _can_ you bloom sae fresh and fair!

       *       *       *       *       *


(From our own Correspondent.)

This delightful watering-place is filling rapidly. The steam-boats bring
down hundreds every day, and in the evening take them all back again. Mr.
Jones has engaged a lodging for the week, and other families are spoken of.
A ball is also talked about; but it is not yet settled who is to give it,
nor where it is to be given. The promenading along the wooden pier is very
general at the leaving of the packets, and on their arrival a great number
of persons pass over it. There are whispers of a band being engaged for the
season; but, as there will not be room on the pier for more than one
musician, it has been suggested to negotiate with the talented artist who
plays the drum with his knee, the cymbals with his elbow, the triangle with
his shoulder, the bells with this head, and the Pan's pipes with his
mouth--thus uniting the powers of a full orchestra with the compactness of
an individual. An immense number of Margate slippers and donkeys have been
imported within the last few days, and there is every probability of this
pretty little peninsula becoming a formidable rival to the old-established

       *       *       *       *       *




Perhaps it was the fashion at the court of Queen Anne, for young gentlemen
who had attained the age of sixteen to marry and be given in marriage. At
all events, some conjecture of the sort is necessary to make the plot of
the piece we are noticing somewhat probable--that being the precise
circumstance upon which it hinges. The _Count St. Louis_, a youthful
_attaché_ of the French embassy, becomes attached, by a marriage contract,
to _Lady Bell_, a maid of honour to Queen Anne. The husband at sixteen, of
a wife quite nineteen, would, according to the natural course of things, be
very considerably hen-pecked; and _St. Louis_, foreseeing this, determines
to begin. Well, he insists upon having "article five" of the marriage
contract cancelled; for, by this stipulation, he is to be separated from
his wife, on the evening of the ceremony (which fast approaches), for five
years. He storms, swears, and is laughed at; somebody sends him a wedding
present of sugar-plums--everybody calls him a boy, and makes merry at his
expense--the wife treats him with contempt, and plays the scornful. The
hobble-de-hoy husband, fired with indignation, determines to prove himself
a man.

At the court of Queen Anne this seems to have been an easy matter. _St.
Louis_ writes love-letters to several maids of honour and to a citizen's
wife, finishing the first act by invading the private apartments of the
maiden ladies belonging to the court of the chaste Queen Anne.

The second act discovers him confined to his apartments by order of the
Queen, having amused himself, while the intrigues begun by the love-letters
are hatching, by running into debt, and being surrounded by duns. The
intrigues are not long in coming to a head, for two ladies visit him
separately in secret, and allow themselves to be hid in those never-failing
adjuncts to a piece of dramatic intrigue--a couple of closets, which are
used exactly in the same manner in "Foreign Affairs," as in all the farces
within the memory of man--_ex. gr._:--The hero is alone; one lady enters
cautiously. A tender interchange of sentiment ensues--a noise is heard, and
the lady screams. "Ah! that closet!" Into which exit lady. Then enter lady
No. 2. A second interchange of tender things--another noise behind. "No
escape?" "None! and yet, happy thought, that closet." Exit lady No. 2, into
closet No. 2.

This is exactly as it happens in "Foreign Affairs." The second noise is
made by the husband of one of the concealed ladies, and the lover of the
other. Here, out of the old "closet" materials, the dramatist has worked up
one of the best situations--to use an actor's word--we ever remember to
have witnessed. It cannot be described; but it is really worth all the
money to go and see it. Let our readers do so. The "Affairs" end by the boy
fighting a couple of duels with the injured men; and thus, crowning the
proof of his manhood, gets his wife to tolerate--to love him.

The piece was, as it deserved to be, highly successful; it was admirably
acted by Mr. Webster as one of the injured lovers--Mr. Strickland and Mrs.
Stirling, as a vulgar citizen and citizeness--by Miss P. Horton as _Lady
Bell_--and even by a Mr. Clarke, who played a very small part--that of a
barber--with great skill. Lastly, Madlle. Celeste, as the hero, acquitted
herself to admiration. We suppose the farce is called "Foreign Affairs" out
of compliment to this lady, who is the only "Foreign Affair" we could
discover in the whole piece, if we except that it is translated from the
French, which is, strictly, an affair of the author's.

       *       *       *       *       *


If, dear readers, you have a taste for refined morality and delicate
sentiment, for chaste acting and spirited dialogue, for scenery painted on
the spot, but like nothing in nature except canvas and colour--go to the
Victoria and see "Mary Clifford." It may, perhaps, startle you to learn
that the incidents are faithfully copied from the "Newgate Calendar," and
that the subject is Mother Brownrigg of apprentice-killing notoriety; but
be not alarmed, there is nothing horrible or revolting in the drama--it is
merely laughable.

"Mary Clifford, or the foundling apprentice girl," is very appropriately
introduced to the auditor, first outside the gates of that "noble
charity-school," taking leave of some of her accidental companions. Here
sympathy is first awakened. Mary is just going out to "place," and instead
of saying "good bye," which we have been led to believe is the usual form
of farewell amongst charity-girls, she sings a song with such heart-rending
expression, that everybody cries except the musicians and the audience. To
assist in this lachrymose operation, the girls on the stage are supplied
with clean white aprons--time out mind a charity-girl's
pocket-handkerchief. In the next scene we are introduced to Mr. and Mrs.
Brownrigg's domestic arrangements, and are made acquainted with their
private characters--a fine stroke of policy on the part of the author; for
one naturally pities a poor girl who can sing so nicely, and can get the
corners of so many white aprons wetted on leaving her last place, when one
sees into whose hands she is going to fall. The fact is, the whole family
are people of taste--peculiar, to be sure, and not refined. Mrs. B. has a
taste for starving apprentices--her son, Mr. Jolin B., for seducing
them--and Mr. B. longs only for a quiet life, a pot of porter, and a pipe.
Into the bosom of this amiable family Mary Clifford enters; and we tremble
for her virtue and her meals! not, alas, in vain, for Mr. John is not slow
in commencing his gallantries, which are exceedingly offensive to Mary,
seeing that she has already formed a liaison with a school-fellow, one
William Clipson, who happily resides at the very next door with a baker.
During the struggles that ensue she calls upon her "heart's master," the
journeyman baker. But there is another and more terrible invocation. In
classic plays they invoke "the gods"--in Catholic I ones, "the saints"--the
stage Arab appeals to "Allah"--the light comedian swears "by the lord
Harry"--but _Mary Clifford_ adds a new and impressive invocative to the
list. When young Brownrigg attempts to kiss, or his mother to flog her, she
casts her eyes upward, kneels, and placing her hands together in an
attitude of prayer, solemnly calls upon--"the governors of the Foundling
Hospital!!" Nothing can exceed the terrific effect this seems to produce
upon her persecutors! They release her instantly--they slink back abashed
and trembling--they hide their diminished heads, and leave their victim a
clear stage for a soliloquy or a song.

We really _must_ stop here, to point out to dramatic authors the importance
of this novel form of conjuration. When the history of Fauntleroy comes to
be dramatised, the lover will, of course, be a banker's clerk: in the
depths of distress and despair into which he will have to be plunged, a
prayer-like appeal to "the Governor and Company of the Bank of England,"
will, most assuredly, draw tears from the most insensible audience. The old
exclamations of "Gracious powers!"--"Great heavens!"--"By heaven, I swear!"
&c. &c., may now be abandoned; and, after "Mary Clifford," Bob Acres'
tasteful system of swearing may not only be safely introduced into the
tragic drama, but considerably augmented.

But to return. Dreading lest Miss Mary should really "go and tell" the
illustrious governors, she is kept a close prisoner, and finishes the first
act by a conspiracy with a fellow-apprentice, and an attempt to escape.

Mr. Brownrigg, we are informed, carried on business at No. 12, Fetter-lane,
in the oil, paint, pickles, vinegar, plumbing, glazing, and pepper-line;
and, in the next act, a correct view is exhibited of the exterior of his
shop, painted, we are told, from the most indisputable authorities of the
time. Here, in Fetter, lane, the romance of the tale begins:--A lady
enters, who, being of a communicative disposition, begins, unasked,
unquestioned, to tell the audience a story--how that she married in early
life--that her husband was pressed to sea a day or two after the
wedding--that she in due time became a mother, and (affectionate creature!)
left the dear little pledge at the door of the Foundling Hospital. That was
sixteen years ago. Since then fortune has smiled, and she wants her baby
back again; but on going to the hospital, says, that they informed her that
her daughter has been just "put apprentice" in the very house before which
she tells the story--part of it as great a fib as ever was told; for
children once inside the walls of that "noble charity," never know who left
them there; and any attempt to find each other out, by parent or child, is
punished with the instant withdrawal of the omnipotent protection of the
awful "governors." This lady, who bears all the romance of the piece upon
her own shoulders, expects to meet her long-lost husband at the Ship, in
Wapping, and instead of seeking her daughter, repairs thither, having done
all the author required, by emptying her budget of fibs.

The next scene is harrowing in the extreme. The bills describe it as _Mrs.
Brownrigg's_ "wash-house, kitchen, and skylight"--the sky-light forming a
most impressive object. Poor _Mary Clifford_ is chained to the floor, her
face begrimed, her dress in rags, and herself exceedingly hungry. Here the
heroine describes the weakness of her body with energy and stentorian
eloquence, but is interrupted by _Mr. Clipson_, whose face appears framed
and glazed in the broken sky-light. A pathetic dialogue ensues, and the
lover swears he will rescue his mistress, or "perish in the attempt,"
"calling upon Mr. Owen, the parish overseer," to make known her sufferings.
The Ship, in Wapping, is next shown; and _Toby Bensling_, alias _Richard
Clifford_, enters to inform his hearers that he is the missing father of
the injured foundling, and has that moment stepped ashore, after a short
voyage, lasting sixteen years! He is on his way to the "Admiralty," to
receive some pay--the more particularly, we imagine, as they always pay
sailors at Somerset House--and _then_ to look after his wife. But she saves
him the trouble by entering with _Mr. William Clipson_. The usual "Whom do
I see?"--"Can it be?"--"After so long an absence!" &c. &c., having been
duly uttered and begged to, they all go to see after _Mary_, find her in a
cupboard in Mrs. B.'s back-parlour, and--the act-drop falls.

We must confess we approach a description of the third act with diffidence.
Such intense pathos, we feel, demands words of more sombre sound--ink of a
darker hue, than we can command. The third scene is, in particular, too
extravagantly touching for ordinary nerves to witness. _Mary Clifford_ is
in bed--French bedstead (especially selected, perhaps, because such things
were not thought of in the days of Mother Brownrigg) stands exactly in the
middle of the stage--a chest of drawers is placed behind, and a table on
each side, to balance the picture. The lover leans over the head, the
mother sits at the foot, the father stands at the side: _Mary Clifford_ is
insane, with lucid intervals, and is, moreover, dying. The consequence is,
she has all the talk to herself, which consists of a discourse concerning
the great "governors," her cruel mistress, and her naughty young master,
interlarded with insane ejaculations, always considered stage property,
such as, "Ah, she comes!" "Nay, strike me not--I am guiltless!" Again,
"Villain! what do you take me for?--unhand me!" and all that. Then the
dying part comes, and she sees an angel in the flies, and informs it that
she is coming soon (here it is usual for a lady to be removed from the
gallery in strong hysterics), and keeps her word by letting her arm fall
upon the bed-clothes and shutting her eyes, whereupon somebody says that
she is dead, and the prompter whistles for the scene to be changed.

In the last scene, criminal justice takes its course. _Mrs. Brownrigg_,
having been sentenced to the gallows, is seen in the condemned cell; her
son by her side, and the fatal cart in the back-ground. Having been brought
up genteelly, she declines the mode of conveyance provided for her journey
to Tyburn with the utmost volubility. Being about to be hanged merely does
not seem to affect her so poignantly as the disgraceful "drag" she is
doomed to take her last journey in. She swoons at the idea; and the curtain
falls to end her wicked career, and the sufferings of an innocent audience.

       *       *       *       *       *


VOL. 1.


       *       *       *       *       *




[Illustration: T]The following is extracted from the _Parliamentary
Guide_ for 18--:--"APPLEBITE, ISAAC (_Puddingbury_). Born March 25,
1780; descended from his grandfather, and has issue." And upon
reference to a monument in Puddingbury church, representing the first
Mrs. Applebite (who was a housemaid) industriously scrubbing a large
tea-urn, whilst another figure (supposed to be the second Mrs.
Applebite) is pointing reproachfully to a little fat cherub who is
blowing himself into a fit of apoplexy from some unassignable cause or
another--I say upon reference to this monument, upon which is blazoned
forth all the stock virtues of those who employ stonemasons, I find,
that in July, 18--, the said Isaac was gathered unto Abraham's bosom,
leaving behind him--a seat in the House of Commons--a relict--the issue
aforesaid, and £50,000 in the three per cents.

The widow Applebite had so arranged matters with her husband, that
two-thirds of the above sum were left wholly and solely to her, as some
sort of consolation under her bereavement of the "best of husbands and
the kindest of fathers." (_Vide_ monument.) Old Isaac must have been a
treasure, for his wife either missed him so much, or felt so desirous
to learn if there was another man in the world like him, that, as soon
as the monument was completed and placed in Puddingbury chancel, she
married a young officer in a dashing dragoon regiment, and started to
the Continent to spend the honeymoon, leaving her son--

AGAMEMNON COLLUMPSION APPLEBITE (the apoplectic "cherub" and the
"issue" alluded to in the _Parliamentary Guide_), to the care of

A.C.A. was the pattern of what a young man ought to be. He had 16,000
and odd pounds in the three per cents., hair that curled naturally,
stood five feet nine inches without his shoes, always gave a shilling
to a waiter, lived in a terrace, never stopped out all night (but
once), and paid regularly every Monday morning. Agamemnon Collumpsion
Applebite was a happy bachelor! The women were delighted to see him,
and the men to dine with him: to the one he gave _bouquets_; to the
other, cigars: in short, everybody considered A.C.A. as A1; and A.C.A.
considered that A1 was his proper mark.

It is somewhat singular, but no man knows when he _is_ really happy: he
may fancy that he wants for nothing, and may even persuade himself that
addition or subtraction would be certain to interfere with the
perfectitude of his enjoyment. He deceives himself. If he wishes to
assure himself of the exact state of his feelings, let him ask his
friends; they are disinterested parties, and will find out some
annoyance that has escaped his notice. It was thus with Agamemnon
Collumpsion Applebite. He had made up his mind that he wanted for
nothing, when it was suddenly found out by his friends that he was in a
state of felicitous destitution. It was discovered simultaneously, by
five mamas and eighteen daughters, that Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite
_must_ want a wife; and that his sixteen thousand and odd pounds must
be a source of _undivided_ anxiety to him. Stimulated by the most
praiseworthy considerations, a solemn compact was entered into by the
aforesaid five mamas, on behalf of the aforesaid eighteen daughters, by
which they were pledged to use every means to convince Agamemnon
Collumpsion Applebite of his deplorable condition; but no unfair
advantage was to be taken to ensure a preference for any particular one
of the said eighteen daughters, but that the said Agamemnon Collumpsion
Applebite should be left free to exercise his own discretion, so far as
the said eighteen daughters were concerned, but should any other
daughter, of whatever mama soever, indicate a wish to become a
competitor, she was to be considered a common enemy, and scandalized

Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite, about ten o'clock on the following
evening, was seated on a sofa, between Mrs. Greatgirdle and Mrs.
Waddledot (the two mamas deputed to open the campaign), each with a cup
of very prime Mocha coffee, and a massive fiddle-pattern tea-spoon. On
the opposite side of the room, in a corner, was a very large cage, in
the sole occupancy of a solitary Java sparrow.

"My poor bird looks very miserable," sighed Mrs. Greatgirdle, (the
hostess upon this occasion.)

"Very miserable!" echoed Mrs. Waddledot; and the truth of the remark
was apparent to every one.

The Java sparrow was moulting and suffering from a cutaneous disorder
at the same time; so what with the falling off, and scratching off of
his feathers, he looked in a most deplorable condition; which was
rendered more apparent by the magnitude of his cage. He seemed like the
_last_ debtor confined in the Queen's Bench.

"He has never been himself since the death of his mate." (Here the bird
scarified himself with great violence.) "He is so restless; and though
he eats very well, and hops about, he seems to have lost all care of
his person, as though he would put on mourning if he had it."

"Is there no possibility of dyeing his feathers?" remarked Agamemnon
Collumpsion, feeling the necessity of saying something.

"It is not the inky cloak, Mr. Applebite," replied Mrs. Greatgirdle,
"that truly indicates regret; but it's here," (laying her hand upon her
left side): "no--there, under his liver wing, that he feels it, poor
bird! It's a shocking thing to live alone."

"And especially in such a large cage," said Mrs. Waddledot. "_Your
house_ is rather large, Mr. Applebite?" inquired Mrs. Greatgirdle.

"Rather, ma'am," replied Collumpsion.

"Ain't you very lonely?" said Mrs. Waddledot and Mrs. Greatgirdle both
in a breath.

"Why, not--"

"Very lively, you were going to say," interrupted Mrs. G.

Now Mrs. G. was wrong in her conjecture of Collumpsion's reply. He was
about to say, "Why, not at all;" but she, of course, knew best what he
ought to have answered.

"I often feel for you, Mr. Applebite," remarked Mrs. Waddledot; "and
think how strange it is that you, who really are a nice young man--and
I don't say so to flatter you--that you should have been so
unsuccessful with the ladies."

Collumpsion's vanity was awfully mortified at this idea.

"It _is_ strange!" exclaimed Mrs. G "I wonder it don't make you
miserable. There is no home, I mean the '_Sweet, sweet_ home,' without
a wife. Try, try again, Mr. Applebite," (tapping his arm as she rose;)
"faint heart never won fair lady."

"I refused Mr. Waddledot three times, but I yielded at last; take
courage from that, and 24, Pleasant Terrace, may shortly become that
Elysium--a woman's home," whispered Mrs. W., as she rolled gracefully
to a card-table; and accidentally, _of course_, cut the ace of spades,
which she exhibited to Collumpsion with a very mysterious shake of the

Agamemnon returned to 24, Pleasant Terrace, a discontented man. He felt
that there was no one sitting up for him--nothing but a rush-light--the
dog might bark as he entered, but no voice was there to welcome him,
and with a heavy heart he ascended the two stone steps of his dwelling.

He took out his latch-key, and was about to unlock the door, when a
loud knocking was heard in the next street. Collumpsion paused, and
then gave utterance to his feelings. "That's music--positively music.
This is my house--there's my name on the brass-plate--that's my
knocker, as I can prove by the bill and receipt; and, yet, here I am
about to sneak in like a burglar. Old John sha'n't go to bed another
night; I'll not indulge the lazy scoundrel any longer, Yet the poor old
fellow nursed me when a child. I'll compromise the matter--I'll knock,
and let myself in." So saying, Collumpsion thumped away at the door,
looked around to see that he was unobserved, applied his latch-key, and
slipped into his house just as old John, in a state of great alarm and
undress, was descending the stairs with a candle and a boot-jack.

       *       *       *       *       *


We read in the _Glasgow Courier_ of an enormous salmon hooked at Govan,
which measured three feet, three inches in length. The _Morning Herald_
mentions several gudgeons of twice the size, caught, we understand, by
Alderman Humphery, and conveyed to Town per Blackwall Railway.

       *       *       *       *       *




_August 28, 1841._

We have received expresses from the Celestial Empire by our own private
electro-galvanic communication. As this rapid means of transmission
carries dispatches so fast that we generally get them even before they
are written, we are enabled to be considerably in advance of the common
daily journals; more especially as we have obtained news up to the end
of next week.

The most important paper which has come to hand is the _Macao Sunday
Times_. It appears that the fortifications for surrounding Pekin are
progressing rapidly, but that the government have determined upon
building the ramparts of japanned canvas and bamboo rods, instead of
pounded rice, which was thought almost too fragile to resist the
attacks of the English barbarians. Some handsome guns, of blue and
white porcelain, have been placed on the walls, with a proportionate
number of carved ivory balls, elaborately cut one inside the other.
These, it is presumed, will split upon firing, and produce incalculable
mischief and confusion. Within the gates a frightful magazine of gilt
crackers, and other fireworks, has been erected; which, in the event of
the savages penetrating the fortifications, will be exploded one after
another, to terrify them into fits, when they will be easily captured.
This precaution has been scarcely thought necessary by some of the
mandarins, as our great artist, Wang, has covered the external
joss-house with frantic figures that, must strike terror to every
barbarian. Gold paper has also been kept constantly burning, on altars
of holy clay, at every practicable point of the defences, which it is
hardly thought they will have the hardihood to approach, and the sacred
ducks of Fanqui have been turned loose in the river to retard the
progress of the infidel fleet.

During the storm of last week the portcullis, which hail been placed in
the northern gate, and was composed of solid rice paper, with
cross-bars of chop-sticks, was much damaged. It is now under repair,
and will be coated entirely with tea-chest lead, to render it perfectly
impregnable. The whole of the household troops and body-guard of the
emperor have also received new accoutrements of tin-foil and painted
isinglass. They have likewise been armed with varnished bladders,
containing peas and date stones, which produce a terrific sound upon
the least motion.

An Englishman has been gallantly captured this morning, in a small
boat, by one of our armed junks. He will eat his eyes in the
Palace-court this afternoon; and then, being enclosed in soft
porcelain, will be baked to form a statue for the new pagoda at
Bo-Lung, the first stone of which was laid by the late emperor, to
celebrate his victory over the rude northern islanders.


The last order of the government, prohibiting the exportation of tea
and rhubarb, has been issued by the advice of Lin, who translates the
English newspapers to the council. It is affirmed in these journals,
that millions of these desert tribes have no other beverage than tea
for their support. As their oath prohibits any other liquor, they will
be driven to water for subsistence, and, unable to correct its
unhealthy influence by doses of rhubarb, will die miserably. In
anticipation of this event, large catacombs are being erected near
their great city, on the authority of Slo-Lefe-Tee, who visited it last
year, and intends shortly to go there again. The rhubarb prohibition
will, it is said, have a great effect upon the English market for
plums, pickled salmon, and greengages; and the physicians, or disciples
of the great Hum, appear uncertain as to the course to be pursued.

The emperor has issued a chop to the Hong merchants, forbidding them to
assist or correspond with the invaders, under pain of having their
finger-nails drawn out and rings put in their noses. Howqua resists the
order, and it is the intention of Lin, should he remain obstinate, to
recommend his being pounded up with broken crockery and packed in
Chinese catty packages, to be forwarded, as an example, to the Mandarin
Pidding, of the wild island.

An English flag, stolen by a deserter from Chusan, will be formally
insulted to-morrow in the market-place, by the emperor and his court.
Dust will be thrown at it, accompanied by derisive grimaces, and it
will be subsequently hoisted, in scorn, to blow, at the mercy of the
winds, upon the summit of the palace, within sight of the barbarians.



_August 30._

The Sultan got very fuddled last night, with forbidden juice, in the
harem, and tumbled down the ivory steps leading from the apartment of
the favourite, by which accident he seriously cut his nose. Every guard
is to be bastinadoed in consequence, and the wine-merchant will be
privately sewn up in a canvas-bag and thrown into the Bosphorus this

A relation of Selim Pacha, despatched by the Sultan to collect taxes in
Beyrout, was despatched by the Syrians a few hours after his arrival.

The periodical conflagration of the houses, mosques, and synagogues, in
Smyrna, took place with great splendour on the 30th ult., and the next
will be arranged for the ensuing month, when everybody suspected of the
plague will receive orders from the government to remain in their
dwellings until they are entirely consumed. By this salutary
arrangement, it is expected that much improvement will take place in
the public health.

The inundation of the Nile has also been very favourable this year, The
water has risen higher than usual, and carried off several hundred poor
people. The Board of Guardians of the Alexandria Union are consequently
much rejoiced.

       *       *       *       *       *



"The air hath bubbles as the water hath."

  Huzza! huzza! there goes the balloon--
    'Tis up like a rocket, and off to the moon!
      Now fading from our view,
        Or dimly seen;
      Now lost in the deep _blue_
        Is Mr. _Green_!

  Pray have a care,
    In your path through the air,
      And mind well what you do;
        For if you chance to slip
      Out of your airy ship,
        Then _down_ you come, and all is _up_ with you.

       *       *       *       *       *


Two thousand and thirty-five remarkably fine calves, from their various
rural pasturages at Smithfield. Some of the _heads_ of the party have
since been seen in the very highest society.

       *       *       *       *       *


"What will you take?" said Peel to Russell, on adjourning from the
School of Design. "Anything you recommend." "Then let it be your
departure," was the significant rejoinder.

       *       *       *       *       *


"French agents are said to _be sowing discontent_ in Syria."--_Sunday

       *       *       *       *       *


Having advised you in our last paper of "Dress in general," we now
proceed to the important consideration of


a subject of such paramount interest and magnitude, that we feel an
Encyclopædia would be barely sufficient for its full developement; and
it is our honest conviction that, until professorships of this truly
noble art are instituted at the different universities, the same
barbarisms of style will be displayed even by those of gentle blood, as
now too frequently detract from the Augustan character of the age.

To take as comprehensive a view of this subject as our space will
admit, we have divided it into the quality, the cut, the ornaments, and
the pathology.


comprises _the texture, colour, and age of the materials_.

Of the texture there are only two kinds compatible with the reputation
of a gentleman--the very fine and the very coarse; or, to speak
figuratively--the Cachmere and the Witney blanket.

The latter is an emanation from the refinement of the nineteenth
century, for a prejudice in favour of "extra-superfine" formerly
existed, as the coarser textures, now prevalent, were confined
exclusively to common sailors, hackney-coachmen, and bum-bailiffs.
These frivolous distinctions are happily exploded, and the true
gentleman may now show in Saxony, or figure in Flushing--the one being
suggestive of his property, and the other indicative of his taste.
These remarks apply exclusively to woollens, whether for coats or

It is incumbent on every gentleman to have a perfect library of
waistcoats, the selection of which must be regulated by the cost of the
material, as it would be derogatory, in the highest degree, to a man
aspiring to the character of a _distingué_, to decorate his bosom with
a garment that would by any possibility come under the denomination of
"these choice patterns, only 7s. 6d." There are certain designs for
this important decorative adjunct, which entirely preclude them from
the wardrobes of the élite--the imaginative bouquets upon red-plush
grounds, patronised by the ingenious constructors of canals and
rail-roads--the broad and brilliant Spanish striped Valencias, which
distinguish the _savans_ or knowing ones of the stable--the cotton
(must we profane the word!) velvet impositions covered with botanical
diagrams done in distemper, and monopolized by lawyers' clerks and
small professionals--the _positive_ or genuine Genoa velvet, with
violent and showy embellishments of roses, dahlias, and peonies, which
find favour in the eyes of aldermen, attorneys, and the proprietors of
four-wheel chaises, are all to be avoided as the fifth daughter of a
clergyman's widow.

It is almost superfluous to add, that breeches can only be made of
white leather or white kerseymere, for any other colour or material
would awaken associations of the dancing-master, the waiter, the
butler, or the bumpkin, or, what is equally to be dreaded, "the highly
respectables" of the last century.

The dressing-gown is a portion of the costume which commands particular
attention; for though no man "can appear as a hero to his valet," he
must keep up the gentleman. This can only be done by the dressing-gown.
To gentlemen who occupy apartments, the _robe de chambre_, if properly
selected, is of infinite advantage; for an Indian shawl or rich
brocaded silk (of which this garment should only be constructed), will
be found to possess extraordinary pacific properties with the landlady,
when the irregularity of your remittances may have ruffled the
equanimity of her temper, whilst you are


whereas a gray Duffield, or a cotton chintz, would be certain to induce
deductions highly prejudicial to the respectability of your character,
or, what is of equal importance, to the duration of your credit.

The colour of your materials should be selected with due regard to the
species of garment and the tone of the complexion. If the face be of
that faint drab which your friends would designate _pallid_, and your
enemies sallow, a coat of pea-green or snuff-brown must be scrupulously
eschewed, whilst black or invisible green would, by contrast, make that
appear delicate and interesting, which, by the use of the former
colours, must necessarily seem bilious and brassy.

The rosy complexionist must as earnestly avoid all sombre tints, as the
inelegance of a healthful appearance should never be obtrusively
displayed by being placed in juxta-position with colours diametrically
opposite, though it is almost unnecessary to state that any one
ignorant enough to appear of an evening in a coat of any other colour
than blue or black (regimentals, of course, excepted), would certainly
be condemned to a quarantine in the servant's hall. There are colours
which, if worn for trousers by the first peer of the realm, would be as
condemnatory of his character as a gentleman, as levanting on the
settling-day for the Derby.

The dark drab, which harmonises with the mud--the peculiar
pepper-and-salt which is warranted not to grow gray with age--the
indescribable mixtures, which have evidently been compounded for the
sake of economy, must ever be exiled from the wardrobe and legs of a

The hunting-coat must be invariably of scarlet, due care being taken
before wearing to dip the tips of the tails in claret or port wine,
which, for new coats, or for those of gentlemen who do _not_ hunt, has
been found to give them an equally veteran appearance with the sweat of
the horse.

_Of the age_ it is only necessary to state, that a truly fashionable
suit should never appear under a week, or be worn longer than a month
from the time that it left the hands of its parent schneider.
Shooting-coats are exceptions to the latter part of this rule, as a
garment devoted to the field should always bear evidence of long
service, and a new jacket should be consigned to your valet, who, if he
understands his profession, will carefully rub the shoulders with a
hearth-stone and bole-ammonia, to convey the appearance of friction and
the deposite of the rust of the gun[1].

    [1] Gentlemen who are theoretical, rather than practical sportsmen,
        would find it beneficial to have a partridge carefully plucked,
        and the feathers sparingly deposited in the pockets of the
        shooting-jacket usually applied to the purposes of carrying
        game. Newgate Market possesses all the advantages of a
        preserved manor.

Of the cut, ornaments, and pathology of dress, we shall speak next
week, for these are equally essential to ensure


       *       *       *       *       *


We are informed by the _Times_ of Saturday, that at the late
Conservative enactment at D.L., not only his Royal Highness Prince
Albert, but the _infant_ Princess Royal, was "drunk, with the usual
honours."--[_Proh pudor!_--PUNCH.]

       *       *       *       *       *


Sibthorp, meeting Peel in the House of Commons, after congratulating
him on his present enviable position, finished the confab with the
following unrivalled conundrum:--"By the bye, which of your vegetables
does your Tamworth speech resemble!"--"Spinach," replied Peel, who, no
doubt, associated it with _gammon_.--"Pshaw," said the gallant Colonel,
"your rope inions (_your opinions_), to be sure!" Peel opened his
mouth, and never closed it till he took his seat at the table.

       *       *       *       *       *


Sir Francis Burdett, the superannuated Tory _tool_, proposed the
Conservative healths; and _Toole_ the second, as toast-master,
announced them to the assemblage.

       *       *       *       *       *



"Are the two ponies ready?"


"And the ass?"

"All right!"

"And you've, all five of you, got your fi'pennies for Tony Dolan, the
barber, at Kells?"

"Every one of us."

"Then be off; there's good boys! Ride and tie like Christians, and
don't be going double on the brute beasts; for a bit of a walk now and
then will just stretch your legs. Be back at five to dinner; and let us
see what bucks you'll look with your new-trimmed curls. Stay, there's
another fi'penny; spend that among you, and take care of yourselves, my
little jewels!"

Such were the parting queries and instructions of my kind old uncle to
five as roaring, mischievous urchins as ever stole whisky to soak the
shamrock on St. Patrick's day. The chief director, schemer, and
perpetrator of all our fun and devilry, was, strange to say, "my cousin
Bob:" the smallest, and, with one exception, the youngest of the party.
But Bob was his grandmother's "ashey pet"--his mother's "jewel"--his
father's "mannikin"--his nurse's "honey"--and the whole world's
"darlin' little devil of a rogue!" The expression of a face naturally
arch, beaming with good humour, and radiant with happy laughter, was
singularly heightened by a strange peculiarity of vision, which I am at
a loss to describe. It was, if the reader can idealise the thing, an
absolute "beauty," which, unfortunately, can only be written about by
the appliances of some term conveying the notion of a blemish. The
glances from his bright eyes seemed to steal out from under their long
fringe, the most reckless truants of exulting mirth. No matter what he
said, he looked a joke. Now for his orders:--

"Aisy with you, lads. Cousin Harry, take first ride on St. Patrick (the
name of the ass)--here's a leg up. The two Dicks can have Scrub and
Rasper. Jack and Billy, boys, catch a hold of the bridles, or devil a
ha'p'worth of ride and tie there'll be in at all, if them Dicks get the
start--Shanks' mare will take you to Kells. Don't be galloping off in
that manner, but shoot aisy! Remember, the ass has got to keep up with
you, and I've got to keep up with the ass. That's the thing--steady she
goes! It's an elegant day, and no hurry in life. Spider! come here,
boy--that's right. Down, sir! down, you devil, or wipe your paws. Bad
manners to you--look at them breeches! Never mind, there's a power of
rats at Tony Carroll's barn--it's mighty little out o' the way, and may
be we'll get a hunt. What say you?"

"A hunt, a hunt, by all manes! there's the fun of it! Come on,
lads--here's the place!--turn off, and go to work! Wait, wait! get a
stick a-piece, and break the necks of 'em! Hurrah!--in Spider!--find
'em boy! Good lad! Tare an ouns, you may well squeak! Good dog! good
dog! that's a grandfather!--we'll have more yet; the family always come
to the ould one's berrin'. I've seen 'em often, and mighty dacent they
behave. Damn Kells and the barber, up with the boords and go to
work!--this is something like sport! Houly Paul, there's one up my
breeches--here's the tail of him--he caught a hould of my
leather-garter. Come out of that, Spider! Spider, here he is--that's
it--give him another shake for his impudence--serve him out! Hurrah!"

"Fast and furious" grew our incessant urging on of the willing Spider,
for his continued efforts at extermination. At the end of two hours,
the metamorphosed barn was nearly stripped of its flooring--nine huge
rats lay dead, as trophies of our own achievements--the panting Spider,
"by turns caressing, and by turns caressed," licking alternately the
hands and faces of all, as we sat on the low ledge of the doorway,
wagging his close-cut stump of tail, as if he were resolved, by his
unceasing exertions, to get entirely rid of that excited dorsal

"This is the rael thing," said Bob.

"So it is," said Dick; "but"--

"But what?"

"Why, devil a ha'p'orth of Kells or hair-cutting there's in it."

"Not a taste," chimed in Jack.

"Nothing like it," echoed Will.

"What will we do?" said all at once. There was a short pause--after
which the matter was resumed by Dick, who was intended for a parson,
and therefore rather given to moralising.

"Life," quoth Dick--"life's uncertain."

"You may say that," rejoined Bob; "look at them rats."

"Tony Dowlan's a hard-drinking man, and his mother had fits."

"Of the same sort," said Bob.

"Well, then," continued Dick, "there's no knowing--he may be dead--if
so, how could he cut our hair?"

Here Dick, like Brutus, paused for a reply. Bob produced one.

"It's a good scheme, but it won't do; the likes of him never does
anything he's wanted to. He's the contrariest ould thief in Ireland! I
wish mama hadn't got a party; we'd do well enough but for that. Never
mind, boys, I've got it. There's Mikey Brian, he's the boy!

"What for?"

"To cut the hair of the whole of us."

"_He_ can't do it."

"Can't! wait, a-cushla, till I tell you, or, what's better, show you.
Come now, you devils. Look at the heels (Rasper's and Scrub's) of them
ponies! Did ever you see anything like them!--look at the cutting
there--Tony Dowlan never had the knack o' that tasty work in his dirty
finger and thumb--and who done that? Why Mikey Brian--didn't I see him
myself; and isn't he the boy that can 'bang Bannaker' at anything! Oh!
he'll cut us elegant!--he'll do the squad for a fi'penny--and then,
lads, there's them five others will be just one a-piece to buy gut and
flies! Come on, you Hessians!"

No sooner proposed than acceded to--off we set, for the eulogised
"Bannaker banging Mikey Brian."

A stout, handsome boy he was--rising four-and-twenty--a fighting,
kissing, rollicking, ball-playing, dancing vagabone, as you'd see in a
day's march--such a fellow as you only meet in Ireland--a bit of a
gardener, a bit of a groom, a bit of a futboy, and a bit of a

We reached the stables by the back way, and there, in his own peculiar
loft, was Mikey Brian, brushing a somewhat faded livery, in which to
wait upon the coming quality.

Bob stated the case, as far as the want of our locks' curtailment went,
but made no mention of the delay which occasioned our coming to Mikey;
on the contrary, he attributed the preference solely to our conviction
of his superior abilities, and the wish to give him a chance, as he
felt convinced, if he had fair play, he'd be engaged miles round,
instead of the hopping old shaver at Kells.

"I'm your man, Masther Robert."

"Who's first?"

"I am--there's the fi'penny--that's for the lot!"

"Good luck to you, sit down--will you have the Currah thoro'bred-cut?"

"That's the thing," said Bob.

"Then, young gentlement, as there ain't much room--and if you do be all
looking on, I'll be bothered--just come in one by one."

Out we went, and, in an inconceivably short space, Bob emerged.

Mikey advising: "Master Robert, dear, keep your hat on for the life of
you, for fear of cowld." A few minutes finished us all.

"This is elegant," said Bob. "Mikey, it will be the making of you; but
don't say a word till you hear how they'll praise you at dinner."

"Mum!" said Mikey, and off we rushed.

I felt rather astonished at the ease with which my hat sat; while those
of the rest appeared ready to fall over their noses. Being in a hurry,
this was passed over. The second dinner-bell rang--we bolted up for a
brief ablution--our hats were thrown into a corner, and, as if by one
consent, all eyes were fixed upon each other's heads!

Bob gave tongue: "The Devil's skewer to Mikey Brian! and bad luck to
the Currah thoro'bred cut! Not the eighth part of an inch of 'air there
is amongst the set of us. What will the master say? Never mind; we've
got the fi'pennies! Come to dinner!--by the Puck we are beauties!"

We reached the dining-room unperceived; but who can describe the agony
of my aunt Kate, when she clapped her eyes upon five such close-clipped
scarecrows. She vowed vengence of all sorts and descriptions against
the impudent, unnatural, shameful monster! Terms which Mikey Brian, in
the back-ground, appropriated to himself, and with the utmost
difficulty restrained his rising wrath from breaking out.

"What," continued aunt Kate, "what does he call this?"

"It's the thoro'bred Currah-cut, ma'am," said Bob, with one of his
peculiar glances at Mikey and the rest.

"And mighty cool wearing, I'll be bail," muttered Mikey.

"Does he call that hair-cutting?" screamed my aunt.

"That, and nothing but it," quietly retorted Bob, passing his hand over
his head; "you can't deny the cutting, ma'am."

"The young gentlemen look elegant," said Mikey.

"I'm told it's all the go, ma'am," said Bob.

"Wait!" said my aunt, with suppressed rage; "wait till I go to Kells."

This did not happen for six weeks; our aunt's anger was mollified as
our locks were once more human. Upon upbraiding "Tony Knowlan" the
murder came out. A hearty laugh ensured our pardon, and Mikey Brian's;
and the story of the "thoro'bred Currah-cut" was often told, as the
means by which "we all got a fi'penny bit a-piece."--FUSBOS.

       *       *       *       *       *

There is a portrait of a person so like him, that, the other day, a
friend who called took no notice whatever of the man, further than
saying he was a good likeness, but asked the portrait to dinner, and
only found out his mistake when he went up to shake hands with it at

       *       *       *       *       *

An American hearing that there was a fire in his neighbourhood, and
that it might possibly consume his house, took the precaution to _bolt_
his own door; that he might be, so far at least, beforehand with the
_devouring_ element.

       *       *       *       *       *


The peace, happiness, and prosperity of England, are threatened by
_Peel_; in Ireland, the picture is reversed: the safety of that country
is endangered by _Re-peal_. It would be hard to say which is worst.

       *       *       *       *       *


  Jane is a constant wench (so Sibthorp says);
  For in how _many_ shops you see _Jean stays_!

       *       *       *       *       *


The Count's fashioner sent in, the other day, his bill, which was a
pretty considerable time overdue, accompanied by the following polite

"Sir,--Your bill having been for a very long time standing, I beg that
it may be settled forthwith.


To which Snip received the following reply:--

"Sir,--I am very sorry that your bill should have been kept standing so
long. Pray request it to _sit_ down.


       *       *       *       *       *


It was in the year 1808, that myself and seven others resolved upon
taking chambers in Staples' Inn. Our avowed object was to study, but we
had in reality assembled together for the purposes of convivial
enjoyment, and what were then designated "sprees." Our stock consisted
of four hundred and twelve pounds, which we had drawn from our parents
and guardians under the various pretences of paying fees and procuring
books for the advancement of our knowledge in the sublime mysteries of
that black art called Law. In addition to our pecuniary resources, we
had also a fair assortment of wearing-apparel, and it was well for us
that parental anxiety had provided most of us with a change of garments
suitable to the various seasons. For a long time everything went on
riotously and prosperously. We visited the Theatres, the Coal-hole, the
Cider-cellars, and the Saloon, and became such ardent admirers of the
"Waterford system of passing a night and morning," that scarcely a day
came without a draft upon the treasury for that legal imposition upon
the liberty of the subject--the five-shilling fine; besides the
discharge of promissory notes as compensation for trifling damages done
to the heads and property of various individuals.

About a month after the formation of our association we were all
suffering severely from thirsty head-aches, produced, I am convinced,
by the rapid consumption of thirteen bowls of whiskey-punch on the
preceding night. The rain was falling in perpendicular torrents, and
the whole aspect of out-of-door nature was gloomy and sloppy, when we
were alarmed by the exclamation of Joseph Jones (a relation of the
Welsh Joneses), who officiated as our treasurer, and upon inquiring the
cause, were horror-stricken to find that we had arrived at our last
ten-pound note, and that the landlord had sent an imperative message,
requiring the immediate settlement of our back-rent. It is impossible
to paint the consternation depicted on every countenance, already
sufficiently disordered by previous suffering and biliary

I was the first to speak; for being the son of a shabby-genteel father,
I had witnessed in my infancy many of those schemes to raise the
needful, to which ambitious men with limited incomes are so frequently
driven. I therefore bid them be of good heart, for that any pawnbroker
in the neighbourhood would readily advance money upon the superfluous
wardrobe which we possessed. This remark was received with loud cheers,
which, I have no doubt, would have been much more vehement but from the
fatal effects of the whiskey-punch.

The landlord's claim was instantly discharged, and after several pots
of strong green tea, rendered innocuous by brandy, we sallied forth in
pursuit of what we then ignorantly conceived to be pleasure.

I will not pause to particularise the gradual diminution of our
property, but come at once to that period when, having consumed all our
superfluities, it become a serious subject of consideration, what
should next be sacrificed.

I will now proceed to make extracts from our general diary, merely
premising that our only attendant was an asthmatic individual named

_Dec. 2, 1808._--Peter reported stock--eight coats, eight waistcoats,
eight pairs of trousers, two ounces of coffee, half a quartern loaf,
and a ha'p'orth of milk. The eight waistcoats required for dinner.
Peter ordered to pop accordingly--proceeds 7s. 6d. Invested in a small
leg of mutton and half-and-half.

_Dec. 3._--Peter reported stock--coats _idem_, trousers _idem_--a
mutton bone--rent due--a coat and a pair of trousers ordered for
immediate necessities--lots drawn--Jones the victim. Moved the court to
grant him his trousers, as his coat was lined with silk, which would
furnish the trimmings--rejected. Peter popped the suit, and Jones went
to bed. All signed an undertaking to redeem Jones with the first
remittance from the country. Proceeds 40s. Paid rent, and dined on
à-la-mode beef and potatoes--beer limited to one quart. Peter hinted at
wages, and was remonstrated with on the folly and cruelty of his

_Dec. 4._--Peter reported stock--seven coats, seven pairs of trousers,
and a gentleman in bed. Washerwoman called--gave notice of detaining
linen unless settled with--two coats and one pair of trousers ordered
for consumption. Lots drawn--Smith the victim for coat and
trousers--Brown for the continuations only. Smith retired to bed--Brown
obtained permission to sit in a blanket. Proceeds of the above,
38s.--both pairs of trousers having been reseated. Jones very violent,
declaring it an imposition, and that every gentleman who had been
repaired, should enter himself so on the books. The linen redeemed,
leaving--nothing for dinner.

_Dec. 5._--Peter reported stock--four coats, and five pairs of
trousers. Account not agreeing, Peter was called in--found that
Williams had bolted--Jones offered to call him out, if we would dress
him for the day--Smith undertook to negotiate preliminaries on the same
conditions--Williams voted not worth powder and shot in the present
state of our finances. A coat and two pair of continuations ordered for
supplies--lots drawn--Black and Edwards the victims. Black retired to
bed, and Edwards to a blanket--proceeds, 20s. Jones, Smith, and Black,
petitioned for an increased supply of coals--agreed to. Dinner, a large
leg of mutton and baked potatoes. Peter lodged a detainer against the
change, as he wanted his hair cut and a box of vegetable pills--so he

_Dec. 6._--Peter reported stock--three coats, three pairs of trousers,
quarter of a pound of mutton, and one potato. Landlord sent a note
remonstrating against using the beds all day, and applying the blankets
to the purposes of dressing-gowns. Proposed, in consequence of this
impertinent communication, that the payment of the next week's rent be
disputed--carried _nem. con_. A coat and a pair of trousers ordered for
the day's necessities--Peter popped as usual--proceeds, 10s. 6d.--coals
bought--ditto a quire of paper, and the _et cets_. for home
correspondence. Blue devils very prevalent.

_Dec. 7._--Peter reported stock--two coats, two pairs of trousers, and
five gentlemen in bed. Smith hinted at the "beauties of _Burke_"--Peter
brought a note for Jones--everybody in ecstacy--Jones's jolly old uncle
from Glamorganshire had arrived in town. Huzza! safe for a 20l. Busker
(_that's myself_) volunteered his suit--Jones dressed and off in a
brace of shakes--caught Peter laughing--found it was a hoax of Jones's
to give us the slip--would have stripped Peter, only his clothes were
worth nothing--calculated the produce of the remaining suit at--

    Buttons   .  .  .  .  . a breakfast.
    Two sleeves  .  .  .  . one pint of porter.
    Body .  .  .  . .  .  . four plates of à-la-mode.
    Trousers (at per leg) . half a quartern loaf.

Caught an idea.--wrote an anonymous letter to the landlord, and told
him that an association had been formed to burke Colonel Sibthorp--his
lodgers the conspirators--that the scheme was called the "Lie-a-bed
plot"--poverty with his lodgers all fudge--men of immense wealth--get
rid of them for his own sake--old boy very nervous, having been in quod
for smuggling--gave us warning--couldn't go if we would. Landlord
redeemed our clothes. Ha! ha!--did him brown.

The above is a statement of what I suffered during my minority. I have
now the honour to be a magistrate and a member of Parliament.

       *       *       *       *       *



  Urge it no more! I must not wed
    One who is poor, so hold your prattle;
  My lips on love have ne'er been fed,
    With poverty I cannot battle.
  My choice is made--I know I'm right--
    Who wed for love starvation suffer;
  So I will study day and night
    To please and win a rich OLD BUFFER.

  Romance is very fine, I own;
    Reality is vastly better;
  I'm twenty--past--romance is flown--
    To Cupid I'm no longer debtor.
  Wealth, power, and rank--I ask no more--
    Let the world frown, with these I'll rough her--
  Give me an equipage and four,
    Blood bays, a page, and--rich OLD BUFFER.

  An opera-box shall be my court,
    Myself the sovereign of the women;
  There moustached loungers shall resort,
    Whilst Elssler o'er the stage is skimming.
  If any rival dare dispute
    The palm of _ton_, my set shall huff her;
  I'll reign supreme, make envy mute,
    When once I wed a rich OLD BUFFFER!

  "The heart"--"the feelings"--pshaw! for nought
    _They_ go, I grant, though quite enchanting
  In valentines by school-girls wrought:
    Nonsense! by me they are not wanting.
  A note! and, as I live, a ring!
    "Pity the sad suspense I suffer!"
  All's right. I knew to book I'd bring
    Old Brown. I've caught--
                            A RICH OLD BUFFER.

       *       *       *       *       *


A writer in a morning paper, eulogising the Licensed Victuallers' fête
at Vauxhall Gardens, on Tuesday evening, bursts into the following
magnificent flight:--"Wit has been profanely said, like the Pagan, to
deify the brute" (the writer will never increase the mythology); "but
here," (that is, in the royal property,) "while intellect and skill"
(together with Roman candles) "exhibit their various manifestations,
Charity" (arrack punch and blue fire) "throw their benign halo over the
festive scene" (in the circle and Widdicomb), "and not only sanctify
the enjoyment" (of ham and Green's ascent), "but improve" (the
appetite) "and elevate" (the victuallers) "the feelings" (and the
sky-rockets) "of all who participate in it" (and the sticks coming
down). "This is, truly an occasion when every licensed victualler
should be at his post" (with a stretcher in waiting).

       *       *       *       *       *


As the coming session of Parliament is likely to be a busy one--for
PUNCH--we have engaged some highly talented gentlemen expressly to
report the fun in the House. The public will therefore have the benefit
of all the senatorial brilliancy, combined with our own peculiar powers
of description. Sibthorp--(scintillations fly from our pen as we trace
the magic word)--shall, for one session at least, have justice done to
his Sheridanic mind. Muntz shall be cut with a friendly hand, and Peter
Borthwick feel that the days of his histrionic glories are returned,
when his name, and that of "Avon's swan," figured daily in the
"_Stokum-cum-Pogis Gazette_." Let any member prove himself worthy of
being associated with the brilliant names which ornament our pages, and
be certain we will insure his immortality. We will now proceed to our
report of


          This morn at crow-cock,
          Great Doctor Locock
  Decided that her Majesty had better
  Remain at home, for (as _I_ read the letter)
  He thought the opening speech
  Would be "more honoured in the breach
  Than the observance." So here I am,
  To read a royal speech without a flam.
  Her Majesty continues to receive
  From Foreign Powers good reasons to believe
  That, for the universe, they would not tease her,
  But do whate'er they could on earth to please her.
        A striking fact,
        That proves each act
  Of _us_, the Cabinet, has been judicious,
  Though of our conduct _some_ folks _are_ suspicious.
  Her Majesty has also satisfaction
  To state the July treaty did succeed
  (Aided, no doubt, by Napier's gallant action),
  And that in peace the Sultan smokes his weed.
  That France, because she was left out,
  Did for a little while--now bounce--now pout,
  Is in the best of humours, and will still
  Lend us her Jullien, monarch of quadrille!
  And as her Majesty's a peaceful woman,
  She hopes we shall get into rows with no man.
  Her Majesty is also glad to say,
  That as the Persian troops have march'd away,
  Her Minister has orders to resume
  His powers at Teheran, where he's ta'en a room.
  Her Majesty regrets that the Chinese
  Are running up the prices of our teas:
  But should the Emperor continue crusty,
  Elliot's to find out if his jacket's dusty.
  Her Majesty has also had the pleasure
  (By using a conciliatory measure)
  To settle Spain and Portugal's division
  About the Douro treaty's true provision.
  Her Majesty (she grieves to say) 's contrived to get,
  Like all her predecessors, into debt--
  In Upper Canada, which, we suppose,
  By this time is a fact the Council knows,
  And what they think, or say, or write about it,
  You'll he advised of, and the Queen don't doubt it,
  But you'll contrive to make the thing all square,
  So leaves the matter to your loyal care.
  Her Majesty, I'm proud to say, relies
  On you with confidence for the supplies;
  And, as there's much to pay, she begs to hint
  She hopes sincerely you'll not spare the Mint.
  The public till,
  I much regret to say, is looking ill;
  For Canada and China, and the Whigs--no, no--
  Some other prigs--have left the cash so-so:
  But as our soldiers and our tars, brave lads,
  Won't shell out shells till we shell out the brads,
  Her Majesty desires you'll be so kind
  As to devise some means to raise the wind,
  Either by taxing more or taxing less,
  Relieving or increasing our distress;
  Or by increasing twopennies to quarterns,
  Or keeping up the price which "Commons shortens;"
  By making weavers' wages high or low,
  Or other means, but what we do not know.
  But the one thing our royal mistress axes,
  Is, that you'll make the people pay their taxes.
  The last request, I fear, will cause surprise--
  Her Majesty requests _you to be wise_.
  If you comply at once, the world will own
  It is the greatest miracle e'er known.

       *       *       *       *       *


Man is the only animal that cooks his dinner before he eats it. All
other species of the same genus are content to take the provisions of
nature as they find them; but man's reason has designed pots and
roasting-jacks, stewpans and bakers' ovens; thus opening a wide field
for the exercise of that culinary ingenuity which has rendered the
names of Glasse and Kitchiner immortal. Of such importance is the
gastronomic art to the well-being of England, that we question much if
the "wooden walls," which have been the theme of many a song, afford
her the same protection as her dinners. The ancients sought, by the
distribution of crowns and flowers, to stimulate the enterprising and
reward the successful; but England, despising such empty honours and
distinctions, tempts the diffident with a haunch of venison, and
rewards the daring with real turtle.

If charity seeks the aid of the benevolent, she no longer trusts to the
magic of oratory to "melt the tender soul to pity," and untie the
purse-strings; but, grown wise by experience, she sends in her card in
the shape of "a guinea ticket, bottle of wine included;" and thus
appeals, if not to the heart, at least to its next-door neighbour--the

The hero is no longer conducted to the temple of Victory amid the
shouts of his grateful and admiring countrymen, but to the Freemason's,
the Crown and Anchor, or the Town Hall, there to have his plate heaped
with the choicest viands, his glass tilled from the best bins, and "his
health drank with three times three, and a little one in."

The bard has now to experience "the happiest moment of his life" amid
the jingling of glasses, the rattle of dessert plates, and the
stentorian vociferations of the toast-master to "charge your glasses,
gentlemen--Mr. Dionysius Dactyl, the ornament of the age, with nine
times nine," and to pour out the flood of his poetic gratitude, with
half a glass of port in one hand and a table-napkin in the other.

The Cicero who has persuaded an enlightened body of electors to receive
£10,000 decimated amongst them, and has in return the honour of
sleeping in "St. Stephen's," and smoking in "Bellamy's," or, to be less
figurative, who has been returned as their representative in
Parliament, receives the foretaste of his importance in a "public
dinner," which commemorates his election; or should he desire to
express "the deep sense of his gratitude," like Lord Mahon at Hertford,
he cannot better prove his sincerity than by the liberal distribution
of invitations for the unrestrained consumption of mutton, and the
unlimited imbibition of "foreign wines and spirituous liquors."

If a renegade, like Sir Francis Burdett, is desirous of making his
apostacy the theme of general remark--of surprising the world with an
exhibition of prostrated worth--let him not seek the market-cross to
publish his dishonour, whilst there remains the elevated chair at a
dinner-table. Let him prove himself entitled to be ranked as a man, by
the elaborate manner in which he seasons his soup or anatomises a
joint. Let him have the glass and the towel--the one to cool the
tongue, which must burn with the fulsome praises of those whom he has
hitherto decried, and the other as a ready appliance to conceal the
blush which must rush to the cheek from the consciousness of the
thousand recollections of former professions awakened in the minds of
every applauder of his apostacy. Let him have a Toole to give bold
utterance to the toasts which, in former years, would have called forth
his contumely and indignation, and which, even now, he dare only
whisper, lest the echo of his own voice should be changed into a curse.
Let him have wine, that his blood may riot through his veins and drive
memory onward. Let him have wine, that when the hollow cheers of his
new allies ring in his ears he may be incapable of understanding their
real meaning; or, when he rises to respond to the lip-service of his
fellow bacchanals, the fumes may supply the place of mercy, and save
him from the abjectness of self-degradation. Burdett! the 20th of
August will never be forgotten! You have earned an epitaph that will
scorch men's eyes--

  "To the last a renegade."[2]
    *      *      *      *

    [2] "Siege of Corinth."

Who that possesses the least reflection ever visited a police-office
without feeling how intimately it was connected with the cook-shop! The
victims to the intoxicating qualities of pickled salmon, oyster-sauce,
and lobster salad, are innumerable; for where one gentleman or lady
pleads guilty to too much wine, a thousand extenuate on the score of
indigestion. We are aware that the disorganisation of the digestive
powers is very prevalent--about one or two in the morning--and we have
no doubt the Conservative friends of Captain Rous, who patriotically
contributed five shillings each to the Queen, and one gentleman (a chum
of our own at Cheam, if we mistake not) a sovereign to the poor-box,
were all doubtlessly suffering from this cause, combined with their
enthusiasm for the gallant Rous, and--_proh pudor!_--Burdett.

How much, then, are we indebted to our cooks! those perspiring
professors of gastronomy and their valuable assistants--the industrious
scullery-maids. Let not the Melbourne opposition to this meritorious
class, be supported by the nation at large; for England would soon
cease to occupy her present proud pre-eminence, did her rulers, her
patriots, and her heroes, sit down to cold mutton, or the villanously
dressed "joints ready from 12 to 5." Justice is said to be the
foundation of all national prosperity--we contend that it is
repletion--that Mr. Toole, the toast-master, is the only embodiment of
fame, and that true glory consists of a gratuitous participation in
"Three courses and a dessert!"

       *       *       *       *       *


  Great Bulwer's works fell on Miss Basbleu's head.
  And, in a moment, lo! the maid was dead!
  A jury sat, and found the verdict plain--
  "She died of _milk_ and _water on the brain_."

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: TRIMMING A W(H)IG.]

       *       *       *       *       *


    [The bronze statue of Napoleon which was last placed on the summit
    of the grand column at Boulogne with extraordinary ceremony, has
    been turned, by design or accident, with its back to England.]

  Upon its lofty column's stand,
    Napoleon takes his place;
  His back still turned upon that land
    That never saw his face.


The letters V.P.W. scratched by some person on the brow of the statue
of Napoleon while it lay on the ground beside the column, which were
supposed to stand for the insulting words _Vaincu par Wellington_, have
given great offence to the French. We have authority for contradicting
this unjust explanation. The letters are the work of an ambitious
Common Councilman of Portsoken Ward, who, wishing to associate himself
with the great Napoleon, scratched on the bronze the initials of his

       *       *       *       *       *

    [Transcriber's note: This was marked as "NO. 3", but it is the 5th
    one of the series.]


  "O fly with me, lady, my gallant _destrere_
    Is as true as the brand by my side;
  Through flood and o'er moorland his master he'll bear,
    With the maiden he seeks for a bride."
  This, this was the theme of the troubadour's lay,
    And thus did the lady reply:--
  "Sir knight, ere I trust thee, look hither and say,
    Do you see any green in my eye?"

  "O, doubt me not, lady, my lance shall maintain
    That thou'rt peerless in beauty and fame;
  And the bravest should eat of the dust of the plain,
    Who would quaff not a cup to thy name."
  "I doubt not thy prowess in list or in fray,
    For none dare thy courage belie;
  And I'll trust thee, though kindred and priest say me nay--
    When you see any green in my eye!"

       *       *       *       *       *



Mr. Solomons begs to announce to reporters of newspapers, that he has
constructed, at a very great expense, several sets of new glasses,
which will enable the wearer to see as small or as great a number of
auditors, at public conferences and political meetings, as may suit his
purpose. Mr. Solomons has also invented a new kind of ear-trumpet,
which will enable a reporter to hear only such portions of an harangue
as may be in accordance with his political bias; or should there be
nothing uttered by any speaker that may suit his purpose, these
ear-trumpets will change the sounds of words and the construction of
sentences in such a way as to be incontrovertible, although every
syllable should be diverted from its original meaning and intention.
They have also the power of larding a speech with "loud cheers," or
"strong disapprobation."

These valuable inventions have been in use for some years by Mr.
Solomons' respected friend, the editor of the _Times_; but no publicity
has been given to them, until Mr. S. had completely tested their
efficacy. He has now much pleasure in subjoining, for the information
of the public, the following letter, of the authenticity of which Mr.
S. presumes no one can entertain a doubt.


It is with much pleasure that I am enabled, my dear Solomons, to give
my humble testimony in favour of your new political glasses and
ear-trumpet. By their invaluable aid I have been enabled, for some
years, to see and hear just what suited my purpose. I have recommended
them to my _protégé_, Sir Robert Peel, who has already tried the
glasses, and, I am happy to state, does not see quite so many
objections to a fixed duty as he did before using these wonderful
illuminators. The gallant Sibthorp (at my recommendation) carried one
of your ear-trumpets to the House on Friday last, and states that he
heard his honoured leader declare, "that the Colonel was the only man
who ought to be Premier--after himself."

If these testimonies are of any value to you, publish them by all
means, and believe me.

Yours faithfully,
_Printing House Square._

Mr. S. begs to state, that though magnifying and diminishing glasses
are no novelty, yet his invention is the only one to suit the interest
of parties without principle.

       *       *       *       *       *


"What sentimental character does the re-elected Speaker remind you
of?"--Ans. by Croker: "P_(shaw!) Lefevre_, to be sure."

       *       *       *       *       *


We regret to state that the second ball at the Boulogne _fête_ was
simply remarkable from "its having gone off without any disturbance."
Where _were_ the national guards?

       *       *       *       *       *


A corresponedent of the _Times_ forwards the alarming intelligence that
at the Boulogne Races the _stakes_ never _fill_! Sibthorp, the gifted
Sib, ever happy at expedients, ingeniously recommends a _trial_ of the

       *       *       *       *       *



  "Ah! Julia, time all tilings destroys,
    The heart, the blood, the pen;
  But come, I'll re-enact young joy
    And be myself again.

  "Yet stay, sweet Julia, how is this
    Thine are not lips at all;
  Your face is _plastered_, and you kiss,
    Like Thisbe--_through a wall_."

       *       *       *       *       *


1. The capital of this Company is to consist of £0,000,001; one-half of
it to be vested in Aldgate Pump, and the other moiety in the Dogger

2. Shares, at £50 each, will be issued to any amount; and interest paid
thereon when convenient.

3. A board, consisting of twelve directors, will be formed; but, to
save trouble, the management of the Company's affairs will be placed in
the hands of the secretary.

4. The duties of trustees, auditor, and treasurer, will also be
discharged by the secretary.

5. Each shareholder will he presented with a gratuitous copy of the
Company's regulations, printed on fine foolscap.

6. Individuals purchasing annuities of this company, will be allowed a
large-rate of interest on paper for their money, calculated on an
entirely novel sliding-scale. Annuitants will be entitled to receive
their annuities whenever they can get them.

7. The Company's office will be open at all hours for the receipt of
money; but it is not yet determined at what time the paying branch of
the department will come into operation.

8. The secretary will be allowed the small salary of £10,000 a-year.

9. In order to simplify the accounts, there will be no books kept. By
this arrangement, a large saving will be effected in the article of
clerks, &c.

10. The annual profits of the company will be fixed at 20 per cent.,
but it is expected that there will be no inquiry made after dividends.

11. All monies received for and by the company, to be deposited in the
breeches-pocket of the secretary, and not to be withdrawn from thence
without his special sanction.

12. The establishment to consist of a secretary and porter.

13. The porter is empowered to act as secretary in the absence of that
officer; and the secretary is permitted to assist the porter in the
arduous duties of his situation.

*** Applications for shares or annuities to be made to the secretary of
the Provident Annuity Company, No. 1, Thieves Inn.

       *       *       *       *       *


Our reporter has just forwarded an authentic statement, in which he
vouches, with every appearance of truth, that "Lord Melbourne dined at
home on Wednesday last." The neighbourhood is in an agonising state of


(_Particularly exclusive_.)

Our readers will be horrified to learn the above is not the whole
extent of this alarming event. From a private source of the highest
possible credit, we are informed that his "Lordship also took tea."


Great Heavens! when will our painful duties end? We tremble as we
write,--may we be deceived!--but we are compelled to announce the
agonising fact--"he also supped!"


(_From our own reporter on the spot_!)

DEAR SIR,--"The dinner is fatally true! but, I am happy to state, there
are doubts about the tea, and you may almost wholly contradict the


"I have only time to say, things are not so bad! The tea is disproved,
and the supper was a gross exaggeration.

"N.B. My horse is dead!"


Hurrah! Glorious news! There is no truth in the above fearful rumour;
it is false from beginning to end, and, doubtless, had its vile origin
from some of the "adverse faction," as it is clearly of such a nature
as to convulse the country. To what meanness will not these Tories
stoop, for the furtherance of their barefaced schemes of oppression and
pillage! The facts they have so grossly distorted with their tortuous
ingenuity and demoniac intentions, are simply these:--A saveloy was
ordered by one of the upper servants (who is on board wages, and finds
his own kitchen fire), the boy entrusted with its delivery mistook the
footman for his lordship. This is very unlikely, as the man is willing
to make an affidavit he had "just cleaned himself," and therefore, it
is clear the boy must have been a paid emissary. But the public will be
delighted to learn, to prevent the possibility of future
mistakes--"John" has been denuded of his whiskers--the only features
which, on a careful examination, presented the slightest resemblance to
his noble master. In fact, otherwise the fellow is remarkably

       *       *       *       *       *



It being now an established axiom that every member goes into
Parliament for the sole purpose of advancing his own private interest,
and not, as has been ignorantly believed, for the benefit of his
country or the constituency he represents, it becomes a matter of vast
importance to those individuals who have not had the advantage of long
experience in the house, to be informed of the mode usually adopted by
honourable members in the discharge of their legislative duties. With
this view the writer, who has, for the last thirty years, done business
on both sides of the house, and always with the strictest regard to the
main chance, has collected a number of hints for the guidance of
juvenile members, of which the following are offered as a sample:--

HINT 1.--It is a vulgar error to imagine that a man, to be a member of
Parliament, requires either education, talents, or honesty: all that it
is necessary for him to possess is--impudence and humbug!

HINT 2.--When a candidate addresses a constituency, he should promise
everything. Some men will only pledge themselves to what their
conscience considers right. Fools of this sort can never hope to be


HINT 3.--Oratory is a showy, but by no means necessary, accomplishment
in the house. If a member knows when to say "Ay" or "No," it is quite
sufficient for all useful purposes.

HINT 4.--If, however, a young member should be seized with, the desire
of speaking in Parliament, he may do so without the slighest regard to
sense, as the reporters in the gallery are paid for the purpose of
making speeches for honourable members; and on the following morning he
may calculate on seeing, in the columns of the daily papers, a full
report of his splendid

[Illustration: MAIDEN SPEECH.]

HINT 5.--A knowledge of the exact time to cry "Hear, hear!" is
absolutely necessary. A severe cough, when a member of the opposite
side of the house is speaking, is greatly to be commended; cock-crowing
is also a desirable qualification for a young legislator, and, if
judiciously practised, cannot fail to bring the possessor into the
notice of his party.

HINT 6.--The back seats in the gallery are considered, by several
members, as the most comfortable for taking a nap on.

HINT 7.--If one honourable member wishes to tell another honourable
member that he is anything but a gentleman, he should be particular to
do so within the walls of the house--as, in that case, the Speaker will
put him under arrest, to prevent any unpleasant consequences arising
from his hasty expressions.

HINT 8.--If a member promise to give his vote to the minister, he must
in honour do so--unless he happen to fall asleep in the smoking-room,
and so gets shut out from the division of the house.

HINT 9.--No independent member need trouble himself to understand the
merits of any question before the house. He may, therefore, amuse
himself at Bellamy's until five minutes before the Speaker's bell rings
for a division.

       *       *       *       *       *


"The health of the Earl of Winchilsea and the Conservative members of
the House of Peers," was followed, amid intense cheering, with the glee

  "Swearing death to traitor slaves!"--_Times_.

       *       *       *       *       *


Several scientific engineers have formed themselves into a company, and
are about applying for an Act of Parliament to enable them to take a
lease of Joe Hume, for the purpose of opposing the Archimedean Screw.
Public feeling is already in favour of the "Humedean," and the "Joe"
shares are rising rapidly.

       *       *       *       *       *


One of the expedients adopted by the cheap-knowledge-mongers to convey
so-called "information" to the vulgar, has been, we flatter ourselves,
successfully imitated in our articles on the Stars and the Thermometer.
They are by writers engaged expressly for the respective subjects,
because they will work cheaply and know but little of what they are
writing about, and therefore make themselves the better understood by
the equally ignorant. We do hope that they have not proved themselves
behindhand in popular humbug and positive error, and that the blunders
in "the Thermometer"[3] are equally as amusing as those of the then
big-wig who wrote the treatise on "Animal Mechanics," published by our
rival Society for Diffusing Useful Knowledge.

[3] One of these blunders the author must not be commended for; it is
attributable to a facetious mistake of the printer. In giving the
etymology of the Thermometer, it should have been "measure of _heat_,"
and not "measure of _feet_." We scorn to deprive our devil of a joke so
worthy of him.

Another of their methods for obtaining cheap knowledge it is now our
intention to adopt. Having got the poorest and least learned authors we
could find (of course for cheapness) for our former pieces of
information, we have this time engaged a gentleman to mystify a few
common-place subjects, in the style of certain articles in the "Penny
Cyclopædia." As his erudition is too profound for ordinary
comprehensions--as he scorns gain--as the books he has hitherto
published (no, privated) have been printed at his own expense, for the
greater convenience of reading them himself, for nobody else does
so--as, in short, he is in reality a cheap-knowledge man, seeing that
he scorns pay, and we scorn to pay him--we have concluded an engagement
with him for fourteen years.

The subject on which we have directed him to employ his vast scientific
acquirements, is one which must come home to the firesides of the
married and the bosoms of the single, namely, the art of raising a
flame; in humble imitation of some of Young's Knights' Thoughts, which
are directed to the object of lightening the darkness of servants,
labourers, artisans, and chimney-sweeps, and in providing guides to the
trades or services of which they are already masters or mistresses. We
beg to present our readers with






Take a small cylindrical aggregation of parallelopedal sections of the
ligneous fibre (vulgarly denominated a bundle of fire-wood), and
arrange a fractional part of the integral quantity rectilineally along
the interior of the igneous receptacle known as a grate, so as to form
an acute angle (of, say 25°) with its base; and one (of, say 65°) with
the posterior plane that is perpendicular to it; taking care at the
same time to leave between each parallelopedal section an insterstice
isometrical with the smaller sides of any one of their six
quadrilateral superficies, so as to admit of the free circulation of
the atmospheric fluid. Superimposed upon this, arrange several
moderate-sized concretions of the hydro-carburetted substance (_vulgo_
coal), approximating in figure as nearly as possible to the rhombic
dodecahedron, so that the solid angles of each concretion may
constitute the different points of contact with those immediately
adjacent. Insert into the cavity formed by the imposition of the
ligneous fibre upon the inferior transverse ferruginous bar, a sheet of
laminated lignin, or paper, compressed by the action of the digits into
an irregular spheroid.

These preliminary operations having been skilfully performed, the
process of combustion may be commenced. For this purpose, a smaller
woody paralleloped--the extremities of which have been previously
dipped in sulphur in a state of liquefaction--must be ignited and
applied to the laminated lignin, or waste paper, and so elevate its
temperature to a degree required for its combustion, which will be
communicated to the ligneous superstructure; this again raises the
temperature of the hydro-carburet concretion, and liberates its
carburetted hydrogen in the form of gas; which gas, combining with the
oxygen of the atmosphere, enters into combustion, and a general
ignition ensues. This, in point of fact, constitutes what is popularly
termed--"lighting a fire."

       *       *       *       *       *


In an action lately tried at the Cork Assizes, a lady obtained _fifteen
hundred pounds damages_, for a breach of promise of marriage, against a
faithless lover. Lady Morgan sends us the following trifle on the

  What! _fifteen hundred!_--'tis a sum severe;
    The fine by far the injury o'erreaches.
  For _one_ poor _breach_ of promise 'tis too dear--
    'Twould be sufficient for a _pair of breaches_!

       *       *       *       *       *


Several designing individuals, whose talents for _drawing_ on paper are
much greater than those of Charles Kean for drawing upon the stage, met
together at Somerset House, on Monday last, to distribute prizes among
their scholars. Prince Albert presided, gave away the prizes with great
suavity, and made a speech which occupied exactly two seconds and

The first prize was awarded to Master Palmerston, for a successful
_design_ for completely frustrating certain commercial _views_ upon
China, and for his new invention of _auto-painting_. Prize: an order
upon Truefit for a new wig.

Master John Russell was next called up.--This talented young gentleman
had designed a gigantic "penny loaf;" which, although too immense for
practical use, yet, his efforts having been exclusively directed to
fanciful design, and not to practical possibility, was highly
applauded. Master Russell also evinced a highly precocious talent for
_drawing_--his salary. Prize: a splendidly-bound copy of the New
Marriage Act.

The fortunate candidate next upon the list, was Master Normanby. This
young gentleman brought forward a beautiful design for a new prison, so
contrived for criminals to be excluded from light and society, in any
degree proportionate with their crimes. This young gentleman was
brought up in Ireland, but there evinced considerable talent in
_drawing_ prisoners out of durance vile. He was much complimented on
the salutary effect upon his studies, which his pupilage at the school
of design had wrought. Prize: an order from Colburn for a new novel.

Master Melbourne, who was next called up, seemed a remarkably fine boy
of his age, though a little too old for his short jacket. He had
signalised himself by an exceedingly elaborate _design_ for the
Treasury benches. This elicited the utmost applause; for, by this plan,
the seats were so ingeniously contrived, that, once occupied, it would
be a matter of extreme difficulty for the sitter to be _absquatulated_,
even by main force. Prize: a free ticket to the licensed victuallers'

The Prince then withdrew, amidst the acclamations of the assembled

       *       *       *       *       *


There is always much difference of opinion existing as to the number of
theatres which ought to be licensed in the metropolis. Our friend Peter
Borthwick, whose mathematical acquirements are only equalled by his
"_heavy fathers_," has suggested the following formula whereby to
arrive at a just conclusion:--Take the number of theatres, multiply by
the public-houses, and divide by the dissenting chapels, and the
quotient will be the answer. This is what Peter calls

[Illustration: COMING TO A DIVISION.]

       *       *       *       *       *


LADY B---- (who, it is rumoured, has an eye to the bedchamber) was
interrogating Sir Robert Peel a little closer than the wily minister
_in futuro_ approved of. After several very evasive answers, which had
no effect on the lady's pertinacity, Sir Robert made her a graceful
bow, and retired, humming the favourite air of--


       *       *       *       *       *


It is asserted that a certain eminent medical man lately offered to a
publisher in Paternoster-row a "Treatise on the Hand," which the worthy
bibliopole declined with a shake of the head, saying, "My dear sir, we
have got too many _treatises on our hands_ already."

       *       *       *       *       *


The _Commerce_ states "the cost of the mansion now building for Mr.
Hope, in the Rue St. Dominique, including furniture and objects of art,
is estimated at six hundred thousand pounds!"--[If this is an attribute
of _Hope_, what is reality?--ED. PUNCH.]

       *       *       *       *       *


We perceive that the severity of the summer has prevented the entire
banishment of furs in the fashionable _quartiers_ of the metropolis. We
noticed three fur caps, on Sunday last, in Seven Dials. Beavers are,
however, superseded by gossamers; the crowns of which are, among the
élite of St. Giles's, jauntily opened to admit of ventilation, in
anticipation of the warm weather. Frieze coats are fast giving way to
pea-jackets; waistcoats, it is anticipated, will soon be discarded, and
brass buttons are completely out of vogue.

We have not noticed so many highlows as Bluchers upon the
understandings of the promenaders of Broad-street. Ancle-jacks are, we
perceive, universally adopted at the elegant _soirées dansantes_,
nightly held at the "Frog and Fiddle," in Pye-street, Westminster.

       *       *       *       *       *


We understand that Sir M.A. Shee is engaged in painting the portraits
of Sir Willoughhy Woolston Dixie and Mr. John Bell, the lately-elected
member for Thirsk, which are intended for the exhibition at the Royal
Academy. If Folliot Duff's account of their dastardly conduct in the
Waldegrave affair be correct, we cannot _imagine_ two gentlemen more
worthy the labours of the

[Illustration: HANGING COMMITTEE.]

       *       *       *       *       *


We have been informed, on authority upon which we have reason to place
much reliance, that several distinguished members of the upper and
lower houses of Parliament intend moving for the following important
returns early in the present session:--


Lord Palmerston will move for a return of all the _papillote_ papers
contained in the red box at the Foreign Office.

The Duke of Wellington will move for a return of the Tory taxes.

The Marquis of Downshire will move for a return of his political

Lord Melbourne will move for a return of place and power.

The Marquis of Westmeath will move for a return of the days when he was

The Marquis Wellesley will move for a return of the pap-spoons
manufactured in England for the last three years.


Sir Francis Burdett will move for a return of his popularity in

Lord John Russell will move that the return of the Tories to office is
extremely inconvenient.

Captain Rous will move for a return of the number of high-spirited
Tories who were conveyed on stretchers to the different station-houses,
on the night of the ever-to-be-remembered Drury-lane dinner.

Sir E.L. Bulwer will move for a return of all the half-penny ballads
published by Catnach and Co. during the last year.

Morgan O'Connell will move for a return of all the brogues worn by the
bare-footed peasantry of Ireland.

Colonel Sibthorp will move for a return of his wits.

Peter Borthwick will move for a return of all the kettles convicted of
singing on the Sabbath-day.

Sir Robert Peel will move for a return of all the ladies of the
palace--to the places from whence they came.

Ben D'Israeli will move for a return of all the hard words in Johnson's

       *       *       *       *       *


The _Sunday Times_ states, that "several of the _heads_ of the
Conservative party held a conference at _Whitehall_ Gardens!" _Heads_
and _conferences_ have been cut short enough at the same place ere now!

       *       *       *       *       *


  A joke Col. Sibthorp to the journal sent--
  Appropriate heading--"_Serious Accident_."

       *       *       *       *       *


The match at cricket, between the Chelsea and Greenwich Pensioners, was
decided in favour of the latter. Captain Rous says, no great wonder,
considering the winners bad the majority of _legs_ on their side. The
Hyllus affair has made him an authority.

       *       *       *       *       *





    N.B.--PUNCH is delighted to perceive, from the style of this
    critique, that, though anonymously sent, it is manifestly from the
    pen of the elegant critic of the _Morning Post_.

[Illustration: O]On a review of the events of the past season, the
_souvenirs_ it presents are not calculated to elevate the character of
the arts _di poeta_ and _di musica_, of which the Italian Opera is
composed. The only decided _nouveautés_ which made their appearance,
were "Fausta," and "Roberto Devereux," both of them _jejune_ as far as
regards their _libretto_ and the _composita musicale_. The latter
opera, however, serving as it did to introduce a pleasing
_rifacciamento_ of the lamented Malibran, in her talented sister
Pauline (Madame Viardot), may, on that account, be remembered as a
pleasing reminiscence of the past season.

The evening of Saturday, Aug. 21st, will long be remembered by the
_habitués_ of the Opera. From exclusive sources (which have been opened
to us at a very considerable expense) we are enabled to
communicate--_malheureusement_--that with the close of the _saison de_
1841, the _corps opératique_ loses one of its most brilliant ornaments.
That memorable epocha was chosen by Rubini for making a graceful
_congé_ to a fashionable audience, amidst an abundance of tears--shed
in the choicest Italian--and showers of _bouquets_. The subjects chosen
for representation were _apropos_ in the extreme; all being of a
_triste_ character, namely, the _atta terzo_ of "Marino Faliero," the
_finale_ of "Lucia di Lammermoor," and the last _parte_ of "La
Sonnambula:" these were the chosen vehicles for Rubini's _soirée

As this _tenor primissimo_ has, in a professional _regarde_,
disappeared from amongst us--as the last echoes of his _voix
magnifique_ have died away--as he has made a final exit from the public
_plafond_ to the _coulisses_ of private life--we deem it due to future
historians of the Italian Opera _de Londres_, to record our admiration,
our opinions, and our _regrets_ for this great _artiste_.

Signor Rubini is in stature what might be denominated _juste milieu_;
his _taille_ is graceful, his _figure_ pleasing, his eyes full of
expression, his hair bushy: his _comport_ upon the stage, when not
excited by passion, is full of _verve_ and _brusquerie_, but in
passages which the _Maestro_ has marked "_con passione_" nothing can
exceed the elegance of his attitudes, and the pleasing dignity of his
gestures. After, _par exemple_, the _recitativi_, what a pretty
_empressement_ he gave (alas! that we must now speak in the past
tense!) to the _tonic_ or _key-note_, by _locking_ his arms in each
other over his _poitrine_--by that after expansion of them--that clever
_alto_ movement of the toes--that apparent embracing of the _fumes des
lampes_--how touching! Then, while the _sinfonia_ of the _andante_ was
in progress, how gracefully he turned _son dos_ to the delighted
auditors, and made an interesting _promenade au fond_, always
contriving to get his finely-arched nose over the _lumières_ at the
precise point of time (we speak in a musical sense) where the word
"_voce_" is marked in the score. His pantomime to the _allegri_ was no
less captivating; but it was in the _stretta_ that his beauty of action
was most exquisitely apparent; there, worked up by an elaborate
_crescendo_ (the _motivo_ of which is always, in the Italian school, a
simple progression of the diatonic scale), the _furor_ with which this
_cantratice_ hurried his hands into the thick clumps of his picturesque
_perruque_, and seemed to tear its _cheveux_ out by the roots (without,
however, disturbing the celebrated side-parting a single hair)--the
vigour with which he beat his breast--his final expansion of arms,
elevation of toes, and the impressive _frappe_ of his right foot upon
the stage immediately before disappearing behind the _coulisses_--must
be fresh in the _souvenir_ of our _dilettanti_ readers.

But how shall we _parle_ concerning his _voix_? That exquisite organ,
whose _falsetto_ emulated the sweetness of flutes, and reached to A
flat _in altissimo_--the _voce media_ of which possessed an unequalled
_aplomb_, whose deep double G must still find a well-in-tune echo in
the _tympanum_ of every _amateur_ of taste. _That_, we must confess, as
critics and theoretical musicians, causes us considerable _embarras_
for words to describe. Who that heard it on Saturday last, has yet
recovered the ravishing sensation produced by the thrilling tremour
with which Rubini _gave_ the _Notte d'Orrore_, in Rossini's "Marino
Faliero?" Who can forget the _recitativo con andante et allegro_, in
the last scene of "La Sonnambula;" or the burst of anguish _con
expressivissimo_, when accused of treason, while personating his
favourite _rôle_ in "Lucia di Lammermoor?" Ah! those who suffered
themselves to be detained from the opera on Saturday last by mere
illness, or other light causes, will, to translate a forcible
expression in the "Inferno" of Dante, "go down with sorrow to the
grave." To them we say, Rubini _est parti_--gone!--he has sent forth
his last _ut_--concluded his last _re_--his ultimate note has
sounded--his last _billet de banque_ is pocketed--he has, to use an
emphatic and heart-stirring _mot_, "_coupé son bâton!_"

It is due to the _sentimens_ of the audience of Saturday, to notice the
evident regret with which they received Rubini's _adieux_; for, towards
the close of the evening, the secret became known. Animated
_conversazioni_ resounded from almost every box during many of his most
charming _piano_ passages (and never will his _sotto-voce_ be
equalled)--the _beaux esprits_ of the pit discussed his merits with
audible _goût_; while the gallery and upper stalls remained in mute
grief at the consciousness of that being the _dernière fois_ they would
ever be able to hear the sublime _voce-di-testa_ of Italy's prince of

Although this retirement will make the present _clôture_ of the opera
one of the most memorable _événemens_ in _les annales de l'opéra_, yet
some remarks are demanded of us upon the other _artistes_. In "Marino
Faliero," Lablache came the _Dodge_ with remarkable success. Madlle.
Loewe, far from deserving her _bas nom_, was the height of perfection,
and gave her celebrated _scena_ in the last-named opera _avec une force
superbe_. Persiani looked remarkably well, and wore a most becoming
_robe_ in the _rôle_ of Amina.

Of the _danseuses_ we have hardly space to speak. Cerito exhibited the
"poetry of motion" with her usual skill, particularly in a difficult
_pas_ with Albert. The ballet was "Le Diable Amoureux," and the stage
was watered between each act.

       *       *       *       *       *


It seems that the English Opera-house has been taken for _twelve
nights_, to give "_a free stage and fair play_" to "EVERY ENGLISH
LIVING DRAMATIST." Considering that the Council of the Dramatic
Authors' Theatre comprises at least half-a-dozen Shakspeares in their
own conceit, to say nothing of one or two _Rowes_ (soft ones of
course), a sprinkling of Otways, with here and there a Massinger, we
may calculate pretty correctly how far the stage they have taken
possession of is likely to be _free_, or the _play_ to be _fair_
towards _Every English living Dramatist_.

It appears that a small knot of very great geniuses have been, for some
time past, regularly sending certain bundles of paper, called Dramas,
round to the different metropolitan theatres, and as regularly
receiving them back again. Some of these geniuses, goaded to madness by
this unceremonious treatment, have been guilty of the insanity of
printing their plays; and, though the "Rejected Addresses" were a very
good squib, the rejected Dramas are much too ponderous a joke for the
public to take; so that, while in their manuscript form, they always
produced speedy _returns_ from the managers, they, in their printed
shape, caused no _returns_ to the publishers. It is true, that a
personal acquaintance of some of the authors with Nokes of the _North
Eastern Independent_, or some other equally-influential country print,
may have gained for them, now and then, an egregious puff, wherein the
writers are said to be equal to Goëthe, a cut above Sheridan Knowles,
and the only successors of Shakspeare; but we suspect that "the mantle
of the Elizabethan poets," which is said to have descended on one of
these gentry, would, if inspected, turn out to be something more like
Fitzball's Tagiioni or Dibdin Pitt's Macintosh.

No one can suspect PUNCH of any _prestige_ in favour of the
restrictions laid upon the drama--for our own free-and-easy habit of
erecting our theatre in the first convenient street we come to, and
going through our performance without caring a rush for the Lord
Chamberlain or the Middlesex magistrates, must convince all who know
us, that we are for a thoroughly free trade in theatricals; but,
nevertheless, we think the _Great Unactables_ talk egregious nonsense
when they prate about the possibility of their efforts working "a
beneficial alteration in a law which presses so fatally on dramatic
genius." We think their tom-foolery more likely to induce restrictions
that may prevent others from exposing their mental imbecility, than to
encourage the authorities to relax the laws that might hinder them from
doing so. The boasted compliance with legal requisites in the mode of
preparing "Martinuzzi" for the stage is not a new idea, and we only
hope it may be carried out one-half as well as in the instances of
"Romeo and Juliet as the Law directs," and "Othello according to Act of
Parliament." There is a vaster amount of humbug in the play-bill of
this new concern, than in all the open puffs that have been issued for
many years past from all the regular establishments. The tirade against
the _law_--the announcement of alterations in conformity with _the
law_--the hint that the musical introductions are such as "_the law_
may require"--mean nothing more than this--"if the piece is damned,
it's _the law_; if it succeeds, it's the _author's genius!_" Now, every
one who has written for the illegitimate stage, and therefore PUNCH in
particular, knows very well that the necessity for the introduction of
music into a piece played at one of the smaller theatres is only
nominal--that four pieces of verse are interspersed in the copy sent to
the licenser, but these are such matters of utter course, that their
invention or selection is generally left to the prompter's genius. The
piece is, unless essentially musical, licensed with the songs and acted
without--or, at least, there is no necessity whatever for retaining
them. Why, therefore, should Mr. Stephens drag "solos, duets, choruses,
and other musical arrangements," into his drama, unless it is that he
thinks they will give it a better chance of success? while, in the
event of failure, he reserves the right of turning round upon the _law_
and the _music_, which he will declare were the means of damning it.

A set of briefless barristers--all would-be Erskines, Thurlows, or
Eldons, at the least--might as well complain of the system that
excludes them from the Woolsack, and take a building to turn it into a
Court of Chancery on their own account, as that these luckless
scribblers, all fancying the Elizabethan mantle has fallen flop upon
their backs, should set themselves up for Shakspeares on their own
account, and seize on a metropolitan theatre as a temple for the
enshrinement of their genius.

If PUNCH has dealt hardly with these gentlemen, it is because he will
bear "no brother near the throne" of humbug and quackery. Like a
steward who tricks his master, but keeps the rest of the servants
honest, PUNCH will gammon the public to the utmost of his skill, but he
will take care that no one else shall exercise a trade of which he
claims by prescription the entire monopoly.

       *       *       *       *       *


VOL. 1.


       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: O]Our consideration must now be given to those essentials
in the construction of a true gentleman--the cut, ornaments, and pathology
of his dress.


is to the garment what the royal head and arms are to the coin--the
insignia that give it currency. No matter what the material, gold or
copper, Saxony or sackcloth, the die imparts a value to the one, and the
shears to the other.

Ancient Greece still lives in its marble demi-gods; the vivifying chisel
of Phidias was thought worthy to typify the sublimity of Jupiter; the
master-hand of Canova wrought the Parian block into the semblance of the
sea-born goddess, giving to insensate stone the warmth and etheriality of
the Paphian paragon; and Stultz, with his grace-bestowing shears, has
fashioned West of England broad-cloths, and fancy goods, into all the
nobility and gentility of the "Blue Book," the "Court Guide," the "Army,
Navy, and Law Lists, for 1841."

Wondrous and kindred arts! The sculptor wrests the rugged block from the
rocky ribs of his mother earth;--the tailor clips the implicated "_long
hogs_"[1] from the prolific backs of the living mutton;--the toothless
saw, plied by an unweayring hand, prepares the stubborn mass for the
chisel's tracery;--the loom, animated by steam (that gigantic child of
Wallsend and water), twists and twines the unctuous and pliant fleece into
the silky Saxony.

    [1] The first growth of wool.

The sculptor, seated in his _studio_, throws loose the reins of his
imagination, and, conjuring up some perfect ideality, seeks to impress the
beautiful illusion on the rude and undigested mass before him. The tailor
spreads out, upon his ample board, the happy broadcloth; his eyes scan the
"measured proportions of his client," and, with mystic power, guides the
obedient pipe-clay into the graceful diagram of a perfect gentleman. The
sculptor, with all the patient perseverance of genius, conscious of the
greatness of its object, chips, and chips, and chips, from day to day; and
as the stone quickens at each touch, he glows with all the pride of the
creative Prometheus, mingled with the gentler ecstacies of paternal love.
The tailor, with fresh-ground shears, and perfect faith in the gentility
and solvency of his "client," snips, and snips, and snips, until the
"superfine" grows, with each abscission, into the first style of elegance
and fashion, and the excited schneider feels himself "every inch a king,"
his shop a herald's college, and every brown paper pattern garnishing its
walls, an escutcheon of gentility.

But to dismount from our Pegasus, or, in other words, to cut the poetry,
and come to the practice of our subject, it is necessary that a perfect
gentleman should be cut _up_ very high, or cut _down_ very low--_i.e._, up
to the marquis or down to the jarvey. Any intermediate style is perfectly
inadmissible; for who above the grade of an attorney would wear a coat
with pockets inserted in the tails, like salt-boxes; or any but an
incipient Esculapius indulge in trousers that evinced a morbid ambition to
become knee-breeches, and were only restrained in their aspirations by a
pair of most strenuous straps. We will now proceed to details.

_The dressing-gown_ should be cut only--for the arm holes; but be careful
that the quantity of material be very ample--say four times as much as is
positively necessary, for nothing is so characteristic of a perfect
gentleman as his improvidence. This garment must be constructed without
buttons or button-holes, and confined at the waist with cable-like
bell-ropes and tassels. This elegant _déshabille_ had its origin (like the
Corinthian capital from the Acanthus) in accident. A set of massive
window-curtains having been carelessly thrown over a lay figure, or
tailor's _torso_, in Nugee's _studio_, in St. James's-street, suggested to
the luxuriant mind of the Adonisian D'Orsay, this beautiful combination of
costume and upholstery. The eighteen-shilling chintz great-coats, so
ostentatiously put forward by nefarious tradesmen as dressing-gowns, and
which resemble pattern-cards of the vegetable kingdom, are unworthy the
notice of all gentlemen--of course excepting those who are so by act of
Parliament. Although it is generally imagined that the coat is the
principal article of dress, _we_ attach far greater importance to the
trousers, the cut of which should, in the first place, be regulated by
nature's cut of the leg. A gentleman who labours under either a convex or
a concave leg, cannot be too particular in the arrangement of the
strap-draught. By this we mean that a concave leg must have the pull on
the convex side, and _vice versa_, the garment being made full, the
effects of bad nursing are, by these means, effectually "repealed."[2]
This will be better understood if the reader will describe a
parallelogram, and draw therein the arc of a circle equal to that
described by his leg, whether knock-kneed or bandy.

    [2] Baylis.

If the leg be perfectly straight, then the principal peculiarity of cut to
be attended to, is the external assurance that the trousers cannot be
removed from the body without the assistance of a valet.

The other considerations should be their applicability to the promenade or
the equestriade. We are indebted to our friend Beau Reynolds for this
original idea and it is upon the plan formerly adopted by him that we now
proceed to advise as to the maintenance of the distinctions.

Let your schneider baste the trousers together, and when you have put them
on, let them be braced to their natural tension; the schneider should
then, with a small pair of scissors, _cut out_ all the wrinkles which
offend the eye. The garment, being removed from your person, is again
taken to the tailor's laboratory, and the embrasures carefully and
artistically fine-drawn. The process for walking or riding trousers only
varies in these particulars--for the one you should stand upright, for the
other you should straddle the back of a chair. Trousers cut on these
principles entail only two inconveniences, to which every one with the
true feelings of a gentleman would willingly submit. You must never
attempt to sit down in your walking trousers, or venture to assume an
upright position in your equestrians, for compound fractures in the region
of the _os sacrum_, or dislocations about the _genu patellæ_ are certain
to be the results of such rashness, and then


       *       *       *       *       *


  Thou hast humbled the proud,
  For my spirit hath bow'd
  More humbly to thee than it e'er bow'd before;
      But thy pow'r is past,
      Thou hast triumph'd thy last,
  And the heart you enslaved beats in freedom once more!
      I have treasured the flow'r
      You wore but an hour,
  And knelt by the mound where together we've sat;
      But thy-folly and pride
      I now only deride--
  So, fair Isabel, take your change out of that!

  That I loved, and how well,
  It were madness to tell
  To one who hath mock'd at my madd'ning despair.
      Like the white wreath of snow
      On the Alps' rugged brow,
  Isabel, I have proved thee as cold as thou'rt fair!
      'Twas thy boast that I sued,
      That you scorn'd as I woo'd--
  Though thou of my hopes were the Mount Ararat;
      But to-morrow I wed
      Araminta instead--
  So, fair Isabel, take your change out of that!

       *       *       *       *       *


The ponds in St. James's Park were on last Monday drawn with nets, and a
large quantity of the fish preserved there carried away by direction of
the Chief Commissioner of Woods and Forests. Our talented correspondent,
Ben D'Israeli, sends us the following squib on the circumstance:--

  "Oh! never more," Duncannon cried,
    "The spoils of place shall fill our dishes!
  But though we've lost the _loaves_ we'll take
    Our last sad haul amongst the _fishes_."

       *       *       *       *       *


Lord Coventry declared emphatically that the sons, the fathers, and the
grandfathers were all satisfied with the present corn laws. Had his
lordship thought of the _Herald_, he might have added, "and the
grandmothers also."

       *       *       *       *       *


If the enthusiastic individual who distinguished himself on the O.P. side
of third row in the pit of "the late Theatre Royal English Opera House,"
but now the refuge for the self-baptised "Council of Dramatic Literature,"
can be warranted sober, and guaranteed an umbrella, in the use of which he
is decidedly unrivalled, he is requested to apply to the Committee of
management, where he will hear of something to his "advantage."

       *       *       *       *       *



  I. "The Hungarian Daughter," a Dramatic Poem, by George Stephens,
     8vo., pp. 294. London: 1841.

 II. "Introductory(!) Preface to the above," pp. 25.

III. "Supplement to the above;" consisting of "Opinions of the Press,"
     on various Works by George Stephens, 8vo., pp. 8.

 IV. "Opinions of the Press upon the 'Dramatic Merits' and 'Actable
     Qualities' of the Hungarian Daughter," 8vo., _closely printed_,
     pp. 16.

The blind and vulgar prejudice in favour of Shakspeare, Massinger, and the
elder dramatic poets--the sickening adulation bestowed upon Sheridan
Knowles and Talfourd, among the moderns--and the base, malignant, and
selfish partiality of theatrical managers, who insist upon performing
those plays only which are adapted to the stage--whose grovelling souls
have no sympathy with genius--whose ideas are fixed upon gain, have
hitherto smothered those blazing illuminati, George Stephens and his
syn--Syncretcis; have hindered their literary effulgence from breaking
through the mists hung before the eyes of the public, by a weak,
infatuated adherence to paltry Nature, and a silly infatuation in favour
of those who copy her.

At length, however, the public blushes (through its representative, the
provincial press, and the above-named critical puffs,) with shame--the
managers are fast going mad with bitter vexation, for having, to use the
words of that elegant pleonasm, the _introductory_ preface, "by a sort of
_ex officio_ hallucination," rejected this and some twenty other
exquisite, though unactable dramas! It is a fact, that since the opening
of the English Opera House, Mr. Webster has been confined to his room;
Macready has suspended every engagement for Drury-lane; and the managers
of Covent Garden have gone the atrocious length of engaging sibilants and
ammunition from the neighbouring market, to pelt the Syncretics off the
stage! Them we leave to their dirty work and their repentance, while we
proceed to _our_ "delightful task."

To prove that the "mantle of the Elizabethan poets seems to have fallen
upon Mr. Stephens" (_Opinions_, p. 11), that the "Hungarian Daughter" is
quite as good as Knowles's best plays (_Id._ p. 4, _in two places_), that
"it is equal to Goethe" (_Id._ p. 11), that "in after years the name of
Mr. S. will be amongst those which have given light and glory to their
country" (_Id._ p. 10); to prove, in short, the truth of a hundred other
laudations collected and printed by this modest author, we shall quote a
few passages from his play, and illustrate his genius by pointing out
their beauties--an office much needed, particularly by certain dullards,
the magazine of whose souls are not combustible enough to take fire at the
electric sparks shot forth _up_ out of the depths of George Stephens's
unfathomable genius!

The first gem that sparkles in the play, is where _Isabella_, the Queen
Dowager of Hungary, with a degree of delicacy highly becoming a matron,
makes desperate love to _Castaldo_, an Austrian ambassador. In the midst
of her ravings she breaks off, to give such a description of a
steeple-chase as Nimrod has never equalled.

    ISABELLA (_hotly_). "Love _rides_ upon a thought,
  And stays not dully to _inquire the way_,
  But right _o'erleaps the fence_ unto the _goal_."

To appreciate the splendour of this image, the reader must conceive Love
booted and spurred, mounted upon a _thought_, saddled and bridled. He
starts. _Yo-hoiks_! what a pace! He stops not to "inquire the
way"--whether he is to take the first turning to the right, or the second
to the left--but on, on he rushes, clears the fence cleverly, and wins by
a dozen lengths!

What soul, what mastery, what poetical skill is here! We triumphantly put
forth this passage as an instance of the sublime art of sinking in poetry
not to be matched by Dibdin Pitt or Jacob Jones. Love is sublimed to a
jockey, Thought promoted to a race-horse!--"Magnificent!"

But splendid as this is, Mr. Stephens can make the force of bathos go a
little further. The passage continues ("_a pause_" intervening, to allow
breathing ime, after the splitting pace with which Love has been riding
upon Thought) thus:--

  "Are your lips free? A smile will make no noise.
  What ignorance! So! Well! _I'll to breakfast straight_!"


    ISABELLA. "Ha! ha! These forms are air--mere counterfeits
  Of my _imaginous_ heart, _as are the whirling
  Wainscot and trembling floor_!"

The idea of transferring the seat of imagination from the head to the
heart, and causing it to exhibit the wainscot in a pirouette, and the
floor in an ague, is highly _Shakesperesque_, and, as the _Courier_ is
made to say at page 3 of the _Opinions_, "is worthy of the best days of
that noble school of dramatic literature in which Mr. Stephens has so
successfully studied."

This well-deserved praise--the success with which the author has studied,
in a school, the models of which were human feelings and nature,--we have
yet to illustrate from other passages. Mr. Stephens evinces his full
acquaintance with Nature by a familiarity with her convulsions:
whirlwinds, thunder, lightning, earthquakes, and volcanoes--are this
gentleman's playthings. When, for instance, _Rupert_ is going to be
gallant to Queen Isabella, she exclaims:--

  "Dire lightnings! Scoundrel! Help!"

_Martinuzzi_ conveys a wish for his nobles to laugh--an order for a sort
of court cachinnation--in these pretty terms:--

  "_Blow it about_, ye opposite winds of heaven,
  Till the loud chorus of derision shake
  The world with laughter!"

When he feels uncomfortable at something he is told in the first act, the
Cardinal complains thus:--

  "Ha! earthquakes quiver in my flesh!"

which the _Britannia_ is so good as to tell us is superior to Byron; while
the _Morning Herald_ kindly remarks, that "a more vigorous and expressive
line was _never_ penned. In five words it illustrates the fiercest
passions of humanity by the direst convulsion of nature:" (_Opinions_, p.
7) a criticism which illustrates the fiercest throes of nonsense, by the
direst convulsions of ignorance.

_Castaldo_, being anxious to murder the Cardinal with, we suppose, all
"means and appliances to boot," asks of heaven a trifling favour:--

  "Heaven, that look'st on,
  Rain thy broad deluge first! All-teeming earth
  Disgorge thy poisons, till the attainted air
  Offend the sense! Thou, miscreative hell,
  Let loose calamity!"

But it is not only in the "sublime and beautiful that Mr. Stephens's
genius delights" (_vide Opinions_, p. 4); his play exhibits sentiments of
high morality, quite worthy of the "Editor of the Church of England
Quarterly Review," the author of "Lay Sermons," and other religious works.
For example: the lady-killer, _Castaldo_, is "hotly" loved by the
queen-mother, while he prefers the queen-daughter. The last and _Castaldo_
are together. The dowager overhears their billing and cooing, and thus,
with great moderation, sends her supposed daughter to ----. But the author
shall speak for himself:--

  "Ye viprous twain!
  Swift whirlwinds snatch ye both to fire as endless
  And infinite as hell! May it embrace ye!
  And burn--burn limbs and sinews, souls, until
  It wither ye both up--both--in its arms!"

Elegant denunciation!--"viprous," "hell," "sinews and souls." Has Goethe
ever written anything like this? Certainly not. Therefore the "Monthly"
_is_ right at p. 11 of the _Opinions_. Stephens must be equal, if not
superior, to the author of "Faust."

One more specimen of delicate sentiment from the lips of a virgin
concerning the lips of her lover, will fully establish the Syncretic code
of moral taste:--

    CZERINA (_faintly_). "Do breathe heat into me:
  Lay thy warm breath unto my bloodless lips:
  I stagger; I--I must--"

    CASTALDO. "In mercy, what?"

    CZERINA. "Wed!!!"

The lady ends, most maidenly, by fainting in her lover's arms.

A higher flight is elsewhere taken. _Isabella_ urges _Castaldo_ to murder
_Martinuzzi_, in a sentence that has a powerful effect upon the feelings,
for it makes us shudder as we copy it--it will cause even _our_ readers to
tremble when they see it. The idea of using _blasphemy_ as an instrument
for shocking the minds of an audience, is as original as it is worthy of
the _sort_ of genius Mr. Stephens possesses. Alluding to a poniard,
_Isabella_ says:--

  "Sheath it where _God_ and nature prompt your hand!"

That is to say, in the breast of a cardinal!!

The vulgar, who set up the common-place standards of nature, probability,
moral propriety, and respect for such sacred names as they are careful
never to utter, except with reverence, will perhaps condemn Mr. Stephens
(the aforesaid "Editor of the Church of England Quarterly Review," and
author of other religious works) with unmitigated severity. They must not
be too hasty. Mr. Stephens is a genius, and cannot, therefore, be held
accountable for the _meaning_ of his ravings, be they even blasphemous;
more than that he is a Syncretic genius, and his associates, by the
designation they have chosen, by the terms of their agreement, are bound
to cry each other up--to defend one another from the virulent attacks of
common sense and plain reason. They are sworn to _stick_ together, like
the bundle of rods in Æsop's fable.

[Illustration: SYNCRETISM.]

Mr. Stephens, their chief, the god of their idolatry, is, consequently,
more mad, or, according to their creed, a greater genius, than the rest;
and evidently writes passages he would shudder to pen, if he knew the
meaning of them. Upon paper, therefore, the Syncretics are not accountable
beings; and when condemned to the severest penalties of critical law, must
be reprieved on the plea of literary insanity.

It may be said that we have descended to mere detail to illustrate Mr.
Stephens' peculiar genius--that we ought to treat of the grand design, or
plot of the _Hungarian Daughter_; but we must confess, with the deepest
humility, that our abilities are unequal to the task. The fable soars far
beyond the utmost flights of our poor conjectures, of our limited
comprehension. We know that at the end there are--one case of poisoning,
one ditto of stabbing with intent, &c., and one ditto of sudden death.
Hence we conclude that the play is a tragedy; but one which "cannot be
intended for an acting play" (_preliminary preface_, p.1,)--of course _as_
a tragedy; yet so universal is the author's genius, that an adaptation of
the _Hungarian Daughter_, as a broad comedy, has been produced at the
"Dramatic Authors' Theatre," having been received with roars of laughter!

The books before us have been expensively got up. In the _Hungarian
Daughter_, "rivers of type flow through meadows of margin," to the length
of nearly three hundred pages. Mr. Stephens is truly a most spirited
printer and publisher of his own works.

But the lavish outlay he must have incurred to obtain such a number of
favourable notices--so many columns of superlative praise--shows him to
be, in every sense--like the prince of puffers, George Robins--"utterly
regardless of expense." The works third and fourth upon our list,
doubtless cost, for the _copyright_ alone, in ready money, a fortune. It
is astonishing what pecuniary sacrifices genius will make, when it
purloins the trumpet of Fame to _puff_ itself into temporary notoriety.

       *       *       *       *       *


     The Whigs, who long
     Were bold and strong,
  On Monday night went dead.
     The jury found
     This verdict sound--
  "_Destroy'd by low-priced bread_."

       *       *       *       *       *


It is with the most rampant delight that we rush to announce, that a
special warrant has been issued, appointing our friend and _protégé_,
the gallant and jocular Sibthorp, to the important office of beadle and
crier to the House of Commons--a situation which has been created from the
difficulty which has hitherto been found in inducing strangers to withdraw
during a division of the House. This responsible office could not have
been conferred upon any one so capable of discharging its onerous duties
as the Colonel. We will stake our hump, that half-a-dozen words of the
gallant Demosthenes would, at any time have the effect of


       *       *       *       *       *



The return match between the Reform and Carlton Clubs has been the theme
of general conversation during the past week. Some splendid play was
exhibited on the occasion, and, although the result has realised the
anticipations of the best judges, it was not achieved without considerable

It will be remembered that, the last time these celebrated clubs met, the
Carlton men succeeded in scoring one notch more than their rivals; who,
however, immediately challenged them to a return match, and have been
diligently practising for success since that time.

The players assembled in _Lord's_ Cricket Ground on Tuesday last, when the
betting was decidedly in favour of the Cons, whose appearance and manner
was more confident than usual; while, on the contrary, the Rads seemed
desponding and shy. On tossing up, the Whigs succeeded in getting first
innings, and the Tories dispersed themselves about the field in high glee,
flattering themselves that they would not be _out_ long.

Wellington, on producing the ball--a genuine _Duke_--excited general
admiration by his position. Ripon officiated as bowler at the other
wicket. Sibthorp acted as long-stop, and the rest found appropriate
situations. Lefevre was chosen umpire by mutual consent.

Spencer and Clanricarde went in first. Spencer, incautiously trying to
score too many notches for one of his hits, was stumped out by Ripon, and
Melbourne succeeded him. Great expectations had been formed of this player
by his own party, but he was utterly unable to withstand Wellington's
rapid bowling, which soon sent him to the right-about. Clanricarde was
likewise run out without scoring a notch.

Lansdowne and Brougham were now partners at the wickets; but Lansdowne did
not appear to like his mate, on whose play it is impossible to calculate.
Coventry, _the short slip_, excited much merriment, by a futile attempt to
catch this player out, which terminated in his finding himself horizontal
and mortified. Wellington, having bowled out Lansdowne, resigned his ball
to Peel, who took his place at the wicket with a smile of confidence,
which frightened the bat out of the hands of Phillips, the next Rad.

Dundas and Labouchere were now the batmen. Labouchere is a very
intemperate player. One of Sandon's slow balls struck his thumb, and put
him out of temper, whereupon he hit about at random, and knocked down his
wicket. Wakley took his bat, but apparently not liking his position, he
hit up and caught himself out.

O'Connell took his place with a lounging swagger, but his first ball was
caught by the immortal Sibthorp, who uttered more puns on the occasion
than the oldest man present recollected to have heard perpetrated in any
given time. Russell--who, by the bye, excavated several quarts of 'heavy'
during his innings--was the last man the Rads had to put in. He played
with care, and appeared disposed to keep hold of the bat as long as
possible. He was, however, quietly disposed of by one of Peel's inexorable

Thus far the game has proceeded. The Cons have yet to _go in_. The general
opinion is, that they will not remain in so long as the Rads, but that
they will score their notches much quicker. Indeed, it was commonly
remarked, that no players had ever remained in so long, and had done so
little good withal, as the Reformites.

Betting is at 100 to 5 in favour of the Carlton men, and anxiety is on
tip-toe to know the result of the next innings.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Tories are exulting in their recent victory over the poor Whigs, whom
they affirm have been _tried_, and found wanting. A _trial_, indeed, where
all the jurors were witnesses for the prosecution. One thing is certain,
that the country, as usual, will have to pay the costs, for a Tory verdict
will be certain to carry them. The Whigs should prepare a motion for a new
trial, on the plea that the late decision was that of

[Illustration: A PACKED JURY.]

       *       *       *       *       *


"Kiss the broad moon."--MARTINUZZI.

  Go kiss the moon!--that's more, sirs, than I can dare;
  'Tis worse than madness--hasn't she her man there?

       *       *       *       *       *


The _Morning Advertiser_ has a paragraph containing a report of an
extraordinary indisposition under which a private of the Royal Guards is
now suffering. It appears he lately received a violent kick from a horse,
on the back of his head: since which time his hair has become so
sensitive, that he cannot bear any one to approach him or touch it. On
some portion being cut off by stratagem, he evinced the utmost disgust,
accompanied with a volley of oaths. This may be wonderful in French hair,
but it is nothing to the present sufferings of the Whigs in England.

       *       *       *       *       *


Punch having been chosen by the unanimous voice of the public--the
_arbiter elegantiarum_ in all matters relating to science, literature, and
the fine arts--and from his long professional experience, being the only
person in England competent to regulate the public amusements of the
people, the Lord Mayor of London has confided to him the delicate and
important duty of deciding upon the claims of the several individuals
applying for licenses to open show-booths during the approaching
Bartholomew Fair. Punch, having called to his assistance Sir Peter Laurie
and Peter Borthwick, proceeded, on last Saturday, to hold his inquisition
in a highly-respectable court in the neighbourhood of West Smithfield.

The first application was made on behalf of _Richardson's Booth_, by two
individuals named Melbourne and Russell.

PUNCH.--On what grounds do you claim?

MEL.--On those of long occupancy and respectability, my lord.

RUSS.--We employs none but the werry best of actors, my lud--all "bould
speakers," as my late wenerated manager, Muster Richardson, used to call

MEL.--We have the best scenery and decorations, the most popular

RUSS.--Hem! (_aside to_ MEL.)--Best say nothing about our performances,

PUNCH.--Pray what situations do you respectively hold in the booth?

MEL.--_I_ am principal manager, and do the heavy tragedy business. My
friend, here, is the stage-manager and low comedy buffer, who takes the
kicks, and blows the trumpet of the establishment.

PUNCH.--What is the nature of the entertainments you have been in the
habit of producing?

RUSS.--Oh! the real legitimate drammar--"A New Way to Pay Old Debts,"
"Raising the Wind," "A Gentleman in Difficulties," "Where shall I dine?"
and "Honest Thieves." We mean to commence the present season with "All in
the wrong," and "His Last Legs."

PUNCH.--Humph! I am sorry to say I have received several complaints of the
manner in which you have conducted the business of your establishment for
several years. It appears you put forth bills promising wonders, while
your performances have been of the lowest possible description.

RUSS.--S'elp me, Bob! there ain't a word of truth in it. If there's
anything we takes pride on, 'tis our gentility.

PUNCH.--You have degraded the drama by the introduction of card-shufflers
and thimble-rig impostors.

RUSS.--We denies the thimble-rigging in totum, my lud; that was brought
out at Stanley's opposition booth.

PUNCH.--At least you were a promoter of state conjuring and legerdemain
tricks on the stage.

RUSS.--Only a little hanky-panky, my lud. The people likes it; they loves
to be cheated before their faces. One, two, three--presto--begone. I'll
show your ludship as pretty a trick of putting a piece of money in your
eye and taking it out of your elbow, as you ever beheld. _Has_ your
ludship got such a thing as a good shilling about you? 'Pon my honour,
I'll return it.

PUNCH.--Be more respectful, sir, and reply to my questions. It appears
further, that several respectable persons have lost their honesty in your

RUSS.--Very little of that 'ere commodity is ever brought into it, my lud.

PUNCH.--And, in short, that you and your colleagues' hands have been
frequently found in the pockets of your audience.

RUSS.--Only in a professional way, my lud--strictly professional.

PUNCH.--But the most serious charge of all is that, on a recent occasion,
when the audience hissed your performances, you put out the lights, let in
the swell-mob, and raised a cry of "No Corn Laws."

RUSS.--Why, my lud, on that p'int I admit there was a slight row.

PUNCH.--Enough, sir. The court considers you have grossly misconducted
yourself, and refuses to grant you license to perform.

MEL.--But, my lord, I protest _I did_ nothing.

PUNCH.--So everybody says, sir. You are therefore unfit to have the
management of (next to my own) the greatest theatre in the world. You may

MEL. (_to_ RUSS.)--Oh! Johnny, this is your work--with your confounded

RUSS.--No--'twas you that did it; we have been ruined by your laziness.
What _is_ to become of us now?

MEL.--Alas! where shall we dine?

       *       *       *       *       *

The next individual who presented himself, to obtain a license for the
Carlton Club Equestrian Troop, was a strange-loooking character, who gave
his name as Sibthorp.

PUNCH.--What are you, sir?

SIB.--Clown to the ring, my lord, and principal performer on the Salt-box.
I provide my own paint and pipe-clay, make my own jokes, and laugh at them
too. I do the ground and lofty tumbling, and ride the wonderful
donkey--all for the small sum of fifteen bob a-week.

PUNCH.--You have been represented as a very noisy and turbulent fellow.

SIB.--Meek as a lamb, my lord, except when I'm on the saw-dust; there I
acknowledge, I do crow pretty loudly--but that's in the way of
business,--and your lordship knows that we public jokers must pitch it
strong sometimes to make our audience laugh, and bring the _browns_ into
the treasury. After all, my lord, I am not the rogue many people take me
for,--more the other way, I can assure you, and

  "Though to my share some human errors fall,
  Look in my face, and you'll forget them all."

PUNCH.--A strong appeal, I must confess. You shall have your license.

The successful claimant having made his best bow to Commissioner Punch,
withdrew, whistling the national air of

[Illustration: "BRITONS, STRIKE HOME."]

       *       *       *       *       *

A fellow named Peel, who has been for many years in the habit of
exhibiting as a quack-doctor, next applied for liberty to vend his
nostrums at the fair. On being questioned as to his qualifications, he
shook his head gravely, and, without uttering a word, placed the following
card in the hands of Punch.



Professor of Political Chemistry and Conservative Medicine to the



Inventor of the People's Patent Sliding Stomach-pump;--of the Poor Man's
anti-Breakfast and Dinner Waist-belt;--and of the new Royal extract of
Toryism, as prescribed for, and lately swallowed by,


Sir Rhubarb begs further to state, that he practises national
tooth-drawing and bleeding to an unlimited extent; and undertakes to cure
the consumption of bread without the use of


N.B.--No connexion with the corn doctor who recently vacated the concern
now occupied by Sir R.P.

Hours of attendance, from ten till four each day, at his establishment,
Downing-street.--A private entrance for M.P.'s round the corner.

       *       *       *       *       *

Ben D'Israeli, the proprietor of the Learned Pig, applied for permission
to exhibit his animal at the fair. A license was unhesitatingly granted by
his lordship, who rightly considered that the exhibition of the
extraordinary talents of the pig and its master, would do much to promote
a taste for polite literature amongst the Smithneld "pennyboys."

       *       *       *       *       *

A poor old man, who called himself Sir Francis Burdett, applied for a
license to exhibit his wonderful Dissolving Views. The most remarkable of
which were--"The Hustings in Covent-garden--changing to Rous's dinner in
Drury-lane"--and "The Patriot in the Tower--changing to the Renegade in
the Carlton." It appeared that the applicant was, at one time, in a
respectable business, and kept "The Old Glory," a favourite public-house
in Westminster, but, falling into bad company, he lost his custom and his
character, and was reduced to his present miserable occupation. Punch, in
pity for the wretched petitioner, and fully convinced that his childish
tricks were perfectly harmless, granted him a license to exhibit.

       *       *       *       *       *

Licenses were also granted to the following persons in the course of the

Sir E.L. Bulwer, to exhibit his own portrait, in the character of
Alcibiades, painted by himself.

Doctor Bowring, to exhibit six Tartarian chiefs, caught in the vicinity of
the Seven Dials, with songs, translated from the original Irish Calmuc, by
the Doctor.

Emerson Tennent, to exhibit his wonderful Cosmorama, or views of anywhere
and everywhere; in which the striking features of Ireland, Greece,
Belgium, and Whitechapel will be so happily confounded, that the spectator
may imagine he beholds any or all of these places at a single glance.

Messrs. Stephens, Heraud, and Co., to exhibit, gratis, a Syncretic
Tragedy, with fireworks and tumbling, according to law, between the acts;
to be followed by a lecture on the Unactable Drama.

       *       *       *       *       *


At the recent _fracas_ in Pall Mall, between Captain Fitzroy and Mr.
Shepherd, the latter, like his predecessor of old, the "Gentle Shepherd,"
performed sundry vague evolutions with a silver-mounted cane, and
requested Captain Fitzroy to consider himself horsewhipped. Not
entertaining quite so high an opinion of his adversary's imaginative
powers, the Captain floored the said descendant of gentleness, thereby
ably illustrating the precise difference of the "_real and ideal_."

       *       *       *       *       *




[Illustration: P]Poor old John's alarm was succeeded by astonishment, for
without speaking a word, Agamemnon bounced into his bed-chamber. He
thought the room the most miserable-looking room he had ever entered,
though the floor was covered with a thick Turkey carpet, a bright fire was
blazing in the grate, and everything about seemed fashioned for comfort.
He threw himself into an easy chair, and kicking off one of his pumps,
crossed his legs, and rested his elbow on the table. He looked at his
bed--it was a French one--a mountain of feathers, covered with a thick,
white Marseilles quilt, and festooned over with a drapery of rich crimson

"I'll have a four-post to-morrow," growled Collumpsion; "French beds are
mean-looking things, after all. Stuffwell has the fellow-chair to
this--one chair does look strange! I wonder it has never struck me before;
but it is surprising--what--strange ide--as a man--has"--and Collumpsion
fell asleep.

It was broad day when Collumpsion awoke; the fire had gone out, and his
feet were as cold as ice. He (as he is married there's no necessity for
concealment)--he swore two or three naughty oaths, and taking off his
clothes, hurried into bed in the hope of getting warm.

"How confoundedly cold I am--sitting in that chair all night,
too--ridiculous. If I had had a--I mean, if I hadn't been alone, that
wouldn't have happened; she would have waked me." _She_--what the deuce
made him use the feminine pronoun!

At two o'clock he rose and entered his breakfast-room. The table was laid
as usual--_one_ large cup and saucer, _one_ plate, _one_ egg-cup, _one_
knife, and _one_ fork! He did not know wherefore, but he felt to want the
number increased. John brought up a slice of broiled salmon and _one_ egg.
Collumpsion got into a passion, and ordered a second edition. The morning
was rainy, so Collumpsion remained at home, and employed himself by
kicking about the ottoman, and mentally multiplying all the single
articles in his establishment by two.

The dinner hour arrived, and there was the same singular provision for
one. He rang the bell, and ordered John to furnish the table for
_another_. John obeyed, though not without some strong misgiving of his
master's sanity, as the edibles consisted of a sole, a mutton chop, and a
partridge. When John left the room at his master's request, Collumpsion
rose and locked the door. Having placed a chair opposite, he resumed his
seat, and commenced a series of pantomimic gestures, which were strongly
confirmatory of John's suspicions. He seemed to be holding an inaudible
conversation with some invisible being, placing the choicest portion of
the sole in a plate, and seemingly desiring John to deliver it to the
unknown. As John was not there, he placed it before himself, and commenced
daintily and smilingly picking up very minute particles, as though he were
too much delighted to eat. He then bowed and smiled, and extending his
arm, appeared to fill the opposite glass, and having _actually_ performed
the same operation with his own, he bowed and smiled again, and sipped the
brilliant Xeres. He then rang the bell violently, and unlocking the door,
rushed rapidly back to his chair, as though he were fearful of committing
a rudeness by leaving it. The table being replenished, and John again
dismissed the room, the same pantomime commenced. The one mutton chop
seemed at first to present an obstacle to the proper conduct of the scene;
but gracefully uncovering the partridge, and as gracefully smiling towards
the invisible, he appeared strongly to recommend the bird in preference to
the beast. Dinner at length concluded, he rose, and apparently led his
phantom guest from the table, and then returning to his arm-chair, threw
himself into it, and, crossing his hands upon his breast, commenced a
careful examination of the cinders and himself. His rumination ended in a
doze, and his doze in a dream, in which he fancied himself a Brobdignag
Java sparrow during the moulting season. His cage was surrounded by
beautiful and blooming girls, who seemed to pity his condition, and vie
with each other in proposing the means of rendering him more comfortable.
Some spoke of elastic cotton shirts, linsey-wolsey jackets, and silk
nightcaps; others of merino hose, silk feet and cotton tops, shirt-buttons
and warming-pans; whilst Mrs. Greatgirdle and Mrs. Waddledot sang an echo
duet of "What a pity the bird is alone."

  "A change came o'er the spirit of his dream."

He thought that the moulting season was over, and that he was rejoicing in
the fulness of a sleeky plumage, and by his side was a Java sparrowess,
chirping and hopping about, rendering the cage as populous to him as
though he were the tenant of a bird-fancier's shop. Then--he awoke just as
Old John was finishing a glass of Madeira, preparatory to arousing
Collumpsion, for the purpose of delivering to him a scented note, which
had just been left by the footman of Mrs. Waddledot.

It was lucky for John that A.C.A. had been blessed with pleasant dreams,
or his attachment to Madeira might have occasioned his discharge from No.
24, Pleasant-terrace.

The note was an invitation to Mrs. Waddledot's opera-box for that evening.
The performance was to be Rossini's "La Cenerentola," and as Collumpsion
recollected the subject of the opera, his heart fluttered in his bosom. A
prince marrying a cinder-sifter for love! What must the happy state be--or
rather what must it not be--to provoke such a condescension!

Collumpsion never appeared to such advantage as he did that evening; he
was dressed to a miracle of perfection--his spirits were so elastic that
they must have carried him out of the box into "Fop's-alley," had not Mrs.
Waddledot cleverly surrounded him by the detachment from the corps of
eighteen daughters, which had (on that night) been placed under her

Collumpsion's state of mind did not escape the notice of the fair
campaigners, and the most favourable deductions were drawn from it in
relation to the charitable combination which they had formed for his
ultimate good, and all seemed determined to afford him every encouragement
in their power. Every witticism that he uttered elicited countless
smiles--every criticism that he delivered was universally applauded--in
short, Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite was voted the most delightful beau
in the universe, and Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite gave himself a
plumper to the same opinion.

On the 31st of the following month, a string of carriages surrounded St.
George's Church, Hanover-square, and precisely at a quarter to twelve,
A.M., Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite placed a plain gold ring on the
finger of Miss Juliana Theresa Waddledot, being a necessary preliminary to
the introduction of our hero, the "Heir of Applebite."

       *       *       *       *       *


  "I wonder if Brougham thinks as much as he talks,"
  Said a punster perusing a trial:
  "I vow, since his lordship was made Baron Vaux,
  He's been _Vaux et præterea nihil!_"

       *       *       *       *       *


Our great ancestor, Joe Miller, has recorded, in his "Booke of Jestes," an
epitaph written upon an amateur corn-cutter, named Roger Horton, who,

  "Trying one day his corn to mow off,
  The razor slipp'd, and cut his toe off."

The painful similarity of his fate with that of another corn
experimentalist, has given rise to the following:--


          In Minto quies.

  Beneath this stone lies Johnny Russell,
  Who for his place had many a tussel.
  Trying one day _the corn_ to cut down,
  The motion fail'd, and he was _put_ down.
  The benches which he nearly grew to,
  The Opposition quickly flew to;
  The fact it was so mortifying,
  That little Johnny took to dying.

       *       *       *       *       *


Some difficulty has arisen as to the production of Knowles's new play at
the Haymarket Theatre. Mr. Charles Kean and Miss Helen Faucit having
objected to hear the play read, "_because their respective parts had not
been previously submitted to them._"--_Sunday Times_.--[We are of opinion
that they were decidedly right. One might as well expect a child to spell
without learning the alphabet, as either of the above persons to
understand Knowles, unless enlightened by a long course of previous

       *       *       *       *       *


    [From a MS. drama called the "COURT OF VICTORIA."

_Scene in Windsor Castle._

[_Her Majesty discovered sitting thoughtfully at an escrutoire._--


LORD CHAMBERLAIN.--May it please your Majesty, a letter from the Duke of

THE QUEEN (_opens the letter_.)--Oh! a person for the vacant place of
Premier--show the bearer in, my lord. [_Exit_ LORD CHAMBERLAIN.

THE QUEEN (_muses_).--Sir Robert Peel--I have heard that name before, as
connected with my family. If I remember rightly, he held the situation of
adviser to the crown in the reign of Uncle William, and was discharged for
exacting a large discount on all the state receipts; yet Wellington is
very much interested in his favour.

_Enter the_ LORD CHAMBERLAIN, _who ushers in_ SIR ROBERT, _and then
retires. As he is going_--]

LORD CHAMBERLAIN (_aside_).--If you do get the berth, Sir Robert, I hope
you'll not give me warning.          [_Exit_.

SIR ROBERT (_looking demurely_).--Hem!

[_The Queen regards him very attentively._]

THE QUEEN (_aside_).--I don't much like the looks of the fellow--that
affectation of simplicity is evidently intended to conceal the real
cunning of his character. (_Aloud_). You are of course aware of the nature
and the duties of the situation which you solicit?

SIR ROBERT.--Oh, yes, your Majesty; I have filled it before, and liked it
very much.

THE QUEEN.--It's a most responsible post, for upon your conduct much of
the happiness of my other servants depends.

SIR ROBERT.--I am aware of that, your Majesty; but as no one can hope to
please everybody, I will only answer that _one half_ shall be perfectly

THE QUEEN.--You have recently returned from Tamworth?

SIR ROBERT.--Yes, your Majesty.

THE QUEEN.--We will dispense with forms. At Tamworth, you have been
practising as a quack doctor?

SIR ROBERT.--Yes, madam; I was brought up to doctoring, and am a professor
of sleight-of-hand.

THE QUEEN.--What have you done in the latter art to entitle you to such a

SIR ROBERT.--I have performed some very wonderful changes. When I was out
of place, I had opinions strongly opposed to Catholic emancipation; but
when I got into service I changed them in the course of a few days.

THE QUEEN.--I have heard that you boast of possessing a nostrum for the
restoration of the public good. What is it?

SIR ROBERT.--Am I to consider myself "as regularly called in?"

THE QUEEN.--That is a question I decline answering at present.

SIR ROBERT.--Then I regret that I must also remain silent.

THE QUEEN (_aside_).--The wily fox! (_aloud_)--Are you aware that great
distress exists in the country?

SIR ROBERT.--Oh, yes! I have heard that there are several families who
keep no man-servant, and that numerous clerks, weavers, and other
artisans, occupy second-floors.

THE QUEEN.--I have heard that the people are wanting bread.

SIR ROBERT.--Ha, ha! that was from the late premier, I suppose. He merely
forgot an adjective--it is _cheap_ bread that the people are clamouring

THE QUEEN.--And why can they not have it?

SIR ROBERT.--I have consulted with the Duke of Richmond upon the subject,
and he says it is impossible.

THE QUEEN.--But why?

SIR ROBERT.--Wheat must be lower before bread can be cheaper.


SIR ROBERT.--And rents must be less if that is the case, and--


SIR ROBERT.--And that the landowners won't agree to.


SIR ROBERT.--And, then, I can't keep my place a day.

THE QUEEN.--Then the majority of my subjects are to be rendered miserable
for the advantage of the few?

SIR ROBERT.--That's the principle of all good governments. Besides, cheap
bread would be no benefit to the masses, for wages would be lower.

THE QUEEN.--Do you really believe such _would_ be the case?

SIR ROBERT.--Am I regularly called in?

THE QUEEN.--You evade a direct answer, I see. Granting such to be _your
belief_, your friends and landowners would suffer no injury, for their
incomes would procure them as many luxuries.

SIR ROBERT.--Not if they were to live abroad, or patronise foreign
manufactures: and _should_ wages be higher, what would they say to me
after all the money they have expended in bri--I mean at the Carlton Club,
if I allow the value of their "dirty acres" to be reduced.

THE QUEEN.--Pray, what do you call such views?

SIR ROBERT.--Patriotism.

THE QUEEN.--Charity would be a better term, as that is said to begin at
home. How long were you in your last place?

SIR ROBERT.--Not half so long as I wished--for the sake of the country.

THE QUEEN.--Why did you leave?

SIR ROBERT.--Somebody said I was saucy--and somebody else said I was not
honest--and somebody else said I had better go.

THE QUEEN.--Who was the latter somebody?

SIR ROBERT.--My master.

THE QUEEN.--Your exposure of my late premier's faults, and your present
application for his situation, result from disinterestedness, of course?

SIR ROBERT.--Of course, madam.

THE QUEEN.--Then salary is not so much an object as a comfortable

SIR ROBERT.--I beg pardon; but I've been out of place ten years, and have
a small family to support. _Wages_ is, therefore, some sort of a

THE QUEEN.--I don't quite like you.

SIR ROBERT (_glancing knowingly at the Queen_).--I don't think there is
any one that _you can_ have better.

THE QUEEN.--I'm afraid not.

SIR ROBERT.--Then, am I regularly called in?

THE QUEEN.--Yes, you can take your boxes to Downing-street.

[_Exeunt ambo_.

       *       *       *       *       *


Mr. Muntz, we understand, intends calling the attention of Parliament, at
the earliest possible period, to the state of the crops.

Lord Palmerston intends proposing, that a looking-glass for the use of
members should be placed in the ante-room of the House, and that it shall
be called the New Mirror of Parliament.

Mr. T. Duncombe intends moving that the plans of Sir Robert Peel be
immediately submitted to the photographic process, in order that some
light may be thrown upon them as soon as possible.

The Earl of Coventry intends suggesting, that every member of both Houses
be immediately supplied with a copy of the work called "Ten Minutes'
Advice on Corns," in order to prepare Parliament for a full description of
the Corn Laws.

       *       *       *       *       *


Colonel Sibthorp has expressed his intention of becoming the blue-faced
monkey at the Zoological Gardens with his _countenance_, on next

Lord Melbourne has received visits of condolence on his retirement from
office, from Aldgate pump--Canning's statue in Palace-yard--the Three
Kings of Brentford--and the Belle Sauvage, Ludgate-hill.

Her Royal Highness the Princess, her two nurses, and a pap-spoon, took an
airing twice round the great hall of the palace, at one o'clock yesterday.

The Burlington Arcade will be thrown open to visitors to-morrow morning.
Gentlemen intending to appear there, are requested to come with
tooth-picks and full-dress walking-canes.

Sir Francis Burdett's top-boots were seen, on last Saturday, walking into
Sir Robert Peel's house, accompanied by the legs of that venerable turner.

His Grace the Duke of Wellington inspected all the passengers in Pall
Mall, from the steps of the United Service Club-house, and expressed
himself highly pleased with the celerity of the 'busses and cabs, and the
effective state of the pedestrians generally.

His Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex has, in the most unequivocal manner,
expressed his opinion on the state of the weather--which he pronounces to
be hot! hot! all hot!

       *       *       *       *       *


A good deal of merriment was caused in the House of Commons, by Mr. Bernal
and Commodore Napier addressing the members as "gentlemen." This may be
excusable in young members, but the oldest parliamentary reporter has no
recollection of the term being used by any one who had sat a session in
the House. "Too much familiarity," &c.

       *       *       *       *       *



       *       *       *       *       *



  When the Whig Ministry had run,
  Nor left behind a mother's son,
  The Tories, at their leader's call,
  Came thronging round him, one and all,
  Exulting, braying, cringing, coaxing,
  Expert at humbugging and hoaxing;
  By turns they felt an _honest_ zeal
  For private good and public weal;
  Till all at once they raised such yells,
  As rung in Apsley House the bells:
  And as they sought snug berths to get
  In Bobby Peel's new cabinet,
  Each, for interest ruled the hour,
  Would prove his taste for place and power.

  First Follett's hand, his skill to try,
    Upon the _seals_ bewilder'd laid;
  But back recoil'd--he scarce knew why--
    Of Lyndhurst's angry scowl afraid.

  Next Stanley rush'd with frenzied air;
    His eager haste brook'd no delay:
  He rudely seized the _Foreign_ chair,
    And bade poor Cupid trudge away.

  With woeful visage Melbourne sate--
    A pint of double X his grief beguiled;
  And inly pondering o'er his fate,
    He bade th' attendant pot-boy "draw it mild."

  But thou, Sir Jamie Graham--prig;
    What was thy delighted musing?
  Now accepting, now refusing,
  Till on the Admiralty pitch'd,
    Still would that thought his speech prolong;
  To gain the place for which he long had itch'd,
    He call'd on Bobby still through all the song;
  But ever as his sweetest theme he chose,
  A sovereign's golden chink was heard at every close,
  And Pollock grimly smiled, and shook his powder'd wig.

  And longer had he droned--but, with a frown
          Brougham impatient rose;
  He threw the bench of snoring bishops down,
          And, with a withering look,
          The Whig-denouncing trumpet took,
  And made a speech so fierce and true,
  Thrashing, with might and main, both friend and foe;
          And ever and anon he beat,
          With doubled fist his cushion'd seat;
  And though sometimes, each breathless pause between,
          Astonished Melbourne at his side,
          His moderating voice applied,
  Yet still he kept his stern, unalter'd mien,
  While battering the Whigs and Tories black and blue.

  Thy ravings, Goulburn, to no theme were fix'd.
    Not ev'n thy virtue is without its spots;
  With piety thy politics were mix'd,
    And now they courted Peel, now call'd on Doctor Watts.

  With drooping jaw, like one half-screw'd,
  Lord Johnny sate in doleful mood,
  And for his Secretarial seat,
  Sent forth his howlings sad, but sweet
  Lost Normanby pour'd forth his sad adieu;
          While Palmerston, with graceful air,
          Wildly toss'd his scented hair;
  And pensive Morpeth join'd the sniv'lling crew.
    Yet still they lingered round with fond delay,
          Humming, hawing, stopping, musing,
          Tory rascals all abusing,
    Till forced to move away.

  But, oh! how alter'd was the whining tone
    When, loud-tongued Lyndhurst, that unblushing wight,
  His gown across his shoulders flung,
    His wig with virgin-powder white,
  Made an ear-splitting speech that down to Windsor rung,
  The Tories' call, that Billy Holmes well knew,
  The turn-coat Downshire and his Orange crew;
  Wicklow and Howard both were seen
  Brushing away the wee bit green;
  Mad Londonderry laugh'd to hear,
  And Inglis scream'd and shook his ass's ear

  Last Bobby Peel, with hypocritic air,
    He with modest look came sneaking:
  First to "_the Home_" his easy vows addrest,--
    But soon he saw the _Treasury's_ red chair,
  Whose soft inviting seat he loved the best.
  They would have thought, who heard his words,
  They saw in Britain's cause a patriot stand,
  The proud defender of his land,
  To aw'd and list'ning senates speaking;--

  But as his fingers touch'd the purse's strings,
    The chinking metal made a magic sound,
    While hungry placemen gather'd fast around:
    And he, as if by chance or play,
    Or that he would their venal votes repay,
  The golden treasures round upon them flings.

       *       *       *       *       *


Upon the first interview of the Queen with Sir Robert Peel, her Majesty
was determined to answer only in monosyllables to all he said; and, in
fact, to make her replies _an echo_, and nothing more, to whatever he said
to her. The following dialogue, which we have thrown into verse for the
purpose of smoothing it--the tone of it, as spoken, having been on one
side, at least, rather rough--ensued between the illustrious persons
alluded to.

    HE.--Before we into minor details go,
         Do I possess your confidence or no?


    HE.--You shall not vex me, though your treatment's rough;
         No, madam, I am made of sterner stuff.


    HE.--Really, if thus your minister you flout,
         A single syllable he can't get out.

                                        SHE.--_Get out!_

    HE.--But try me, madam; time indeed will show
         Unto what lengths to serve you I would go.


    HE.--We both have power,--'tis doubtful which is greater;
         These crooked words had better be made straighter.

                                        SHE.--_Traighter (Traitor.)_

    HE.--Farewell! and never in this friendly strain
         (My proffer'd aid foregone) I breathe again!

                                        SHE.--_Gone. I breathe again!_

       *       *       *       *       *


  I cannot rove with thee, where zephyrs float--
    Sweet sylvan scenes devoted to the loves!--
  For, oh! I have not got one decent coat,
    Nor can I sport a single pair of gloves.

  Gladly I'd wander o'er the verdant lawn,
    Where graze contentedly the fleecy flock;
  But can I show myself in gills so torn,
    Or brave the public gaze in such a stock?

  I know _thou_'lt answer me that love is blind,
    And faults in one it worships can't perceive;
  It must be sightless, truly, not to find
    The hole that's gaping in my threadbare sleeve.

  Farewell, my love--for, oh! by heaven, we part,
    And though it cost me all the pangs of hell.
  The herd shall not on thee inflict a smart,
    By calling after us--"There goes a swell!"

       *       *       *       *       *


During the clear-out on Wednesday last in Downing-street, a small chest,
strongly secured, was found among some models of balloting-boxes. It had
evidently been forgotten for some years, and upon opening it, was found to
contain the Whig promises of 1832. They were immediately conveyed to Lord
Melbourne, who appeared much astonished at these resuscitation of the

[Illustration: HOME OFFICE.]

       *       *       *       *       *


"It is somewhat remarkable," observe the journals of the past week, "that
the medical division of this scientific meeting has not contributed one
single paper this year in furtherance of its object, although the
communications from that section have usually been of a highly important

The journals may think it somewhat remarkable--we do not at all; for here,
as in every other event of the day, a great deal depends upon being
"behind the curtain;" and as the greater portion of our life is passed in
that locality, we are always to be relied upon for authenticity in our
statements. The plain truth is, that the papers were inadvertently lost,
and rather than lead to some unpleasant disclosures, in which the eminent
professor to whom they were entrusted would have been deeply implicated,
it was thought best to say nothing about them. By chance they fell into
the hands of the manager of one of our perambulating theatres, who was
toiling his way from the west of England to Egham races, and having
deposited them in his portable green-room, under the especial custody of
the clown, the doctor, and the overbearing parochial authority, he duly
remitted them to our office. We have been too happy in giving them a place
in our columns, feeling an honest pride in thus taking the lead of the
chief scientific publications of the day. It will be seen that they are
drawn up as a report, all ready for publication, according to the usual
custom of such proceedings, where every one knows beforehand what they are
to dispute or agree with.

Dr. Splitnerve communicated a remarkable case of Animal Magnetism:--Eugene
Doldrum, aged 21, a young man of bilious and interesting temperament,
having been mesmerized, was rendered so keenly magnetic, as to give rise
to a most remarkable train of phenomena. On being seated upon a
music-stool, he immediately becomes an animated compass, and turns round
to the north. Knives and forks at dinner invariably fly towards him, and
he is not able to go through any of the squares, in consequence of being
attracted firmly to the iron railings. As most of the experiments took
place at the North London Hospital, Euston-square was his chief point of
attraction, and when he was removed, it was always found necessary to
break off the railings and take them away with him. This accounted for the
decrepit condition of the _fleur de lys_ that surround the inclosure,
which was not, as generally supposed, the work of the university pupils
residing in Gower-place. Perfect insensibility to pain supervened at the
same time, and his friends took advantage of this circumstance to send
him, by way of delicate compliment, to a lying-in lady, in the style of a
pedestrian pin-cushion, his cheeks being stuck full of minikin pins, on
the right side, forming the words "Health to the Babe," and on the left,
"Happiness to the Mother."

Dr. Mortar read a talented paper on the cure of strabismus, or squinting,
by dividing the muscles of the eye. The patient, a working man, squinted
so terribly, that his eyes almost got into one another's sockets; and at
times he was only able to see by looking down the inside of his nose and
out at the nostrils. The operation was performed six weeks ago, when, on
cutting through the muscles, its effects were instantly visible: both the
eyes immediately diverging to the extreme outer angles of their respective

Dr. Sharpeye inquired if the man did not find the present state of his
vision still very perplexing.

Dr. Mortar replied, that so far from injuring his sight, it had proved
highly beneficial, as the patient had procured a very excellent situation
in the new police, and received a double salary, from the power he
possessed of keeping an eye upon both sides of the road at the same time.


An elaborate and highly scientific treatise was then read by Dr. Sexton,
upon a disease which had been very prevalent in town during the spring,
and had been usually termed the influenza. He defined it as a disease of
convenience, depending upon various exciting causes acting upon the mind.
For instance:--

Mrs. A----, a lady residing in Belgrave-square, was on the eve of giving a
large party, when, upon hearing that Mr. A---- had made an unlucky
speculation in the funds, the whole family were seized with influenza so
violently, that they were compelled to postpone the reunion, and live upon
the provided supper for a fortnight afterwards.

Miss B---- was a singer at one of our large theatres, and had a part
assigned to her in a new opera. Not liking it, she worried herself into an
access of influenza, which unluckily seized her the first night the opera
was to have been played.

But the most marked case was that of Mr. C----, a clerk in a city house of
business, who was attacked and cured within three days. It appeared that
he had been dining that afternoon with some friends, who were going to
Greenwich fair the next day, and on arriving at home, was taken ill with
influenza, so suddenly that he was obliged to despatch a note to that
effect to his employer, stating also his fear that he should be unable to
attend at his office on the morrow. Dr. Sexton said he was indebted for an
account of the progress of his disease to a young medical gentleman,
clinical clerk at a leading hospital, who lodged with the patient in
Bartholomew-close. The report had been drawn up for the _Lancet_, but Dr.
S. had procured it by great interest.

    MAY 30, 1841, 11 P.M.--Present symptoms:--Complains of his
    employer, and the bore of being obliged to be at the office next
    morning. Has just eaten a piece of cold beef and pickles, with a
    pint of stout. Pulse about 75, and considerable defluxion from the
    nose, which he thinks produced by getting a piece of Cayenne pepper
    in his eye. Swallowed a crumb, which brought on a violent fit of
    coughing. Wishes to go to bed.

    MAY 31, 9 A.M.--Has passed a tolerable night, but appears restless,
    and unable to settle to anything. Thinks he could eat some broiled
    ham if he had it; but not possessing any, has taken the following:

      Rx--Infus. coffee   lbj
          Sacchari        [symbol: dram]iij
          Lactis Vaccæ    [symbol: ounce]j
        Ft. mistura, poculum mane sumendum.

    A plaster ordered to be applied to the inside of the stomach,
    consisting of potted bloater spread upon bread and butter.

    Eleven, A.M.--Appears rather hotter since breakfast. Change of air
    recommended, and Greenwich decided upon.

    Half-past 11.--Complains of the draught and noise of the
    second-class railway carriages, but is otherwise not worse. Thinks
    he should like "a drain of half-and-half." Has blown his nose once
    in the last quarter of an hour.

    Two, P.M.--Since a light dinner of rump steaks and stout, a
    considerable change has taken place. He appears labouring under
    cerebral excitement and short pipes, and says he shall have a
    regular beanish day, and go it similar to bricks. Calls the waiter
    up to him in one of the booths, and has ordered "a glass of
    cocktail with the chill off and a cinder in it."

    Three, P.M.--Has sallied out into the fair, still much excited,
    calling every female he meets "Susan," and pronouncing the s's with
    a whistling accent. Expresses a desire to ride in the ships that go
    round and round.

    Half-past 3.--The motion of the ships has tended considerably to
    relieve his stomach. Pulse slow and countenance pale, with a desire
    for a glass of ale. Has entered a peepshow, and is now arguing with
    the exhibitor upon the correctness of his view of the siege of "St.
    Jane Daker!" which he maintains was a sea-port, and not a field
    with a burning windmill, as represented in the view.

    Eight, P.M.--After rambling vaguely about the fair all the
    afternoon, he has decided upon taking a hot-air bath in Algar's
    Crown and Anchor booth. Evidently delirious. Has put on a false
    nose, and purchased a tear-coat rattle. Appears labouring under
    violent spasmodic action of the muscles of his legs, as he dances
    "Jim along Josey," when he sets to his partner in a country dance
    of eighty couple.

    Half-past 10, P.M.--Has just intimated that he does not see the use
    of going home, as you can always go there when you can go nowhere
    else. Is seated straddling across one of the tables, on which he is
    beating time to the band with a hooky stick. Will not allow the
    state of his pulse to be ascertained, but says we may feel his fist
    if we like.

    Eleven.--Considerable difficulty experienced in getting the patient
    to the railroad, but we at last succeeded. After telling every one
    in the carriage "that he wasn't afraid of any of them," he fell
    into a deep stertorous sleep. On arriving at home, he got into bed
    with his boots on, and passed a restless night, turning out twice
    to drink water between one and four.

    JUNE.--10, A.M.--Has just returned from his office, his employer
    thinking him very unfit for work, and desiring him to lay up for a
    day or two. Complains of being "jolly seedy," and thinks he shall
    go to Greenwich again to get all right.

A thrilling paper upon the "Philosophy of death," was then read by
Professor Wynne Slow. After tracing the origin of that fatal attack, which
it appears the earliest nations were subject to, the learned author showed
profound research in bringing forward the various terms applied to the act
of dying by popular authors. Amongst the principal, he enumerated "turning
your toes up," "kicking the bucket," "putting up your spoon," "slipping
your wind," "booking your place," "breaking your bellows," "shutting up
your shop," and other phrases full of expression.

The last moments of remarkable characters were especially dwelt upon, in
connexion, more especially, with the drama, which gives us the best
examples, from its holding a mirror up to nature. It appeared that at
Astley's late amphitheatre, the dying men generally shuffled about a great
deal in the sawdust, fighting on their knees, and showing great
determination to the last, until life gave way; that at the Adelphi the
expiring character more frequently saw imaginary demons waiting for him,
and fell down, uttering "Off, fiends! I come to join you in your world of
flames!" and that clowns and pantaloons always gave up the ghost with
heart-rending screams and contortions of visage, as their deaths were
generally violent, from being sawn in half, having holes drilled in them
with enormous gimlets, or being shot out of cannon; but that, at the same
time, these deaths were not permanent.

       *       *       *       *       *


Our foreign expresses have reached us _via_ Billingsgate, and are full of
interesting matter. Captain Fitz-Flammer is in prison at Boulogne, for
some trifling misunderstanding with a native butcher, about the settlement
of an account; but we trust no time will be lost by our government in
demanding his release at the hands of the authorities. The attempt to make
it a private question is absurd; and every Englishman's blood will simmer,
if it does not actually boil, at the intelligence. Fitz-Flammer was only
engaged in doing that which many of our countrymen visit Boulogne
expressly to do, and it is hard that he should have been intercepted in
his retreat, after accomplishing his object. To live at the expense of a
natural enemy is certainly a bold and patriotic act, which ought to excite
sympathy at home, and protection abroad. The English packet, the _City of
Boulogne_, has turned one of its imitation guns directly towards the town,
which, we trust, will have the effect of bringing the French authorities
to reason.

It is expected that the treaty will shortly be signed, by which Belgium
cedes to France a milestone on the north frontier; while the latter
country returns to the former the whole of the territory lying behind a
pig-stye, taken possession of in the celebrated 6th _vendemiaire_, by the
allied armies. This will put an end to the heart-burnings that have long
existed on either side of the Rhine, and will serve to apply the sponge at
once to a long score of national animosities.

Our letters from the East are far from encouraging. The Pasha has had a
severe sore-throat, and the disaffected have taken advantage of the
circumstance. Ibrahim had spent the two last nights in the mountains, and
was unfurling his standard, when our express left, in the very bosom of
the desert. Mehemet Ali was still obstinate, and had dismissed his visier
for impertinence. The whole of Servia is in a state of revolt, and the
authorities have planted troops along the entire line, the whole of whom
have gone over to the enemy. It is said there must be further concessions,
and a new constitution is being drawn up; but it is not expected that any
one will abide by it. Mehemet attempted to throw himself upon the rock of
Nungab, with a tremendous force, but those about him wisely prevented him
from doing so.

We have received China (tea) papers to the 16th. There is nothing in them.

       *       *       *       *       *


"The Duke of Wellington," says a correspondent of the _Times_, "left his
umbrella behind him at a fancy fair, held for charitable purposes, between
Twickenham and Teddington. On discovering it, Lady P. immediately said,
'Who will give twenty guineas for the Duke's umbrella?' A purchaser was
soon found; and when the fact was communicated to his Grace, he
good-naturedly remarked, 'I'll soon supply you with umbrellas, if you can
sell them with so much advantage to the charity.'" We trust his Grace's
benevolent disposition will not induce him to carry this offer into
execution. We should extremely regret to see the Hero of Waterloo in
Leicester-square, of a rainy night, vending second-hand _parapluies_. The
same charitable impulse will doubtlessly induce other fashionable hawkers
at fancy fairs to pick his Grace's pockets. We are somewhat curious to
know what a Wellington bandana would realise, especially were it the
produce of some pretty lady P.'s petty larceny. "Charity," it is said,
"covereth a multitude of sins." What must it do with an umbrella? We fear
that Lady P. will some day figure in the "fashionable departures."

[Illustration: FOR SYDNEY DIRECT.]

       *       *       *       *       *



The production upon the stage of a tragedy "not intended for an acting
play," as a broad travestie, is a novel and dangerous experiment--one,
however, which the combined genius of the Dramatic Authors' Council has
made, with the utmost success. The "Hungarian Daughter" was, under the
title of "Martinuzzi," received, on its first appearance, with bursts of
applause and convulsions of laughter!

The plot of this piece our literary reviewer has expressed himself unable
to unravel. We are in the same condition; all we can promise is some
account of the scenes as they followed each other; of the characters, the
sentiments, the poetry, and the rest of the fun.

The play opens with an elderly gentleman, in a spangled dressing-gown, who
commences business by telling us the time of day, poetically clapping a
wig upon the sun, by saying, he

  "Shakes day about, like perfume from his _hair_,"

which statement bears out the after sentence, that "the wisdom he endures
is terrible!" An Austrian gentleman--whose dress made us at first mistake
him for Richard III. on his travels--arrives to inform the gentleman _en
déshabille_--no other than _Cardinal Martinuzzi_ himself--that he has come
from King Ferdinand, to ask if he will be so good as to give up some
regency; which the Cardinal, however, respectfully declines doing. A
gentleman from Warsaw is next announced, and _Castaldo_ retires, having
incidentally declared a passion for the reigning queen of Hungary.

Mr. Selby, as _Rupert_ from Warsaw, then appears, in a dress most
correctly copied from the costume of the knave of clubs. Being a Pole, he
stirs up the Cardinal vigorously enough to provoke some exceedingly
intemperate language, chiefly by bringing to his memory a case of
child-stealing, to which _Martinuzzi_ was, before he had quite sown his
wild oats, _particeps criminis_. This case having got into the papers
(which _Rupert_ had preserved), the Cardinal wants to obtain them, but
offers a price not long enough for the Pole, who, declaring that
_Martinuzzi_ carries it "too high" to be trusted with them, vanishes. Mr.
Morley afterwards comes forward to sing a song according to Act of
Parliament, and the scene changes for Miss Collect to comply, a second
time, with the 25th of George II.

In the following scene, the Queen Dowager of Hungary, _Isabella_,
introduces herself to the audience, to inform them that the Austrian
gentleman, _Castaldo_, is

                            "the mild,
  Pity-fraught object of her fondness."

He appears. She makes several inflammatory speeches, which he seems
determined not to understand, for he is in love with the virgin queen; and
maidens before dowagers is evidently his sensible motto.

The second act opens with the queen junior stating her assurance, that if
she lives much longer she will die, and that when she is quite dead, she
will hate _Martinuzzi_[3]. As, however, she means to hate when she is
deceased, she will make the most of her time while alive, by devoting
herself to courtship and _Castaldo_: for a very tender love-scene ensues,
at the end of which the lady elopes, to leave the lover a clear stage for
some half-dozen minutes' ecstatics, appropriately ended by his arrest,
ordered by _Martinuzzi_. Why, it is not stated, the officer not even
producing the copy of a writ.

    [3] "_Czerina._ When I am dead--which will be soon--I feel,
        If I much longer on my throne remain,
        I shall abhor the name of Martinuzzi."

In the next scene, _Isabella_ is visited by _Rupert_, who disinterestedly
presents the dowager with the papers for nothing, which he was before
offered an odd castle and snug estate for, by _Martinuzzi_. This is
accounted for on no other supposition, than the proverbial gallantry of
gentlemen from Warsaw.

_Martinuzzi_, possessing a ward whom he is anxious should wed the queen,
opens the third act by declaring he will "precipitate the match," and so
the author considerately sends _Czerina_ to him, to talk the matter over.
But the young lady gets into a passion, and the Cardinal declares he can
make nothing of her, in the following passage:--

  "Fool! I can make thee nothing but a laugh."

A sentiment to which the audience gave a most vociferous echo. The damsel
is angry that she may not have the man she has chosen, and threatens to
faint, but defers that operation till her lover's arms are near enough to
receive her; which they happen to be just in time, for _Martinuzzi_
retires and _Castaldo_ comes on. _Czerina_, to be quite sure, exclaims,
"_Are_ these thy arms?" (_sic_) and finally faints in the lover's embrace,
so as to exhibit a picturesque cuddle.

_Queen Isabella_ is discovered, in the second scene of this act, perusing
the much vaunted "papers" with intense interest. Unluckily _Castaldo_
chooses that moment to complain, that _Martinuzzi_ will not let him marry
her rival. The queen, being by no means a temperate person, and wondering
at his impudence in telling _her_ such a tale, raves thus:--

  "My soul's on fire I'm choked, and seem to perish;
  _But will suppress my scream_"

Probably for fear of compromising _Castaldo_, who is alone with her; and
she ends the act by requesting the Austrian to murder _Martinuzzi_; to
which he is so obliging as to consent, the more so, as an order comes from
the Secretary of State for foreign affairs, of his own government, to "cut
off" (_sic_) the Regent.

The fourth act is enlivened by a masquerade and a murder. The gentleman
from Warsaw having abused the hospitality of his host by getting drunk, is
punished by one of _Martinuzzi's_ attendants with a mortal stab; and
having, in the agonies of death, made a careful survey of all the sofas in
the apartment, suits himself with the softest, and dies in great comfort.

After this, the masquerade proceeds with spirit. _Isabella_ mixes in the
festive scene, disguised in a domino, made of black sticking-plaster.
_Czerina_ overhears that she is a usurper and a changeling, and expresses
her surprise in a line most unblushingly stolen from Fitz-Ball and the
other poetico-melo-dramatists:--

  "Merciful Heavens! do my ears deceive me?"

The festivities conclude with an altercation between _Martinuzzi_ and
_Isabella_, carried on with much vigour on both sides. The lady accuses
the gentleman of inebriation, and he owns the soft impeachment, fully
bearing it out by several incoherent speeches.

This was one of the most successful scenes in the comedy. The death of
_Rupert_, Mr. Morley's song about "The sea," the quarrel (which was about
the great pivot of the plot, "the papers," inscribed, says _Martinuzzi_,

  "With ink that's _brew'd_ in the infernal Styx,")

were all received with uproarious bursts of laughter.

In the fifth act, we behold _Martinuzzi_ and the usurping young Queen
making matters up at a railway pace. She has it all her own way. If she
choose, she may marry _Castaldo_, retire into private life, be a
"farm-house thrall," and keep a "dairy;" for which estate she has
previously expressed a decided predilection[4].

    [4] Acting play, published in the theatre, p. 32.

But it is the next scene that the author seems to have reserved for
putting forth his strongest powers of burlesque and broad humour.
_Isabella_ and _Castaldo_ are together; the latter feels a little afraid
to murder _Martinuzzi_, but is impelled to the deed by a thousand
imaginary torches, which he fears will hurry his "_moth_-like soul" into
their "blinding sun-beams," till it (the soul) is scorched "_into_

_Castaldo_ appears, in truth, a very bad barber of murders; for, as he is
rushing out to

  "Strike the tyrant down--in crimson streams
  Rend every nerve,"

_Isabella_ has the shrewdness to discover that he is without a weapon.
Important omission! The incipient assassin exclaims--

  "Oh! that I had my sword!"

but at that moment (clever, dramatic contrivance!)

  [_Enter_ CZERINA, _with a drawn sword_.]
  "CZERINA. There's one! Thine own!"

Far from being grateful for this opportune supply of ways and means for
murder. _Castaldo_ calls the bilbo a "fated aspic," upon the edge of which
his "eye-balls crack to look," and makes a raving exit from the stage, to
a roaring laugh from the audience.

It is quite clear to _Isabella_, from his extreme carelessness about his
tools, that _Castaldo_ is not safely to be trusted with a job which
requires so much tact and business-like exactitude as the capital offence.
She therefore "_shows a phial_," which she intends, "occasion suiting,"
for "_Martinuzzi's_ bane;" thereby hinting that, if _Castaldo_ fail with
his steel medicine, she is ready with a surer potion.

The next scene, being the last, was ushered in with acclamations. The
stage, as is always in that case made and provided, was full. There is a
young gentleman on a throne, and _Czerina_ beside it, having been somehow
ungallantly deposed. _Martinuzzi_ expresses a wish to drink somebody's
health, and this being the "fitting opportunity" mentioned by the author
in the scene preceeding, _Isabella_ empties the phial of her wrath into
the beverage, and the _Cardinal_ quenches his thirst with a most
intemperate draught. It is now duly announced, that _Castaldo_ is, "with
naked sword, approaching." That gentleman appears, and makes a speech long
enough for any man who has had such plain warning of what is to
happen--even a cardinal encumbered with a spangled dressing-gown--to get a
mile out of his way. The speech quite ended, he goes to work, and with
"this from King Ferdinand," thrusts at _Martinuzzi_. _Czerina_, however,
throws herself, with great skill, on the point of the sword, and dies.
Another long harangue from _Castaldo_--which, as he is evidently
broken-winded from exertion, is pronounced in tiny snatches--and he dies
with a "ha!" for want--like many greater men--of breath.

Meanwhile, the poison makes _Martinuzzi_ exceedingly uncomfortable in the
stomachic regions. He is quite sure

  "That hath been done to me which sends me _star_-ward!"

but in his progress thither he evidently loses his way; for he ends the
play by inquiring--


The sublimity of which query is manifestly insisted on by the author, by
his having it printed in capitals.

When the curtain fell, there arose an uproarious shout for the author; but
instead of "the mantle of the Elizabethan poets," which, it has been said,
he commonly wears, the most attractive garment that met the view was an
expansive white waistcoat. This latter exhibition concluded the
entertainments, strictly so called; for though a farce followed, it turned
out a terrible bore.

       *       *       *       *       *


If the advance of musical science is to be effected by indecent _tableaux
vivans_--by rattling peas against sieves, and putting out the lights
(appropriately enough) when Beethoven is being murdered--by the most
contemptible class of compositions that ever was put upon score-paper, and
noised forth from an ill-disciplined band--if these be the means towards
improving musical taste, Monsieur Jullien is undoubtedly the harmonic
regenerator of this country. He is a great man--great in his own
estimation--great to the ends of his moustachios and the tips of his
gloves--a great composer, and a great charlatan--_ex. gr._:--

The overture to the promenade concerts usually consists of a pantomime
entirely new to an English audience. Monsieur Jullien having made his
appearance in the orchestra, seats himself in a conspicuous situation, to
indulge the ladies with the most favourable view of his elegant person,
and the splendid gold-chainery which is spread all over his magnificent
waistcoat. A servant in livery then appears, and presents him with a pair
of white kid gloves. The illustrious conductor, having taken some time to
thrust them upon a very large and red hand, leisurely takes up his baton,
rises, grins upon the expectant musicians, lifts his arm, and--the first
chord is struck!

Quadrilles are the staple of the evening--those composed by Monsieur
Jullien always, of course, claiming precedence and preference. These are
usually interspersed with solos on the flageolet, to contrast with
_obligati_ for the ophecleido; the drummers--side, long, and double--are
seldom inactive; the trombones and trumpets have no sinecure, and there is
always a great mortality amongst the fiddle-strings. Eight bars of
impossible variation is sure to be succeeded by sixteen of the deafening
fanfare of trumpets, combined with smashing cymbalism, and dreadful

The public have a taste for headaches, and Jullien has imported a capital
recipe for creating them; they applaud--he bows; and musical taste
goes--in compliment to the ex-waiter's genuine profession of man-cook--to

But the _ci-devant cuisinier_ is not content with comparatively harmless,
plain-sailing humbug; he must add some _sauce piquante_ to his musical
hashes. He cannot rest with merely stunning English ears, but must shock
our morals, At the _bals masqués_, the French dancers, and the hardly
mentionable _cancan_, were hooted back to their native stews under the
Palais Royal; but he provides substitutes for them in the _tableaux
vivans_ now exhibiting. This, because a more insidious, is a safer
introduction. The living figures are dressed to imitate plaster-of-Paris,
and are so arranged as to form groups, called in the bills "classical;"
but for which it would be difficult to find originals. In short, the whole
thing is a feeler thrown out to see how far French impudence and French
epicureanism in vice may carry themselves. It shall not be our fault if
they do not experience an ignominious downfall, and beat a speedy retreat,
to the tune of the "Rogue's March," arranged as a quadrille!

       *       *       *       *       *



    "Some men are born to greatness, some men achieve greatness, and
    some have greatness thrust upon them."--SHAKSPEARE.

Reader, should you doubt the above assertion, in the true showman
phraseology, just "Walk up! walk up!" to Madame Tussaud's, the real Temple
of Fame, and let such doubts vanish for ever; convince yourselves that the
mighty attribute not more survives from good than evil deeds, though, like
poverty, it makes its votaries acquainted with the strangest of strange
bedfellows! The regal ermine and the murderer's fustian alike obtain their
enviable niche.

The likeness of departed majesty, robed in the matchless splendour of a
ruler's state, redolent with all the mimic glories of a king's insignia,
the modelled puppet from the senseless clay, that wore in life the
imperial purple, and moved a breathing thing, chief actor in its childish
mummeries, may here be seen shining in tinselled pomp, in glittering
contrast to the blood-stained shirt through which the dagger of Ravaillac
reached the bosom of the murdered Henry.

The "Real Robes" of the dead George give value to his waxen image! The
heart's-blood of the slaughtered Henry immortalises the linen bearing its
hideous stain. The daring leader of France's countless hosts--the
wholesale slaughterer of unnumbered thousands--ambition's mightiest
son--now ruling kingdoms and now ruled by one--once more than king--in
death the captive of his hated foes--"the great Napoleon!" shares the
small space with the enshrined Fieschi!

The glorious triumphs of the mighty Wellington are here no better
passports than the foul murders of the atrocious Burke; the subtle
Talleyrand, the deep deviser of political schemes, ruler of rulers, and
master mover of the earth's great puppets, is not one jot superior to the
Italian mountebank, whose well-skilled hand drew tones from catgut
rivalling even the ideal trumpet of great Fame herself!

By some strange anomaly, _success_ and _failure_ alike render the
candidates admissible--no matter the littleness of the source from whence
they sprung. Lord Melbourne's "premiership" gave shape to the all but
Promethean wax. The failure of John Frost, his humble follower, secured
his right to Fame's posthumous honours. All partiality is _here_
forgotten. The titled premier, in the haunts of men, may boast his
monarch's palace as his home. The suffering felon, though _iron_ binds his
limbs, and eats into his heart--though slow approaching, but sure-coming
death, makes the broad world for him a living grave, _here_ he stands, as
one among the great ones of the _show_! The amiability of Albert, that
"excellent Prince," and therefore "_most_ excellent young man," is
ingeniously contrasted with the vices of a Greenacre, and the villany of a
_Hare_. The stern endurance and unflinching perseverance of the zealous
and single-hearted Calvin is deprived of its exclusiveness by the more
exciting and equally famous Sir William Courtenay (_alias_ Thom).

The thrilling recollection of the "poet peer," and "peerless poet," the
highly-imaginative and unrivalled Byron, whose flood of song, poured out
in one continuous stream of varied passion-breathing fancy, is calmed by
gazing on "dull life's antipodes," the bandaged remnant of a dried-up

Poor Mary Stuart! the beautiful, the murdered Queen of Scots, is only
parted from the "Maiden Queen," who sealed her doom, by the interposition
of the blood-stained ruthless wretch (England's Eighth Harry), to whom
"Bess" owed her birth!

Pitt, Fox, and Canning are matched with Courvoisier, Gould, and Collins.

Liston is _vis à vis_ to Joe Hume, while Louis Philippe but shares
attention with the rivalling models of the Bastille and Guillotine!

Verily, there is a moral in all this, "an we could but find it out."

       *       *       *       *       *


VOL. 1.


       *       *       *       *       *



[Illustration: A]"After the ceremony, the happy pair set off for

There is something peculiarly pleasing in the above paragraph. The
imagination instantly conjures up an elegant yellow-bodied chariot, lined
with pearl drab, and a sandwich basket. In one corner sits a fair and
blushing creature partially arrayed in the garments of a bride, their
spotless character diversified with some few articles of a darker hue,
resembling, in fact, the liquid matrimony of port and sherry; her delicate
hands have been denuded of their gloves, exhibiting to the world the
glittering emblem of her endless hopes. In the other, a smiling piece of
four-and-twenty humanity is reclining, gazing upon the beautiful treasure,
which has that morning cost him about six pounds five shillings, in the
shape of licence and fees. He too has deprived himself of the sunniest
portions of his wardrobe, and has softened the glare of his white ducks,
and the gloss of his blue coat, by the application of a drab waistcoat.
But why indulge in speculative dreams when we have realities to detail!

Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite and his beauteous Juliana Theresa (late
Waddledot), for three days, experienced that--

  "Love is heaven, and heaven is love."

His imaginary dinner-party became a reality, and the delicate attentions
which he paid to his invisible guest rendered his Juliana Theresa's
life--as she exquisitely expressed it--

  "A something without a name, but to which nothing was wanting."

But even honey will cloy; and that sweetest of all moons, the Apian one,
would sometimes be better for a change. Juliana passed the greater portion
of the day on the sofa, in the companionship of that aromatic author, Sir
Edward; or sauntered (listlessly hanging on Collumpsion's arm) up and down
the Steine, or the no less diversified Chain-pier. Agamemnon felt that at
home at least he ought to be happy, and, therefore, he hung his legs over
the balcony and whistled or warbled (he had a remarkably fine D) Moore's
ballad of--

  "Believe me, if all those endearing young charms;"

or took the silver out of the left-hand pocket of his trousers, and placed
it in the right-hand receptacle of the same garment. Nevertheless, he was
continually detecting himself yawning or dozing, as though "the idol of
his existence" was a chimera, and not Mrs. Applebite.

The time at length arrived for their return to town, and, to judge from
the pleasure depicted in the countenances of the happy pair, the
contemplated intrusion of the world on their family circle was anything
but disagreeable. Old John, under the able generalship of Mrs. Waddledot,
had made every requisite preparation for their reception. Enamelled cards,
superscribed with the names of Mr. and Mrs. Applebite, and united together
with a silver cord tied in a true lover's knot, had been duly enclosed in
an envelope of lace-work, secured with a silver dove, flying away with a
square piece of silver toast. In company with a very unsatisfactory bit of
exceedingly rich cake, this glossy missive was despatched to the whole of
the Applebite and Waddledot connexion, only excepting the eighteen
daughters who Mrs. Waddledot had reason to believe would not return her

The meeting of the young wife and the wife's mother was touching in the
extreme. They rushed into each other's arms, and indulged in plentiful
showers of "nature's dew."

"Welcome! welcome _home_, my dear Juliana!" exclaimed the doting mother.
"It's the first time, Mr. A., that she ever left me since she was 16, for
so long a period. I have had all the beds aired, and all the chairs
uncovered. She'll be a treasure to you, Mr. A., for a more tractable
creature was never vaccinated;" and here the mother overcame the orator,
and she wept again.

"My dear mother," said Agamemnon, "I have already had many reasons to be
grateful for my happy fortune. Don't you think she is browner than when we
left town?"

"Much, much!" sobbed the mother; "but the change is for the better."

"I'm glad you think so, for Aggy is of the same opinion," lisped the
beautiful ex-Waddledot. "Tell ma' the pretty metaphor you indulged in
yesterday, Aggy."

"Why, I merely remarked," replied Collumpsion, blushing, "that I was
pleased to see the horticultural beauties of her cheek superseded by such
an exquisite marine painting. It's nothing of itself, but Juley's foolish
fondness called it witty."

The arrival of the single sister of Mrs. Applebite, occasioned another
rush of bodies and several gushes of tears; then titterings succeeded, and
then a simultaneous burst of laughter, and a rapid exit. Agamemnon looked
round that room which he had furnished in his bachelorhood. A thousand old
associations sprung up in his mind, and a vague feeling of anticipated
evil for a moment oppressed him. The _bijouterie_ seemed to reproach him
with unkindness for having placed a mistress over them, and the easy chair
heaved as though with suppressed emotion, at the thought that its
luxurious proportions had lost their charms. Collumpsion held a mental
toss-up whether he repented of the change in his condition; and, as
faithful historians, we are compelled to state that it was only the
entrance, at that particular moment, of Juliana, that induced him to

On the following day the knocker of No. 24 disturbed all the other
numerals in Pleasant-terrace; and Mr. and Mrs. A. bowed and curtsied until
they were tired, in acknowledgment of their friends' "wishes of joy," and,
as one unlucky old gentleman expressed himself, "many happy returns of the

It was a matter of surprise to many of the said friends, that so great an
alteration as was perceptible in the happy pair, should have occurred in
such a very short space of time.

"I used to think Mr. Applebite a very nice young man," said _Miss_--mind,
Miss Scragbury--"but, dear me, how he's altered."

"And Mrs. Applebite used to be a pretty girl," rejoined her brother
Julius; "but now (Juliana had refused him three times)--but now she's as
ill-looking as her mother."

"I'd no idea this house was so small," said Mrs. Scragmore. "I'm afraid
the Waddledots haven't made so great a catch, after all. I hope poor Juley
will be happy, for I nursed her when a baby, but I never saw such an ugly
pattern for a stair-carpet in my born days;" and with these favourable
impressions of their dear friends the Applebites, the Scragmores descended
the steps of No. 24, Pleasant-terrace, and then ascended those of No. 5436

About ten months after their union, Collumpsion was observed to have a
more jaunty step and smiling countenance, which--as his matrimonial
felicity had been so frequently pronounced perfect--puzzled his friends
amazingly. Indeed, some were led to conjecture, that his love for Juliana
Theresa was not of the positive character that he asserted it to be; for
when any inquiries were made after her health, his answer had invariably
been, of late, "Why, Mrs. A.--is--not very well;" and a smile would play
about his mouth, as though he had a delightful vision of a widower-hood.
The mystery was at length solved, by the exhibition of sundry articles of
a Lilliputian wardrobe, followed by an announcement in the _Morning Post_,
under the head of

    "BIRTHS.--Yesterday morning, the lady of Agamemnon Collumpsion
    Applebite, Esq., of a son and heir."

Pleasant-terrace was _strawed_ from one end to the other; the knocker of
24 was encased in white kid, a doctor's boy was observed to call three
times a-day, and a pot-boy twice as often.

Collumpsion was in a seventh heaven of wedded bliss. He shook hands with
everybody--thanked everybody--invited everybody when Mrs. A. should be
better, and noted down in his pocket-book what everybody prescribed as
infallible remedies for the measles, hooping-cough, small-pox, and rashes
(both nettle and tooth)--listened for hours to the praises of vaccination
and Indian-rubber rings--pronounced Goding's porter a real blessing to
mothers, and inquired the price of boys' suits and rocking-horses!

In this state of paternal felicity we must leave him till our next.

       *       *       *       *       *


It is rumoured that Macready is desirous of disposing of his "manners"
previous to becoming manager, when he will have no further occasion for
them. They are in excellent condition, having been very little used, and
would be a desirable purchase for any one expecting to move within the
sphere of his management.

       *       *       *       *       *


  A point impossible for mind to reach--
  To find _the meaning_ of a royal speech.

       *       *       *       *       *


The late Queen of the Sandwich Islands, and the first convert to
Christianity in that country, was called _Keopalani_, which means--"_the
dropping of the clouds from Heaven_."


  This name's the best that could be given,
    As will by proof be quickly seen;
  For, "dropping from the clouds of Heaven,"
    She was, of course, the _raining_ Queen.

       *       *       *       *       *


Our gallant friend Sibthorp backed himself on the 1st of September to bag
a hundred leverets in the course of the day. He lost, of course; and upon
being questioned as to his reason for making so preposterous a bet, he
confessed that he had been induced to do so by the specious promise of an
advertisement, in which somebody professed to have discovered "_a powder
for the removal of superfluous hairs_."

       *       *       *       *       *



  Chaos returns! no soul's in town!
    And darkness reigns where lamps once brightened;
  Shutters are closed, and blinds drawn down--
    Untrodden door-steps go unwhitened!
  The echoes of some straggler's boots
    Alone are on the pavement ringing
  While 'prentice boys, who smoke cheroots,
    Stand critics to some broom-girl's singing.

  I went to call on Madame Sims,
    In a dark street, not far from Drury;
  An Irish crone half-oped the door.
    Whose head might represent a fury.
  "At home, sir?" "No! (_whisper_)--but I'll presume
    To tell the truth, or know the _raison_.
  She dines--tays--lives--in the back room,
    Bekase 'tis not the London _saison_."

  From thence I went to Lady Bloom's,
    Where, after sundry rings and knocking,
  A yawning, liveried lad appear'd,
    His squalid face his gay clothes mocking
  I asked him, in a faltering tone--
    The house was closed--I guess'd the reason--
  "Is Lady B.'s grand-aunt, then, gone?"--
    "To Ramsgate, sir!--until next season!"

  I sauntered on to Harry Gray's,
    The _ennui_ of my heart to lighten;
  His landlady, with, smirk and smile,
    Said, "he had just run down to Brighton."
  When home I turned my steps, at last,
    A tailor--whom to kick were treason--
  Pressed for his bill;--I hurried past,
    Politely saying--CALL NEXT SEASON!

       *       *       *       *       *


We concluded our last article with a brief dissertation on the cut of the
trousers; we will now proceed to the consideration of coats.

  "The hour must come when such things must be made."

For this quotation we are indebted to

[Illustration: THE POET'S PAGE.]

There are three kinds of coats--the body, the surtout, and the great.

The body-coat is again divided into classes, according to their
application, viz.--the drawing-room, the ride, and the field.

The cut of the dress-coat is of paramount importance, that being the
garment which decorates the gentleman at a time when he is naturally
ambitious of going the entire D'Orsay. There is great nicety required in
cutting this article of dress, so that it may at one and the same moment
display the figure and waistcoat of the wearer to the utmost advantage.
None but a John o'Groat's goth would allow it to be imagined that the
buttons and button-holes of this _robe_ were ever intended to be anything
but opposite neighbours, for a contrary conviction would imply the absence
of a cloak in the hall or a cab at the door. We do not intend to give a
Schneiderian dissertation upon garments; we merely wish to trace outlines;
but to those who are anxious for a more intimate acquaintance with the
intricacies and mysteries of the delightful and civilising art of cutting,
we can only say, _Vide_ Stultz.[1]

    [1] Should any gentleman avail himself of this hint, we should feel
        obliged if he would mention the source from whence it was
        derived, having a small account standing in that quarter, for
        tailors have gratitude.

The riding-coat is the connecting link between the DRESS and the rest of
the great family of coats, as _one_ button, and one only of this garment,
may be allowed to be applied to his apparent use.

It is so cut, that the waistcoat pockets may be easy of access. Any
gentleman who has attended races or other sporting meetings must have
found the convenience of this arrangement; for where the course is well
managed, as at Epsom, Ascot, Hampton, &c., by the judicious regulations of
the stewards, the fingers are generally employed in the distribution of
those miniature argentine medallions of her Majesty so particularly
admired by ostlers, correct card-vendors, E.O. table-keepers, Mr. Jerry,
and the toll-takers on the road and the course. The original idea of these
coats was accidentally given by John Day, who was describing, on Nugee's
cutting-board, the exact curvature of Tattenham Corner.

The shooting-jacket should be designed after a dovecot or a chest of
drawers; and the great art in rendering this garment perfect, is to make
the coat entirely of pockets, that part which covers the shoulders being
only excepted, from the difficulty of carrying even a cigar-case in that
peculiar situation.

The surtout (not regulation) admits of very little design. It can only be
varied by the length of the skirts, which may be either as long as a
fireman's, or as short as Duvernay's petticoats. This coat is, in fact, a
cross between the dress and the driving, and may, perhaps, be described as
a Benjamin junior.

Of the Benjamin senior, there are several kinds--the Taglioni, the Pea,
the Monkey, the Box, _et sui generis_.

The three first are all of the coal-sackian cut, being, in fact, elegant
elongated pillow-cases, with two diminutive bolsters, which are to be
filled with arms instead of feathers. They are singularly adapted for
concealing the fall in the back, and displaying to the greatest advantage
those unassuming castors designated "Jerrys," which have so successfully
rivalled those silky impostors known to the world as

[Illustration: THIS (S)TILE--FOUR-AND-NINE.]

The box-coat has, of late years, been denuded of its layers of capes, and
is now cut for the sole purpose, apparently, of supporting perpendicular
rows of wooden platters or mother-of-pearl counters, each of which would
be nearly large enough for the top of a lady's work-table.
Mackintosh-coats have, in some measure, superseded the box-coat; but, like
carters' smock-frocks, they are all the creations of speculative minds,
having the great advantage of keeping out the water, whilst they assist
you in becoming saturated with perspiration. We strongly suspect their
acquaintance with India-rubber; they seem to us to be a preparation of
English rheumatism, having rather more of the catarrh than caoutchouc in
their composition. Everybody knows the affinity of India-rubber to
black-lead; but when made into a Mackintosh, you may substitute the _lum_
for the _plum_bago.

We never see a fellow in a seal-skin cap, and one of these waterproof
pudding-bags, but we fancy he would make an excellent model for


The ornaments and pathology will next command our attention.

       *       *       *       *       *

A friend insulted us the other day with the following:--"Billy Black
supposes Sam Rogers wears a tightly-laced boddice. Why is it like one of
Milton's heroes?" Seeing we gave it up, he replied--"Because
Sam's-on-agony-stays."--(Samson _Agonistes_.)

       *       *       *       *       *



This morning, at an early hour, we were thrown into the greatest
consternation by a column of boys, who poured in upon us from the northern
entrance, and, taking up their-station near the pump, we expected the

_8 o'clock._--The worst has not yet happened. An inhabitant has entered
the square-garden, and planted himself at the back of the statue; but
everything is in STATUE QUO.

_5 minutes past 8._--The boys are still there. The square-keeper is
nowhere to be found.

_10 minutes past 8._--The insurgents have, some of them, mounted on the
fire-escape. The square-keeper has been seen. He is sneaking round the
corner, and resolutely refuses to come nearer.

_1/4 past 8._--A deputation has waited on the square-keeper. It is
expected that he will resign.

_20 minutes past 8._--The square-keeper refuses to resign.

_22 minutes past 8._--The square-keeper has resigned.

_25 minutes past 8._--The boys have gone home.

_1/2 past 8._--The square-keeper has been restored, and is showing great
courage and activity. It is not thought necessary to place him under arms;
but he is under the engine, which can he brought into play at a moment's
notice. His activity is surprising, and his resolution quite undaunted.

_9 o'clock._--All is perfectly quiet, and the letters are being delivered
by the general post-man as usual. The inhabitants appear to be going to
their business, as if nothing had happened. The square-keeper, with the
whole of his staff (a constable's staff), may be seen walking quietly up
and down. The revolution is at an end; and, thanks to the fire-engine, our
old constitution is still preserved to us.

       *       *       *       *       *



My dear Friend.--You are aware how long I have been longing to go up in a
balloon, and that I should certainly have some time ago ascended with Mr.
Green, had not his terms been not simply a _cut_ above me, but several
gashes beyond my power to comply with them. In a word, I did not go up
with the Nassau, because I could not come down with the dust, and though I
always had "Green in my eye," I was not quite so soft as to pay twenty
pounds in hard cash for the fun of going, on

[Illustration: A DARK (K)NIGHT,]

nobody knows where, and coming down Heaven knows how, in a field belonging
to the Lord knows who, and being detained for goodness knows what, for

Not being inclined, therefore, for a nice and expensive voyage with Mr.
Green, I made a cheap and nasty arrangement with Mr. Hampton, the
gentleman who courageously offers to descend in a parachute--a thing very
like a parasol--and who, as he never mounts much above the height of
ordinary palings, might keep his word without the smallest risk of any
personal inconvenience.

It was arranged and publicly announced that the balloon, carrying its
owner and myself, should start from the Tea-gardens of the _Mitre and
Mustard Pot_, at six o'clock in the evening; and the public were to be
admitted at one, to see the process of inflation, it being shrewdly
calculated by the proprietor, that, as the balloon got full, the stomachs
of the lookers on would be getting empty, and that the refreshments would
go off while the tedious work of filling a silken bag with gas was going
on, so that the appetites and the curiosity of the public would be at the
same time satisfied.

The process of inflation seemed to have but little effect on the balloon,
and it was not until about five o'clock that the important discovery was
made, that the gas introduced at the bottom had been escaping through a
hole in the top, and that the Equitable Company was laying it on
excessively thick through the windpipes of the assembled company.

Six o'clock arrived, and, according to contract, the supply of gas was cut
off, when the balloon, that had hitherto worn such an appearance as just
to give a hope that it might in time be full, began to present an aspect
which induced a general fear that it must very shortly be empty. The
audience began to be impatient for the promised ascent, and while the
aeronaut was running about in all directions looking for the hole, and
wondering how he should stop it up, I was requested by the proprietor of
the gardens to step into the car, just to check the growing impatience of
the audience. I was received with that unanimous shout of cheering and
laughter with which a British audience always welcomes any one who appears
to have got into an awkward predicament, and I sat for a few minutes,
quietly expecting to be buried in the silk of the balloon, which was
beginning to collapse with the greatest rapidity. The spectators becoming
impatient for the promised ascent, and seeing that it could not be
achieved, determined, as enlightened British audiences invariably do, that
if it was not to be done, it should at all events be attempted. In vain
did Mr. Hampton come forward to apologise for the trifling accident; he
was met by yells, hoots, hisses, and orange-peel, and the benches were
just about to be torn up, when he declared, that under any circumstances,
he was determined to go up--an arrangement in which I was refusing to
coincide--when, just as he had got into the car, all means of getting out
were withdrawn from under us--the ropes were cut, and the ascent commenced
in earnest.

The majestic machine rose slowly to the height of about eight feet, amid
the most enthusiastic cheers, when it rolled over among some trees, amid
the most frantic laughter. Mr. Hampton, with singular presence of mind,
threw out every ounce of ballast, which caused the balloon to ascend a few
feet higher, when a tremendous gust of easterly wind took us triumphantly
out of the gardens, the palings of which we cleared with considerable
nicety. The scene at this moment was magnificent; the silken monster, in a
state of flabbiness, rolling and fluttering above, while below us were
thousands of spectators, absolutely shrieking with merriment. Another gust
of wind carried us rapidly forward, and, bringing us exactly in a level
with a coach-stand, we literally swept, with the bottom of our car, every
driver from off his box, and, of course, the enthusiasm of a British
audience almost reached its climax. We now encountered the gable-end of a
station-house, and the balloon being by this time thoroughly collapsed,
our aerial trip was brought to an abrupt conclusion. I know nothing more
of what occurred, having been carried on a shutter, in a state of


to my own lodging, while my companion was left to fight it out with the
mob, who were so anxious to possess themselves of some _memento_ of the
occasion, that the balloon was torn to ribbons, and a fragment of it
carried away by almost every one of the vast multitude which had assembled
to honour him with their patronage.

I have the honour to be, yours, &c.

       *       *       *       *       *


A country gentleman informs us that he was horror-stricken at the sight of
an apparently organised band, wearing fustian coats, decorated with
curious brass badges, bearing exceedingly high numbers, who perched
themselves behind the Paddington omnibuses, and, in the most barefaced and
treasonable manner, urged the surrounding populace to open acts of daring
violence, and wholesale arson, by shouting out, at the top of their
voices, "O burn, the City, and the Bank."

       *       *       *       *       *


  "We have lordlings in dozens," the Tories exclaim,
    "To fill every place from the throng;
  Although the cursed Whigs, be it told to our shame,
    Kept us _poor lords in waiting_ too long."

       *       *       *       *       *


The Honourable Sambo Sutton begs us to state, that he is not the
Honourable ---- Sutton who is announced as the Secretary for the Home
Department. He might have been induced to have stepped into Lord
Cottenham's shoes, on his

[Illustration: RESIGNING THE SEALS.]

       *       *       *       *       *


Feargus O'Connor _passed his word_ last week at the London Tavern.

       *       *       *       *       *


At the late collision between the _Beacon_ brig and the _Topaz_ steamer,
one of the passengers, anticipating the sinking of both vessels, and being
strongly embued with the great principle of self-preservation, immediately
secured himself the assistance of _the anchor_! Did he conceive "Hope" to
have been unsexed, or that that attribute originally existed as a
"floating boy?"

       *       *       *       *       *


    "The Loves of Giles Scroggins and Molly Brown:" an Epic Poem.
    London: CATNACH.

The great essentials necessary for the true conformation of the sublimest
effort of poetic genius, the construction of an "Epic Poem," are
numerically three; viz., a beginning, a middle, and an end. The incipient
characters necessary to the beginning, ripening in the middle, and, like
the drinkers of small beer and October leaves, falling in the end.

The poem being thus divided into its several stages, the judgment of the
writer should emulate that of the experienced Jehu, who so proportions
his work, that all and several of his required teams do their own share
and no more--fifteen miles (or lengths) to a first canto, and five to a
second, is as far from right as such a distribution of mile-stones would
be to the overworked prads. The great fault of modern poetasters arises
from their extreme love of spinning out an infinite deal of nothing. Now,
as "brevity is the soul of wit," their productions can be looked upon as
little else than phantasmagorial skeletons, ridiculous from their extreme
extenuation, and in appearance more peculiarly empty, from the
circumstance of their owing their existence to false lights. This fault
does not exist with all the master spirits, and, though "many a flower is
born to blush unseen," we now proceed to rescue from obscurity the
brightest gem of unfamed literature.

Wisdom is said to be found in the mouths of babes and sucklings. So is the
epic poem of Giles Scroggins. Is wisdom Scroggins, or is Scroggins wisdom?
We can prove either position, but we are cramped for space, and therefore
leave the question open. Now for our author and his first line--

  "Giles Scroggins courted Molly Brown."

Beautiful condensation! Is or is not _this_ rushing at once in _medias
res_? It is; there's no paltry subterfuge about it--no unnecessary wearing
out of "the waning moon they met by"--"the stars that gazed upon their
joy"--"the whispering gales that breathed in zephyr's softest
sighs"--their "lover's perjuries to the distracted trees they wouldn't
allow to go to sleep." In short, "there's no nonsense"--there's a broad
assertion of a thrilling fact--

  "Giles Scroggins courted Molly Brown."

So might a thousand folks; therefore (the reader may say) how does this
establish the individuality of Giles Scroggins, or give an insight to the
character of the chosen hero of the poem? Mark the next line, and your
doubts must vanish. He courted her; but why? Ay, why? for the best of all
possible reasons--condensed in the smallest of all possible space, and yet
establishing his perfect taste, unequalled judgment, and peculiarly-heroic
self-esteem--he courted her because she was

  "The fairest maid in all the town."

Magnificent climax! overwhelming reason! Could volumes written, printed,
or stereotyped, say more? Certainly not; the condensation of "Aurora's
blushes," "the Graces' attributes," "Venus's perfections," and "Love's
sweet votaries," all, all is more than spoken in the emphatic words--

  "The fairest maid in all the town."

Nothing can go beyond this; it proves her beauty and her disinterestedness.
The _fairest_ maid might have chosen, nay, commanded, even a city
dignitary. Does the so? No; Giles Scroggins, famous only in name, loves
her, and--beautiful poetic contrivance!--we are left to imagine he does
"not love unloved." Why should she reciprocate? inquires the reader. Are
not truth and generosity the princely paragons of manly virtue, greater,
because unostentatious? and these perfect attributes are part and parcel
of great Giles. He makes no speeches--soils no satin paper--vows no
vows--no, he is above such humbug. His motto is evidently deeds, not
words. And what does he do? Send a flimsy epistle, which his fair reader
pays the vile postage for? Not he; he

  "_Gave_ a ring with _posy_ true!"

Think of this. Not only does he "give a ring," but he annihilates the
suppositionary fiction in which poets are supposed to revel, and the
ring's accompaniment, though the child of a creative brain--the burning
emanation from some Apollo-stricken votary of "the lying nine," imbued
with all his stern morality, is strictly "true." This startling fact is
not left wrapped in mystery. The veriest sceptic cannot, in imagination,
grave a fancied double meaning on that richest gift. No--the motto
follows, and seems to say--Now, as the champion of Giles Scroggins, hurl I
this gauntlet down; let him that dare, uplift it! Here I am--

  "If you _loves_ I, as I _loves_ you!"

Pray mark the syncretic force of the above line. Giles, in expressing his
affection, felt the singular too small, and the vast plural quick supplied
the void--_Loves_ must be more than love.

  "If you loves I, as I loves you,
  No knife shall cut our loves in two!"

This is really sublime! "No knife!" Can anything exceed the assertion?
Nothing but the rejoinder--a rejoinder in which the talented author not
only stands proudly forward as a poet, but patriotically proves the _amor
propriæ_, which has induced him to study the staple manufactures of his
beloved country! What but a diligent investigation of the _cut_lerian
process could have prompted the illustration of practical knowledge of the
Birmingham and Sheffield artificers contained in the following exquisitely
explanatory line. But--pray mark the _but_--

  "But _scissors_ cut as well as knives!"

Sublime announcement! startling information! leading us, by degrees, to
the highest of all earthly contemplations, exalting us to fate and her
peculiar shears, and preparing us for the exquisitely poetical sequel
contained in the following line:--

  "And so un_sart_ain's all our lives."

Can anything exceed this? The uncertainty of life evidently superinduced
the conviction of all other uncertainties, and the sublime poet bears out
the intenseness of his impressions by the uncertainty of his spelling!
Now, reader, mark the next line, and its context:--

  "The very night they were to wed!"

Fancy this: the full blossoming of all their budding joys, anticipations,
death, and hope's accomplishment, the crowning hour of their youth's great
bliss, "_the very night they were to wed_," is, with _extra syncretic_
skill, chosen as the awful one in which

  "Fate's scissors cut Giles Scroggins' thread!"

Now, reader, do you see the subtle use of practical knowledge? Are you
convinced of the impotent prescription from _knives_ only? Can you not
perceive in "_Fate's scissors_" a parallel for the unthought-of host "that
bore the mighty wood of Dunsinane against the blood-stained murderer of
the pious Duncan?" Does not the fatal truth rush, like an unseen draught
into rheumatic crannies, slick through your soul's perception? Are you not
prepared for this--_to be resumed in our next_?

       *       *       *       *       *



Lord Lyndhurst is to have the seals; but it is not yet decided who is to
be entrusted with the wafer-stamps. Gold-stick has not been appointed, and
there are so many of the Conservatives whose qualities peculiarly fit them
for the office of _stick_, that the choice will be exceedingly

Though the Duke of Wellington does not take office, an extra chair has
been ordered, to allow of his having a seat in the Cabinet. And though
Lord Melbourne is no longer minister, he is still to be indulged with a
lounge on the sofa.

If the Duke of Beaufort is to be Master of the Horse, it is probable that
a new office will be made, to allow Colonel Sibthorp to take office as
Comptroller of the Donkeys: and it is said that Horace Twiss is to join
the administration as Clerk of the Kitchen.

It was remarked, that after Sir Robert Peel had kissed hands, the Queen
called for soap and water, for the purpose of washing them.

The Duchess of Buccleugh having refused the office of Mistress of the
Robes, it will not be necessary to make the contemplated new appointment
of Keeper of the Flannel Petticoats.

The Grooms of the Bedchamber are, for the future, to be styled Postilions
of the Dressing-room; because, as the Sovereign is a lady, instead of a
gentleman, it is thought that the latter title, for the officers alluded
to, will be more in accordance with propriety. For the same excellent
reason, it is expected that the Knights of the Bath will henceforth be
designated the Chevaliers of the Foot-pan.

Prince Albert's household is to be entirely re-modelled, and one or two
new offices are to be added, the want of which has hitherto occasioned his
Royal Highness much inconvenience. Of these, we are only authorised in
alluding, at present, to Tooth-brush in Ordinary, and Shaving-pot in
Waiting. There is no foundation for the report that there is to be a Lord
High Clothes-brush, or Privy Boot-jack.

       *       *       *       *       *


The following letter has been addressed to us by a certain party, who, as
our readers will perceive, has been one of the sufferers by the late
_clearance_ made in a fashionable establishment at the West-end:--

DEAR PUNCH.--As you may not be awair of the mallancoly change wich as
okkurred to the pore sarvunts here, I hassen to let you no--that every
sole on us as lost our plaices, and are turnd owt--wich is a dredful
klamity, seeing as we was all very comfittible and appy as we was. I must
say, in gustis to our Missus, that she was very fond of us, and wouldn't
have parted with one of us if she had her will: but she's only a O in her
own howse, and is never aloud to do as she licks. We got warning reglar
enuff, but we still thort that somethink might turn up in our fever.
However, when the day cum that we was to go, it fell upon us like a
thunderboat. You can't imagine the kunfewshion we was all threw
into--every body packing up their little afares, and rummidging about for
any trifele that wasn't worth leaving behind. The sarvunts as is cum in
upon us is a nice sett; they have been a long wile trying after our
places, and at last they have suckseeded in underminding us; but it's my
oppinion they'll never be able to get through the work of the house;--all
they cares for is the vails and purkussites. I forgot to menshun that they
hadn't the decency to wait till we was off the peremasses, wich I bleave
is the _etticat_ in sich cases, but rushed in on last Friday, and tuck
possession of all our plaices before we had left the concirn. I leave you
to judge by this what a hurry they was to get in. There's one comfurt,
however, that is--we've left things in sich a mess in the howse, that I
don't think they'll ever be able to set them to rites again. This is all
at present from your afflickted friend,


       *       *       *       *       *

"I declare I never knew a _flatter_ companion than yourself," said Tom of
Finsbury, the other evening, to the lion of Lambeth. "Thank you, Tom,"
replied the latter; "but all the world knows that you're a _flatter-er_."
Tom, in nautical phrase, swore, if he ever came athwart his _Hawes_, that
he would return the compliment with interest.

       *       *       *       *       *


  --"Here, methinks,
  Truth wants no ornament."--ROGERS.

We have the happiness to know a gentleman of the name of Tom, who
officiates in the capacity of ostler. We have enjoyed a long acquaintance
with him--we mean an acquaintance a long way off--i.e. from the window of
our dormitory, which overlooks A--s--n's stables. We believe we are the
first of our family, for some years, who has not kept a horse; and we
derive a melancholy gratification in gazing for hours, from our lonely
height, at the zoological possessions of more favoured mortals.

"The horse is a noble animal," as a gentleman once wittily observed, when
he found himself, for the first time in his life, in a position to make
love; and we beg leave to repeat the remark--"the horse is a noble
animal," whether we consider him in his usefulness or in his beauty;
whether caparisoned in the _chamfrein_ and _demi-peake_ of the chivalry of
olden times, or scarcely fettered and surmounted by the snaffle and
hog-skin of the present; whether he excites our envy when bounding over
the sandy deserts of Arabia, or awakens our sympathies when drawing sand
from Hampstead and the parts adjacent; whether we see him as romance
pictures him, foaming in the lists, or bearing, "through flood and field,"
the brave, the beautiful, and the benighted; or, as we know him in
reality, the companion of our pleasures, the slave of our necessities, the
dislocator of our necks, or one of the performers at our funeral;
whether--but we are not drawing a "bill in Chancery."

With such impressions in favour of the horse, we have ever felt a deep
anxiety about those to whom his conduct and comfort are confided.

    The breeder--we envy.
    The breaker--we pity.
    The owner--we esteem.
    The groom--we respect.
    The ostler--we pay.

Do not suppose that we wish to cast a slur upon the latter personage, but
it is too much to require that he who keeps a caravansera should look upon
every wayfarer as a brother. It is thus with the ostler: _his_ feelings
are never allowed to twine

  "Around one object, till he feels his heart
  Of its sweet being form a deathless part."

No--to rub them down, give them a quartern and three pen'orth, and not too
much water, are all that he has to connect him with the offspring of
Childers, Eclipse, or Pot-8-o's; ergo, we pay him.

My friend Tom is a fine specimen of the genus. He is about fifteen hands
high, rising thirty, herring-bowelled, small head, large ears, close mane,
broad chest, and legs à la parentheses ( ). His dress is a long
brown-holland jacket, covering the protuberance known in Bavaria by the
name of _pudo_, and in England by that of _bustle_. His breeches are of
cord about an inch in width, and of such capacious dimensions, that a
truss of hay, or a quarter of oats, might be stowed away in them with
perfect convenience: not that we mean to insinuate they are ever thus
employed, for when we have seen them, they have been in a collapsed state,
hanging (like the skin of an elephant) in graceful festoons about the
mid-person of the wearer. These necessaries are confined at the knee by a
transverse row of pearl buttons crossing the _genu patella_. The _pars
pendula_ is about twelve inches wide, and supplies, during conversation or
rumination, a resting-place for the thumbs or little fingers. His legs are
encased either in white ribbed cotton stockings, or that peculiar kind of
gaiter 'yclept _kicksies_. His feet know only one pattern shoe, the
_ancle-jack_ (or _highlow_ as it is sometimes called), resplendent with
"Day and Martin," or the no less brilliant "Warren." Genius of propriety,
we have described his tail before that index of the mind, that idol of
phrenologists, his pimple!--we beg pardon, we mean his head. Round, and
rosy as a pippin, it stands alone in its native loveliness, on the heap of
clothes beneath.

Tom is not a low man; he has not a particle of costermongerism in his
composition, though his discourse savours of that peculiar slang that
might be considered rather objectionable in the _salons_ of the _élite_.

The bell which he has the honour to answer hangs at the gate of a west-end
livery-stables, and his consequence is proportionate. To none under the
degree of a groom does he condescend a nod of recognition--with a second
coachman he drinks porter--and purl (a compound of beer and blue ruin)
with the more respectable individual who occupies the hammer-cloth on
court-days. Tom estimates a man according to his horse, and his civility
is regulated according to his estimation. He pockets a gratuity with as
much ease as a state pensioner; but if some unhappy wight should, in the
plenitude of his ignorance, proffer a sixpence, Tom buttons his pockets
with a smile, and politely "begs to leave it till it becomes more."

With an old meerschaum and a pint of tolerable sherry, we seat ourselves
at our window, and hold many an imaginative conversation with our friend
Tom. Sometimes we are blest with more than ideality; but that is only when
he unbends and becomes jocular and noisy, or chooses a snug corner
opposite our window to enjoy his _otium_--confound that phrase!--we would
say his indolence and swagger--

  "A pound to a hay-seed agin' the bay."

Hallo! that's Tom! Yes--there he comes laughing out of "Box 4," with three
others--all _first_ coachmen. One is making some very significant motions
to the potboy at the "Ram and Radish," and, lo! Ganymede appears with a
foaming tankard of ale. Tom has taken his seat on an inverted pail, and
the others are grouped easily, if not classically, around him.

One is resting his head between the prongs of a stable-fork; another is
spread out like the Colossus of Rhodes; whilst a gentleman in a blue
uniform has thrown himself into an attitude à la Cribb, with the facetious
intention of "letting daylight into the _wittling_ department" of the
pot-boy of the "Ram and Radish."

Tom has blown the froth from the tankard, and (as he elegantly designates
it) "bit his name in the pot." A second has "looked at the maker's name;"
and another has taken one of those positive draughts which evince a
settled conviction that it is a last chance.

Our friend has thrust his hands into the deepest depths of his
breeches-pocket, and cocking one eye at the afore-named blue uniform,

"_Will_ you back the bay?"

The inquiry has been made in such a do-if-you-dare tone, that to hesitate
would evince a cowardice unworthy of the first coachman to the first peer
in Belgrave-square, and a leg of mutton and trimmings are duly entered in
a greasy pocket-book, as dependent upon the result of the Derby.

"The son of Tros, fair Ganymede," is again called into requisition, and
the party are getting, as Tom says, "As happy as Harry Stockracy."

"I've often heerd that chap mentioned," remarks the blue uniform, "but I
never seed no one as know'd him."

"No more did I," replies Tom, "though he must be a fellow such as us, up
to everything."

All the coachmen cough, strike an attitude, and look wise.

"Now here comes a sort of chap I despises," remarks Tom, pointing to a
steady-looking man, without encumbrance, who had just entered the yard,
evidently a coachman to a pious family; "see him handle a _hoss_.
Smear--smear--like bees-waxing a table. Nothing varminty about
him--nothing of this sort of thing (spreading himself out to the gaze of
his admiring auditory), but I suppose he's useful with slow cattle, and
that's a consolation to us as can't abear them." And with this negative
compliment Tom has broken up his _conversazione_.

I once knew a country ostler--by name Peter Staggs--he was a lower species
of the same genus--a sort of compound of my friend Tom and a waggoner--the
_delf_ of the profession. He was a character in his way; he knew the exact
moment of every coach's transit on his line of road, and the birth,
parentage, and education of every cab, hack, and draught-horse in the
neighbourhood. He had heard of a mane-comb, but had never seen one; he
considered a shilling for a "feed" perfectly apocryphal, as he had never
received one. He kept a rough terrier-dog, that would kill anything in the
country, and exhibited three rows of putrified rats, nailed at the back of
the stable, as evidences of the prowess of his dog. He swore long country
oaths, for which he will be unaccountable, as not even an angel could
transcribe them. In short, he was a little "varminty," but very little.

We will conclude this "lytle historie" with the epitaph of poor Peter
Staggs, which we copied from a rail in Swaffham churchyard.


  Poor Peter Staggs now rests beneath this rail,
  Who loved his joke, his pipe, and mug of ale;
  For twenty years he did the duties well,
  Of ostler, boots, and waiter at the 'Bell.'
  But Death stepp'd in, and order'd Peter Staggs
  To feed his worms, and leave the farmers' nags.
  The church clock struck one--alas! 'twas Peter's knell,
  Who sigh'd, 'I'm coming--that's the ostler's bell!'"

Peace to his manes!

       *       *       *       *       *


"If you won't turn, _I_ will," as the mill-wheel said to the stream.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Why did not Wellington take a post in the new Cabinet?" asked Dicky Sheil
of O'Connell.--"_Bathershin!_" replied the _head_ of the _tail_, "the Duke
is too old a soldier to lean on a rotten _stick_."

       *       *       *       *       *

Lord Morpeth intends proceeding to Canada immediately. The object of his
journey is purely scientific; he wishes to ascertain if the _Fall of
Niagara_ be really greater than the _fall of the Whigs_.

       *       *       *       *       *


"When is Peel not Peel?"--"When he's _candi(e)d_."

       *       *       *       *       *


We have heard of the very dead being endowed, by galvanic action, with the
temporary powers of life, and on such occasions the extreme force of the
apparatus has ever received the highest praise. The Syncretic march of
mind rectifies the above error--with them, weakness is strength. Fancy the
alliterative littleness of a "Stephens" and a "Selby," as the tools from
which the drama must receive its glorious resuscitation!

       *       *       *       *       *


_(Extracted from the "Stranger's Guide to London.")_

Bedlam, the celebrated receptacle for lunatics, is situated in St.
George's-fields, _within five minutes' walk of the King's Bench_. There is
also another noble establishment in the neighbourhood of Finsbury-square,
where the unhappy victims of extraordinary delusions are treated with the
care and consideration their several hallucinations require.

       *       *       *       *       *


At length, PEEL is called in "in a regular way." Being assured of his
quarterly fee, the state physician may now, in the magnanimity of his
soul, prescribe new life for moribund John Bull. Whether he has resolved
within himself to emulate the generous dealing of kindred professors--of
those sanative philosophers, whose benevolence, stamped in modest
handbills, "crieth out in the street," exclaiming "No cure no pay,"--we
know not; certain we are, that such is not the old Tory practice. On the
contrary, the healing, with Tory doctors, has ever been in an inverse
ratio to the reward. Like the faculty at large, the Tories have flourished
on the sickness of the patient. They have, with _Falstaff_, "turned
diseases to commodity;" their only concern being to keep out the
undertaker. Whilst there's life, there's profit,--is the philosophy of the
Tory College; hence, poor Mr. Bull, though shrunk, attenuated,--with a
blister on his head, and cataplasms at his soles,--has been kept just
alive enough to pay. And then his patience under Tory treatment--the
obedience of his swallow! "Admirable, excellent!" cried a certain doctor
(we will not swear that his name was not PEEL), when his patient pointed
to a dozen empty phials. "Taken them all, eh? Delightful! My dear sir, you
are _worthy_ to be ill." JOHN BULL having again called in the Tories, is
"worthy to be ill;" and very ill he will be.

The tenacity of life displayed by BULL is paralleled by a case quoted by
LE VAILLANT. That naturalist speaks of a turtle that continued to live
after its brain was taken from its skull, and the cavity stuffed _with
cotton_. Is not England, with spinning-jenny PEEL at the head of its
affairs, in this precise predicament? England may live; but inactive,
torpid; unfitted for all healthful exertion,--deprived of its grandest
functions--paralyzed in its noblest strength. We have a Tory Cabinet, but
where is the _brain_ of statesmanship?

Now, however, there are no Tories. Oh, no! Sir ROBERT PEEL is a
Conservative--LYNDHURST is a Conservative--all are Conservative. Toryism
has sloughed its old skin, and rejoices in a new coat of many colours; but
the sting remains--the venom is the same; the reptile that would have
struck to the heart the freedom of Europe, elaborates the self-same
poison, is endowed with the same subtilty, the same grovelling, tortuous
action. It still creeps upon its belly, and wriggles to its purpose. When
adders shall become eels, then will we believe that Conservatives cannot
be Tories.

When folks change their names--unless by the gracious permission of the
_Gazette_--they rarely do so to avoid the fame of brilliant deeds. It is
not the act of an over-sensitive modesty that induces _Peter Wiggins_ to
dub himself _John Smith_. Be certain of it, _Peter_ has not saved half a
boarding-school from the tremendous fire that entirely destroyed "Ringworm
House"--_Peter_ has not dived into the Thames, and rescued some
respectable attorney from a death hitherto deemed by his friends
impossible to him. It is from no such heroism that _Peter Wiggins_ is
compelled to take refuge in _John Smith_ from the oppressive admiration of
the world about him. Certainly not. Depend upon it, _Peter_ has been
signalised in the _Hue and Cry_, as one endowed with a love for the silver
spoons of other men--as an individual who, abusing the hospitality of his
lodgings, has conveyed away and sold the best goose feathers of his
landlady. What then, with his name ripe enough to drop from the tree of
life, remains to _Wiggins_, but to subside into _Smith_? What hope was
there for the well-known swindler, the posted pickpocket, the
callous-hearted, slug-brained _Tory_? None: he was hooted, pelted at; all
men stopped the nose at his approach. He was voted a nuisance, and turned
forth into the world, with all his vices, like ulcers, upon him. Well,
_Tory_ adopts the inevitable policy of _Wiggins_; he changes his name! He
comes forth, curled and sweetened, and with a smile upon his mealy face,
and placing his felon hand above the _vacuum_ on the left side of his
bosom--declares, whilst the tears he weeps would make a crocodile
blush--that he is by no means the _Tory_ his wicked, heartless enemies
would call him. Certainly not. His name is--_Conservative!_ There was,
once, to be sure, a _Tory_--in existence;

  "But he is dead, and nailed in his chest!"

He is a creature extinct, gone with the wolves annihilated by the Saxon
monarch. There may be the skeleton of the animal in some rare collections
in the kingdom; but for the living creature, you shall as soon find a
phoenix building in the trees of Windsor Park, as a _Tory_ kissing hands
in Windsor Castle!

The lie is but gulped as a truth, and _Conservative_ is taken into
service. Once more, he is the _factotum_ to JOHN BULL. But when the knave
shall have worn out his second name--when he shall again be turned
away--look to your feather-beds, oh, JOHN! and foolish, credulous,
leathern-eared Mr. BULL--be sure and count your spoons!

Can it be supposed that the loss of office, that the ten years' hunger for
the loaves and fishes endured by the Tory party, has disciplined them into
a wiser humanity? Can it be believed that they have arrived at a more
comprehensive grasp of intellect--that they are ennobled by a loftier
consideration of the social rights of man--that they are gifted with a
more stirring sympathy for the wants that, in the present iniquitous
system of society, reduce him to little less than pining idiotcy, or
madden him to what the statutes call crime, and what judges, sleek as
their ermine, preach upon as rebellion to the government--the government
that, in fact, having stung starvation into treason, takes to itself the
loftiest praise for refusing the hangman--a task--for appeasing _Justice_
with simple transportation?

Already the Tories have declared themselves. In the flush of anticipated
success, PEEL at the Tamworth election denounced the French Revolution
that escorted Charles the Tenth--with his foolish head still upon his
shoulders--out of France, as the "triumph of might over right." It was the
right--the divine right of Charles--(the sacred _ampoule_, yet dropping
with the heavenly oil brought by the mystic dove for Clovis, had bestowed
the privilege)--to gag the mouth of man; to scourge a nation with decrees,
begot by bigot tyranny upon folly--to reduce a people into uncomplaining
slavery. Such was his right: and the burst of indignation, the
irresistible assertion of the native dignity of man, that shivered the
throne of Charles like glass, was a felonious might--a rebellious,
treasonous potency--the very wickedness of strength. Such is the opinion
of Conservative PEEL! Such the old Tory faith of the child of Toryism!

Since the Tamworth speech--since the scourging of Sir ROBERT by the French
press--PEEL has essayed a small philanthropic oration. He has endeavoured
to paint--and certainly in the most delicate water-colours--the horrors of
war. The premier makes his speech to the nations with the palm-branch in
his hand--with the olive around his brow. He has applied arithmetic to
war, and finds it expensive. He would therefore induce France to disarm,
that by reductions at home he may not be compelled to risk what would
certainly jerk him out of the premiership--the imposition of new taxes. He
may then keep his Corn Laws--he may then securely enjoy his sliding scale.
Such are the hopes that dictate the intimation to disarm. It is sweet to
prevent war; and, oh! far sweeter still to keep out the Wigs!

The Duke of WELLINGTON, who is to be the moral force of the Tory Cabinet,
is a great soldier; and by the very greatness of his martial fame, has
been enabled to carry certain political questions which, proposed by a
lesser genius, had been scouted by the party otherwise irresistibly
compelled to admit them. (Imagine, for instance, the Marquis of
Londonderry handling Catholic Emancipation.) Nevertheless, should "The
follies of the Wise"--a chronicle much wanted--be ever collected for the
world, his Grace of Wellington will certainly shine as a conspicuous
contributor. In the name of famine, what could have induced his Grace to
insult the misery at this moment, eating the hearts of thousands of
Englishmen? For, within these few days, the Victor of Waterloo expressed
his conviction that England was the only country in which "_the poor man,
if only sober and industrious_, WAS QUITE CERTAIN _of acquiring a
competency!_" And it is this man, imbued with this opinion, who is to be
hailed as the presiding wisdom--the great moral strength--the healing
humanity of the Tory Cabinet. If rags and starvation put up their prayer
to the present Ministry, what must be the answer delivered by the Duke of

If on the night of the 24th of August--the memorable night on which this
heartless insult was thrown in the idle teeth of famishing thousands--the
ghosts of the victims of the Corn Laws,--the spectres of the wretches who
had been ground out of life by the infamy of Tory taxation, could have
been permitted to lift the bed-curtains of Apsley-House,--his Grace the
Duke of Wellington would have been scared by even a greater majority than
ultimately awaits his fellowship in the present Cabinet. Still we can only
visit upon the Duke the censure of ignorance. "He knows not what he says."
If it be his belief that England suffers only because she is drunken and
idle, he knows no more of England than the Icelander in his sledge: if, on
the other hand, he used the libel as a party warfare, he is still one of
the "old set,"--and his "crowning carnage, Waterloo," with all its
greatness, is but a poor set-off against the more lasting iniquities which
he would visit upon his fellow-men. Anyhow, he cannot--he must not--escape
from his opinion; we will nail him to it, as we would nail a weasel to a
barn-door; "_if Englishmen want competence, they must be drunken--they
must be idle_." Gentlemen Tories, shuffle the cards as you will, the Duke
of Wellington either lacks principle or brains.

Next week we will speak of the Whigs; of the good they have done--of the
good they have, with an instinct towards aristocracy--most foolishly, most
traitorously, missed.


       *       *       *       *       *



       *       *       *       *       *




  Who Kill'd Cock Russell?
    I, said Bob Peel,
    The political eel,
  I kill'd Cock Russell.

  Who saw him die?
    We, said the nation,
    At each polling station,
  We saw him die.

  Who caught his place?
    I, for I _can_ lie,
    Said turn-about _Stan_ley,
  I caught his place.

  Who'll make his shroud?
    We, cried the poor
    From each Union door,
  We'll make his shroud.

  Who'll dig his grave?
    Cried the corn-laws, The fool
    Has long been our tool,
  We'll dig his grave.

  Who'll be the parson?
    I, London's bishop,
    A sermon will dish up,
  I'll be the parson.

  Who'll be the clerk?
    Sibthorp, for a lark,
    If you'll all keep it dark,
  He'll be the clerk.

  Who'll carry him to his grave?
    The Chartists, with pleasure,
    Will wait on his leisure,
  They'll carry him to his grave.

  Who'll carry the link?
    Said Wakley, in a minute,
    I _must_ be in it,
  I'll carry the link.

  Who'll be chief mourners?
    We, shouted dozens
    Of out-of-place cousins,
  We'll be chief mourners.

  Who'll bear the pall?
    As they loudly bewail,
    Both O'Connell and tail,
  They'll bear the pall.

  Who'll go before?
    I, said old Cupid,
    I'll still head the stupid,
  I'll go before.

  Who'll sing a psalm?
    I, Colonel Perceval,
    (Oh, Peel, be merciful!)
  I'll sing a psalm.

  Who'll throw in the dirt?
    I, said the _Times_,
    In lampoons and rhymes,
  I'll throw in the dirt.

  Who'll toll the bell?
    I, said John Bull,
    With pleasure I'll pull,--
  I'll toll the bell.

  All the Whigs in the world
    Fell a sighing and sobbing,
  When wicked Bob Peel
    Put an end to their jobbing.

       *       *       *       *       *


    Collected and elaborated expressly for "PUNCH," by Tiddledy Winks,
    Esq., Hon. Sec., and Editor of the _Peckham Evening Post_ and
    _Camberwell-Green Advertiser_.

Previously to placing the results of my unwearied application before the
public, I think it will be both interesting and appropriate to trace, in a
few words, the origin of this admirable society, by whose indefatigable
exertions the air-pump has become necessary to the domestic economy of
every peasant's cottage; and the Budelight and beer-shops, optics and
out-door relief, and Daguerrotypes and dirt, have become subjects with
which they are equally familiar.

About the close of last year, a few scientific labourers were in the habit
of meeting at a "Jerry" in their neighbourhood, for the purpose of
discussing such matters as the comprehensive and plainly-written reports
of the British Association, as furnished by the _Athenæum_, offered to
their notice, in any way connected with philosophy or the _belles
lettres_. The numbers increasing, it was proposed that they should meet
weekly at one another's cottages, and there deliver a lecture on any
scientific subject; and the preliminary matters being arranged, the first
discourse was given "On the Advantage of an Air-gun over a Fowling-piece,
in bringing Pheasants down without making a noise." This was so eminently
successful, that the following discourses were delivered in quick

    On the Toxicological Powers of Coculus Indicus in Stupifying Fish.
    On the Combustion of Park-palings and loose Gate-posts.
    On the tendency of Out-of-door Spray-piles to Spontaneous
        Evaporation, during dark nights.
    On the Comparative Inflammatory properties of Lucifer Matches,
        Phosphorus Bottles, Tinder-boxes, and Congreves, as well
        as Incandescens Short Pipes, applied to Hay in particular
        and Ricks in general.
    On the value of Cheap Literature, and Intrinsic Worth (by
        weight) of the various Publications of the Society for the
        Confusion of Useless Knowledge.

The lectures were all admirably illustrated, and the society appeared to
be in a prosperous state. At length the government selected two or three
of its most active members, and despatched them on a voyage of discovery
to a distant part of the globe. The institution now drooped for a while,
until some friends of education firmly impressed with the importance of
their undertaking, once more revived its former greatness, at the same
time entirely reorganizing its arrangements.  Subscriptions were
collected, sufficient to erect a handsome turf edifice, with a massy
thatched roof, upon Timber Common; a committee was appointed to manage the
scientific department, at a liberal salary, including the room to sit in,
turf, and rushlights, with the addition, on committee nights, of a pint of
intermediate beer, a pipe, and a screw, to each member. Gentlemen fond of
hearing their own voices were invited to give gratuitous discourses from
sister institutions: a museum and library were added to the building
already mentioned, and an annual meeting of _illuminati_ was agreed upon.

Amongst the papers contributed to be read at the evening meetings of the
society, perhaps the most interesting was that communicated by Mr.
Octavius Spiff, being a startling and probing investigation as to whether
Sir Isaac Newton had his hat on when the apple tumbled on his head, what
sort of an apple it most probably was, and whether it actually fell from
the tree upon him, or, being found too hard and sour to eat, had been
pitched over his garden wall by the hand of an irritated little boy. I
ought also to make mention of Mr. Plummycram's "Narrative of an Ascent to
the summit of Highgate-hill," with Mr. Mulltour's "Handbook for Travellers
from the Bank to Lisson-grove," and "A Summer's-day on Kennington-common."
Mr. Tinhunt has also announced an attractive work, to be called "Hackney:
its Manufactures, Economy, and Political Resources."

It is the intention of the society, should its funds increase, to take a
high place next year in the scientific transactions of the country. Led by
the spirit of enterprise now so universally prevalent, arrangements are
pending with Mr. Purdy, to fit up two punts for the Shepperton expedition,
which will set out in the course of the ensuing summer. The subject for
the Prize Essay for the Victoria Penny Coronation Medal this year is, "The
possibility of totally obliterating the black stamp on the post-office
Queen's heads, so as to render them serviceable a second time;" and, in
imitation of the learned investigations of sister institutions, the Copper
Jinks Medal will also be given to the author of the best essay upon "The
existing analogy between the mental subdivision of invisible agencies and
circulating decompositions."--(_To be continued._)

       *       *       *       *       *



  "Be still, my mighty soul! These ribs of mine
  Are all too fragile for thy narrow cage.
  By heaven! I will unlock my bosom's door.
  And blow thee forth upon the boundless tide
  Of thought's creation, where thy eagle wing
  May soar from this dull terrene mass away,
  To yonder empyrean vault--like rocket (sky)--
  To mingle with thy cognate essences
  Of Love and Immortality, until
  Thou burstest with thine own intensity,
  And scatterest into millions of bright stars,
  Each _one_ a part of that refulgent whole
  Which once was ME."

Thus spoke, or thought--for, in a metaphysical point of view, it does not
much matter whether the passage above quoted was uttered, or only
conceived--by the sublime philosopher and author of the tragedy of
"Martinuzzi," now being nightly played at the English Opera House, with
unbounded success, to overflowing audiences[2]. These were the aspirations
of his gigantic mind, as he sat, on last Monday morning, like a simple
mortal, in a striped-cotton dressing-gown and drab slippers, over a cup of
weak coffee. (We love to be minute on great subjects.) The door opened,
and a female figure--not the Tragic muse--but Sally, the maid of-all-work,
entered, holding in a corner of her dingy apron, between her delicate
finger and thumb, a piece of not too snowy paper, folded into an exact

    [2] Has this paragraph been paid for as an
        advertisement?--PRINTER'S DEVIL.--Undoubtedly.--ED.

"A letter for you, sir," said the maid of-all-work, dropping a reverential

George Stephens, Esq. took the despatch in his inspired fingers, broke the
seal, and read as follows:--

_Surrey Theatre._

SIR,--I have seen your tragedy of "Martinuzzi," and pronounce it
magnificent! I have had, for some time, an idea in my head (how it came
there I don't know), to produce, after the Boulogne affair, a grand
Inauguration of the Statue of Shakspere, on the stage of the Surrey, but
not having an image of him amongst our properties, I could not put my plan
into execution. Now, sir, as it appears that you are the exact ditto of
the bard, I shouldn't mind making an arrangement with you to undertake the
character of _our friend Billy_ on the occasion. I shall do the liberal in
the way of terms, and get up the gag properly, with laurels and other
greens, of which I have a large stock on hand; so that with your
popularity the thing will be sure to draw. If you consent to come, I'll
post you in six-feet letters against every dead wall in town.


When the author of the "magnificent poem" had finished reading the letter
he appeared deeply moved, and the maid of-all-work saw three plump tears
roll down his manly cheek, and rest upon his shirt collar. "I expected
nothing less," said he, stroking his chin with a mysterious air. "The
manager of the Surrey, at least, understands me--_he_ appreciates the
immensity of my genius. I _will_ accept his offer, and show the
world--great Shakspere's rival in myself."

Having thus spoken, the immortal dramatist wiped his hands on the tail of
his dressing-gown, and performed a _pas seul_ "as the act directs," after
which he dressed himself, and emerged into the open air.

The sun was shining brilliantly, and Phoebus remarked, with evident
pleasure, that his brother had bestowed considerable pains in adorning his
person. His boots shone with unparalleled splendour, and his waistcoat--

       *       *       *       *       *

    [We omit the remainder of the inventory of the great poet's
    wardrobe, and proceed at once to the ceremony of the Inauguration
    at the Surrey Theatre.]

Never on any former occasion had public curiosity over the water been so
strongly excited. Long before the doors of the theatre were opened,
several passengers in the street were observed to pause before the
building, and regard it with looks of profound awe. At half-past six, two
young sweeps and a sand-boy were seen waiting anxiously at the gallery
entrance, determined to secure front seats at any personal sacrifice. At
seven precisely the doors were opened, and a tremendous rush of four
persons was made to the pit; the boxes had been previously occupied by the
"Dramatic Council" and the "Syncretic Society." The silence which pervaded
the house, until the musicians began to tune their violins in the
orchestra, was thrilling; and during the performance of the overture,
expectation stood on tip-toe, awaiting the great event of the night.

At length the curtain slowly rose, and we discovered the author of
"Martinuzzi" elevated on a pedestal formed of the cask used by the
celebrated German tub-runner (a delicate compliment, by the way, to the
genius of the poet). On this appropriate foundation stood the great man,
with his august head enveloped in a capacious bread-bag. At a given
signal, a vast quantity of crackers were let off, the envious bag was
withdrawn, and the illustrious dramatist was revealed to the enraptured
spectators, in the statuesque resemblance of his elder, but not more
celebrated brother, WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. At this moment the plaudits were
vigorously enthusiastic. Thrice did the flattered statue bow its head, and
once it laid its hand upon its grateful bosom, in acknowledgment of the
honour that was paid it. As soon as the applause had partially subsided,
the manager, in the character of _Midas_, surrounded by the nine Muses,
advanced to the foot of the pedestal, and, to use the language of the
reporters of public dinners, "in a neat and appropriate speech," deposed a
laurel crown upon the brows of Shakspere's effigy. Thereupon loud cheers
rent the air, and the statue, deeply affected, extended its right hand
gracefully towards the audience. In a moment the thunders of applause sank
into hushed and listening awe, while the author of the "magnificent poem"
addressed the house as follows:--

"My friends,--You at length behold me in the position to which my immense
talents have raised me, in despite of 'those laws which press so fatally
on dramatic genius,' and blight the budding hopes of aspiring authors."

This commencement softened the hearts of his auditors, who clapped their
handkerchiefs to their noses.

"The world," continued the statue, "may regard me with envy; but I despise
the world, particularly the critics who have dared to laugh at me.
(Groans.) The object of my ambition is attained--I am now the equal and
representative of Shakspere--detraction cannot wither the laurels that
shadow my brows--_Finis coronat opus!_--I have done. To-morrow I retire
into private life; but though fortune has made me great, she has not made
me proud, and I shall be always happy to shake hands with a friend when I
meet him."

At the conclusion of this pathetic address, loud cheers, mingled with
tears and sighs, arose from the audience, one-half of whom sunk into the
arms of the other half, and were borne out of the house in a fainting
state; and thus terminated this imposing ceremony, which will be long
remembered with delight by every lover of


       *       *       *       *       *



Mr. Levy, of Holywell-street, perceiving that his neighbour JACOB
FAITHFUL'S farce, entitled "The Cloak and Bonnet," has not given general
satisfaction, begs respectfully to offer to the notice of the committee,
his large and carefully-assorted stock of second-hand wearing apparel,
from which he will undertake to supply any number of dramas that may be
required, at a moment's notice.

Mr. L. has at present on hand the following dramatic pieces, which he can
strongly recommend to the public:--

1. "The Dressing Gown and Slippers."--A fashionable comedy, suited for a
genteel neighbourhood.

2. "The Breeches and Gaiters."--A domestic drama. A misfit at the Adelphi.

3. "The Wig and Wig-box."--A broad farce, made to fit little Keeley or
anybody else.

4. "The Smock-frock and Highlows."--A tragedy in humble life, with a
terrific _dénouement_.

*** The above will be found to be manufactured out of the best materials,
and well worthy the attention of those gentlemen who have so nobly come
forward to rescue the stage from its present degraded position.

       *       *       *       *       *


The scarcity of money is frightful. As much as a hundred per cent., to be
paid in advance, has been asked upon bills; but we have not yet heard of
any one having given it. There was an immense run for gold, but no one got
any, and the whole of the transactions of the day were done in copper. An
influential party created some sensation by coming into the market late in
the afternoon, just before the close of business, with half-a-crown; but
it was found, on inquiry, to be a bad one. It is expected that if the
dearth of money continues another week, buttons must be resorted to. A
party, whose transactions are known to be large, succeeded in settling his
account with the Bulls, by means of postage-stamps; an arrangement of
which the Bears will probably take advantage.

A large capitalist in the course of the day attempted to change the
direction things had taken, by throwing an immense quantity of paper into
the market; but as no one seemed disposed to have anything to do with it,
it blew over.

The parties to the Dutch Loan are much irritated at being asked to take
their dividends in butter; but, after the insane attempt to get rid of the
Spanish arrears by cigars, which, it is well known, ended in smoke, we do
not think the Dutch project will be proceeded with.

       *       *       *       *       *



The "mysterious and melodramatic silence" which Mr. C. Mathews promised to
observe as to his intentions in regard to the present season, has at
length been broken. On Monday last, September the sixth, Covent Garden
Theatre opened to admit a most brilliant audience. Amongst the _company_
we noticed Madame Vestris, Mr. Oxberry, Mr. Harley, Miss Rainsforth, and
several other _distingué artistes_. It would seem, from the substitution
of Mr. Oxberry for Mr. Keeley, that the former gentleman is engaged to
take the place of the latter. Whispers are afloat that, in consequence,
one of the most important scenes in the play is to be omitted. Though of
little interest to the audience, it was of the highest importance to the
gentleman whose task it has hitherto been to perform the parts of Quince,
Bottom, and Flute.

We, who are conversant with all the mysteries of the _flats'_ side of the
_green_ curtain, beg to assure our readers, that the Punch scene hath
taken _wing_, and that the dressing-room of the above-named characters
will no longer be redolent of the fumes of compounded bowls. We may here
remark that, had our hint of last season been attended to, the Punch would
have still been continued:--Mr. Harley would not consent to have the flies
picked out of the sugar. Rumour is busy with the suggestion that for this
reason, and this only, Keeley seceded from the establishment.


We think it exceedingly unwise in the management not to have secured the
services of Madame Corsiret for the millinery department. Mr. Wilson still
supplies the wigs. We have not as yet been able to ascertain to whom the
swords have been consigned. Mr. Emden's assistant superintends the
blue-fire and thunder, but it has not transpired who works the traps.

With such powerful auxiliaries, we can promise Mr. C. Mathews a prosperous

       *       *       *       *       *


  Quoth Will, "On that young servant-maid
    My heart its life-string stakes."
  "Quite safe!" cries Dick, "don't be afraid--
    She pays for all she breaks."

       *       *       *       *       *


The _iniquities_ of the Tories having become proverbial, the House of
Lords, with that consideration for the welfare of the country, and care
for the morals of the people, which have ever characterised the compeers
of the Lord Coventry, have brought in a bill for the creation of _two_
_Vice_-Chancellors. Brougham foolishly proposed an amendment, considering
one to be sufficient, but found himself in a _singular_ minority when the

[Illustration: DIVIDED ON THE MOTION.]

       *       *       *       *       *

In the Egyptian room of the British Museum is a statue of the deity IBIS,
between two mummies. This attracted the attention of Sibthorp, as he
lounged through the room the other day with a companion. "Why," said his
friend, "is that statue placed between the other two?" "To preserve it to
be sure," replied the keenly-witted Sib. "You know the old saying teaches
us, '_In medio tutissimus Ibis._'"

       *       *       *       *       *



[Illustration: M]Mercy on us, what a code of morality--what a
conglomeration of plots (political, social, and domestic)--what an
exemplar of vice punished and virtue rewarded--is the "Newgate Calendar!"
and Newgate itself! what tales might it not relate, if its stones could
speak, had its fetters the gift of tongues!

But these need not be so gifted: the proprietor of the Victoria Theatre
supplies the deficiency: the dramatic edition of Old-Bailey experience he
is bringing out on each successive Monday, will soon be complete; and when
it is, juvenile Jack Sheppards and incipient Turpins may complete their
education at the moderate charge of sixpence per week. The
"intellectualization of the people" must not be neglected: the gallery of
the Victoria invites to its instructive benches the young, whose wicked
parents have neglected their education--the ignorant, who know nothing of
the science of highway robbery, or the more delicate operations of picking
pockets. National education is the sole aim of the sole lessee--money is
no object; but errand-boys and apprentices _must_ take their Monday
night's lessons, even if they rob the till. By this means an endless chain
of subjects will be woven, of which the Victoria itself supplies the
links; the "Newgate Calendar" will never be exhausted, and the cause of
morality and melodrama continue to run a triumphant career!

The leaf of the "Newgate Calendar" torn out last Monday for the
delectation and instruction of the Victoria audience, was the "Life and
Death of James Dawson," a gentleman rebel, who was very properly hanged in

The arrangement of incidents in this piece was evidently an appeal to the
ingenuity of the audience--our own penetration failed, however, in
unravelling the plot. There was a drunken, gaming, dissipated student of
St. John's, Cambridge--a friend in a slouched hat and an immense pair of
jack-boots, and a lady who delicately invites her lover (the hero) "to a
private interview and a cold collation." There is something about a
five-hundred-pound note and a gambling-table--a heavy throw of the dice,
and a heavier speech on the vices of gaming, by a likeness of the portrait
of Dr. Dilworth that adorns the spelling-books. The hero rushes off in a
state of distraction, and is followed by the jack-boots in pursuit; the
enormous strides of which leave the pursued but little chance, though he
has got a good start.

At another time two gentlemen appear in kilts, who pass their time in a
long dialogue, the purport of which we were unable to catch, for they were
conversing in stage-Scotch. A man then comes forward bearing a clever
resemblance to the figure-head of a snuff-shop, and after a few words with
about a dozen companions, the entire body proceed to fight a battle; which
is immediately done behind the scenes, by four pistols, a crash, and the
double-drummer, whose combined efforts present us with a representation
of--as the bills kindly inform us--the "Battle of Culloden!" The hero is
taken prisoner; but the villain is shot, and his jack-boots are cut off in
their prime.

James Dawson is not despatched so quickly; he takes a great deal of
dying,--the whole of the third act being occupied by that inevitable
operation. Newgate--a "stock" scene at this theatre--an execution, a lady
in black and a state of derangement, a muffled drum, and a "view of
Kennington Common," terminate the life of "James Dawson," who, we had the
consolation to observe, from the apathy of the audience, will not be put
to the trouble of dying for more than half-a-dozen nights longer.

Before the "Syncretic Society" publishes its next octavo on the state of
the Drama, it should send a deputation to the Victoria. There they will
observe the written and acted drama in the lowest stage it is possible for
even their imaginations to conceive. Even "Martinuzzi" will bear
comparison with the "Life and Death of James Dawson."


At the "Boarding School" established by Mr. Bernard in the Haymarket
Theatre, young ladies are instructed in flirting and romping, together
with the use of the eyes, at the extremely moderate charges of five and
three shillings per lesson; those being the prices of admission to the
upper and lower departments of Mr. Webster's academy, which is hired for
the occasion by that accomplished professor of punmanship Bayle Bernard.
The course of instruction was, on the opening of the seminary, as

The lovely pupils were first seen returning from their morning walk in
double file, hearts beating and ribbons flying; for they encountered at
the door of the school three yeomanry officers. The military being very
civil, the eldest of the girls discharged a volley of glances; and nothing
could exceed the skill and precision with which the ladies performed their
eye-practice, the effects of which were destructive enough to set the
yeomanry in a complete flame; and being thus primed and loaded for closer
engagements with their charming adversaries, they go off.

The scholars then proceed to their duties in the interior of the academy,
and we find them busily engaged in the study of "The Complete Loveletter
Writer." It is wonderful the progress they make even in one lesson; the
basis of it being a _billet_ each has received from the red-coats. The
exercises they have to write are answers to the notes, and were found, on
examination, to contain not a single error; thus proving the astonishing
efficacy of the Bernardian system of "Belles' Lettres."

Meanwhile the captain, by despatching his subalterns on special duty,
leaves himself a clear field, and sets a good copy in strategetics, by
disguising himself as a fruit-woman, and getting into the play-ground, for
the better distribution of apples and glances, lollipops and kisses,
hard-bake and squeezes of the hand. The stratagem succeeds admirably; the
enemy is fast giving way, under the steady fire of shells (Spanish-nut)
and kisses, thrown with great precision amongst their ranks, when the
lieutenant and cornet of the troop cause a diversion by an open attack
upon the fortress; and having made a practicable breach (in their
manners), enter without the usual formulary of summoning the governess.
She, however, appears, surrounded by her staff, consisting of a teacher
and a page, and the engagement becomes general. In the end, the yeomanry
are routed with great loss--their hearts being made prisoners by the
senior students of this "Royal Military Academy."

The yeomanry, not in the least dispirited by this reverse, plan a fresh
attack, and hearing that reinforcements are _en route_, in the persons of
the drawing, dancing, and writing masters of the "Boarding School," cut
off their march, and obtain a second entrance into the enemy's camp, under
false colours; which their accomplishments enable them to do, for the
captain is a good penman, the lieutenant dances and plays the fiddle, and
the cornet draws to admiration, especially--"at a month." Under such
instructors the young ladies make great progress, the governess being
absent to see after the imaginary daughter of a fictitious Earl of
Aldgate. On her return, however, she finds her pupils in a state of great
insubordination, and suspecting the teachers to be incendiaries, calls in
a major of yeomanry (who, unlike the rest of his troop, is an ally of the
lady), to put them out. The invaders, however, retreat by the window, but
soon return by the door in their uniform, to assist their major in
quelling the fears of the minors, and to complete the course of
instruction pursued at the Haymarket "Boarding School."

Mr. J. Webster, as _Captain Harcourt_, played as well as he could: and so
did Mr. Webster as _Lieutenant Varley_, which was very well indeed, for
_he_ cannot perform anything badly, were he to try. An Irish cornet, in
the mouth of Mr. F. Vining, was bereft of his proper brogue; but this loss
was the less felt, as Mr. Gough personated the English Major with the
_rale_ Tipperary tongue. _Mrs. Grosdenap_ was a perfect governess in the
hands of Mrs. Clifford, and the hoydens she presided over exhibited true
specimens of a finishing school, especially Miss P. Horton;--that careful
and pleasing _artiste_, who stamps character upon everything she does, and
individuality upon everything she says. In short, all the parts in the
"Boarding School" are so well acted, that one cannot help regretting when
it breaks up for the evening. The circulars issued by its proprietors
announce that it will be open every night, from ten till eleven, up to the
Christmas holidays.

As a subject, this is a perfectly fair, nay, moral one; despite some silly
opinions that have stated to the contrary. Satire, when based upon truth,
is the highest province of the stage, which enables us to laugh away folly
and wickedness, when they cannot be banished by direct exposure. Ladies'
boarding-schools form, in the mass, a gross and fearful evil, to which the
Haymarket author has cleverly awakened attention. Why they are an evil,
might be easily proved, but a theatrical critique in PUNCH is not
precisely the place for a discussion on female education.

       *       *       *       *       *


The "Council of the Dramatic Authors' Theatre" enticed us from home on
Monday last, by promising what as yet they have been unable to
perform--"Enjoyment." As usual, they obtained our company under false
pretences: for if any "enjoyment" were afforded by their new farce, the
actors had it all to themselves.

It is astonishing how vain some authors are of their knowledge of any
particular subject. Brewster monopolises that of the polarization of light
and kaleidoscopes--poor Davy surfeited us with choke damps and the safety
lantern--the author of "Enjoyment" is great on the subject of cook-shops;
the whole production being, in fact, a dramatic lecture on the "slap-bang"
system. _Mr. Bang_, the principal character, is the master of an
eating-house, to which establishment all the other persons in the piece
belong, and all are made to display the author's practical knowledge of
the internal economy of a cook-shop. Endless are the jokes about
sausages--roast and boiled beef are cut, and come to again, for a great
variety of facetiæ--in short, the entire stock of fun is cooked up from
the bill of fare. The master gives his instructions to his "cutter" about
"working up the stale gravy" with the utmost precision, and the "sarver
out" undergoes a course of instruction highly edifying to inexperienced

This burletta helps to develop the plan which it is the intention of the
"council" to follow up in their agonising efforts to resuscitate the
expiring drama. They, it is clear, mean to make the stage a vehicle for

Miss Martineau wrote a novel called "Berkeley the Banker," to teach
political economy--the "council" have produced "Enjoyment" as an
eating-house keepers' manual, complete in one act. This mode of
dramatising the various guides to "trade" and to "service" is, however, to
our taste, more edifying than amusing; for much of the author's learning
is thrown away upon the mass of audiences, who are only waiters between
the acts. They cannot appreciate the nice distinctions between "buttocks
and rounds," neither does everybody perceive the wit of _Joey's_ elegant
toast, "Cheap beef and two-pence for the waiter!" This kind of
erudition--like that expended upon Chinese literature and the arrow-headed
hieroglyphics of Asia Minor--is confined to too small a class of the
public for extensive popularity, though it may be highly amusing to the
table-d'hôte and ham-and-beef interest.

The chief beauty of the plot is its extreme simplicity; a half-dozen words
will describe it:--_Mr. Bang_ goes out for a day's "Enjoyment," and is
disappointed! This is the head and front of the farceur's offending--no
more. Any person eminently gifted with patience, and anxious to give it a
fair trial, cannot have a better opportunity of testing it than by
spending a couple of hours in seeing that single incident drag its slow
length along, and witnessing a new comedian, named Bass, roll his heavy
breadth about in hard-working attempts to be droll. As a specimen of
manual labour in comedy, we never saw the acting of this _débutant_

We are happy to find that, determined to give "living _English_ dramatists
a clear stage and fair play," the "Council" are bringing forward a series
of stale translations from the _French_ in rapid succession. The "Married
Rake," and "Perfection,"--one by an author no longer "living," both loans
from the _Magasin Théâtral_--have already appeared.

       *       *       *       *       *



The members of this institution have, with their usual liberality, given
the use of their Galleries for the exhibition of the pictures selected by
the prize-holders of the Art-Union of London of the present year. The
works chosen are 133 in number; and as they are the representatives of
"charming variety," it is naturally to be expected that, in most
instances, the selection does not proclaim that perfect knowledge of the
material from which the 133 jewel-hunters have had each an opportunity of
choosing; nevertheless, it is a blessed reflection, and a proof of the
philanthropic adaptation of society to societies' means--a beneficent
dovetailing--an union of sympathies--that to every one painter who is
disabled from darting suddenly into the excellencies of his profession,
there are, at least, one thousand "connoisseurs" having an equal degree of
free-hearted ignorance in the matter, willing to extend a ready hand to
his weakly efforts, and without whose generosity he could never place
himself within the observation and patronage of the better informed in
art. As this lottery was formed to give an interest, indiscriminately, to
the mass who compose it, the setting apart so large a sum as £300 for a
prize is, in our humble opinion, anything but well judged.

The painter of a picture worth so high a sum needs not the assistance
which the lottery affords; and although it may be urged, that some one
possessing sufficient taste, but insufficient means to indulge that taste,
might, perchance, obtain the high prize, it is evident that such bald
reasoning is adduced only to support individual interest. The principle
is, consequently, inimical to those upon which the Art-Union of London was
founded; and, farther, it is most undeniable, that more general good, and
consequent satisfaction, would arise both to the painter and the public
(i.e. that portion of the public whose subscriptions form the support of
the undertaking), had the large prize been divided into two, four, or even
six other, and by no means inconsiderable ones. We are fully aware of the
benefits that have been conferred and received, and that must still
continue to be so, from this praiseworthy undertaking. As an observer of
these things, we cannot withhold expressing our opinions upon any part of
the system which, in honest thought, appears imperfect, or not so happily
directed as it might be. But should PUNCH become prosy, his audience will

To prevent those visitors to this exhibition, who do not profess an
intimacy with the objects herein collected for their amusement, from being
misled by the supposititious circumstance of the highest prize having
commanded the best picture, we beg to point to their attention the
following peculiarities (by no means recommendatory) in the work selected
by the most fortunate of the _jewel-hunters_; it is catalogued "The
Sleeping Beauty," by D. Maclise, R.A., and assuredly painted with the most
independent disdain for either law or reason. Never has been seen so
signal a failure in attempting to obtain repose by the introduction of so
many sleeping figures. The appointment of parts to form the general whole,
the first and last aim of every other painter, D. Maclise, R.A., has most
gallantly disregarded. If there be effect, it certainly is not in the
right place, or rather there is no concentration of effect; it possesses
the glare of a coloured print, and that too of a meretricious
sort--incidents there are, but no plot--less effect upon the animate than
the inanimate. The toilet-table takes precedence of the lady--the couch
before the sleeper--the shadow, in fact, before the substance; and as it
is a sure mark of a vulgar mind to dwell upon the trifles, and lose the
substantial--to scan the dress, and neglect the wearer, so we opine the
capabilities of D. Maclise, R.A., are brought into requisition to
accommodate such beholders. He has, moreover, carefully avoided any
approximation to the vulgarity of flesh and blood, in his representations
of humanity; and has, therefore, ingeniously sought the delicacy of
Dresden china for his models. To conclude our notice, we beg to suggest
the addition of a torch and a rosin-box, which, with the assistance of Mr.
Yates, or the Wizard of the North, would render it perfect (whereas,
without these delusive adjuncts, it is not recognisable in its puppet-show
propensities) as a first-rate imitation of the last scene in a pantomime.

       *       *       *       *       *


VOL. 1.


       *       *       *       *       *




[Illustration: K]Kindness was a characteristic of Agamemnon's disposition,
and it is not therefore a matter of surprise that "the month"--_the_
month, _par excellence_, of "all the months i'the kalendar"--produced a
succession of those annoyances which, in the best regulated families, are
certain to be partially experienced by the masculine progenitor. O,
bachelors! be warned in time; let not love link you to his flowery traces
and draw you into the temple of Hymen! Be not deluded by the glowing
fallacies of Anacreon and Boccaccio, but remember that they were
bachelors. There is nothing exhilarating in caudle, nor enchanting in
Kensington-gardens, when you are converted into a light porter of
children. We have been married, and are now seventy-one, and wear a "brown
George;" consequently, we have experience and cool blood in our veins--two
excellent auxiliaries in the formation of a correct judgment in all
matters connected with the heart.

Our pen must have been the pinion of a wild goose, or why these continued

Agamemnon's troubles commenced with the first cough of Mrs. Pilcher on the
door-mat. Mrs. P. was the monthly nurse, and monthly nurses always have a
short cough. Whether this phenomenon arises from the obesity consequent
upon arm-chairs and good living, or from an habitual intimation that they
are present, and have not received half-a-crown, or a systematic
declaration that the throat is dry, and would not object to a gargle of
gin, and perhaps a little water, or--but there is no use hunting
conjecture, when you are all but certain of not catching it.

Mrs. Pilcher was "the moral of a nurse;" she was about forty-eight and
had, according to her own account, "been the mother of eighteen lovely
babes, born in wedlock," though her most intimate friends had never been
introduced to more than one young gentleman, with a nose like a wart, and
hair like a scrubbing-brush. When he made his _debut_, he was attired in a
suit of blue drugget, with the pewter order of the parish of St. Clement
on his bosom; and rumour declared that he owed his origin to half-a-crown
a week, paid every Saturday. Mrs. Pilcher weighed about thirteen stone,
including her bundle, and a pint medicine-bottle, which latter article she
invariably carried in her dexter pocket, filled with a strong tincture of
juniper berries, and extract of cloves. This mixture had been prescribed
to her for what she called a "sinkingness," which afflicted her about 10
A.M., 11 A.M. (dinner), 2 P.M., 3 P.M. 4 P.M. 5 P.M. (tea), 7 P.M., 8 P.M.
(supper), 10 P.M., and at uncertain intervals during the night.

Mrs. Pilcher was a martyr to a delicate appetite, for she could never
"make nothing of a breakfast if she warn't coaxed with a Yarmouth bloater,
a rasher of ham, or a little bit of steak done with the gravy in."

Her luncheon was obliged to be a mutton-chop, or a grilled bone, and a
pint of porter, bread and cheese having the effect of rendering her "as
cross as two sticks, and as sour as werjuice." Her dinner, and its
satellites, tea and supper, were all required to be hot, strong, and
comfortable. A peculiar hallucination under which she laboured is worthy
of remark. When eating, it was always her declared conviction that she
_never drank anything_, and when detected coquetting with a pint pot or a
tumbler, she was equally assured that she never _did eat anything after
her breakfast_.

Mrs. Pilcher's duties never permitted her to take anything resembling
continuous rest; she had therefore another prescription for an hour's doze
after dinner. Mrs. Pilcher was also troubled with a stiffness of the
knee-joints, which never allowed her to wait upon herself.

When this amiable creature had deposited herself in Collumpsion's old
easy-chair, and, with her bundle on her knees, gasped out her first

"I hopes all's as well as can be expected?"

The heart of _Pater_ Collumpsion trembled in his bosom, for he felt that
to this incongruous mass was to be confided the first blossom of his
wedded love; and that for one month the dynasty of 24, Pleasant-terrace
was transferred from his hands to that of Mrs. Waddledot, his wife's
mother, and Mrs. Pilcher, the monthly nurse. There was a short struggle
for supremacy between the two latter personages; but an angry appeal
having been made to Mrs. Applebite, by the lady, "who had _nussed_ the
first families in this land, and, in course, know'd her business," Mrs.
Waddledot was forced to yield to Mrs. Pilcher's bundle in _transitu_, and
Mrs. Applebite's hysterics in perspective.

Mrs. Pilcher was a nursery Macauley, and had the faculty of discovering
latent beauties in very small infants, that none but doting parents ever
believed. Agamemnon was an early convert to her avowed opinions of the
heir of Applebite, who, like all other heirs of the same age, resembled a
black boy boiled--that is, if there is any affinity between lobsters and
niggers. This peculiar style of eloquence rendered her other
eccentricities less objectionable; and when, upon one occasion, the
mixture of juniper and cloves had disordered her head, instead of
comforting her stomachic regions, she excused herself by solemnly
declaring, that "the brilliancy of the little darling's eyes, and his
intoxicating manners, had made her feel as giddy as a goose." Collumpsion
and Theresa both declared her discernment was equal to her caudle, of
which, by-the-bye, she was an excellent concocter and consumer.

Old John and the rest of the servants, however, had no parental string at
which Mrs. Pilcher could tug, and the consequence was, that they decided
that she was an insufferable bore. Old John, in particular, felt the ill
effects of the heir of Applebite's appearance in the family, and to such a
degree did they interfere with his old comforts, without increasing his
pecuniary resources, that he determined one morning, when taking up his
master's shaving water, absolutely to give warning; for what with the
morning calls, and continual ringing for glasses--the perpetual
communication kept up between the laundry-maid and the mangle, and of
which he was the circulating medium--the insolence of the nurse, who had
ordered him to carry five soiled--never mind--down stairs: all these
annoyances combined, the old servant declared were too much for him.

Collumpsion laid his hand on John's shoulder, and pointing to some of the
little evidences of paternity which had found their way even into his
dormitory, said, "John, think what I suffer; do not leave me; I'll raise
your wages, and engage a boy to help you; but you are the only thing that
reminds me of my happy bachelorhood--you are the only one that can feel
a--feel a--"

"_Caudle_ regard," interrupted John.

"Caudle be ----." The "rest is silence," for at that moment Mrs.
Waddledot entered the room, gave a short scream, and went out again.

The month passed, and a hackney-coach, containing a bundle and the
respectable Mrs. Pilcher, &c., rumbled from the door of No. 24, to the
infinite delight of old John the footman, Betty the housemaid, Esther the
nurserymaid, Susan the cook, and Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite the

How transitory is earthly happiness! How certain its uncertainty! A little
week had passed, and the "Heir of Applebite" gave notice of his intention
to come into his property during an early minority, for his once happy
progenitor began to entertain serious intentions of employing a coroner's
jury to sit upon himself, owing to the incessant and "ear-piercing pipe"
of his little cherub. Vainly did he bury his head beneath the pillow,
until he was suffused with perspiration--the cry reached him there and
then. Cold air was pumped into the bed by Mrs. Applebite, as she rocked to
and fro, in the hope of quieting the "son of the sleepless." Collumpsion
was in constant communication with the dressing-table--now for moist-sugar
to stay the hiccough--then for dill-water to allay the stomach-ache. To
save his little cherub from convulsions, twice was he converted into a
night-patrole, with the thermometer below zero--a bad fire, with a large
slate in it, and an empty coal-scuttle.

       *       *       *       *       *


"Variety," say our school copy-books, "is charming;" hence this must be
the most charming place of amusement in London. The annexed list of
entertainments was produced on Tuesday last, when were added to the usual
_passe-temps_, a flower and fruit show. Wild beasts in cages; flowers of
all colours and sizes in pots; enormous cabbages; Brobdignag apples;
immense sticks of rhubarb; a view of Rome; a brass band; a grand Roman
cavalcade passing over the bridge of St. Angelo; a deafening park of
artillery, and an enchanting series of pyrotechnic wonders, such as
catherine-wheels, flower-pots, and rockets; an illumination of St.
Peter's; blazes of blue-fire, showers of steel-filings, and a grand blow
up of the castle of St. Angelo.

Such are the entertainments provided by the proprietor. The company--which
numbered at least from five to six thousand--gave them even greater
variety. Numerous pic-nic parties were seated about on the grass;
sandwiches, bottled stout, and (with reverence be it spoken) more potent
liquors seemed to be highly relished, especially by the ladies. Ices were
sold at a pastry-cook's stall, where a continued _feu-de-joie_ of
ginger-pop was kept up during the whole afternoon and evening. In short,
the scene was one of complete _al fresco_ enjoyment; how could it be
otherwise? The flowers delighted the eye; Mr. Godfrey's well-trained band
(to wit, Beethoven's symphony in C minor, with all the fiddle passages
beautifully executed upon clarionets!) charmed the ear; and the edibles
and drinkables aforesaid the palate. Under such a press of agreeables, the
Surrey Zoological Gardens well deserve the name of an Englishman's

       *       *       *       *       *


To the progress of science and the rapid march of moral improvement the
most effectual spur that has ever been applied was the Reform Bill. Before
the introduction of that measure, electioneering was a simple process,
hardly deserving the name of an art; it has now arrived at the rank of a
science, the great beauty of which is, that, although complicated in
practice, it is most easy of acquirement. Under the old system boroughs
were bought by wholesale, scot and lot; now the traffic is done by retail.
Formerly there was but one seller; at present there must be some thousands
at least--all to be bargained with, all to be bought. Thus the "agency"
business of electioneering has wonderfully increased, and so have the

In fact, an agent is to an election what the main-spring is to a watch; he
is, in point of fact, the real returning-officer. His importance is not
less than the talents and tact he is obliged to exert. He must take a
variety of shapes, must tell a variety of lies, and perform the part of an
animated contradiction. He must benevolently pay the taxes of one man who
can't vote while in arrear; and cruelly serve notices of ejectment upon
another, though he can show his last quarter's receipt--he must attend
temperance meetings, and make opposition electors too drunk to vote. He
must shake hands with his greatest enemy, and _palm_ off upon him lasting
proofs of friendship, and silver-paper hints which way to vote. He must
make flaming speeches about principle, puns about "interest," and promises
concerning everything, to everybody. He must never give less than five
pounds for being shorn by an honest and independent voter, who never
shaves for less than two-pence--nor under ten, for a four-and-ninepenny
goss to an uncompromising hatter. He must present ear-rings to wives,
bracelets to daughters, and be continually broaching a hogshead for
fathers, husbands, and brothers. He must get up fancy balls, and give away
fancy dresses to ladies whom he fancies--especially if they fancy his
candidate, and their husbands fancy them. He must plan charities, organise
mobs, causing free-schools to be knocked up, and opponents to be knocked
down. Finally, he must do all these acts, and spend all these sums purely
for the good of his country; for, although a select committee of the house
tries the validity of the election--though they prove bribery,
intimidation, and treating to everybody's satisfaction, yet they always
find out that the candidate has had nothing to do with it--that the agent
is not _his_ agent, but has acted solely on patriotic grounds; by which he
is often so completely a martyr, that he is, after all, actually
prosecuted for bribery, by order of the very house which he has helped to
fill, and by the very man (as a part of the parliament) he has himself

That this great character might not be lost to posterity, we furnish our
readers with the portrait of

[Illustration: AN ELECTION AGENT.]

       *       *       *       *       *


This useful society will shortly publish its Report; and, though we have
not seen it, we are enabled to guess with tolerable accuracy what will be
the contents of it:

In the first place, we shall be told the number of pins picked up in the
course of the day, by a person walking over a space of fifteen miles round
London, with the number of those not picked up; an estimate of the class
of persons that have probably dropped them, with the use they were being
put to when they actually fell; and how they have been applied afterwards.

The Report will also put the public in possession of the number of
pot-boys employed in London; what is the average number of pots they carry
out; and what is the gross weight of metal in the pots brought back again.
This interesting head will include a calculation of how much beer is
consumed by children who are sent to fetch it in jugs; and what is the
whole amount of malt liquor, the value of which reaches the producer's
pocket, while the mouth of the consumer, and not that of the party paying
for it, receives the sole benefit.

There are also to be published with the Report elaborate tables, showing
how many quarts of milk are spilt in the course of a year in serving
customers; what proportion of water it contains; and what are the average
ages and breed of the dogs who lap it up; and how much is left unlapped up
to be absorbed in the atmosphere.

When this valuable Report is published, we shall make copious extracts.

       *       *       *       *       *



Novelty is certainly the order of the day. Anything that does not deviate
from the old beaten track meets with little encouragement from the present
race of amusement-seekers, and, consequently, does not pay the
_entrepreneur_. Nudity in public adds fresh charms to the orchestra, and
red-fire and crackers have become absolutely essential to harmony. Acting
upon this principle, Signor Venafra _gave_ (we admire the term) a fancy
dress ball at Drury-lane Theatre on Monday evening last, upon a plan
hitherto unknown in England, but possibly, like the majority of deceptive
delusions now so popular, of continental origin. The whole of the
evening's entertainment took place in cabs and hackney-coaches, and those
vehicles performed several perfectly new and intricate figures in
Brydges-street, and the other thoroughfares adjoining the theatres. The
music provided for the occasion appeared to be an organ-piano, which
performed incessantly at the corner of Bow-street, during the evening.
Most of the _élite_ of Hart-street and St. Giles's graced the animated
pavement as spectators. So perfectly successful was the whole affair--on
the word of laughing hundreds who came away saying they had never been so
amused in their lives--that we hear it is in agitation never to attempt
anything of the kind again.

       *       *       *       *       *


Dunn, the bailless barrister, complained to his friend Charles Phillips,
that upon the last occasion he had the happiness of meeting Miss Burdett
Coutts on the Marine Parade, notwithstanding all he has gone through for
her, she would not condescend to take the slightest notice of him. So far
from offering anything in the shape of consolation, the witty barrister
remarked, "Upon my soul, her conduct was in perfect keeping with her
situation, for what on earth could be more in unison with a sea-view than

[Illustration: A CUTTER ON THE BEACH?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

It is well known that the piers of Westminster Bridge have considerably
sunk since their first erection. They are not the only peers, in the same
neighbourhood that have become lowered in the position they once occupied.

       *       *       *       *       *




He who widely, yet ascensively, expatiates in those in-all-ways-sloping
fields of metaphysical investigation which perplex whilst they captivate,
and bewilder whilst they allure, cannot evitate the perception of
perception's fallibility, nor avoid the conclusion (if that can be called
a conclusion to which, it may be said, there are no premises extant) that
the external senses are but deceptive _media_ of interior mental
communication. It behoves the ardent, youthful explorator, therefore, to
----, &c. &c.


In the Promethean persecutions which assail the insurgent mentalities of
the youth and morning vigour of the inexpressible human soul, when,
flushed with Æolian light, and, as it were, beaded with those lustrous
dews which the eternal Aurora lets fall from her melodious lip; if it
escape living from the beak of the vulture (no fable here!), then, indeed,
it may aspire to ----, &c. &c.


If, with waxen Icarian wing, we seek to ascend to that skiey elevation
whence only can the understretching regions of an impassive mutability be
satisfactorily contemplated; and if, in our heterogeneous ambition,
aspirant above self-capacity, we approach too near the flammiferous Titan,
and so become pinionless, and reduced again to an earthly prostration,
what marvel is it, that ----, &c. &c.


When the perennial Faustus, ever-resident in the questioning spirit of
immortal man, attempts his first outbreak into the domain of unlimited
inquiry, unless he take heed of the needfully-cautious prudentialities of
mundane observance, there infallibly attends him a fatal Mephistophelean
influence, of which the malign tendency, from every conclusion of
eventuality, is to plunge him into perilous vast cloud-waves of the
dream-inhabited vague. Let, then, the young student of infinity ----, &c.


Inarched within the boundless empyrean of thought, starry with wonder, and
constellate with investigation; at one time obfuscated in the abysm-born
vapours of doubt; at another, radiant with the sun-fires of faith made
perfect by fruition; it can amaze no considerative fraction of humanity,
that the explorer of the indefinite, the searcher into the
not-to-be-defined, should, at dreary intervals, invent dim, plastic
riddles of his own identity, and hesitate at the awful shrine of that
dread interrogatory alternative--reality, or dream? This deeply pondering,
let the eager beginner in the at once linear and circumferent course of
philosophico-metaphysical contemplativeness, introductively assure himself
that ----, &c. &c.


As, "in the silence and overshadowing of that night whose fitful meteoric
fires only herald the descent of a superficial fame into lasting oblivion,
the imbecile and unavailing resistance which is made against the doom must
often excite our pity for the pampered child of market-gilded popularity;"
and as "it is not with such feelings that we behold the dark thraldom and
long-suffering of true intellectual strength," of which the "brief, though
frequent, soundings beneath the earthly pressure will be heard even amidst
the din of flaunting crowds, or the solemn conclaves of common-place
minds," of which the "obscured head will often shed forth ascending beams
that can only be lost in eternity;" and of which the "mighty struggles to
upheave its own weight, and that of the superincumbent mass of prejudice,
envy, ignorance, folly, or uncongenial force, must ever ensure the deepest
sympathy of all those who can appreciate the spirit of its qualities;" let
the initiative skyward struggles towards the zenith-abysses of the inane
impalpable ----, &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c.

_Dramatic Authors' Theatre, Sept. 16, 1841._

       *       *       *       *       *


MASTER PUNCH,--Mind ye's, I've been to see these here _Secretens_ at the
English Uproar 'Ouse, and thinks, mind ye's, they aint by no means the
werry best Cheshire; but what I want to know is this here--Why don't they
give that wenerable old genelman, Mr. Martinussy, the Hungry Cardinal,
something to eat?--he is a continually calling out for some of his
Countrys Weal, (which, I dare say, were werry good) and he don't never git
so much as a sandvich dooring the whole of his life and death--I mention
dese tings, because, mind ye's, it aint werry kind of none on 'em.

I remains, Mr. PUNCH, Sir, yours truly,


[Illustration: HIS MARK.]

       *       *       *       *       *


The new Premier was taking a solitary stroll the other evening through
Palace-yard, meditating upon the late turn which had brought the Tories to
the top of the wheel and the Whigs to the bottom, and pondering on the
best ways and means of keeping his footing in the slippery position that
had cost him so much labour to attain. While thus employed, with his eyes
fixed on the ground, and his hands buried in his breeches-pockets, he
heard a voice at no great distance, calling in familiar tone--

"Bob! Bob!--I say, Bob!"

The alarmed Baronet stopped, and looked around him to discover the
speaker, when, casting his eyes upon the statue of George Canning in the
enclosure of Westminster Abbey, he was astonished to perceive it nodding
its head at him, like the statue in "Don Giovanni," in a "How d'ye do?"
kind of way. Sir Robert, who, since his introduction to the Palace, has
grown perilously polite, took off his hat, and made a low bow to the

STATUE.--Bah! no nonsense, Bob, with me! Put on your hat, and come over
here, close to the railings, while I have a little private confab with
you. So, you have been called in at last?

PEEL.--Yes. Her Majesty has done me the honour to command my services; and
actuated by a sincere love of my country, I obeyed the wishes of my Royal
Mistress, and accepted office; though, if I had consulted my own
inclinations, I should have preferred the quiet path of private--

STATUE.--Humbug! You forget yourself, Bob; you are not now at Tamworth, or
in the house, but talking to an old hand that knows every move on the
political board,--you need have no disguise with me. Come, be candid for
once, and tell me, what are your intentions?

PEEL.--Why, then, candidly, to keep my place as long as I can--

STATUE.--Undoubtedly; that is the first duty of every patriotic minister!
But the means, Bob?

PEEL--Oh! Cant--cant--nothing but cant! I shall talk of my feeling for the
wants of the people, while I pick their pockets; bestow my pity upon the
manufacturers, while I tax the bread that feeds their starving families;
and proclaim my sympathy with the farmers, while I help the arrogant
landlords to grind them into the dust.

STATUE.--Ah! I perceive yon understand the true principles of legislation.
Now, _I_ once really felt what you only feign. In my time, I attempted to
carry out my ideas of amelioration, and wanted to improve the moral and
physical condition of the people, but--

PEEL.--You failed. Few gave you credit for purely patriotic motives--and
still fewer believed you to be sincere in your professions. Now, _my_ plan
is much easier, and safer. Give the people fair promises--they don't cost
much--but nothing besides promises; the moment you attempt to realise the
hopes you have raised, that moment you raise a host of enemies against

STATUE.--But if you make promises, the nation will demand a fulfilment of

PEEL.--I have an answer ready for all comers--"Wait awhile!" 'Tis a famous
soother for all impatient grumblers. It kept the Whigs in office for ten
years, and I see no reason why it should not serve our turn as long.
Depend upon it, "Wait awhile" is the great secret of Government.

STATUE.--Ah! I believe you are right. I now see that I was only a novice
in the trade of politics. By the bye, Bob, I don't at all like my
situation here; 'tis really very uncomfortable to be exposed to all
weathers--scorched in summer, and frost-nipped in winter. Though I am only
a statue, I feel that I ought to be protected.

PEEL.--Undoubtedly, my dear sir. What can I do for you?

STATUE.--Why, I want to get into the Abbey, St. Paul's, or Drury Lane.
Anywhere out of the open air.

PEEL.--Say no more--it shall be done. I am only too happy to have it in my
power to serve the statue of a man to whom his country is so deeply

STATUE.--But _when_ shall it be done, Bob? To-morrow?

PEEL.--Not precisely to-morrow; but--

STATUE.--Next week, then?

PEEL.--I can't say; but don't be impatient--rely on my promise, and _wait
awhile, wait awhile_, my dear friend. Good night.

STATUE.--Oh! confound your _wait awhile_. I see I have nothing to expect.

       *       *       *       *       *


Tom Duncombe declares he never passes McPhail's imitative-gold mart
without thinking of Ben D'Israeli's speeches, as both of them are so
confoundedly full of fantastic

[Illustration: MOSAIC ORNAMENTS.]

       *       *       *       *       *


Limited space in our last number prevented our noticing any other than the
Sleeping Beauty; and, as there are many other humorous productions
possessing equal claims to our attention in the landscape and other
departments of art, we shall herein endeavour to point out their
characteristics--more for the advantage of future purchasers than for the
better and further edification of those whose meagre notions and tastes
have already been shown. And as the Royal Academicians, par courtesy,
demand our first notice, we shall, having wiped off D. M'Clise, R.A., now
proceed, baton in hand, to make a few pokes at W.F. Witherington, R.A.,
upon his work entitled "Winchester Tower, Windsor Castle, from Romney

This is a subject which has been handled many times within our
recollection, by artists of less name, less fame, and less pretensions to
notice, if we except the undeniable fact of their displaying infinitely
more ability in their representations of the subject, than can by any
possibility be discovered in the one by W. F. Witherington, R.A. If our
remarks were made with an affectionate eye to the young ladies of the
satin-album-loving school, we should assuredly style this "a duck of a
picture"--one after their own hearts--treated in mild and undisturbed
tones of yellow, blue, and pink--and what yellows! what blues! and what
pinks! Some kind, superintending genius of landscape-painting evidently
prepared the scene for W.F. Witherington, R.A. It displays nothing of the
vulgar every-day look of nature, as seen at Romney Lock, or any other
spot; not a pebble out of its place--not a leaf deranged--here are bright
amber trees, and blue metallic towers, prepared gravel-walks, and figures
nicely cleaned and bleached to suit; it is, in truth, the most genteel
landscape ever looked on. Nothing but absolute needlework can create more
wonderment. Fie! fie! get thee hence, W.F. Witherington, R.A.

Just placed over the last-mentioned picture, and, doubtlessly so arranged
that the gentle R.A. should find that, although his bright specimen of
mild murder may be adjudged the worst in the collection, still there are
others worthy of being classed in the same order of oddities. Behold No.
19, entitled, "Landscape--Evening--J.F. Gilbert," and selected by Mr. John
Bullock from the Royal Academy. "What's in a name?" In the charitable hope
that there is a chance of this purchaser being toned down in the course of
time, after the same manner that pictures are, and, by that process,
display more sobriety, we most humbly offer to Mr. B. our modest judgment
upon his selection (not upon his choice, but upon the thing chosen). That
it is a landscape we gloomily admit; but that it represents "Evening" we
steadily deny. The exact period of the day, after much puzzling and
deliberation, we cannot arrive at; one thing yet we are assured of--that
it has been painted in company with a clock that was either too fast or
too slow. The composition, which has very much the appearance of the
by-gone century, is a prime selection from the finest parts of those very
serene views to be found adorning the lowest interiors of wash-hand
basins, with a dash from the works of Smith of Chichester, whose mental
elevation in his profession was only surpassed by the high finish of his
apple-trees, and the elaborate nothingness of his general choice of
subject. In the foreground of the picture, the artist has, however, most
aptly introduced the two vagabonds invariably to be seen idling in the
foregrounds of landscapes of this class--two rascally scouts who have put
in appearance from time immemorial; they are here just as in the works
alluded to, the one sitting, the other of course standing, and courteously
bending to receive the remarks of his friend. By the side of the stream,
which flows through (or rather takes up) the middle of the picture, and
immediately opposite to the two everlastings, is a little plain-looking
agriculturist, who appears to be watching them. He is in the careless and
ever-admitted picturesque position of leaning over a garden fence; but
whether the invariables are aware of the little gentleman, and are
consequently conversing in an undertone, we leave every beholder to
speculate and settle for himself. Behind the worthy small farmer, and
coming from the door of his residence, most cleverly introduced, is his
wife (we know it to represent the wife, from the clear fact of the lady's
appearance being typical of the gentleman's), who is in the act of
observing that the children are waiting his presence at table, and adding,
no doubt, that he had better come in and assist her in the
cabbage-and-bacon duties of the repast, than lose his time and annoy the

We must now draw the spectator from the above-mentioned objects to a
little piscatorial sportsman, who, apart from them, and in the retirement
of his own thoughts upon worms, ground-bait, and catgut, lends his aid,
together with a lively little amateur waterman, paddling about in a little
boat, selfishly built to hold none other than himself--a hill rising in
the middle ground, and two or three minor editions of the same towards the
distance, carefully dotted with trees, after the fashion of a ready-made
portable park from the toy _depot_ in the Lowther Arcade--two bee-hives, a
water-mill, some majestic smoke, something that looks like a skein of
thread thrown over a mountain, and the memorable chiaro-scuro, form the
interesting episodes of this glorious essay in the epic pastoral.

       *       *       *       *       *


    _Observations on the Epic Poem of Giles Scroggins and Molly

The fatal operation of the unavoidable, ever-impending, ruthless shears of
the stern controller of human destiny, and curtailer of human life--the
action by which

  "Fate's scissors cut Giles Scroggins' thread,"

or rather the thread of Giles Scroggins' life, at once and most completely
establishes the wholesome moral as to the fearful uncertainty of all
sublunary anticipations, and stands forth a beautiful beacon to warn the
over-weaning "worldly wisemen" from their often too-fondly-cherished
dreams of realising, by their own means and appliances, the darling
projects of their ambitious hopes!

The immediate effect of the operation performed by Fate's scissors, or
rather by Fate herself--as she was the great and absolute disposer--to
whom the implement employed was but a matter of fancy; for had Fate so
chosen, a bucket, a bowie-knife, a brick-bat, a black cap, or a box of
patent pills, might, as well as her destructive shears, have made a tenant
for a yawning grave of doomed Giles Scroggins. We say, the immediate
effect arising from this cutting cause was one in which both parties--the
living bride and defunct bridegroom--were equally concerned, their lover's
co-partnership rendering each liable for the acts or accidents of the
other; therefore as may be (and we think is) clearly established, under
these circumstances,

  "They could _not_ be _mar-ri_-ed!"

There is something deliciously affecting in the beautiful drawing out of
the last syllable!--it seems like the lingering of the heart's best
feelings upon the blighted prospects of its purest joys!--the ceremony
that would have completed the union of the loving maiden and admiring
swain, blending, as it were, like the twin prongs of a brass-bound
toasting-fork, their interests in one common cause. The ceremony of love's
concentration can never be performed! but the heart-feeling poet extends
each tiny syllable even to its utmost stretch, that the tear-dropping
reader may, while gulping down his sympathies, make at least a handsome
mouthful of the word.

We now approach, with considerable awe, a portion of our task to which we
beg to call the undivided attention of our erudite readers. Upon referring
to the original black-letter quarto, we find, after each particular
sentence, the author introduces, with consummate tact, a line, meant, as
we presume, as a kind of literary resting-place, upon which the delighted
mind might, in the sweet indulgence of repose, reflect with greater
pleasure on the thrilling parts, made doubly thrilling by the poet's fire.
The diversity of these, if we may so express them, "camp stools" of
imagination, is worthy of remark, both as to their application and
amplitude. For instance, after _one_ line, and that if perused with
attention, comparatively less abstruse than its fellows, the gifted poet
satisfies himself with the insertion of three sonorous, but really simple
syllables, they are invariably at follows--


But when _two_ lines of the poem--burning with thought, bursting with
action--entrance by their sublimity the enraptured reader, greater time is
given, and more extended accommodation for a mental sit-down is afforded
in the elaborate and elongated composition of

  "Whack! fol-de-riddle lol-de-day!"

These introductions are of a high classic origin. Many professors of
eminence have quarrelled as to whether they were not the original of the
"Greek chorus;" while others, of equal erudition, have as stoutly
maintained, though closely approximating in character and purpose, they
are not the "originals," but imitations, and decidedly admirable ones,
from those celebrated poets.

A Mr. William Waters, a gentleman of immense travel, one who had left the
burning zone of the far East to visit the more chilling gales of a
European climate, a philosopher of the sect known as the "Peripatetic," a
devoted follower of the heathen Nine, whose fostering care has ever been
devoted to the tutelage of the professors of sweet sounds; and therefore
Waters was a high authority, declared in the peculiar _patois_ attendant
upon the pronunciation of a foreign mode of speech--that


was to catch him wind! And

  "Whack! fol-de-riddle lol-de-day,"

to let "um rosin up him fuddlestick!" These deductions are practical, if
not poetical; but these are but the emanations from the brain of
one--hundreds of other commentators differ from his view.

The most erudite linguists are excessively puzzled as to the nation whose
peculiar language has been resorted to for these singular and unequalled
introductions. The


has been given up in despair. The nearest solution was that of an eminent
arithmetician, who conjectured from the word too (Anglice, _two_)--and the
use of the four cyphers--those immediately following the T and L--that
they were intended to convey some notion of the personal property of Giles
Scroggins or Molly Brown (he never made up his mind which of the two); and
merely wanted the following marks to render them plain:--

T--oo (_two_)--either shillings or pence--and L--oo: no pounds!

This may or may not be right, but the research and ingenuity deserve the
immortality we now confer upon it. The other line, the

  "Whack! fol-de-riddle lol-de-day!"

has, perhaps, given rise to far more controversy, with certainly less
tangible and satisfactory results.

The scene of the poem not being expressly stated in the original or early
black-letter translation, many persons--whose love of country prompted
their wishes--have endeavoured to attach a nationality to these gordian
knots of erudition. An Hibernian gentleman of immense research--the
celebrated "Darby Kelly"--has openly asserted the whole affair to be
decidedly of Milesian origin: and, amid a vast number of corroborative
circumstances, strenuously insists upon the solidity of his premises and
deductions by triumphantly exclaiming, "What, or who but an _Irish_ poet
and an Irish hero, would commence a matter of so much consequence with the
soul-stirring "whack!" adopted by the great author, and put into the mouth
of his chosen hero?" Others again have supposed--which is also far more
improbable--that much of the obscurity of the above passage has its origin
from simple mis-spelling on the part of the poet's amanuensis--he taking
the literal dictation, forgetting the sublime author was suffering from a
cold in the head, which rendered the words in sound--

  "Riddle _lol_ the lay;"

whereas they would otherwise have been pronounced--

  "Riddle--_all the day_"--

that being an absolute and positive allusion to the agricultural pursuits
of Giles Scroggins, he being generally employed by his more wealthy
master--a great agrarian of those times--in the manly though somewhat
fatiguing occupation of "riddling all the day:" an occupation which--like
this article--was to be frequently resumed.

       *       *       *       *       *


    DEFINITION _Pocket_, s. the small bag inserted into
    clothes.--WALKER (_a new edition, by Hookey_).

We are great on the subject of pockets--we acknowledge it--we avow it.
From our youth upwards, and we are venerable now, we have made them the
object of untiring research, analysis, and speculation; and if our
exertions have occasionally involved us in contingent predicaments, or our
zeal laid us open to conventional misconstructions, we console ourselves
with Galileo and Tycho Brahe, who having, like us, discovered and arranged
systems too large for the scope of the popular intellect, like us, became
the martyrs of those great principles of science which they have
immortalized themselves by teaching.

The result of a course of active and careful (s)peculations on the
philosophy and economy of pockets, has led us to the conviction that their
intention and use are but very imperfectly understood, even by the
intelligent and reflective section of the community. It is, we fear, a
very common error to regard them as conventional recesses, adapted for the
reception and deposit of such luxurious additaments to the attire as are
detached, yet accessory and indispensable ministers to our comfort. Now
this delusive supposition is diametrically opposed to the truth. Pockets
(we must be plain)--pockets are not made _to put into_, but to _take out
of_; and, although it is of course necessary that, in order to produce the
result of withdrawal, they be previously furnished with the wherewithal to
withdraw, yet the process of insertion and supply is only carried on for
the purpose of assisting the operation of the system.

And having, we trust, logically established this point, we shall hazard no
incautious position in asserting that the man who empties a pocket,
fulfils the object for which it was founded and established. And although,
unhappily, a prejudice still exists in the minds of the uneducated, in
favour of emptying their own pockets themselves, it must be evident that
none but a narrow mind can take umbrage at the trifling acceleration of an
event which must inevitably occur; or would desire to appropriate the
credit of the distribution, as well as to deserve the merit of the supply.

We perceive with concern and apprehension, that pockets are gradually
falling into disuse. To use the flippant idiom of the day, they are going
out! This is an alarming, as well as a lamentable fact; and one, too,
strikingly illustrative of the degeneracy of modern fashions. Whether we
ascribe the change to a contemptuous neglect of ancestral institutions, or
to an increasing difficulty in furnishing the indispensable attributes of
the pocket, it is alike indicative of a crisis; and we confess that it is
matter of astonishment to us, that in these days of theory and hypothesis,
no man has ventured to trace the distress and the ruin now impending over
the country, to the increasing disrespect and disuse of--pockets.

By way of approving our conjecture, let us contrast the garments of the
hour with those of England in the olden time--long ago, when boards smoked
and groaned under a load of good things in every man's house; when the
rich took care of the poor, and the poor took care of themselves; when
husband and wife married for love, and lived happily (though that must
have been very long ago indeed); the athletic yeoman proceeded to his
daily toil, enveloped in garments instinct with pockets. The ponderous
watch--the plethoric purse--the massive snuff-box--the dainty
tooth-pick--the grotesque handkerchief; all were accommodated and
cherished in the more ample recesses of his coat; while supplementary fobs
were endeared to him by their more seductive contents: _as_ ginger
lozenges, love-letters, and turnpike-tickets. Such were the days on which
we should reflect with regret; such were the men whom we should imitate
and revere. Had such a character as we have endeavoured feebly to sketch,
met an individual enveloped in a shapeless cylindrical tube of pale
Macintosh--impossible for taste--incapable of pockets--indefinite and
indefinable--we question whether he would have regarded him in the light
of a maniac, an incendiary, or a foreign spy--whether he would not have
handed him immediately over to the exterminators of the law, as a being
too depraved, too degraded for human sympathy. And yet--for our prolixity
warns us to conclude--and yet the festering contagion of this baneful
example is now-a-days hidden under the mask of fashion. FASHION! and has
it indeed come to this? Is fashion to trample on the best and finest
feelings of our nature? Is fashion to be permitted to invade us in our
green lanes, and our high roads, under our vines and our fig-trees,
without hindrance, and without pockets? For the sake of human nature, we
hope not--for the sake of our bleeding country, we hope not. No! "Take
care of your pockets!" is one of the earliest maxims instilled into the
youthful mind; and emphatically do we repeat to our
fellow-countrymen--Englishmen, take care of your pockets!

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: C]Critics, as well as placemen, are occasionally
sinecurists, and, like the gentlemen of England immortalised by Dibdin,
are able, now and then, to "live at home at ease"--to dine (on dining
days) in comfort, not having to rise from table to give authors or actors
their dessert. This kind of novelty in our lives takes place when managers
produce no novelties in their theatres; when authors are lazy, and actors
do not come out in new parts but are contented with wearing out old
ones--when, in short, such an eventless theatrical week as the past one
leaves us to the enjoyment of our own hookahs, and the port of our
cellar-keeping friends. The play-bills seem to have been printed from
stereotype, for, like the laws of the Medes and Persians, they have never
altered--since our last report.

This unexpected hot weather has visited the public with many a "Midsummer
night's dream," _although_ it is--and Covent Garden has opened _because_
it is September; Sheridan's "Critic" has been very busy there, though
PUNCH'S has had nothing to do. "London Assurance" is still seen to much
advantage, and so is Madame Vestris.

The Haymarket manager continues to wade knee-deep in tragedy, in spite of
the state of the weather. The fare is, however, too good for any change in
the _carte_. "Werner" forms a substantial standing dish. The "Boarding
School" makes a most palpable _entrée_; while "Bob Short," and "My Friend
the Captain," serve as excellent after-courses. The promises recorded in
the Haymarket bills are, a new tragedy by a new author, and an old comedy
called "Riches;" a certain hit, if the continued success of "Money" be any

It is with feelings of the most rabid indignation that we approach the
_Strand Theatre_, and the ruthless threat its announcements put forth of
the future destruction of the only legitimate drama that is now left
amongst us; that is to say, "PUNCH." When Thespis and his pupil Phynicus
"came out" at the feasts of Bacchus; when "Roscius was an actor in Rome;"
when Scaramouch turned the Materia Medica into a farce, and became a quack
doctor in Italy; when Richardson set up his show in England--all these
geniuses were peregrinate, peripatetic--their scenes were really moving
ones, their tragic woes went upon wheels, their comedies were run through
at the rate of so many miles per hour; the entire drama was, in fact, a
travelling concern. Punch, the concentrated essence of all these, has, up
to this date, preserved the pristine purity of his peripatetic fame; he
still remains on circuit, he still retains his legitimacy. But, alas! ere
this sheet has passed through the press, while its ink is yet as wet as
our dear Judy's eyes, he will have fallen from his high estate: Hall will
have housed him! Punch will have taken a stationary stand at the Strand
Theatre!! The last stroke will have been given to the only ancient drama
remaining, except the tragedies of Sophocles, and "Gammer Gurton's

With feelings of both sorrow and anger, we turn from the pedestrian to the
equestrian drama. The Surrey has again, as of yore, become the Circus; she
has been joined to Ducrow and his stud by the usual symbol of union--a
_ring_. "Mazeppa" is _ridden_ by Mr. Cartlitch, with great success, and
the wild horse performed by an animal so highly trained, that it is as
tame as a lap-dog--has galloped through a score or so of nights, to the
delight of some thousands of spectators. The scenes in the circle exhibit
the usual _round_ of entertainment, and the _Merryman_ delivers those
reliques of antique facetiæ which have descended to the clowns of the
ring from generation to generation, without the smallest innovation. Thus
the Surrey shows symptoms of high prosperity, and properly declines to fly
in Fortune's face by attempting novelty.

The Victoria continues to kill "James Dawson," in spite of our prediction.
The bills, however, promise that he shall die outright on Monday next, and
a happy release it will be. The proprietor of "Sadler's Wells" is making
most spirited efforts to attract play-goers to the Islington side of the
New River, by a return to the legitimate drama of _his_ theatre,
viz.--real water; while his box check-taker has kept one important integer
of the public away; namely, that singular plural _we_--by impertinence for
which we have exhausted all patience without obtaining redress.

There are, we hear, other theatres open in London, one called the "City of
London," somewhere near Shoreditch; another in Whitechapel, both _terræ
incognitæ_ to us. The proprietors of these have handsomely presented us
with free admissions. We beg them to accept our thanks for their courtesy;
but are sorry we cannot avail ourselves of it till they add the obligation
of providing us with _guides_.

       *       *       *       *       *


Doctor Chalmers refused to attend the synod of Clergymen gathered together
to consider the relative value of the Big and Little Loaf, on the ground
that the reverend gentlemen were beginning their work at the wrong end.
Wages will go up with Christianity, says the Doctor; cheap corn will
follow the dissemination of cheap Bibles. "I know of no other road for the
indefinite advancement of the working classes to a far better
remuneration, and, of course, a far more liberal maintenance, in return
for their toils, than they have ever yet enjoyed--it is a _universal
Christian education_." Such are the words of Doctor CHALMERS.

We perfectly agree with the reverend doctor. Instead of shipping
Missionaries to Africa, let us keep those Christian sages at home for the
instruction of the English Aristocracy. When we consider the benighted
condition of the elegant savages of the western squares,--when we reflect
upon the dreadful scepticism abounding in Park-lane, May-fair,
Portland-place and its vicinity,--when we contemplate the abominable idols
which these unhappy natives worship in their ignorance,--when we know that
every thought, every act of their misspent life is dedicated to a false
religion, when they make hourly and daily sacrifice to that brazen


when they offer up the poor man's sweat to the abomination,--when they lay
before it the crippled child of the factory,--when they take from life its
bloom and dignity, and degrading human nature to mere brute breathing,
make offering of its wretchedness as the most savoury morsel to the
perpetual craving of their insatiate god,--when we consider all the
"manifold sins and wickednesses" of the barbarians in purple and fine
linen, of those pampered savages "whose eyes are red with wine and whose
teeth white with milk,"--we do earnestly hope that the suggestion of
Doctor Chalmers will be carried into immediate practical effect, and that
Missionaries, preaching true Christianity, will be sent among the rich and
benighted people of this country,--so that the poor may believe that the
Scriptures are something more than mere printed paper, seeing their
glorious effects in the awakened hearts of those who, in the arrogance of
their old idolatry, called themselves their betters!

"A universal Christian education!" To this end, the Bench of Bishops meet
at Lambeth; and discovering that locusts and wild honey--the Baptist's
diet--may be purchased for something less than ten thousand a year,--and,
after a minute investigation of the Testament, failing to discover the
name of St. Peter's coachmaker, or of St. Paul's footman, his valet, or
his cook,--take counsel one with another, and resolve to forego at least
nine-tenths of their yearly in-comings. "No!" they exclaim--and what
apostolic brightness beams in the countenance of CANTERBURY--what
celestial light plays about the fleshy head of LONDON--what more than
saint-like beauty surprises the cowslip-coloured face of EXETER--what
lambent fire, what looks of Christian love play about and beam from the
whole episcopal Bench!--"No!" they cry--"we will no longer have the spirit
oppressed by these cumbrous trappings of fleshy pride! We will promote an
universal Christian education--we will teach charity by examples, and live
unto all men by a personal abstinence from the bickerings and malice of
civil life. We will not defile the sacred lawn with the mud of turnpike
acts--we will no longer sweat in the House of Lords, but labour only in
the House of the Lord!"

Their Christian hearts sweetly suffused with sudden meekness, the Bishops
proceed--staff in hand, and Bible under arm--from Lambeth Palace. How the
people make way for the holy procession! Hackney-coachmen on their stands
uncover themselves, and the drayman, surprised in his whistle, doffs his
beaver to the reverend pilgrims. With measured step and slow, they proceed
to Downing-street; the self-deputed Missionaries, resolved to give her
Majesty's ministers "a Christian education." Sir ROBERT PEEL is
immediately taken in hand by the Bishop of EXETER; who sets the Baronet to
learn and exemplify the practical beauties of the Lord's Prayer. When Sir
ROBERT comes to "give us this day our daily bread," he insists upon adding
the words "_with a sliding scale_." However, EXETER, animated by a sudden
flux of Christianity, keeps the baronet to his lesson, and the Premier is
regenerated; yea, is "a brand snatched from the fire."

Lord LYNDHURST makes a great many wry mouths at some parts of the
Decalogue--we will not particularise them--but the Bishop of London is
resolute, and the new Lord Chancellor is, in all respects a bran-new

Lord STANLEY begs that when he prays for power to forgive all his enemies,
he may be permitted to except from that prayer--DANIEL O'CONNELL. The
Bishop is, however, inexorable; and O'Connell is to be prayed for, in all
churches visited by Lord STANLEY.

Several of the bishops, smitten by the heathen darkness of the great
majority of the Cabinet--affected by their utter ignorance of the
practical working of Christianity--burst into tears. It will not be
credited by those disposed to think charitably of their fellow-creatures,
that--we state the melancholy fact upon the golden word of the Bishop of
EXETER--several Cabinet ministers had never heard of the divine sentence
which enjoins upon us to do to others as we would they should do unto us.
Sir JAMES GRAHAM, for instance, declared that he had always understood the
passage to simply run--"_Do_ others;" and had, therefore, in very many
acts of his political life, squared his doings according to the mutilated
sentence. All the Cabinet had, more or less, some idea of the miracle of
the Loaves and the Fishes. Indeed, many of them confessed that with them,
the Loaves and the Fishes had, during their whole political career,
contained the essence of Christianity. Sir EDWARD KNATCHBULL, Lord
ELLENBOROUGH, and GOULBURN declared that for the last ten years they had
hungered for nothing else.

We cannot dwell upon every individual case of ignorance displayed in the
Cabinet. We confine ourselves to the glad statement, that every minister
from the first lord of the treasury to the grooms in waiting, vivified by
the sacred heat of their schoolmaster Bishops, illustrate the great truth
of Doctor CHALMERS, that the poor man can only obtain justice "by a
_universal_ Christian education."

The Bench of Bishops do not confine their labours to the instruction of
the Cabinet. By no means. They have appointed prebends, deans, canons,
vicars, &c., to teach the members of both houses of Parliament practical
Christianity towards their fellow-men. Lord LONDONDERRY has sold his
fowling-piece for the benefit of the poor--has given his shooting-jacket
to the ragged beggar that sweeps the crossing opposite the Carlton
Club--and resolving to forego the vanities of grouse, is now hard at work
on "The Acts of the Apostles." Colonel SIBTHORP--after unceasing labour on
the part of Doctor CROLY--has managed to spell at least six of the hard
names in the first chapter of St. Matthew, and can now, with very slight
hesitation, declare who was the father of ZEBEDEE'S children!

"An universal Christian education!" Oh, reader! picture to yourself
London--for one day only--operated upon by the purest Christianity.
Consider the mundane interests of this tremendous metropolis directed by
Apostolic principles! Imagine the hypocrisy of respectability--the
conventional lie--the allowed ceremonial deceit--the tricks of trade--the
ten thousand scoundrel subterfuges by which the lowest dealers of this
world purchase Bank-stock and rear their own pine-apples--the common,
innocent iniquities (innocent from their very antiquity, having been
bequeathed from sire to son) which men perpetrate six working-days in the
week, and after, lacker up their faces with a look of sleek humility for
the Sunday pew--consider all this locust swarm of knaveries annihilated by
the purifying spirit of Christianity, and then look upon London breathing
and living, for one day only, by the sweet, sustaining truth of the

Had our page ten thousand times its amplitude, it would not contain the
briefest register of the changes of that day!

There is a scoundrel attorney, who for thirty years has become plethoric
on broken hearts. The scales of leprous villany have fallen from him; and
now, an incarnation of justice, he sits with open doors, to pour oil into
the wounds of the smitten--to make man embrace man as his brother--to
preach lovingkindness to all the world, and--without a fee--to chant the
praises of peace and amity.

_Crib_ the stockbroker meets _Horns_ a fellow-labourer in the same hempen
walk of life. _Crib_ offers to buy a little Spanish of _Horns_. "My dear
_Crib_," says _Horns_, "it is impossible; I can't sell; for I have just
received by a private hand from Cadiz, news that must send the stock down
to nothing. I am a Christian, my dear _Crib_," says _Horns_, "and as a
Christian, how could I sell you a certain loss?"

A mistaken, but well-meaning man, although a tailor, meets his debtor in
Bow-street. A slight quarrel ensues; whereupon, the debtor (to show that
the days of chivalry are _not_ gone) kicks his tailor into the gutter.
Does the tailor take the offender before Mr. JARDINE? By no means. The
tailor is a Christian; and learning the exact measure of his enemy, and
returning good for evil, he, in three days' time, sends to his assailant a
new suit of the very best super Saxony.

How many quacks we see rushing to the various newspaper offices to
countermand their advertisements! What gaps in the columns of the
newspapers themselves! Where is the sugary lie--the adroit slander--the
scoundrel meanness, masking itself with the usage of patriotism? All, all
are vanished, for--the _Morning Herald_ is published upon Christian

Let us descend to the smallest matters of social life. "Will this gingham
wash?" asks _Betty_ the housemaid of _Twill_ the linen-draper. _Twill_ is
a Christian; and therefore replies, "it is a very poor article, and it
will _not_ wash!"

We are with Doctor Chalmers for Christianity--but not Christianity of _one
side_. "Pray for those who despitefully use you," say the Corn Law
Apostles to the famishing; and then, cocking their eye at one another, and
twitching their tongues in their mouths they add--"for this is


       *       *       *       *       *


Her Majesty has, it seems, presented the conductor of the _Gazette
Musicale_ with a gold medal and her portrait, as a reward for his constant
efforts in the cause of music (_vide Morning Post_, Sept. 9). From this,
it may be supposed, foreigners alone are deemed worthy of distinction; but
our readers will be glad to learn, that Rundells have been honoured with
an order for a silver whistle for PUNCH. His unceasing efforts in the
causes of _humbug_, political, literary, and dramatic, having drawn forth
this high mark of royal favour.

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: THE DINER-OUT.]

       *       *       *       *       *



"So, Dick, I mean your 'reverence,' you like the blessed old country as
well as ever, eh, lad?"

"As well, ay, almost better. My return to it is like the meeting of
long-parted friends--the joy of the moment is pure and unalloyed--all
minor faults are forgotten--all former goodness rushes with double force
from the recollection to the heart, and the renewal of old fellowship
grafts new virtues (the sweet fruits of regretted absence) upon him who
has been the chosen tenant of our 'heart of hearts.'"

"His reverence's health--three times three (empty them heeltaps, Jack, and
fill out of the fresh jug)--now, boys, give tongue. That's the raal thing;
them cheers would wake the seven sleepers after a dose of laudanum. Bless
you, and long life to you! That's the worst wish you'll find here."

"I know that right well, uncle. I know it, feel it, and most heartily
thank you all."

"Enough said, parson. By dad, Dick, its mighty droll to be calling you,
that was but yesterday a small curly-pated gossoon, by that clerical
mouthful of a handle to your name. But do you find us altered much?"

"There is no change but Time's--that has fallen lightly. To be sure,
yesterday I was looking for the heads of my strapping cousins at the
bottom button of their well-filled waistcoats, and, before Jack's arrival,
meant to do a paternal and patriarchal 'pat' on his, at somewhere about
that altitude; a ceremony he must excuse, as the little lad of my mind has
thought proper to expand into a young Enniskillen of six feet three."

"He's a mighty fine boy--the lady-killing vagabone!" said the father, with
a kind look of gratified pride; and then added, as if to stop the
infection of the vanity, "and there's no denying he's big enough to be
better." Here a slight scrimmage at the door of the dining-room attracted
the attention of the "masther."

"What's the meaning of that noise, ye vagabones?"

"Spake up, Mickey."

"Is it me?" "It is." "Not at all, by no means. Let Paddy do it, or Tim
Carroll; they're used to going out wid the car, and don't mind spaking to
the quality." "Take yourselves out o'that, or let me know what you want,
and be pretty quick about it, too."

The result of this order was the appearance of Tim Carroll in the centre
of the room--a dig between the shoulders, and vigorously-applied kick
behind, hastening him into that somewhat uneasy situation, with a degree
of expedition perfectly marvellous.

"Spake out, what is it?" "Ahem!" commenced Tim; "you see, sir (_aside_),
I'll be even wid you for that kick, you thief of the world--you see, Paddy
(bad manners to him) and the rest o' the boys, was thinking that, owing to
the change o' climate, Master Richard--that is, his new riverence--has
gone through by rason of laving England and comin' here--and mighty could,
no doubt, he was on the journey--be praised he's safe--the boy, sir, was
thinkin', masther dear, it was nothing but their duty, and what was due to
the family, to ax your honour's opinion about their takin' the smallest
taste of whiskey in life, jist to be drinking his riverence's Masther
Richard's health, and"--"Success to him!" shouted the chorus at the door.
"That's it!" said the masther. "And nothing but it!" responded the chorus.
"Nelly, my jewel! take the kays and give them anything in dacency!"
"Hurrah! smiling good luck to you, for ever and afther!" "That'll do,
boys! but stay: it's Terence Conway's wedding night--it's a good tenant
he's been to me--take the sup down there, and you'll get a dance; now be
off, you devils!"

"Many thanks to your honour!" chorused the delighted group; and "I done
that iligant, anyhow," muttered the gratified, successful, and, therefore,
forgiving orator. "I'll try again. Ahem! wouldn't the young gentlemen just
step down for a taste?" "By all manes!" was chimed at once; their hats
were mounted in a moment, and off they set.

Terence Conway's farm was soon reached; the barn affording the most
accommodation for the numerous visitors, was fitted up for the occasion.
It was nearly full, as Terence was a popular man--one that didn't grudge
the "bit and sup," and never turned his back upon friend or foe. Loud and
hearty were the cheers of the delighted tenantry, as the three sons of
their beloved landlord passed the threshold. The appearance of the
"stranger" was received with no such demonstrations of welcome; on the
contrary, there was a sullen silence, soon after broken by suppressed and
angry murmurs. These were somewhat appeased by one of the sons introducing
his "cousin," and endeavouring to joke the peasants into good-humour, by
laughingly assuring them his "reverence" was but a bad drinker, and would
not deprive them of much of the poteen; then passing his arm through the
parson's, he led the way, as it afterwards turned out, rather
unfortunately, to the top of the barn, and there, followed by his
brothers, they took their seats.

The entrance of the Catholic priest (a most amiable man) at this moment
attracted the entire attention of the party, during which time Tim Carroll
elbowed his way to the place where his master was seated, and calling him
partially aside, whispered, "Master John, dear, tell his riverence, Master
Richard, to go."

"What for?"

"Sure, is not he entirely in black?"

"Well, what of it?"

"What of it? Houly Paul! the likes o' that! If my skin was as hard as a
miser's heart, I wouldn't put it into a black coat, and come to a wedding
in it; it's the devil's own bad omen, and nothing else!"

"You are right! What a fool I was not to tell Dick! Cousin, a word!"

Here the clamour became somewhat louder, the priest taking an active part,
and speaking rapidly and earnestly in their native tongue to the evidently
excited peasantry. He suddenly broke from them, and hastening to the
Protestant clergyman, grasped his hand, and, shaking it heartily, wished
him "health, long life, and happiness:" and lifting a tumbler of punch to
his lips, drank off nearly half its contents, exclaiming the customary,
"God save all here!" He then presented the liquor to the stranger, saying
in a low earnest voice, "Drink that toast, sir!"

This order was instantly complied with. The clear tones of the young man's
unfaltering voice and the hearty cordiality of his utterance had a
singular effect upon the more turbulent; the priest passed rapidly from
the one to the other, and endeavoured to say something pleasant to all,
but, despite his attempts at calmness, he was evidently ill at ease.

Tim Carroll again sidled up to his young master.

"The boys mane harrum, sir," said Tim; "but never mind, there's five of us
here. We've not been idle, we've all been taking pick o' the sticks, and
divil a stroke falls upon one of the ould ancient family widout showing a
bruck head or a flat back for it."

"What am I to understand by this?" inquired the young stranger.

"That you're like Tom Fergusson when he rode the losing horse--you've
mounted the wrong colour; and, be dad, you are pretty well marked down for
it, sir; but never mind, there's Tim Carroll looking as black as the
inside of a sut-bag. Let him come on! he peeled the skin off them shins o'
mine at futball; maybe, I won't trim his head with black thorn for that
same, if he's any ways obstropolis this blessed night."

"Silence, sir! neither my inclination nor sacred calling will allow me to
countenance a broil! I have been the first offender--to attempt to leave
the room now would but provoke an attack; leave this affair to me, and
don't interfere."

"By the powers! if man or mortal lifts his hand to injure you, I'll smash
the soul out of him! Do you think, omen or no omen, I'll stand by and see
you harmed?--not a bit of it! If you are a parson and a child of peace, I
have the honour to be a soldier, and claim my right to battle in your

Maugre the pacific tone of the unfortunately-accoutered ecclesiastic,
there was something of defiance in his flashing eye and crimson cheek, as
he turned his brightening glance upon what might almost be called the host
of his foes; and the nervous pressure which returned the grasp of his
cousin's sinewy hand, spoke something more of readiness for battle than
could have been gathered from his expressed wishes.

"If, Jack, it comes to that, why, as human nature is weak--excuse what I
may feel compelled to do; but for the present pray oblige me by keeping
your seat and the peace; or, if you must move and fidget about, go and
make that pugnacious Tim Carroll as decent as you can."

"I'll be advised by you, Dick; but look out!" So saying, the stalwart
young officer bustled his way to the uproarious Tim.

It was well he did so, or bloodshed must have ensued, as at that moment a
tall and powerful man, brother-in-law to the bride, lifted his stick, and
after giving it the customary twirl aimed a point-blank blow at the head
of the ill-omened parson. The bound of an antelope brought the girl to the
spot; her small hand averted the direction of the deadly weapon, and
before the action had been perceived by any present, or the attempt could
be resumed, she dropped a curtesy to the assailant, and in a loud voice,
with an affected laugh, exclaimed--

"You, if you plaise, sir;" and, turning quickly to the fiddler, continued:
"Any tune you like, Mr. Murphy, sir; but, good luck to you, be quick, or
we won't have a dance to-night!"

"Clear the floor!--a dance! a dance!" shouted every one.

In a few seconds the angry scowl had passed from the flushed cheeks of Dan
Sheeny, and there he was, toe and heeling, double shuffling, and cutting
it over the buckle, to the admiration of all beholders. The bride was
seated near the stranger--he perceived this, and suddenly quitting his
place, danced up to her, and nodding, as he stopped for a moment, invited
her to join him. She was ever light of foot, and, as she said afterwards,
"would have danced her life out but she'd give the poor young gentleman a
chance." Long and vigorously did Dan Sheeny advance, retire, curvette, and
caper. The whiskey and exertion at length overcame him, and he left the
lady sole mistress of the floor. By this time murmurs had again arisen,
and all eyes were turned upon the intruder, who had been intently engaged
observing the dancers. It was an accomplishment for which he had been
celebrated previous to his taking orders, and the old feeling so strongly
interested him, that he was absorbed in the pleasure of witnessing the
activity and joyousness of the performers. He turned his head for an
instant--a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder. On his starting up, he
saw nothing but the smiling Norah pressing the arm of a tall peasant, and
curtseying him a challenge to join her "on the floor." He paused for a
moment, then gaily taking her hand, advanced with her to the centre. All
eyes were bent upon them, but there was no restraint in the young parson's
manner. The most popular jig-tune was called for--to it they went; his
early-taught and well-practised feet beat living echoes to the most rapid
bars. A foot of ground seemed ample space for all the intricate
compilation of the _raal_ Conamera "capers." The tune was changed again
and again; again and again was his infinity of steps adapted to its
varying sounds: to use a popular phrase, you might have heard a pin drop.
Every mouth was closed, every eye fixed upon his rapid feet; and, when at
length wearied with exertion, the almost fainting girl was falling to the
earth, her gallant partner caught her in his arms, and, like an infant,
bore her to the open air, one loud and general cheer burst from their
unclosed lips; a few moments restored the pretty lass to perfect health.
Her first words were, "Leave me, sir, and save yourself." It was too late;
borne on the shoulders of the admiring mob, who, despite his suit of
sables (now rendered innoxious by the varying colour of the crimson
kerchief the young bride bound round his neck), he was soon seated in the
chair of honour, and there, surrounded by his friends, finished the night
the "lion of the dance." And thus it was that his "Reverence's heels took
steps to preserve his head."--FUSBOS

       *       *       *       *       *


(_Continued from our last._)

An important and advantageous arrangement in the transactions of the
society, since its foundation, has been the institution of the classes
"for the acquisition of a general smattering of everything," more
especially as concerning the younger branches of society. It is, however,
much to be regretted, that the public examination of the juvenile members,
upon the subjects they had listened to during the past course, did not
turn out so well as the committee could have wished. The various
professors had taken incredible pains to teach the infant philosophers
correct answers to the separate questions that would be asked them, in
order that they might reply with becoming readiness. Unfortunately the
examiner began at the wrong end of the class, and threw them all out,
except the middle one. We sub-join a few of the questions:--

State the distance, in miles, from the Hanwell Lunatic Asylum to the
Tuesday in Easter week, and show how long a man would be going from one to
the other, if he travelled at the rate of four gallons a minute.

Required to know the advantages of giving tracts to poor people who cannot
read, and how many are equivalent to a sliding-scale penny buster, in the
way of nourishment.

"Was Lord John Russell in his Windsor uniform, ever mistaken for a
two-penny postman; if so, what great man imagined the affinity?

[Illustration: Best Pigtail]

The School of Design and Drawing has made very creditable progress, and
the subscribers will be gratified in learning, that one of the pupils sent
in a design for the Nelson Testamonial, which would in all probability
have been accepted, had not the decision been made in the usual
preconcerted underhand manner. Following the columnar idea of Mr. Railton,
our talented pupil had put forth a peculiarly appropriate idea: the shaft
would have been formed by a sea-telescope of gigantic proportions, pulled
out to its utmost extent. On the summit of this Nelson would have been
seated, as on the maintop, smoking his pipe, from which real smoke would
have issued. This would have been produced by a stove at the bottom of the
column, whose object was to furnish a steady supply of baked potatoes,
uninfluenced by the fluctuations of the market, to the cabmen of
Trafalgar-square, and the street-sweepers at Charing-cross. The artist who
designed the elegant structure at King's-cross, which partakes so
comprehensively of the attributes of a pump, a watch-house, a lamp-post,
and a turnpike, would have superintended its erection, and a carved
figure-head might have been purchased, for a mere song, to crown the
elevation. It would not have much mattered whether the image was intended
for Nelson or not, because, from its extreme elevation, no one, without a
spy-glass, could have told one character from another--Thiers from Lord
John Russell, George Steevens from Shakspere, Muntz from the Duke of
Brunswick, or anybody else.


The museum of the institution has been gradually increasing in valuable
additions, and donations are respectfully requested from families having
any dust-collecting articles about their houses which they are anxious to
get rid of.

The first curiosities presented were, of course, those which have formed
the nucleus of every museum that was ever established, and consisted of
"South Sea Islander's paddles and spears, North American mocassins and
tomahawks, and Sandwich (not in Kent, but in the Pacific Ocean) canoes and
fishing-tackle. In addition, we have received the following, which the
society beg to acknowledge:--

The jaw-bone of an animal, supposed to be a cow, found two feet below the
surface, in digging for the Great Western Railway, near Slough.

Farthing, penny, and sixpence, of the reign of George the Fourth.

Piece of wood from the red-funnel steam-boat sunk off the Isle of Dogs, in
August, 1841, which had been under water nearly six days.

A variety of articles manufactured from the above, sufficient to build a
boat twelve times the size, may be purchased of the librarian.

A floor-tile, in excellent preservation, from the old Hookham-cum-Snivey
workhouse kitchen, before the new union was built.

Specimens of pebbles collected from the gravel-pits at Highgate, and a
valuable series of oyster-shells, discovered the day after
Bartholomew-fair, near the corner of Cock-lane.

A small lizard, caught in the Regent's-park, preserved in gin-and-water,
in a soda-water bottle, and denominated by the librarian "a heffut."


Advertisement half of a _Times_ newspaper for March, 1838.

Playbill of the English Opera during Balfe's management, supposed to be
that of the memorable night when 16l. 4s. was taken, in hard cash, at
the doors.

View of the Execution of the late Mr. Greenacre in front of Newgate,
published by Catnach, from a drawing by an unknown artist.  (_Very rare!_)

MS. pantomime, refused at the Haymarket, entitled "Harlequin and the
Hungarian Daughter; or, All My Eye and Betty Martinuzzi," with the whole
of the songs, choruses, and incidental combats and situations. Presented
by the author, in company with a receipt for red and green fire.

Bound copy of Sermons preached at Hookham-cum-Snivey Church, by the
Reverend Peter Twaddle, on the occasions, of building a dusthole for the
national schools; of outfitting the missionaries who are exported annually
to be eaten by the Catawampous Indians; on the death of Mr. Grubly, the
retired cheesemonger, who endowed the weathercock; and in aid of the funds
of the "newly-born-baby-clothes-bag-and-basket-institution:" printed at
the desire of his, "he fears, in this instance, too partial" parishioners,
and presented by himself.

       *       *       *       *       *


The treaty of the four powers, to which Chelsea, Battersea, Brompton, and
Wandsworth are parties, and from which Pimlico has hitherto obstinately
stood aloof, has at length been ratified by the re-entry of that impetuous
suburb into the general views of Middlesex. We have now a right to call
upon Pimlico to disarm, and to cut off its extra watchman with a
promptitude that shall show the sincerity with which it has joined the
neighbouring powers in the celebrated treaty of Kensington. It is already
known that, by this document, Moses Hayley is recognised as hereditary
beadle, and Abraham Parker is placed in undisturbed possession of the post
of waterman on the coach-stand in the outskirts. We are not among those
who expect to find a spirit of propagandism prevailing in the policy of
the powers of Pimlico. The lamplighter who lights the district is a man of
sound discernment, and there is everything to hope from the moderation he
has always exhibited.

       *       *       *       *       *


Sibthorp came out in full fig at Sir Robert Peel's dinner. While he was
having his hair curled, and the irons were heating, he asked the two-penny
operator what was his opinion of the corn-law question. The barber's
answer suggested the following con.:--

"Why am I like a man eating a particular sort of fancy bread?"--"Because,"
answered the tonsor, "you are having

[Illustration: A TWOPENNY TWIST"]

This reply made the Colonel's hair stand on end, taking it quite out of

       *       *       *       *       *


The boy Jones, in one of his visits to the Palace, to avoid detection,
secreted himself up the kitchen chimney. The intense heat necessary for
the preparation of a large dish of white-bait for her Majesty's dinner
compelled him to relax his hold, and in an instant he was precipitated
among the Blackwall delicacies. The indignant cook immediately demanded
"his business there." "Don't you see," observed the younker, "I'm

[Illustration: ONE OF THE FRY?"]

       *       *       *       *       *


NO. 4.


_Definition._--The history of "naturals"--which chiefly include the human
species--and of "simples" (herbs), occupies the branch of science we are
about to enlighten our readers upon. It treats, in fact, of animated
nature; while physical history--instead of being the history of
Apothecaries' Hall, as many suppose--deals exclusively with inanimate

_Of genus, species, and orders._--If, in the vegetable world, we commence
with the buttercup, and trace all the various kinds and sizes of plants
that exist, up to the pine (Norwegian), and down again to the hautboy
(Cormack's Princesses); if, among the lower animals, we begin with a gnat
and go up to an elephant, or select from the human species a Lord John
Russell, and place him beside a professor Whewell, we shall see that
nature provides an endless variety of all sorts of everything. Now, to
render a knowledge of everything in natural history as difficult of
acquirement as possible to everybody, the scientific world divides nature
into the above-mentioned classes, to which Latin names are given. For
instance, it would be vulgarly ridiculous to call a "cat" by its right
name; and when one says "cat," a dogmatic naturalist is justified in
thinking one means a lion or tiger, both these belonging to the _cat_egory
of "cats;" hence, a "cat" is denominated, for shortness, _felis
Ægyptiacus;_ an ass is turned into a horse, by being an _equus_; a woman
into a man, for with him she is equally _homo_.

Of this last species it is our purpose exclusively to treat. The variety
of it we commence with is,

THE BARBER (_homo emollientissimus_.--TRUEFIT).

_Physical structure and peculiarities_.--The most singular peculiarity of
the barber is, that although, in his avocations, he always is what is
termed a "strapper," yet his stature is usually short. His tongue,
however, makes up for this deficiency, being remarkably long,--a beautiful
provision of nature; for while he is seldom called upon to use his legs
with rapidity, his lingual organ is always obliged to be on the "run." His
eyes are keen, and his wits sharp; his mouth is tinged with humour, and
his hair--particularly when threatening to be gray--with _poudre unique_.
Manner, prepossessing; crop, close; fingers, dirty; toes, turned out. He
seldom indulges in whiskers, for his business is to shave.

1. _Habits, reproduction, and food._--A singular uniformity of _habits_ is
observable amongst barbers. They all live in shops curiously adorned with
play-bills and pomatum-pots, and use the same formulary of conversation to
every new customer. All are politicians on both sides of every subject;
and if there happen to be three sides to a question, they take a
triangular view of it.

2. _Reproduction._--Some men are born barbers, others have barberism
thrust upon them. The first class are brought forth in but small numbers,
for shavers seldom pair. The second take to the razor from disappointment
in trade or in love. This is evident, from the habits of the animal when
alone, at which period, if observed, a deep, mysterious, melo-dramatic
gloom will be seen to overspread his countenance. He is essentially a
social being; company is as necessary to his existence as beards.

3. _Food._--Upon this subject the most minute researches of the most
prying naturalists have not been able to procure a crumb of information.
That the barber does eat can only be inferred; it cannot be proved, for no
person was ever known to catch him in the act; if he does masticate, he
munches in silence and in secret[1].

    [1] Not so of drinking. Only last week we saw, with our own eyes, a
        pot of ale in a barber's shop; and very good ale it was, too,
        for we tasted it.

_Geographical distribution of barbers._--Although the majority of
barbers live near the _pole_, they are pretty diffusely disseminated
over the entire face of the globe. The advance of civilization has,
however, much lessened their numbers; for we find, wherever valets are
kept, barbers are not; and as the magnet turns towards the north, they
are attracted to the east. In St. James's, the shaver's "occupation's
gone;" but throughout the whole of Wapping, the distance is very short

[Illustration: "FROM POLE TO POLE."]

       *       *       *       *       *


Moral philosophers are the greatest fools in the world. I am a moral
philosopher; I am no fool though. Who contradicts me? If any, speak, and
come within reach of my cudgel. I am a moral philosopher of a new school.
The schoolmaster is abroad, and I am the schoolmaster; but if anybody says
that _I_ am abroad, I will knock him down. I am _at home_. And now, good
people, attend to me, and you will hear something worth learning.

The reason why I call all moral philosophers fools is, because they have
not gone properly to work. Each has given his own peculiar notions,
merely, to the world. Now, different people have different opinions: some
like apples, and others prefer another sort of fruit, with which, no
doubt, many of you are familiar. "Who shall decide when doctors disagree?"

My system of morality is the result of induction. I am very fond of
Bacon--I mean, the Bacon recommended to you by the "Society for the
Diffusion of Useful Knowledge"--_Lord_ Bacon. I therefore study the
actions of mankind, and draw my inferences accordingly. The people whose
conduct I attend to are those who get on best in the world; for the object
of all morality is to make ourselves happy, and as long as we are so,
what, my good friends, does it signify?

The first thing that you must do in the study of morals is, to get rid of
all prejudices. Bacon and I quite agree upon this point. By prejudices I
mean your previous notions concerning right and wrong.

Dr. Johnson calls morality "the doctrine of the duties of life." In this
definition I agree. The doctor was a clever man. I very much admire the
knock-down arguments that he was so fond of; it is the way in which I
usually reason myself. Now the duties of life are two-fold--our duty to
others and our duty to ourselves. Our duty to ourselves is to make
ourselves as comfortable as possible; our duty to others, is to make them
assist us to the best of their ability in so doing. This is the plan on
which all respectable persons act, and it is one which I have always
followed myself. What are the consequences? See how popular I am; and,
what is more, observe how fat I have got! Here is a corporation for you!
Here is a leg! What think you of such a cap as this? and of this
embroidered coat? Who says that I am not a fine fellow, and that my system
is not almost as fine? Let him argue the point with me, if he dare!

Happiness consists in pursuing our inclinations without disturbance, and
without getting into trouble. Make it, then, your first rule of conduct
always to do exactly as you please; that is, if you can. I am not like
other moralists, who talk in one way and act in another. What I advise you
to do, is nothing more than what I practise myself, as you have very often
observed, I dare say.

Be careful to show, invariably, a proper respect for the laws; that is to
say, when you do anything illegal, take all the precautions that you can
against being found out. Here, perhaps, my example is somewhat at variance
with my doctrine; but I am stronger, you know, than the executive, and
therefore, instead of my respecting it, it ought to respect me.

Be sure to keep a quiet conscience. In order that you may secure this
greatest of blessings, never allow yourselves to regret any part of your
past behaviour; and whenever you feel tempted to do so, take the readiest
means that you can think of to banish reflection, or, as Lord Byron very
properly terms it--

  "The blight of life, the demon Thought!"

You have observed that, after having knocked anybody on the head, I
generally begin to dance and sing. This I do, not because I am troubled
with any such weakness as remorse, but in order to instruct you. I do not
mean to say that you are to conduct yourselves precisely in the same
manner under similar circumstances; a pipe, or a pot, or a pinch of
snuff--in short, any means of diversion--will answer your purpose equally

Adhere strictly to truth--whenever there is no occasion for lying. Be
particularly careful to conceal no one circumstance likely to redound to
your credit. But when two principles clash, the weaker, my good people,
must, as the saying is, go to the wall. If, therefore, it be to your
interest to lie, do so, and do it boldly. No one would wear false hair who
had hair of his own; but he who has none, must, of course, wear a wig. I
do not see any difference between false hair and false assertions; and I
think a lie a very useful invention. It is like a coat or a pair of
breeches, it serves to clothe the naked. But do not throw your
falsifications away: I like a proper economy. Some silly persons would
have you invariably speak the truth. My friends, if you were to act in
this way, in what department of commerce could you succeed? How could you
get on in the law? what vagabond would ever employ you to defend his
cause? What practice do you think you would be likely to procure as a
physician, if you were to tell every old woman who fancied herself ill,
that there was nothing the matter with her, or to prescribe abstinence to
an alderman, as a cure for indigestion? What would be your prospect in the
church, where, not to mention a few other little trifles, you would have,
when you came to be made a bishop, to say that you did not wish to be any
such thing? No, my friends, truth is all very well when the telling of it
is convenient; but when it is not, give me a bouncing lie. But that one
lie, object the advocates of uniform veracity, will require twenty more to
make it good: very well, then, tell them. Ever have a due regard to the
sanctity of oaths; this you will evince by never using them to support a
fiction, except on high and solemn occasions, such as when you are about
to be invested with some public dignity. But avoid any approach to a
superstitious veneration for them: it is to keep those thin-skinned and
impracticable individuals who are infected by this failing from the
management of public affairs, that they have been, in great measure,

Never break a promise, unless bound to do so by a previous one; and
promise yourselves from this time forth never to do anything that will put
you to inconvenience.

Never take what does not belong to you. For, as a young pupil who formerly
attended these lectures pathetically expressed himself, he furnishing, at
the time, in his own person, an illustration of the maxim--

  "Him as prigs wot isn't his'n,
  Ven 'a's cotch must go to pris'n!"

But what is it that does _not_ belong to you? I answer, whatever you
cannot take with impunity. Never fail, however, to appropriate that which
the law does not protect. This is a duty which you owe to yourselves. And
in order that you may thoroughly carry out this principle, procure, if you
can, a legal education; because there are a great many flaws in titles,
agreements, and the like, the knowledge of which will often enable you to
lay hands upon various kinds of property to which at first sight you might
appear to have no claim. Should you ever be so circumstanced as to be
beyond the control of the law, you will, of course, be able to take
whatever you want; because there will be nothing then that will _not_
belong to you. This, my friends, is a grand moral principle; and, as
illustrative of it, we have an example (as schoolboys say in their themes)
in Alexander the Great; and besides, in all other conquerors that have
ever lived, from Nimrod down to Napoleon inclusive.

Speak evil of no one behind his back, unless you are likely to get
anything by so doing. On the contrary, have a good word to say, if you
can, of everybody, provided that the person who is praised by you is
likely to be informed of the circumstance. And, the more to display the
generosity of your disposition, never hesitate, on convenient occasions,
to bestow the highest eulogies on those who do not deserve them.

Be abstemious--in eating and drinking at your own expense; but when you
feed at another person's, consume as much as you can possibly digest.

Let your behaviour be always distinguished by modesty. Never boast or
brag, when you are likely to be disbelieved; and do not contradict your
superiors--that is to say, when you are in the presence of people who are
richer than yourselves, never express an opinion of your own.

Live peaceably with all mankind, if you can; but, as you cannot, endeavor,
as the next best thing, to settle all disputes as speedily as possible, by
coming, without loss of time, to blows; provided always that the debate
promises to be terminated, by reason of your superior strength, in your
own favour, and that you are not likely to be taken up for knocking
another person down. It is very true that I, individually, _never_ shun
this kind of discussion, whatever may be the strength and pretensions of
my opponent; but then, I enjoy a consciousness of superiority over the
whole world, which you, perhaps, may not feel, and which might, in some
cases, mislead you. I think, however, that a supreme contempt for all but
yourselves is a very proper sentiment to entertain; and, from what I
observe of the conduct of certain teachers, I imagine that this is what is
meant by the word humility. You must, nevertheless, be careful how you
display it; do so only when you see a probability of overawing and
frightening those around you, so as to make them contributors to the great
aim of your existence--self-gratification.

Be firm, but not obstinate. Never change your mind when the result of the
alteration would be detrimental to your comfort and interest; but do not
maintain an inconvenient inflexibility of purpose. Do not, for instance,
in affairs of the heart, simply because you have declared, perhaps with an
oath or two, that you will be constant till death, think it necessary to
make any effort to remain so. The case stands thus: you enter into an
agreement with a being whose aggregate of perfections is expressible, we
will say, by 20. Now, if they would always keep at that point, there might
be some reason for your remaining unaltered, namely, your not being able
to help it. But suppose that they dwindle down to 19-1/2, the person, that
is, the whole sum of the qualities admired, no longer exists, and you, of
course, are absolved from your engagement. But mind, I do not say that you
are justified in changing _only_ in case of a change on the opposite side:
you may very possibly become simply tired. In this case, your prior
promise to yourself will absolve you from the performance of the one in

And now, my good friends, before we part, let me beg of you not to allow
yourselves to be diverted from the right path by a parcel of cant. You
will hear my system stigmatised as selfish; and I advise you, whenever you
have occasion to speak of it in general society, to call it so too. You
will thus obtain a character for generosity; a very desirable thing to
have, if you can get it cheap. Selfish, indeed! is not self the axis of
the earth out of which you were taken? The fact is, good people, that just
as notions the very opposite of truth have prevailed in matters of
science, so have they, likewise, in those of morals. A set of
impracticable doctrines, under the name of virtue, have been preached up
by your teachers; and it is only fortunate that they have been practised
by so few; those few having been, almost to a man, poisoned, strangled,
burnt, or worse treated, for their pains.

But here comes the police, to interfere, as usual, with the dissemination
of useful truths. Farewell, my good people; and whenever you are disposed
for additional instruction, I can only say that I shall be very happy to
afford it to you for a reasonable consideration.

       *       *       *       *       *


    Oh, fly to the Bower--fly with me.--OLD OR NEW SONG (_I forget which_).

If you take a walk over Waterloo-bridge, and, after going straight on for
some distance, turn to the right, you will find yourself in the New-Cut,
where you may purchase everything, from a secretaire-bookcase to a
saveloy, on the most moderate terms possible. The tradesmen of the New-Cut
are a peculiar class, and the butchers, in particular, seem to be brimming
over with the milk of human kindness, for every female customer is
addressed as "My love," while every male passer-by is saluted with the
friendly greeting of "Now, old chap, what can I do for you?" The
greengrocers in this "happy land" earnestly invite the ladies to "pull
away" at the mountains of cabbages which their sheds display, while little
boys on the pavement offer what they playfully designate "a plummy
ha'p'orth," of onions to the casual passenger.

At the end of the New-Cut stands the Marsh-gate, which, at night, is all
gas and ghastliness, dirt and dazzle, blackguardism and brilliancy. The
illumination of the adjacent gin-palace throws a glare on the haggard
faces of those who are sauntering outside. Having arrived thus far, watch
your opportunity, by dodging the cabs and threading the maze of omnibuses,
to effect a crossing, when you will find Stangate-street, _running out_,
as some people say, of the Westminster-road; though of the fact that a
street ever ran out of a road, we take leave to be sceptical.

Well, go on down this Stangate-street, and when you get to the bottom, you
will find, on the left-hand, THE BOWER! And a pretty bower it is, not of
leaves and flowers, but of bricks and mortar. It is not

  "A bower of roses by Bendermere's stream,
    With the nightingale singing there all the day long;
  In the days of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream,
    To sit 'mid the roses and hear the birds' song.
  That bower, and its music, I never forget:
    But oft, when alone, at the close of the year,
  I think is the nightingale singing there yet,
    Are the roses still fresh by the calm Bendermere?"

No, there is none of this sentimental twaddle about the Bower to which we
are alluding. There are no roses, and no nightingale; but there are lots
of smoking, and plenty of vocalists. We will paraphrase Moore, since we
can hardly do less, and we may say, with truth,

  "There's a Bower in Stangate's respectable street,
    There's a company acting there all the night long;
  In the days of my childhood, egad--what a treat!
    To listen attentive to some thundering song.
  That Bower and its concert I never forget;
    But oft when of halfpence my pockets are clear,
  I think, are the audience sitting there yet,
    Still smoking their pipes, and imbibing their beer?"

Upon entering the door, you are called on to pay your money, which is
threepence for the saloon and sixpence for the boxes. The saloon is a
large space fitted up something like a chapel, or rather a court of
justice; there being in front of each seat a species of desk or ledge,
which, in the places last named would hold prayer-books or papers, but at
the Bower are designed for tumblers and pewter-pots. The audience, like
the spirits they imbibe, are very much mixed; the greater portion
consisting of respectable mechanics, while here and there may be seen an
individual, who, from his seedy coat, well-brushed four-and-nine hat,
highly polished but palpably patched highlows, outrageously shaved face
and absence of shirt collar, is decidedly an amateur, who now and then
plays a part, and as he is never mistaken for an actor on the stage, tries
when off to look as much like one as possible.

The boxes are nothing but a gallery, and are generally visited by a
certain class of ladies who resemble angels, at least, in one particular,
for they are "few and far between."

But what are the entertainments? A miscellaneous concert, in which the
first tenor, habited in a _surtout_, with the tails pinned back, to look
like a dress-coat, apostrophises his "pretty Jane," and begs particularly
to know her reason for looking so _sheyi_--_vulgo_, shy. Then there is
the bass, who disdains any attempt at a body-coat, but honestly comes
forward in a decided bearskin, and, while going down to G, protests
emphatically that "He's on the C (sea)." Then there is the _prima donna_,
in a pink gauze petticoat, over a yellow calico slip, with lots of jewels
(sham), an immense colour in the very middle of the cheek, but terribly
chalked just about the mouth, and shouting the "Soldier tired," with a
most insinuating simper at the corporal of the Foot-guards in front, who
returns the compliment by a most outrageous leer between each whiff of his

Then comes an _Overture by the band_, which is a little commonwealth, in
which none aspires to lead, none condescends to follow. At it they go
indiscriminately, and those who get first to the end of the composition,
strike in at the point where the others happen to have arrived; so that,
if they proceed at sixes and sevens, they generally contrive to end in

Occasionally we are treated with Musard's _Echo quadrilles_, when the
solos are all done by the octave flute, so are all the echoes, and so is
everything but the _cada_.

But the grand performance of the night is the dramatic piece, which is
generally a three-act opera, embracing the whole debility of the company.
There is the villain, who always looks so wretched as to impress on the
mind that, if honesty is not the best policy, rascality is certainly the
worst. Then there is the lover, whose woe-begone countenance and unhappy
gait, render it really surprising that the heroine, in dirty white
sarsnet, should have displayed so much constancy. The low comedy is
generally done by a gentleman who, while fully impressed with the
importance of the "low," seems wholly to overlook the "comedy;" and there
is now and then a banished nobleman, who appears to have entirely
forgotten everything in the shape of nobility during his banishment. There
is not unfrequently a display of one of the proprietor's children in a
part requiring "infant innocence;" and as our ideas of that angelic state
are associated principally with pudding heads and dirty faces, the
performance is generally got through with a nastiness approaching to
nicety. But it is time to make our escape from the _Bower_, and we
therefore leave them to get through the "Chough and Crow"--which is often
the wind-up, because it admits of a good deal of growling--in our
absence. We cannot be tempted to remain even to witness the pleasing
performances of the "Sons of Syria," nor the "Aunts of Abyssinia." We will
not wait to see Mr. Macdonald sing "Hot codlings" on his head, though the
bills inform us he has been honoured by a command to go through that
interesting process from "_nearly all the crowned heads in Europe_."

       *       *       *       *       *


VOL. 1.


       *       *       *       *       *




[Illustration: T]The heir of Applebite continued to squall and thrive, to
the infinite delight of his youthful mamma, who was determined that the
joyful occasion of his cutting his first tooth should be duly celebrated
by an evening party of great splendour; and accordingly cards were issued
to the following effect:--

              ----  ----'s
        On Thursday, the 12th inst.
    _Quadrilles_.     _An Answer will oblige_.

It was the first home-made party that Collumpsion had ever given; for
though during his bachelorhood he had been no niggard of his hospitality,
yet the confectioner had supplied the edibles, and the upholsterer
arranged the decorations; but now Mrs. Applebite, with a laudable spirit
of economy, converted No. 24, Pleasant-terrace, into a perfect _cuisine_
for a week preceding the eventful evening; and old John was kept in a
constant state of excitement by Mrs. Waddledot, who superintended the
ornamental department of these elaborate preparations.

Agamemnon felt that he was a cipher in the house, for no one condescended
to notice him for three whole days, and it was with extreme difficulty
that he could procure the means of "recruiting exhausted nature" at those
particular hours which had hitherto been devoted to the necessary

On the morning of the 12th, Agamemnon was anxiously engaged in
endeavouring to acquire a knowledge of the last alterations in the figure
of _La Pastorale_, when he fancied he heard an unusual commotion in the
lower apartments of his establishment. In a few moments his name was
vociferously pronounced by Mrs. Applebite, and the affrighted Collumpsion
rushed down stairs, expecting to find himself another Thyestes, whose
children, it is recorded, were made into a pie for his own consumption.

On entering the kitchen he perceived the cause of the uproar, although he
could see nothing else, for the dense suffocating vapour with which the
room was filled.

"Oh dear!" said Mrs. Applebite, "the chimney's on fire; one pound of fresh

"And two pound o'lard's done it!" exclaimed Susan.

"What's to be done?" inquired Collumpsion.

"Send for my brother, sir," said Betty.

"Where does he live?" cried old John.

"On No. 746," replied Betty.

"Where's that?" cried the whole assembled party.

"I don't know, but it's a hackney-coach as he drives," said Betty.

A general chorus of "Pshaw!" greeted this very unsatisfactory rejoinder.
Another rush of smoke into the kitchen rendered some more active measures
necessary, and, after a short discussion, it was decided that John and
Betty should proceed to the roof of the house with two pailsful of water,
whilst Agamemnon remained below to watch the effects of the measure. When
John and Betty arrived at the chimney-pots, the pother was so confusing,
that they were undecided which was the rebellious flue! but, in order to
render assurance doubly sure, they each selected the one they conceived to
be the delinquent, and discharged the contents of their buckets
accordingly, without any apparent diminution of the intestine war which
was raging in the chimney. A fresh supply from a cistern on the roof,
similarly applied, produced no better effects, and Agamemnon, in an agony
of doubt, rushed up-stairs to ascertain the cause of non-abatement.
Accidentally popping his head into the drawing-room, what was his horror
at beholding the beautiful Brussels carpet, so lately "redolent of
brilliant hues," one sheet of inky liquid, into which Mrs. Waddledot (who
had followed him) instantly swooned. Agamemnon, in his alarm, never
thought of his wife's mother, but had rushed half-way up the next flight
of stairs, when a violent knocking arrested his ascent, and, with the fear
of the whole fire-brigade before his eyes, he re-rushed to open the door,
the knocker of which kept up an incessant clamour both in and out of the
house. The first person that met his view was a footman, 25, dyed with the
same sooty evidence of John and Betty's exertions, as he had encountered
on entering his own drawing-room. The dreadful fact flashed upon
Collumpsion's mind, and long before the winded and saturated servant could
detail the horrors he had witnessed in "his missuses best bed-room, in No.
25," the bewildered proprietor of No. 24 was franticly shaking his
innocently offending menials on the leads of his own establishment. Then
came a confused noise of little voices in the street, shouting and
hurraing in the fulness of that delight which we regret to say is too
frequently felt by the world at large at the misfortunes of one in
particular. Then came the sullen rumble of the parish engine, followed by
violent assaults on the bell and knocker, then another huzza! welcoming
the extraction of the fire-plug, and the sparkling fountain of "New
River," which followed as a providential consequence. Collumpsion again
descended, as John had at last discovered the right chimney, and having
inundated the stewpans and the kitchen, had succeeded in extinguishing the
sooty cause of all these disasters. The mob had, by this time, increased
to an alarming extent. Policemen were busily employed in making a ring for
the exhibition of the water-works--little boys were pushing each other
into the flowing gutters--small girls, with astonished infants in their
arms, were struggling for front places against the opposite railings; and
every window, from the drawing-rooms to the attics, in Pleasant-terrace
were studded with heads, in someway resembling the doll heads in a
gingerbread lottery, with which a man on a wooden leg was tempting the
monied portion of the juvenile alarmists. Agamemnon opened the door, and
being flanked by the whole of his household, proceeded to address the
populace on the present satisfactory state of his kitchen chimney. The
announcement was received by expressions of extreme disgust, as though
every auditor considered that a fire ought to have taken place, and that
they had been defrauded of their time and excitement, and that the
extinguishing of the same by any other means than by legitimate engines
was a gross imposition. He was about remonstrating with them on the
extreme inconvenience which would have attended a compliance with their
reasonable and humane objections, when his eloquence was suddenly cut
short by a _jet d'eau_ which a ragged urchin directed over him, by
scientifically placing his foot over the spouting plug-hole. This clever
manoeuvre in some way pacified the crowd, and after awaiting the
re-appearance of the parish engineer, who had insisted on a personal
inspection of the premises, they gave another shout of derision and

Thus commenced the festivities to celebrate the advent of the first tooth
of the Heir of Applebite.

       *       *       *       *       *


(_From our own Correspondent_.)

This delightful watering-place is filled with beauty and fashion, there
being lots of large curls and small bonnets in every portion of the town
and neighbourhood.

We understand it is in contemplation to convert the mud on the banks of
the river into sand, in order that the idea of the sea-side may be
realised as far as possible. Two donkey cart-loads have already been laid
down by way of experiment, and the spot on which they were thrown was
literally thronged with pedestrians. The only difficulty likely to arise
is, that the tide washes the sand away, and leaves the mud just as usual.

The return of the imports and exports shows an immense increase in the
prosperity of this, if not salubrious sea-port, at least healthy
watercourse. It seems that the importation of Margate slippers this year,
as compared with that of the last, has been as two-and-three-quarters to
one-and-a-half, or rather more than double, while the consumption of
donkeys has been most gratifying, and proves beyond doubt that the
pedestrians and equestrians are not so numerous by any means as the
asinestrians. The first round of a new ladder for ascending the balconies
of the bathing-rooms was laid on Wednesday, amidst an inconvenient
concourse of visitors. With the exception of a rap on the toes received by
those who pressed so much on the carpenter employed as to retard the
progress of his work, all passed off quietly. After the ceremony, the man
was regaled by the proprietor of the rooms with some beer, at the tap of
the neighbouring hotel for families and gentlemen.

       *       *       *       *       *












This inestimable composition, which cures all disorders, and keeps in all
climates, may be had of every respectable bookseller on the face of the
globe. Price 3d.



SIR,--Having incautiously witnessed two consecutive performances of Mr.
Macready in the "Lady of Lyons," the comic portions of them threw me into
a state of deep and chronic melancholy, which the various physicians
employed were unable to cure. Hearing, however, of your excellent
medicine, I took it regularly every Saturday for five weeks, and am now
able to go about my daily employment, which being that of a low comedian,
was materially interfered with by my late complaint.

I remain, with gratitude, yours truly,


_New Strand Theatre_.

       *       *       *       *       *

SIR,--I was, till lately, private secretary to Lord John Russell. I had to
copy his somniferous dispatches, to endure a rehearsal of his prosy
speeches, to get up, at an immense labour to myself, incessant laughs at
his jokes. At length, by the enormous exertions the last duty imposed upon
me, I sunk into a hopeless state of cachinnatory impotence: my risible
muscles refused to perform their office, and I lost mine. I was
discharged. Fortunately, however, for me, I happened to meet with your
infallible "Pills to Purge Melancholy," and tried Nos. 1 to 10 inclusive
of them.

With feelings overflowing with gratitude, I now inform you, that I have
procured another situation with Sir James Graham; and to show you how
completely my roaring powers have returned, I have only to state, that it
was I who got up the screeching applause with which Sir James's recent
jokes about the Wilde and Tame serjeants were greeted.

I am, Sir, yours,


Late "over"-Secretary, and Author of the "Canadian Rebellion."

       *       *       *       *       *

SIR,--Being the proprietor of several weekly newspapers, which I have
conducted for many years, my jocular powers gradually declined, from hard
usage and incessant labour, till I was reduced to a state of despair; for
my papers ceasing to sell, I experienced a complete stoppage of

In this terrible state I had the happiness to meet with your "Essence of
Guffaw," and tried its effect upon my readers, by inserting several doses
of your Attic salt in my "New Weekly Messenger," "Planet," &c. &c. The
effects were wonderful. Their amount of sale increased at every joke, and
has now completely recovered.

I am, Sir,


_Craven-street, Strand_.

_Note._--This testimonial is gratifying, as the gentleman has hitherto
failed to acknowledge the source of the wonderful cure we have effected in
his property.

       *       *       *       *       *

SIR,--As the author of the facetious political essays in the "Morning
Herald," it is but due to you that I should candidly state the reason why
my articles have, of late, so visibly improved.

In truth, sir, I am wholly indebted to you. Feeling a gradual debility
come over my facetiæ, I tried several potions of the "New Monthly" and
"Bentley's Miscellany," without experiencing the smallest relief. "PUNCH"
and his "Essence of Guffaw" were, however, most strongly recommended to me
by my friend the editor of "Cruikshank's Omnibus," who had wonderfully
revived after taking repeated doses. I followed his example, and am now
completely re-established in fine, jocular health.

I am, Sir,



       *       *       *       *       *

Inestimable SIR,--A thousand blessings light upon your head! You have
snatched a too fond heart from a too early grave. My life-preserver, my
PUNCH! receive the grateful benedictions of a resuscitated soul, of a
saved Seraphina Simpkins!

Samuel, dearest PUNCH, was false! He took Jemima to the Pavilion; I
detected his perfidy, and determined to end my sorrows under the fourth
arch of Waterloo-bridge.

In my way to the fatal spot I passed--no, I could _not_ pass--your office.
By chance directed, or by fate constrained, I stopped to read a placard of
your infallible specific. I bought one dose--it was enough. I have now
forgotten Samuel, and am happy in the affection of another.

Publish this, if you please; it may be of service to young persons who are
crossed in love, and in want of straw-bonnets at 3s. 6d. each, best

I am, yours,


Architect of Tuscan, straw, and other bonnets, Lant-street, Borough.

       *       *       *       *       *

CAUTION.--None are genuine unless duly stamped--with good humour, good
taste, and good jokes. Observe: "PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, price
Threepence," is on the cover. Several spurious imitations are abroad, at a
reduced price, the effects of which are dreadful upon the system.

       *       *       *       *       *


The following pictorial joke has been sent to us by Count D'Orsay, which
he denominates

[Illustration: TILING A FLAT.]

All our attempts to discover the wit of this _tableau d'esprit_ have been
quite fu-_tile_. Perhaps our readers will be more successful.

       *       *       *       *       *


Wanted, by Mons. Lafontaine, a few fine able-bodied young men, who can
suffer the running of pins into their legs without flinching, and who can
stare out an ignited lucifer without winking. A few respectable-looking
men, to get up in the room and make speeches on the subject of the
mesmeric science, will also be treated with. Quakers' hats and coats are
kept on the premises. Any little boy who has been accustomed at school to
bear the cane without wincing will be liberally treated with.

       *       *       *       *       *


HORACE TWISS, on being told that the workmen employed at the New Houses of
Parliament struck last week, to the number of 468, declared that he would
follow their example unless Bob raised his wages.

       *       *       *       *       *


    "Now the Poor Law is the only remedy for all the distresses
    referred to contained in the whole of the Baronet's
    speech."--_Morning Chronicle_, Sept. 21.

    Oh! dear Doctor,
      Great bill
      And pill
  Most worthy follower in the steps
    Of Dr. Epps,
  And eke that cannie man
    Old Dr. Hanneman--
  Two individuals of consummate gumption,
    Who declare,
    That whensoe'er
  The patient's labouring under a consumption,
  To save him from a trip across the Styx,
    To ancient Nick's
    In Charon's shallop,
  If the consumption be upon the canter,
  It should be put upon the gallop
  For, "_similia similibus curantur_,"
    Great medicinal cod
    (Beating the mode
  Of old Hippocrates, whom M.D.'s mostly follow,
    Quite hollow);
  Which would make
    A patient take
  No end of verjuice for the belly-ache;
  And find, beyond a question,
    A power of good in
    A lump of cold plum-pudding
  For a case of indigestion.
    And just as sage,
    In this wise age,
  'Faith, Dr. Peel, is _your_ law;
    Which, as a remedy
    For poverty,
  Would recommend the Poor Law.

       *       *       *       *       *


_Or, Procédé Humbugaresque._

There is at present in London a gentleman with an enormous beard, who
professes the science of animal magnetism, and undertakes to deprive of
sense those who come under his hand; but as those who flock to his
exhibition have generally left all the sense they possess at home, he
finds it difficult to accomplish his purposes. If it is animal magnetism
to send another to sleep, what a series of _Soirées Mesmériques_ must take
place in the House of Commons during the sitting of Parliament! There is
no doubt that Sir Robert Peel is the Lafontaine of political
mesmerism--_the fountain_ of quackery--and every pass he makes with his
hand over poor John Bull serves to bring him into that state of
stupefaction in which he may be most easily victimised. While Lafontaine
thrusts pins into his patient, the Premier sends poor John into a swoon,
for the purpose of, as it is vulgarly termed, _sticking it into him_; and
as the French quack holds lucifers to the nostril, Peel plays the devil
under the very nose of the paralysed sufferer. One resorts to _electrics_,
the other to _election tricks_, but each has the same object in view--to
bring the subject of the operation into a state of unconsciousness. If the
Premier would give a _Matinée Politique_, it would prove a formidable
rival to the _Soirée Mesmérique_ of the gentleman in the beard, who seems
impressed with the now popular idea, that genius and a clean chin are
wholly incompatible.

       *       *       *       *       *


'Sir B. HALL is still Sir B. Hall. Where is the peerage--the "B-all and
end-all" of his patriotism? Really the Whigs ought to have given the poor
dog a bone, considering with what perseverance he has always been


       *       *       *       *       *

When a person holds an argument with his neighbour on the opposite aide of
the street, why is there no chance of their agreeing?--Because they argue
from different _premises_.

       *       *       *       *       *


Looking into an Australian paper the other day, we cast our eye over a
list of subscriptions for the "St. Patrick's Orphan School, Windsor;"
which, after enumerating several sums, varying from 10l. to _five_
shillings, ended with the following singular contributions:--

    MR. BURKE--A supply of potatoes.
    A FRIEND--Five pounds of beef, and a coat.
    A FRIEND IN NEED--A shoulder of mutton.
    A POOR WOMAN--A large damper.
    AN EMIGRANT--Ten quarts of milk.
    AN EMIGRANT--A frying-pan.

At first we were disposed to be amused with the heterogeneous nature of
the contributions, but, on reflection, we felt disposed to applaud a plan
which enabled every one to bestow a portion of any article of which he
possesses a superabundance. If, for instance, a similar subscription were
began here, we might expect to find the following contributions:--

    SIR ROBERT PEEL--A large stock of political consistency.
    LORD LONDONDERRY--An ounce of wit.
    LORD NORMANBY--A complete copy of "Yes and No."
    COLONEL SIBTHORP--A calf's-head, garnished.
    THE BISHOP OF EXETER--His pastoral blessing.
    LORD MELBOURNE AND LORD JOHN RUSSELL--A pair of cast-off slippers.
    MR. WAKELY--A dish of Tory flummery.
    DAN O'CONNELL--A prime lot of

[Illustration: REAL IRISH BUTTER.]

       *       *       *       *       *


  Fair Daphne has tresses as bright as the hue
    That illumines the west when a summer-day closes;
  Her eyes seem like violets laden with dew,
    Her lips will compare with the sweetest of roses.
  By Daphne's decree I am doom'd to despair,
    Though ofttimes I've pray'd the fair maid to revoke it.
  "No--Colin I love"--(thus will Daphne declare)
    "Put that in your pipe, if you will, sir, and smoke it."

  Once I thought that she loved me (O! fatal deceit),
    For she wore at the dance the gay wreath I had twined her;
  She smiled when I swore that I envied each sweet,
    And vow'd that in love's rosy chains I would bind her.
  I press'd her soft hand, and a blush dyed her cheek;
    "Oh! there's love," I exclaim'd, "in that eye's liquid glancing."
  She spoke, and I think I can _still_ hear her speak--
    "You know about love what a pig knows of dancing!"

       *       *       *       *       *


The "late of" Middlesex, during his visit to Switzerland, happened to be
charged, at a cottage half-way up the Jura, three farthings for seven
eggs. Astonished and disgusted at the demand, he vehemently declared that
things were come to a pretty


       *       *       *       *       *


We understand Sir James Graham has lately been labouring under severe and
continued fits of vertigo, produced, as his medical attendants state, by
his extraordinary propensity for _turning round_.

       *       *       *       *       *



It is not generally known that the above gentleman has been officially
engaged by the eminent and philanthropic pauper-patrons, to put his
principles into practice throughout the whole of the Unions in the United

Knowing the extraordinary appetite of the vulgar for anything approaching
the unintelligible and marvellous, we feel sorry to be obliged, by a brief
detail of this gentleman's early life and habits, to divest the present
phenomenon of much of its apparent wonder and romance.

Mr. Cavanagh was in infancy rather remarkable for the many sleepless
nights he occasioned his worthy parents by his juvenile intimations that
fasting at that time was no part of his system. He progressed rapidly in
his powers of consumption, and was indeed a child of

[Illustration: A FULL HABIT;]

or, as his nurse expressed it, he was _alwaist_ good for three rounds at
breakfast, not at all to be sneezed at luncheon, anything but bad at
dinner, hearty at tea (another three-rounder), and very consistent at

"Reverse of fortune changes friends"--reverse of circumstances, alas! too
often changes feeds!--pecuniary disappointments brought on a reduction of
circumstances--reduction of circumstances occasioned a reduction of meals,
and the necessity for such reduction being very apparent to a philosophic
mind, engendered a reduction of craving for the same. Perhaps nothing
could have proved more generally beneficial than the individual
misfortunes of Mr. Bernard Cavanagh, which transferred him to one of those
Elysiums of brick and mortar, the "Poor Law Union." Here, as he himself
expresses it, the fearful fallacies of his past system were made
beautifully apparent; he felt as if existence could be maintained by the
infinitesimal process, so benevolently advocated and regularly prepared,
that one step more was all that was necessary to arrive at dietary
perfectibility. That step he took, it being simply, instead of next to
nothing, to live on nothing at all; and now, such was his opinion of the
condiments supplied, he declares it to be by far the pleasantest of the

It has been reported that Mr. Bernard Cavanagh's powers of abstinence have
their latent origin in enthusiasm. This he confesses to be the case, his
great admiration for fasting having arisen from the circumstance of his
frequently seeing the process of manufacturing the pauper gruel, which
sight filled him with most intense yearnings to hit upon some plan by
which, as far as he was concerned, he might for ever avoid any
participation in its consumption.

That immense cigar, the mild Cavanagh! favours us with the following
practical account of his system; by which he intends, through the means of
enthusiasm, to render breakfasts a superfluity--luncheons,
inutilities--dinners, dreadful extravagancies--teas, iniquitous
wastes--and suppers, supper-erogatories.

Mr. B.C. proposes the instant dismissal, without wages or warning, of all
the cooks, and substitution of the like number of Ciceros; thereby
affording a more ample mental diet, as the followers will be served out
with orations instead of rations. For the proper excitement of the
necessary enthusiasm, he submits the following Mental Bill of Fare:--


    Feargus O'Connor, as per Crown and Anchor.
    Mr. Vincent.
    Mr. Roebuck, with ancestral sauce--very fine, if not pitched too
    N.B.--In case of surfeit from the above, the editor of the
        _Times_ may be resorted to as an antidote.
    Daniel O'Connell--whose successful practice of the exciting and
        fasting, or rather, starving system, among the rent
        contributors in Ireland, not only proves the truth of the
        theory, but enables B.C. to recommend him as the safest dish in
        the _carte_.


    D'Israeli (Ben)--breakfast off the "Wondrous Tale of Alroy."
    Bulwer--lunch on "Siamese Twins."
    Stephens--dine off "The Hungarian Daughter."
    Heraud--tea off "The Deluge,"--sup off the whole Minerva Library.
    N.B.--None of the above, will bear the slightest dilution.


    "World of Fashion."
    Lord John Russell's "Don Carlos."
    Montgomery's "Satan" (very good as a devil).
    "Journal of Civilization."
    Any of F. Chorley's writings, Robins' advertisements, or poetry
        relating to Warren's Jet Blacking.


    Ainsworth's "Jack Sheppard."
    Harmer's "Weekly Dispatch."
    "Newgate Calendar."
    "Terrific Register," "Frankenstein," &c. &c. &c.

The above forms a brief abstract of Mr. B.C.'s plan, furnished and
approved by the Poor Law Commissioners. We are credibly informed that the
same enlightened gentleman is at present making arrangements with Sir
Robert Peel for the total repeal of the use of bread by all operatives,
and thereby tranquillising the present state of excitement upon the
corn-law question; proving bread, once erroneously considered the staff of
life, to be nothing more than a mere ornamental opera cane.

       *       *       *       *       *


_Concluding remarks on an Epic Poem of Giles Scroggins and Molly Brown._

The circumstance which rendered Giles Scroggins peculiarly ineligible as a
bridegroom eminently qualified him as a tenant for one of those
receptacles in which defunct mortals progress to "that bourne from whence
no traveller returns." Fancy the bereaved Molly, or, as she is in grief,
and grief is tragical, Mary Brown, denuded of her scarf and black gloves,
turning faintly from the untouched cake and tasteless wine, and retiring
to the virtuous couch, whereon, with aching heart, the poet asserts she,
the said

  "Poor Molly, laid her down to weep;"

and then contemplate her the victim of somnolent consequences, when--

  "She cried herself quite fast asleep,"

Here an ordinary mind might have left the maiden and reverted "to her
streaming eyes," inflamed lids, dishevelled locks, and bursting sigh, as
satisfactory evidences of the truth of her broken-heartedness, but the
"great anonymous" of whom we treat, scorns the application of such
external circumstances as agents whereby to depict the intenseness of the
passion of the ten thousand condensed turtle-doves glowing in the bosom of
_his_ heroine. Sleep falls upon her eyes; but the "life of death," the
subtle essence of the shrouded soul, the watchful sentinel and viewless
evidence of immortality, the wild and flitting air-wrought impalpabilities
of her fitful dreams, still haunt her in her seeming hours of rest. Fancy
her feelings--

  "When, standing fast by her bed-post,
  A figure tall her sight engross'd,"

and it cried--

  "'I be's Giles Scroggins' ghost.'"

Such is the frightful announcement commemorative of this visitation from
the wandering spirit of the erratic Giles. Death has indeed parted them.
Giles is cold, but still his love is warm! He loved and won her in
life--he hints at a right of possession in death; and this very
forgetfulness of what he _was_, and what he _is_, is the best essence of
the overwhelming intensity of his passion. He continues (with a beautiful
reliance on the faith and _living_ constancy of Molly, in reciprocation,
though dead, of his deathless attachment) to offer her a share, not of his
bed and board, but of his shell and shroud. There is somewhat of the
imperative in the invitation, which runs thus:--

  "The ghost it said so solemnly,
  'Oh, Molly, you _must_ go with me,
  All to the grave, your love to cool.'"

We have no doubt this assumption of command on the part of the ghost--an
assumption, be it remembered, never ventured upon by the living
Giles--gave rise to some unpleasant reflections in the mind of the
slumbering Molly. _Must_ is certainly an awkward word. Tell any lady that
she _must_ do this, or _must_ do that, and, however much her wishes may
have previously prompted the proceeding, we feel perfectly satisfied, that
on the very shortest notice she will find an absolute and undeniable
reason why such a proceeding is diametrically opposed to the line of
conduct she _will_, and therefore ought to, adopt.

With an intuitive knowledge of human nature, the great poet purposely uses
the above objectionable word. How could he do otherwise, or how more
effectually, and less offensively, extricate Molly Brown from the
unpleasant tenantry of the proposed under-ground floor? Command invariably
begets opposition, opposition as certainly leads to argument. So proves
our heroine, who, with a beautiful evasiveness, delivers the following

  "Says she, 'I am not dead, you fool!'"

One would think _that_ was a pretty decent clincher, by way of a reason
for declining the proposed trip to Giles Scroggins' little property at his
own peculiar "Gravesend;" but as contradiction begets controversy, and the
enlightened poet is fully aware of the effect of that cause, the undaunted
sprite of the interred Giles instantly opposes this, to him, flimsy
excuse, and upon the peculiar veracity of a wandering ghost, triumphantly
exclaims, in the poet's words--words that, lest any mistake should arise
as to the speaker by the peculiar construction of the sentence, are
rendered _doubly_ individual, for--

  "_Says_ the _ghost_, says _he_, vy that's no rule!"

There's a staggerer! being alive no rule for _not_ being buried! how _is_
Molly Brown to get out of that high-pressure cleft-stick? how! that's the
question! Why not in a state of somnolency, not during the "death of each
day's life; no, it is clear, to escape such a consummation she must be
wide awake." The poet sees this, and with the energy of a master-mind, he
brings the invisible chimera of her entranced imagination into effective
operation. Argument with a man who denies first premises, and we submit
the assertion that vitality is no exception to the treatment of the dead,
amounts to that. We say, argument with such a man is worse than nothing;
it would be fallacious as the Eolian experiment of whistling the most
inspiriting jigs to an inanimate, and consequently unmusical, milestone,
opposing a transatlantic thunder-storm with "a more paper than powder"
"penny cracker," or setting an owl to outstare the meridian sun.

The poet knew and felt this, and therefore he ends the delusion and
controversy by an overt act:--

  "The ghost then seized her all so grim,
  All for to go along with him;
  'Come, come,' said he, 'e'er morning beam.'"

To which she replies with the following determined announcement:--

  "'I von't!' said she, and scream'd a scream,
  Then she voke, and found she'd dream'd a dream!"

These are the last words we have left to descant upon: they are such as
should be the last; and, like _Joseph Surface_, "moral to the end." The
glowing passions the fervent hopes, the anticipated future, of the loving
pair, all, all are frustrated! The great lesson of life imbues the
elaborate production; the thinking reader, led by its sublimity to a train
of deep reflection, sees at once the uncertainty of earthly projects, and
sighing owns the wholesome, though still painful truth, that the brightest
sun is ever the first cause of the darkest shadow; and from childhood
upwards, the blissful visions of our gayest fancy--forced by the cry of
stern reality--call back the mental wanderer from imaginary bliss, to be
again the worldly drudge; and, thus awakened to his real state, confess,
like our sad heroine, Molly Brown, he too, has _dreamt a dream_.


       *       *       *       *       *


Father Francis O'Flynn, or, as he was generally called by his
parishioners, "Father Frank," was the choicest specimen you could desire
of a jolly, quiet-going, ease-loving, Irish country priest of the old
school.  His parish lay near a small town in the eastern part of the
county Cork, and for forty-five years he lived amongst his flock,
performing all the duties of his office, and taking his dues (when he got
them) with never-tiring good-humour. But age, that spares not priest nor
layman, had stolen upon Father Frank, and he gradually relinquished to his
younger curates the task of preaching, till at length his sermons dwindled
down to two in the year--one at Christmas, and the other at Easter, at
which times his clerical dues were about coming in. It was on one of these
memorable occasions that I first chanced to hear Father Frank address his
congregation.  I have him now before my mind's eye, as he then appeared; a
stout, middle-sized man, with ample shoulders, enveloped in a coat of
superfine black, and substantial legs encased in long straight boots,
reaching to the knee. His forehead, and the upper part of his head, were
bald; but the use of hair-powder gave a fine effect to his massive, but
good-humoured features, that glowed with the rich tint of a hale old age.
A bunch of large gold seals, depending from a massive jack-chain of the
same metal, oscillated with becoming dignity from the lower verge of his
waistcoat, over the goodly prominence of his "fair round belly."  Glancing
his half-closed, but piercing eye around his auditory, as if calculating
the contents of every pocket present, he commenced his address as
follows:--"Well, my good people, I suppose ye know that to-morrow will be
the _pattern_[1] of Saint Fineen, and no doubt ye'll all be for going to
the blessed well to say your _padhereens_;[2] but I'll go bail there's few
of you ever heard the rason why the water of that well won't raise a
lather, or wash anything clean, though you were to put all the soap in
Cork into it. Well, pay attintiou, and I'll tell you.--Mrs. Delany, can't
you keep your child quiet while I'm spaking?--It happened a long while
ago, that Saint Fineen, a holy and devout Christian, lived all alone,
convaynient to the well; there he was to be found ever and always praying
and reading his breviary upon a cowld stone that lay beside it. Onluckily
enough, there lived also in the neighbourhood a _callieen dhas_[3] called
Morieen, and this Morieen had a fashion of coming down to the well every
morning, at sunrise, to wash her legs and feet; and, by all accounts, you
couldn't meet a whiter or shapelier pair from this to Bantry. Saint
Fineen, however, was so disthracted in his heavenly meditations, poor man!
that he never once looked at them; but kept his eyes fast on his holy
books, while Morieen was rubbing and lathering away, till the legs used to
look like two beautiful pieces of alabasther in the clear water. Matters
went on this way for some time, Morieen coming regular to the well, till
one fine morning, as she stepped into the water, without minding what she
was about, she struck her foot against a a stone and cut it.

    [1] _Pattern_--a corruption of _Patron_--means, in Ireland, the
        anniversary of the Saint to whom a holy well has been
        consecrated, on which day the peasantry make pilgrimages to the

    [2] Beads

    [3] Pretty girl

"'Oh! Millia murdher! What'll I do?' cried the _callieen_, in the
pitifulles voice you ever heard.

"'What's the matter?' said Saint Fineen.

"'I've cut my foot agin this misfortinat stone,' says she, making answer.

"Then Saint Fineen lifted up his eyes from his blessed book, and he saw
Morieen's legs and feet.

"'Oh! Morieen!' says he, after looking awhile at them, 'what white legs
you have got!'

"'Have I?' says she, laughing, 'and how do _you_ know that?'

"Immediately the Saint remimbered himself, and being full of remorse and
conthrition for his fault, he laid his commands upon the well, that its
water should never wash anything white again.--and, as I mentioned before,
all the soap in Ireland wouldn't raise a lather on it since. Now that's
the thrue histhory of St. Fineen's blessed well; and I hope and thrust it
will be a saysonable and premonitory lesson to all the young men that
hears me, not to fall into the vaynial sin of admiring the white legs of
the girls."

As soon as his reverence paused, a buzz of admiration ran through the
chapel, accompanied by that peculiar rapid noise made by the lower class
of an Irish Roman Catholic congregation, when their feelings of awe,
astonishment, or piety, are excited by the preacher.[4]

    [4] This sound, which is produced by a quick motion of the tongue
        against the teeth and roof of the mouth, may be expressed thus;
        "tth, tth, tth, tth, tth."

Father Frank having taken breath, and wiped his forehead, resumed his

"I'm going to change my subject now, and I expect attintion. Shawn Barry!
Where's Shawn Barry?"

"Here, your Rivirence," replies a voice from the depth of the crowd.

"Come up here, Shawn, 'till I examine you about your Catechism and

A rough-headed fellow elbowed his way slowly through the congregation, and
moulding his old hat into a thousand grotesque shapes, between his huge
palms, presented himself before his pastor, with very much the air of a
puzzled philosopher.

"Well, Shawn, my boy, do you know what is the meaning of Faith?"

"Parfictly, your Rivirence," replied the fellow, with a knowing grin.
"Faith means when Paddy Hogan gives me credit for half-a-pint of the

"Get out of my sight, you ondaycent vagabond; you're a disgrace to my
flock. Here, you Tom M'Gawley, what's Charity?"

"Bating a process-sarver, your Rivirence," replied Tom, promptly.

"Oh! blessed saints! how I'm persecuted with ye, root and branch. Jim
Houlaghan, I'm looking at you, there, behind Peggy Callanane's cloak; come
up here, you hanging _bone slieveen_[5] and tell me what is the Last Day?"

    [5] A sly rogue.

"I didn't come to that yet, sir," replied Jim, scratching his head.

"I wouldn't fear you, you bosthoon. Well, listen, and I'll tell you. It's
the day when you'll all have to settle your accounts, and I'm thinking
there'll be a heavy score against some of you, if you don't mind what I'm
saying to you. When that day comes, I'll walk up to Heaven and rap at the
hall door. Then St. Pether, who will be takin' a nap after dinner in his
arm-chair, inside, and not liking ta be disturbed, will call out mighty
surly, 'Who's there?'"

"'It's I, my Lord,' I'll make answer.

"Av course, he'll know my voice, and, jumping up like a cricket, he'll
open the door as wide as the hinges will let it, and say quite politely--

"'I'm proud to see you here, Father Frank. Walk in, if you plase.'

"Upon that I'll scrape my feet, and walk in, and then St. Pether will say

"'Well, Father Frank, what have you got to say for yourself? Did you look
well afther your flock; and mind to have them all christened, and married,
and buried, according to the rites of our holy church?'

"Now, good people, I've been forty-five years amongst you, and didn't I
christen every mother's soul of you?"

_Congregation._--You did,--you did,--your Rivirence.

_Father Frank._--Well, and didn't I bury the most of you, too?

_Congregation._--You did, your Rivirence.

_Father Frank._--And didn't I do my best to get dacent matches for all
your little girls? I And didn't I get good wives for all the well-behaved
boys in my parish?--Why don't you spake up, Mick Donovan?

_Mick._--You did, your Rivirence.

_Father Frank._--Well, that's settled:--but then St. Pether will
say--"Father Frank," says he, "you're a proper man; but how did your flock
behave to you--did they pay you your dues regularly?" Ah! good Christians,
how shall I answer _that_ question?  Put it in my power to say something
good of you: don't be ashamed to come up and pay your priest's dues.
Come,--make a lane there, and let ye all come up with conthrite hearts and
open hands. Tim Delaney!--make way for Tim:--how much will you give, Tim?

_Tim._--I'll not be worse than another, your Riverence. I'll give a crown.

_Father Frank._--Thank you, Timothy: the dacent drop is in you. Keep a
lane, there!--any of ye that hasn't a crown, or half-a-crown, don't be
bashful of coming up with your _hog_ or your _testher_.[6]

    [6] A _shilling_ or a _sixpence_.

And thus Father Frank went on encouraging and wheedling his flock to pay
up his dues, until he had gone through his entire congregation, when I
left the chapel, highly amused at the characteristic scene I had


       *       *       *       *       *


Our gallant Sibthorp was lately invited by a friend to accompany him in a
pleasure trip in his yacht to Cowes. "No!" exclaimed Sib.; "you don't
catch me venturing near _Cowes_." "And why not?" inquired his friend.
"Because I was never vaccinated," replied the hirsute hero.

       *       *       *       *       *


Once upon a time--says an old Italian novelist--a horse fell, as in a fit,
with his rider. The people, running from all sides, gathered about the
steed, and many and opposite were the opinions of the sudden malady of the
animal; as many the prescriptions tendered for his recovery. At length, a
great hubbub arose among the mob; and a fellow, with the brass of a
merryandrew, and the gravity of a quack-doctor, pressed through the
throng, and approached the beast. Suddenly there was silence. It was plain
to the vulgar that the solemn new-comer had brought with him some
exquisite specific: it was evident, from the grave self-complacency of the
stranger, that with a glance, he had detected the cause of sickness in the
horse,--and that, in a few seconds, the prostrate animal, revivified by
the cunning of the sage, would be up, and once more curvetting and
caracoling. The master of the steed eyed the stranger with an affectionate
anxiety; the mob were awed into breathless expectation. The wise man shook
his head, put his cane to his nose, and proceeded to open his mouth. It
was plain he was about to speak. Every ear throbbed and gaped to catch the
golden syllables. At length the doctor did speak: for casting about him a
look of the profoundest knowledge, and pointing to the steed, he said, in
a deep, solemn whisper,--"_Let the horse alone!_" Saying this, the doctor

The reader will immediately make the application. The horse _John Bull_ is
prostrate. It will be remembered that Colonel SIBTHORP (that dull
mountebank) spoke learnedly upon glanders--that others declared the animal
needed a lighter burthen and a greater allowance of corn,--but that the
majority of the mob made way for a certain quacksalver PEEL, who being
regularly called in and fee'd for his advice, professed himself to be
possessed of some miraculous elixir for the suffering quadruped. All eyes
were upon the doctor--all ears open for him, when lo! on the 16th of
September,--PEEL, speaking with the voice of an oracle, said--"It is not
my intention in the present session of Parliament to submit any measures
for the consideration of the House!" In other words--"_Let the horse

The praises of the Tory mob are loud and long at this wisdom of the
doctor. He had loudly professed an intimate knowledge of the ailments of
the horse--he had long predicted the fall of the poor beast,--and now,
when the animal is down, and a remedy is looked for that shall once more
set the creature on his legs, the veterinary politician says--"_Let the
horse alone!_"

The speech of Sir ROBERT PEEL was a pithy illustration of the good old
Tory creed. He opens his oration with a benevolent and patriotic yearning
for the comforts of Parliamentary warmth and ventilation. He moves for
papers connected with "the building of the two houses of Parliament, and
with the adoption of measures for _warming and ventilating_ those houses!"
The whole policy of the Tories has ever exemplified their love of nice
warm places; though, certainly, they have not been very great sticklers
for atmospheric purity. Indeed, like certain other labourers, who work by
night, they have toiled in the foulest air,--have profited by the most
noisome labour. When Lord JOHN RUSSELL introduced that imperfect mode of
ventilation, the Reform Bill, into the house, had he provided for a full
and pure supply of public opinion,--had he ventilated the Commons by a
more extended franchise,--Sir ROBERT PEEL would not, as minister, have
shown such magnanimous concern for the creature comforts of Members of
Parliament--he might, indeed, have still displayed his undying love of a
warm place; but he would not have enjoyed it on the bench of the Treasury.
As for ventilation, why, the creature Toryism, like a frog, could live in
the heart of a tree;--it being always provided that the tree should bear
golden pippins.

We can, however, imagine that this solicitude of Sir ROBERT for the ease
and comfort of the legislative Magi may operate to his advantage in the
minds of certain honest folk, touched by the humanity which sheds so sweet
a light upon the opening oration of the new minister. "If"--they will
doubtless think--"the humane Baronet feels so acutely for the Lords
Spiritual and Temporal,--if he has this regard for the convenience of only
658 knights and burgesses,--if, in his enlarged humanity, he can feel for
so helpless a creature as the Earl of COVENTRY, so mild, so unassuming a
prelate as the Bishop of EXETER--if he can sympathise with the wants of
even a D'ISRAELI, and tax his mighty intellect to make even SIBTHORP
comfortable,--surely the same minister will have, aye, a morbid sense of
the wants, the daily wretchedness of hundreds of thousands, who, with the
fiend Corn Law grinning at their fireless hearths--pine and perish in
weavers' hovels, for the which there has as yet been _no_ 'adoption of
measures for the warming and ventilating.'" "Surely"--they will think--"the
man whose sympathy is active for a few of the 'meanest things that live'
will gush with sensibility towards a countless multitude, fluttering into
rags and gaunt with famine. He will go back to first principles; he will,
with a giant's arm, knock down all the conventionalities built by the
selfishness of man--(and what a labourer is selfishness! there was no such
hard worker at the Pyramids or the wall of China)--between him and his
fellow! Hunger will be fed--nakedness will be clothed--and God's image,
though stricken with age, and broken with disease, be acknowledged; not in
the cut-and-dried Pharisaical phrase of trading Church-goers, as a thing
vested with immortality--as a creature fashioned for everlasting
solemnities--but _practically_ treated as of the great family of man--a
brother, invited with the noblest of the Cæsars, to an immortal banquet!"

Such may be the hopes of a few, innocent of the knowledge of the
stony-heartedness of Toryism. For ourselves, we hope nothing from Sir
ROBERT PEEL. His flourish on the warming and ventilation of the new Houses
of Parliament, taken in connexion with his opinions on the Corn Laws,
reminds us of the benevolence of certain people in the East, who, careless
and ignorant of the claims of their fellow-men, yet take every pains to
erect comfortable hospitals and temples for dogs and vermin. Old
travellers speak of these places, and of men being hired that the sacred
fleas might feed upon their blood. Now, when we consider the history of
legislation--when we look upon many of the statutes emanating from
Parliament--how often might we call the House of Commons the House of
Fleas? To be sure, there is yet this great difference: the poor who give
their blood there, unlike the wretches of the East, give it for nothing!

Sir ROBERT'S speech promises nothing whatever as to his future policy. He
leaves everything open. He will not say that he will not go in precisely
the line chalked out by the Whigs. "Next session," says. Sir ROBERT, "you
shall see what you shall see." About next February, _Orson_, in the words
of the oracle in the melo-drama, will be "endowed with reason." Until
then, we must accept a note-of-hand for Sir ROBERT, that he may pay the
expenses of the government.

    "I have already expressed my opinion, that it is absolutely
    necessary to adopt some measures for equalising the revenue and
    expenditure, and we will avail ourselves of the earliest
    opportunity, after mature consideration of the circumstances of the
    country, to submit to a committee of the whole house measures for
    remedying the existing state of things. _Whether that can be best
    done by diminishing the expenditure of the country, or by
    increasing the revenue, or by a combination of those two means--the
    reduction of the expenditure and the increase of the revenue--I
    must postpone for future consideration._"

Why, Sir ROBERT was called in because he knew the disease of the patient.
He had his remedy about him. The pills and the draught were in his
pocket--yes, in his patriotic poke; but he refused to take the lid from
the box--resolutely determined that the cork should not be drawn from the
all-healing phial--until he was regularly called in; and, as the gypsies
say, his hand crossed with a bit of money. Well, he now swears with such
vigour to the excellence of his physic--he so talks for hours and hours
upon the virtues of his drugs, that at length a special messenger is sent
to him, and directions given that the Miraculous Doctor should be received
at the state entrance of the patient's castle, with every mark of
consideration. The Doctor is ensured his fee, and he sets to work.
Thousands and thousands of hearts are beating whilst his eye scrutinizes
John Bull's tongue--suspense weighs upon the bosom of millions as the
Doctor feels his pulse. Well, these little ceremonies settled, the Doctor
will, of course, pull out his phial, display his boluses, and take his
leave with a promise of speedy health. By no means. "I must go home," says
the Doctor, "and study your disease for a few months; cull simples by
moonlight; and consult the whole Materia Medica; after that I'll write you
a prescription. For the present, good morning."

"But, my dear Doctor," cries the patient, "I dismissed my old physician,
because you insisted that you knew my complaint and its, remedy already."

"That's very true," says Doctor PEEL, "but _then_ I wasn't called in."

The learned Baldæus tells us, that "Ceylon doctors give _jackall's flesh_
for consumptions." Now, consumption is evidently John Bull's malady;
hence, we would try the Ceylon prescription. The jackalls are the
landowners; take a little of _their flesh_, Sir ROBERT, and for once,
spare the bowels of the manufacturer.


       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: PLAYING THE KNAVE.


       *       *       *       *       *


A highly important and interesting survey of the coast between
Arundel-stairs and Hungerford-market pier, is now being executed, under
the superintendence of Bill Bunks, late commander of the coal-barge "Jim
Crow." The result of his labours hitherto have been of the most
interesting nature to the natural historian, the antiquarian, and the
navigator. In his first report to the magistrates of the Thames-police, he
states that he has advanced in his survey to Waterloo-bridge stairs, which
he describes as a good landing-place for wherries, funnies, and small
craft, but inadequate as a harbour for vessels of great burthen. The shore
from Arundel-street, as far as he has explored, consists chiefly of a
tenacious, dark-coloured substance, very closely resembling thick mud,
intermixed with loose shingles, pebbles, and coal-slates. The depth of
water is uncertain, as it varies with the tide, which he ascertains rises
and falls every six hours; the greatest depth of water being usually found
at the time when the tide is full in, and _vice versa_. He has also made
the valuable discovery, that a considerable portion of the shore is always
left uncovered at low water, at which periods he availed himself of the
opportunity afforded him of examining it more minutely, and of collecting
a large number of curious specimens in natural history, and interesting
antiquarian relics. As we have had the privilege of being permitted to
view them in the private museum of the
of-Science-Association," we are enabled to lay before our readers the
particulars of a few of these spoils, which the perseverance and
intrepidity of our gallant countryman, Bill Bunks, has rescued from the
hungry jaws of the rapacious deep; viz.:--

1. "_A case of shells._" The greater number of the specimens are
pronounced, by competent judges, to be shells of the native oyster; a fact
worthy of note, as it proves the existence, in former ages, of an
oyster-bed on this spot, and oysters being a sea-fish, it appears evident
that either the sea has removed from London, or London has withdrawn
itself from the sea. The point is open to discussion. We hope that the
"Hookham-cum-Snivey Institution" will undertake the solution of it at one
of their early meetings.

2. "_The neck of a black bottle, with a cork in it._" This is a very
interesting object of art, and one which has given rise to considerable
discussion amongst the _literati_. The cork, which is inserted in the
fragment of the neck, is quite perfect; it has been impressed with a seal
in reddish-coloured wax; a portion of it remains, with a partly
obliterated inscription, in Roman characters, of which we have been
enabled to give the accompanying fac-simile.


With considerable difficulty we have deciphered the legend thus:--The
first letter B has evidently been a mistake of the engraver, who meant it
for a P, the similarity of the sounds of the two letters being very likely
to lead him into such an error. With this slight alteration, we have only
to add the letter O to the first line, and we shall have "PRO." It
requires little acuteness to discover that the second word, if complete,
would be "PATRIA;" and the letters BR, the two lowest of the inscription,
only want the addition of the letters IT to make "BRIT." or
"BRITANNIARUM." The legend would then run, "PRO PATRIA BRITANNIARUM,"
which there is good reason to suppose was the inscription on the cellar
seal of Alfred the Great, though some presumptuous and common-minded
persons have asserted that the legend, if perfect, would read, "BRETT'S
PATENT BRANDY." Every antiquarian has, however, indignantly refused to
admit such a degrading supposition.

3. "_A perfect brick, and two broken tiles._" The first of these articles
is in a high state of preservation, and from the circumstance of portions
of mortar being found adhering to it, it is supposed that it formed part
of the old London Wall.  We examined the fragments of the tiles carefully,
but found no inscription or other data, by which to ascertain their
probable antiquity: the tiles, in short, are buried in mystery.

4. "_A fossil flat-iron._" This antediluvian relic was found imbedded in a
Sandy deposite opposite Surrey-street, near high-water mark.

5. "_An ancient leather buskin,_" supposed to have belonged to one of the
Saxon kings. This singular covering for the foot reaches no higher than
the ancle, and is laced up the front with a leathern thong, like a modern
highlow, to which it bears a very decided resemblance.

6. "_A skeleton of some unknown animal._"  Antiquarians cannot agree to
what genus this animal belonged; ignorant people imagine it to have been a

7. "_A piece of broken porcelain._" This is an undoubted relic of Roman
manufacture, and appears to have formed part of a plate. The blue "willow
pattern" painted on it shows the antiquity of that popular design.

There are several other extremely rare and curious antiquities to be seen
in this collection, which we have not space to notice at present, but
shall take an early opportunity of returning to the valuable discoveries
made by the indefatigable Mr. Bunks.

       *       *       *       *       *


A report of so extraordinary a nature has just reached us, that we hasten
to be the first, as usual, to lay the outlines of it before our readers,
with the same early authenticity that has characterised all our other
communications. Mr. Yates is at present in Paris, arranging matters with
Louis Philippe and his family, to appear at the Adelphi during the ensuing

It would appear that the mania for great people wishing to strut and fret
their four hours and a quarter upon the stage is on the increase--at least
according to our friends the constituent members of the daily press.
Despite the newspaper-death of the manager of the Surrey, by which his
enemies wished to "_spargere voces in vulgum ambiguas_" to his prejudice
(which means, in plain English, to tell lies of him behind his back), we
have seen the report contradicted, that Mrs. Norton was about to appear
there in a new equestrian spectacle, with double platforms, triple studs
of Tartar hordes, and the other amphitheatrical enticers. We ourselves can
declare, that there is no foundation in the announcement, no more than in
the _on dit_ that the Countess of Blessington was engaged as a
counter-attraction, for a limited number of nights, at the Victoria; or
her lovely niece--a _power_ in herself--had been prevailed upon to make
her _début_ at the Lyceum, in a new piece of a peculiar and unprecedented
plot, which was prevented from coming off by some disagreement as to terms
between the principal parties concerned. For true theatrical intelligence,
our columns alone are to be relied upon; bright as a column of sparkling
water, overpowering as a column of English cavalry, overlooking all London
at once, as the column of the Monument, but _not_ so heavy as the column
of the Duke of York.

_Mais revenons à nos moutons_: which implies (we are again compelled to
translate, and this time it is for the benefit of those who have not been
to Boulogne), "we spoke of Louis Philippe and his family." This sagacious
monarch, foreseeing that the French were in want of some new excitement,
and grieving to find that the _pompe funèbre_ of Napoleon, and the
inauguration of his statue upon the monument of the victories that never
took place, had not made the intense impression upon the minds of his
vivacious subjects that he had intended it should produce, begins to
think, that before long a fresh _émeute_ will once more throw up the
barricades and paving-stones in the Rue St. Honoré and Boulevard des
Italiens. As such, with the prudent foresight which has hitherto directed
all his proceedings, he is naturally looking forward to the best means of
gaining an honest livelihood for himself and family, should a corrupted
national guard, or an excited St. Antoine mob take it into their heads to
dine in the Tuileries without being asked. Having read in the English
newspapers, which he regularly peruses, of the astounding performances of
the Wizard of the North at the Adelphi, more especially as regards the
"paralysing gun delusion," he commences to imagine that he is well
qualified to undertake the same responsibility, more especially from the
practice he has had in that line from pistols, rifles, fowling-pieces,
and, above all, twenty-barrel infernal machines. He has therefore offered
his services at the Adelphi, and Mr. Yates, with his accustomed energy,
and avowed propensity for French translations, has agreed to bring him
over. If we remember truly, the Wizard says in his programme, that the
secret shall die with him. We beg to inform him, in all humility, that he
deceives himself, for Louis Philippe and the Duke d'Aumale know the trick
as well as he does. They would ride through two lines of _sans culottes_,
all armed to the teeth, without the least injury. They would catch the
bullets in their teeth, and take them home as curiosities.

Orleans, from his knowledge of the English language, will probably become
the adapter of the pieces "from the French" about to be produced. The Duke
de Nemours will be engaged to play the fops in the light comedies, a line
which, it is anticipated, he will shine in; and the Prince de Joinville
can dance a capital sailor's hornpipe, which he learnt on board the _Belle
Poule_, a name which our own sailors, with an excusable disregard for
genders, converted into "The Jolly Cock." Of course, from his late
experience, d'Aumale will assist Louis Philippe, upon emergency, in the
gun trick, and, with the other attractions, a profitable season is sure to

       *       *       *       *       *


By Dr. Reid's new plan for ventilating the House of Commons, a porous hair
carpet will be required for the floor; to provide materials for which Mr.
Muntz has, in the most handsome manner, offered to shave off his beard and
whiskers. This is true magnanimity--Muntz is a noble fellow! and the
lasting gratitude of the House is due to him and his _hairs_ for ever.

       *       *       *       *       *


It is expected that Mr. Snooks and family will pass the winter at
Battersea, as the warmth of the climate is strongly recommended for the
restoration of the health of Mrs. Snooks, who is in a state of such
alarming delicacy, as almost to threaten a realisation of the fears of her
best friends and the hopes of the black-job master who usually serves the

Mr. Snivins gave a large tea-party, last week, at Greenwich, where the
boiling water was supplied by the people of the house, the essentials
having been brought by the visitors.

Mr. Popkins has left his attic in the New-Cut, for a _tour_ on the Brixton

K 32 left his official residence at the station-house, for his beat in
Leicester-square, and repaired at once to a public-house in the
neighbourhood, where he had an audience of several pickpockets.

We are authorised to state, that there is no foundation whatever for the
report that a certain well-known policeman is about to lead to the altar a
certain unknown lady. The rumour originated in his having been seen
leading her before the magistrate.

Dick Wiggins transacted business yesterday in Cold Bath-fields, and picked
the appointed quantity of oakum.

Mr. Baron Nathan has left Margate for Kennington. We have not he